9a1f8183b31ba8ab9f1719fa42b36a173035beb4
movie
http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/Major-League.html
MAJOR LEAGUE Screenplay
CREDITS THE END
 Former Las Vegas showgirl Rachel Phelps (Margaret Whitton) has inherited the Cleveland Indians baseball team from her deceased husband. Phelps has received a lucrative deal to move the team to Miami, and she aims to trigger the escape clause in the team's contract with Cleveland if season attendance falls below minimum levels. To do this, she fires most of the existing players and has her new General Manager Charlie Donovan bring in new ones from a list of aging veterans and inexperienced rookies, hoping to make the worst team ever that would certainly cause attendance to decline. Phelps hires Lou Brown, a former coach from the Toledo Mud Hens to lead the team.
During spring training in Tucson, Brown and veteran catcher Jake Taylor discover the new team has a number of interpersonal issues as well as their own struggles with the game, such as the prima donna nature of Roger Dorn, the only player on a long-term contract with the Indians, and the weak arm of veteran pitcher Eddie Harris who is forced to doctor his pitches to stay competitive. As the season starts, the team is unable to overcome these problems and starts on a losing streak. Their rookie pitcher, Ricky Vaughn, has an incredible fast ball but with little control, leading him to be called "Wild Thing"; however, by chance, Brown discovers Vaughn has eyesight problems, and when they fit him with glasses, his pitching drastically improves, helping the Indians to a series of wins. The rest of the team rallies behind this, putting aside personal issues and coming together to bring the Indians higher in the division standings. Phelps tries to demoralize the team by taking away their luxuries such as a private jet, but the team still holds strong, and appears to have a shot at winning the division. Meanwhile, Taylor finds that his ex-girlfriend Lynn is living in Cleveland, and tries to get her to come back to him even after learning she has become engaged to a new beau.
When Phelps' original plan falls through, she decides that she will purposely void the contract, despite the financial penalty, and will move the team to Miami regardless. Donovan relays this to Brown, who informs the team that no matter how well they do, they will be fired after the season. Taylor leads the others to agree that they should do the best they can and win the division. To spur the team, Brown uses a covered cardboard standup photo of Phelps from her showgirl days, pulling off a piece of the cover for every game they win. The team succeeds in tying the division with the New York Yankees, leading to a one-game playoff to determine the title.
In the playoff in Cleveland, the Yankees take an early lead but Pedro Cerrano is able to overcome his inability to hit a curve, knocking out a home run to tie the game. In the top of the 9th, with the bases loaded and the Yankees' power hitter Clu Haywood at bat, Brown has Vaughn pitch relief despite past confrontations Vaughn has had with Haywood. Vaughn manages to strike out Haywood, sending the Indians up to bat.
With the game tied and the Indians with two outs, the speedy Willie "Mays" Hayes manages a single to get on base, and then steals second. Taylor steps up, and after signalling to Brown, calls his shot to center field. With the Yankees prepared for the long play, Taylor instead bunts, allowing Hayes to make it to home safely and win the game. The team and crowd erupt into cheers while Phelps realizes that she likely will not be able to move the team after this. As the team celebrates, Taylor sees Lynn in the stands, no longer wearing her engagement ring. The two rush to hug each other as the city celebrates the victory.
Former Las Vegas showgirl Rachel Phelps ( Margaret Whitton ) has inherited the Cleveland Indians baseball team from her deceased husband . Phelps has received a lucrative deal to move the team to Miami , and she aims to trigger the escape clause in the team s contract with Cleveland if season attendance falls below minimum levels . To do this , she fires most of the existing players and has her new General Manager Charlie Donovan bring in new ones from a list of aging veterans and inexperienced rookies , hoping to make the worst team ever that would certainly cause attendance to decline . Phelps hires Lou Brown , a former coach from the Toledo Mud Hens to lead the team . During spring training in Tucson , Brown and veteran catcher Jake Taylor discover the new team has a number of interpersonal issues as well as their own struggles with the game , such as the prima donna nature of Roger Dorn , the only player on a long-term contract with the Indians , and the weak arm of veteran pitcher Eddie Harris who is forced to doctor his pitches to stay competitive . As the season starts , the team is unable to overcome these problems and starts on a losing streak . Their rookie pitcher , Ricky Vaughn , has an incredible fast ball but with little control , leading him to be called Wild Thing ; however , by chance , Brown discovers Vaughn has eyesight problems , and when they fit him with glasses , his pitching drastically improves , helping the Indians to a series of wins . The rest of the team rallies behind this , putting aside personal issues and coming together to bring the Indians higher in the division standings . Phelps tries to demoralize the team by taking away their luxuries such as a private jet , but the team still holds strong , and appears to have a shot at winning the division . Meanwhile , Taylor finds that his ex-girlfriend Lynn is living in Cleveland , and tries to get her to come back to him even after learning she has become engaged to a new beau . When Phelps ' original plan falls through , she decides that she will purposely void the contract , despite the financial penalty , and will move the team to Miami regardless . Donovan relays this to Brown , who informs the team that no matter how well they do , they will be fired after the season . Taylor leads the others to agree that they should do the best they can and win the division . To spur the team , Brown uses a covered cardboard standup photo of Phelps from her showgirl days , pulling off a piece of the cover for every game they win . The team succeeds in tying the division with the New York Yankees , leading to a one-game playoff to determine the title . In the playoff in Cleveland , the Yankees take an early lead but Pedro Cerrano is able to overcome his inability to hit a curve , knocking out a home run to tie the game . In the top of the 9th , with the bases loaded and the Yankees ' power hitter Clu Haywood at bat , Brown has Vaughn pitch relief despite past confrontations Vaughn has had with Haywood . Vaughn manages to strike out Haywood , sending the Indians up to bat . With the game tied and the Indians with two outs , the speedy Willie Mays Hayes manages a single to get on base , and then steals second . Taylor steps up , and after signalling to Brown , calls his shot to center field . With the Yankees prepared for the long play , Taylor instead bunts , allowing Hayes to make it to home safely and win the game . The team and crowd erupt into cheers while Phelps realizes that she likely will not be able to move the team after this . As the team celebrates , Taylor sees Lynn in the stands , no longer wearing her engagement ring . The two rush to hug each other as the city celebrates the victory .
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Major_League_(film)
Major League (film)
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<pre>                                      "MAJOR LEAGUE"

