Major League: Back to the Minors

I got it.

You want Tobik to finish

it off for you, Gus?

No I'm fine.

Just need to get out of this inning

and get a little breather.

Hey...

"Hey" nothing.

That ball is tagged!

It's going... going... nowhere.

Hold on just a minute.

Let me see that ball.

- What?

- You heard me, let me see it.

- Frozen ball, Gus.

- Where did that come from?

You shouldn't have to resort to this.

I mean, where's your pride?

You know I searched high and low.

You know I have to throw you out.

C'mon Mick, I'm five outs

from finishing this. You don't...

I'm sorry Gus, but you got to go.

You are gone. You're outa here!

Don't hold on to that too long, Mick.

If it freezes, they have to cut your

fingers off to get rid of the damn thing.

Give me some water, now!

Is that arm numb yet or is it

at that tingly, burning stage

just before everything freezes?

Well.

Look what the cat drug in.

Don't pretend to act like you're

not surprised to see me.

Picked up a whiff of your cologne

about half an hour ago.

Will you look at these fancy clothes.

- Flatterer.

- Bullshiterer.

How you doing?

Sorry I missed it.

How'd you throw?

Pretty good. Moved the ball around a lot,

even blew a few fastballs by them.

I'm okay to drive.

I know you are, but you're a little

too drunk to walk to your car.

So this nice taxi driver is

going to give you a lift.

- Strong and capable woman.

- You left out "independent".

- You must be smitten.

- Went past smitten a long time ago.

For the first time, the woman I love and

the woman I like are the same person.

That's a dangerous combo.

And the kicker is, she loves me

but she's not desperate for me.

Which could only mean,

you're desperate for her.

Six marriages had to

teach me something.

- Ever think about getting out?

- This is my last season. I'm hanging it up.

What are you going to do?

Don't know, still kicking

a few ideas around.

It just so happens that

I've got a proposition for you.

And I though you came here because

you missed the sound of my voice.

There is that...

Gus, I'd like to ask you:

how would you like to manage?

Manage?

I've got a AAA team with a heap of talent

but not a baseball player in the bunch.

What I need, what they need,

is a genuine baseball man,

someone who really knows the game.

I figure with all that you

know about baseball,

and their natural ability,

it would be a perfect match.

I don't know Rog.

I spent the better part of my life

kicking around the Minor Leagues.

Hell, my ass has gone flat from sitting

on hard benches and riding bad busses.

I ain't so sure I'm interested

in signing up for more of the same.

But this is something that you know,

something you could be really good at.

Who says I can't be good at

something other than baseball?

No one.

Look, thanks...

Come the end of the season,

I'm quitting. Cold turkey.

I know how to take

"no" for an answer,

but maybe you can do me

one little favor?

If I can.

I'd like you to take a look at

Mr. "Downtown" Anderson.

He is a pure hitter.

You got the day off tomorrow, right?

Why don't... the three of us, why we go

down and we can watch the kid play?

I'm in.

So it's either wrestle me from

the ball or let me stay in.

So I let you stay in?

- Two dogs and two Cokes.

- Just ketchup and mustard on mine.

Do my eyes deceive me or

is that who I think it is?

Slick guy, overdressed,

helmet hair, sh*t-eating grin?

You must have eyes in the

back of your head.

Leonard Huff, manager/bullshit

artist extraordinaire.

I know a broken down old

ballplayer when I see one.

No offense.

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