                                      Screenplay by

                                      David S. Ward

<b>                                      SHOOTING DRAFT
</b>
<b>                
</b>
<b>               FADE IN: TITLES APPEAR ON BLACK B.G.
</b>
               TITLES END and we WIDEN to reveal that the black b.g. is 
               actually the sludge-clogged surface of the Cuyahoga River. 
               We TILT UP from the river to reveal the city of Cleveland, 
               then follow with a series of shots of Cleveland landmarks.

<b>               INT. THE INJUN DINER - DAY
</b>
               Three men in Cleveland Indian baseball caps sit at the 
               counter. BOBBY JAMES, 22-year-old grad student, VIC BOLITO, 
               30-year-old telephone worker, and JOHNNY WYNN, 45-year-old 
               house painter. THELMA GORDON, 65-year-old waitress, delivers 
               their breakfast.

<b>                                     THELMA
</b>                         Spring training starts the twelfth. 
                         How do you think the Indians will do 
                         this year?

<b>                                     VIC
</b>                         They don't look too good.

               The other two shake their heads in contemplation of this 
               sorry fact.

<b>               INT. MEN'S CLUB - DAY
</b>
               A 45-year-old BUSINESS EXECUTIVE is talking to a fellow club 
               member over lunch.

<b>                                     BUSINESS EXECUTIVE
</b>                         They don't look particularly good, 
                         do they?

<b>               EXT. CLEVELAND DOCKS - DAY
</b>
               Two LONGSHOREMEN are talking while they unload a freighter.

<b>                                     LONGSHOREMEN
</b>                         I'll tell ya. They don't look very 
                         fuckin' good.

<b>               EXT. CLEVELAND MUNICIPAL STADIUM - DAY
</b>
               Down on the field, two KOREAN GROUNDSKEEPERS speak Korean as 
               they resod the outfield.

<b>                                     GROUNDSKEEPER
</b>                              (in subtitles)
                         They're shitty.

               We TILT UP from the field to a glass-enclosed area on the 
               third deck.

<b>               INT. GLASS-ENCLOSED AREA - DAY
</b>
               It's the Cleveland Indians' conference room. Three men are 
               seated around the table; CHARLIE DONOVAN. the manager, PHIL 
               BUTLER, public relations head, JERRY SIMMONS, operations 
               director and LYLE MATTHEWS director of player personnel 
               Donovan taps his pencil impatiently, obviously waiting for 
               somebody.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                              (checking his watch)
                         Thirty minutes late. Think she'll 
                         show?

<b>                                     MATTHEWS
</b>                         She's got to. She's the damn owner 
                         now.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         She didn't last week. She was having 
                         a guava facial.

               As Butler tries to figure out what a guava facial is, the 
               conference room doors swing open and a muscular MALE SECRETARY-
               BODYGUARD enters, clearing the way for MRS. RACHEL PHELPS, a 
               flashy, striking woman in her early forties. Despite the 
               designer clothes she favors, there is the hint of something 
               less refined about her. She carries a Pekinese dog, CHA-CHA 
               on her left hip.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to 
                         another season of Indians' baseball.

               The men applaud, but their hearts are barely in it. The 
               Secretary-Bodyguard pulls out a chair at the head of the 
               table and Rachel sits.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         I know that it may not seem the same 
                         without Donald here this year, but I 
                         promise you by the end of the season 
                         this team will have made history.

               Several eyes roll up around the room.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                              (picking up a newspaper)
                         Unfortunately there are some in the 
                         press who feel that...
                              (reading from the 
                              page)
                         "the ex-showgirl wife of Donald Phelps 
                         has no business being the owner of a 
                         major league baseball team."

               Rachel crumbles the paper and throws it away.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Obviously, Donald didn't feel that 
                         way or he wouldn't have left the 
                         team to me. And I was more than 
                         showgirl. I was a dancer. Now, I 
                         know some of you have doubts about 
                         my ability to run this franchise. 
                         God help you if I ever find out about 
                         it.

               This causes a few nervous glances in the room.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Spring training begins in two weeks.
                              (throwing a sheet of 
                              paper on the table)
                         Here's the list of people we'll be 
                         inviting to camp this year.

               Donovan, Butler and Simmons pour over the list.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         I could sit here and tell you what a 
                         great year we're gonna have, but the 
                         facts are we lost the two best players 
                         we had to free agency. We haven't 
                         won a pennant in 30 years. We haven't 
                         even finished in the first division 
                         for 15. Obviously it's time to make 
                         some changes. What do ya think?

<b>                                     SIMMONS
</b>                         I never heard of half these guys. 
                         And the ones I do know are way past 
                         their prime.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Most of these guys never had a prime.

<b>                                     BUTLER
</b>                              (pointing to the sheet)
                         This guy here is dead.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Cross him off then.

<b>                                     BUTLER
</b>                              (under his breath)
                         Let's not be hasty.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         It's time to shake things up, Charlie. 
                         Clear the board and start over.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Well, it's not the best material 
                         I've ever had to work with, but I'll 
                         do my best to see we move up a notch 
                         this year.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         I know you will, Charlie. That's why 
                         I'm movin' you up to General Manager. 
                         Congratulations.

               Rachel sticks out her hand. Donovan shakes it somewhat feebly, 
               bewildered by this whole development.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Well, that should do it for today. 
                         Thank you, gentlemen. Let's get to 
                         work.

               With that, Rachel gets up and breezes out of the room with 
               her entourage, leaving Donovan and the others dumbfounded.

<b>                                     MATTHEWS
</b>                              (checking his watch)
                         One minute, 58 seconds.

<b>               INT. DONOVAN'S NEW OFFICE - DAY
</b>
               Donovan, carrying a boxful of belongings under each arm, 
               pushes open the door of his new office and walks inside. The 
               basic outfitting is masculine enough, but the room is full 
               of feminine little accents; flowers in vases, porcelain desk 
               accessories etc. Donovan is slightly overwhelmed. Suddenly, 
               there's a voice at the door.

<b>                                     BODY-BUILDER ASSISTANT
</b>                         Mr. Donovan, Mrs. Phelps would like 
                         to see you.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               INT. RACHEL'S OFFICE - DAY
</b>
               Donovan is ushered in by Rachel's Male Secretary. Donovan 
               carries his player roster with him.

<b>               INT. RACHEL'S OFFICE - DAY CONT
</b>
<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Come on in, Charlie. Have a seat.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         I'm glad you called me in. I'm still 
                         unclear on a couple things

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Oh, really? Like what?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Well, if I'm the G.M., who's gonna 
                         be the Manager?

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         I was thinking of Lou Brown.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Lou Brown?

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         He's managed the Toledo Mud Hens of 
                         the International League for the 
                         last 30 years.

               This is hardly an impressive credential to Donovan.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         I think he'll fit right in with our 
                         team concept.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         What exactly is our team concept?

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         That's what I wanted to talk to you 
                         about. I want to put together a team 
                         that will help us relocate to Miami.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         What do you mean?
                              (referring to the 
                              roster)
                         Some of these guys are furniture 
                         movers?

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         I'm serious about this, Charlie. 
                         It's no secret I've never liked 
                         Cleveland much. The weather's lousy, 
                         downtown is a pit, the stadium's 
                         falling apart, and we can't draw 
                         dick. Another couple of years of 
                         this and I'm gonna have to start 
                         feeding Cha-Cha dog food.

               Rachel bends down to give her dog, Cha-Cha, a little love 
               pat, while Donovan tries to contain his disgust.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Mrs. Phelps, you can't just up and 
                         move a team on a whim...

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         It's hardly a whim. Miami's offered 
                         to build us a new stadium -- 62,000 
                         capacity, 45 V.I.P. boxes, and no 
                         rent for the first million at the 
                         gate. Plus a 12 million dollar media 
                         guarantee; 45 percent of the 
                         concession gross, all of the parking 
                         and they pick up the stadium 
                         operations costs. No other franchise 
                         in baseball can match that deal.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Even so, the League'll never let us 
                         leave Cleveland. We got a lease with 
                         the city.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         The lease says we have the right to 
                         move if our attendance falls below 
                         800,000 for the year.
                              (pushing across a 
                              copy of the lease)
                         Paragraph 40, line 17.

               Donovan looks at it, the paragraph highlighted in yellow.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         If we play bad enough, we should be 
                         able to come in under that.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         What are you saying? You want us to 
                         lose?

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         No, we've been losing. What I want 
                         us to do is finish dead last.

               Donovan is stunned. He casts around helplessly for some 
               response.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Mister Phelps would never have 
                         approved of this.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         He knew it had to be done. He just 
                         didn't have the courage to do it.
                              (with veiled menace)
                         Hopefully, you will come to see the 
                         wisdom of it.
                              (pause)
                         If this team lives up to its 
                         potential, we could have the worst 
                         record in all baseball.

               On Donovan's sunken face, we go to:

<b>               EXT. SHABBY MEXICAN HOTEL - MORNING
</b>
               On a stretch of deserted Mexican highway. OVER we hear a 
               telephone RING.

<b>               INT. MOTEL ROOM - MORNING
</b>
               The room is a total mess. The back door is off its hinges 
               and a few chickens have wandered in. As they peck around the 
               debris, we PAN the room, taking in beer cans, food wrappers 
               and finally a trail of hastily discarded clothes, both male 
               and female.

               We reach the bed and find our hero, JAKE TAYLOR, 35, and 
               with a couple days growth of stubble, passed out on his face. 
               Sprawled across him asleep is a MEXICAN WOMAN in her late 
               twenties. She's not great looking, but at least she's 
               overweight. Taylor's hand fumbles to the RINGING telephone.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh.

               It's Charlie Donovan calling from his office in Cleveland. 
               We CUT BACK AND FORTH between the two as we will in subsequent 
               phone scenes.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Hello, Jake? This is Charlie Donovan, 
                         new G.M. of the Cleveland Indians.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (skeptical)
                         Yeh...

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         I wanted to call and say the 
                         organization remembers you fondly 
                         from the years you played here and 
                         we'd love to have you come to spring 
                         training for a shot at this year's 
                         club.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Who is this?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         What?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Is that you, Tolbert? This isn't 
                         very funny, ya know. I'm hung over. 
                         My knees are killin' me. If you were 
                         gonna pull this shit, you could've 
                         at least said you were from the 
                         Yankees.

               Taylor struggles to get a look up at the girl on top of him.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (still to Donovan)
                         By the way, you were with me last 
                         night. Who's this girl on top of me?

               Donovan is baffled by this whole line of conversation.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Tolbert? Tolbert? Screw it.

               Taylor hangs up, leaving Donovan staring into his phone. 
               Taylor looks up to see TOLBERT standing in the doorway.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Tolbert.

<b>                                     TOLBERT
</b>                         Who the hell were you talkin' to?

               On Taylor's reaction, we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               INT. TOLEDO TIRE STORE - DAY
</b>
               We PICK UP LOU BROWN, a portly man in his early fifties, 
               making his way to his glass-partitioned office.

<b>                                     SECRETARY
</b>                         Lines three and four are waiting for 
                         you, Mr. Brown. One guy about the TR-
                         70's.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (picking up the phone)
                         Tire World.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Lou? This is Charlie Donovan, the 
                         new G.M. of the Cleveland Indians. 
                         Listen, Lou, I hope you're sittin' 
                         down 'cause I got an offer you 
                         probably been dreamin' about your 
                         whole life. We been watchin' your 
                         progress down there at Toledo with a 
                         lotta interest and well...
                              (a dramatic pause)
                         How would you like to manage the 
                         Indians this year?

               For a moment there's silence on the line, then:

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I don't know...

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                              (incredulous)
                         What do ya mean you don't know? This 
                         is a chance to manage in the big 
                         leagues.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Lemme think it over, will ya, Charlie. 
                         I got a guy on the other line about 
                         some whitewalls. I'll talk to ya 
                         later.

               Brown clicks off. Donovan puts his head down on his desk.

<b>               INT. CHARLIE DONOVAN'S OFFICE - DAY
</b>
               Donovan's on the phone to another player.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Rick, we heard about your pitching 
                         out at Portland last year...

<b>               RICKY VAUGHN
</b>
               Good-looking, muscular, 19-year-old. Sleeveless black T-shirt. 
               Talking on a wall phone in a nondescript room.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I'm, ah, not with them anymore...

               Vaughn has been working, sweating slightly. He takes off his 
               cap to mop his brow -- revealing a RADICAL HAIRCUT with 
               PIGTAIL. He sports a RING in his left ear.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         We'd still like to take a look at ya 
                         at our spring camp in Arizona, March 
                         first.

<b>               LONG SHOT - VAUGHN
</b>
               In the b.g., Vaughn is on the phone. In the f.g., we see 
               security bars. Vaughn's in a Youth Authority prison.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Yeh, well, I'm not sure I can make 
                         it by then.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Don't worry, we're gettin' you out 
                         on a sort of work furlough deal. Any 
                         questions?

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Yeh. Where's Cleveland?

<b>               INT. DONOVAN'S OFFICE - DAY
</b>
               On the speaker again to Lou Brown. Rachel watches, impatient 
               for him to close the deal.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Look, Lou, you been in baseball thirty 
                         years. Don't you wanna advance some?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (eating a sack lunch)
                         I used to coach the unwed mothers' 
                         softball team. I have advanced some.

               Rachel rubs her fingers together, making the money sign to 
               Donovan.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Well, what are you really worried 
                         about? The money?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Naw, I'm just not sure I'd be happy 
                         in a big organization like that. 
                         Owners are always on your back, tryin' 
                         to "help you out."

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         I don't think that's gonna be a 
                         problem.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Down here baseball's a game, not a 
                         business. I don't wanta be a 
                         babysitter for a buncha millionaires 
                         who think they know it all already.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         We don't have any millionaires.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Well then, bonus babies or whatever 
                         you got...

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Don't have any bonus babies either.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Don't you have any proven major league 
                         talent?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                              (embarrassed)
                         Not that I know of.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Well, then... I'll be up in a couple 
                         days.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         What?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Sounds like my kinda team. Have my 
                         contracts ready.

               Brown hangs up.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                              (to the others)
                         Guess I really put the screws to 
                         him.

<b>               EXT. MEXICAN LEAGUE BALL PARK - DAY
</b>
               This one's a dandy. The left field wall is a 20-foot high, 
               solid granite outcropping. A final out is made and the teams 
               change over.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               returning to the dugout at the end of the inning, wondering 
               what the hell he's doin' here.

<b>                                     MANAGER
</b>                         Taylor, telephone for you.

               Taylor goes to the phone in the clubhouse tunnel.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Hello.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Jake, Charlie Donovan again.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Oh yeh, Charlie, look, I'm sorry 
                         about this morning...

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         No problem. Look, Jake, camp starts 
                         on the first. Can you make it?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Sure.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         You been stayin' in shape down there?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Oh hell, yeh, I work out every day.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         I thought so. See ya in Arizona.

               Donovan hangs up. Taylor shoots a fist in the air, and we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               approaching his MANAGER.

<b>                                     MANAGER
</b>                         Let's go, Taylor. You're up.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Luis, I'm not gonna be playin' 
                         anymore. I got a tryout in the States.

<b>                                     MANAGER
</b>                         Fine. Leave your uniform.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         But I changed at the motel.

<b>                                     MANAGER
</b>                         Leave your uniform.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               coming out of the stadium, his bats and gloves over his 
               shoulder. He has on his spikes and a pair of boxer shorts.

<b>               INT. BEAT-UP MEXICAN BUS - DAY
</b>
               Taylor sits in the back seat. He has six Coke bottles filled 
               with sand strapped to his ankles. He lifts his legs up and 
               down to strengthen his muscles.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               EXT. INDIANS' TRAINING CAMP PRACTICE FIELD - DAY
</b>
               Donovan, Brown and two of his coaches, PEPPER LEACH (pitching) 
               and DUKE TEMPLE (hitting) are on the field, witnessing the 
               arrival of their "troops." First to arrive is:

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               He gets out of a taxi and goes to the trunk to get his bats 
               and luggage.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         This looks like Jake Taylor.

               Brown turns around from a conversation with Temple.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         He was an Allstar in Boston, wasn't 
                         he?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Yeh.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         Wish we had him two years ago.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         We did.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         Four years ago then.

<b>               INT. PLAYER'S BARRACKS - DAY
</b>
               Like an Army barracks. Rows of bunk beds seperated by lockers. 
               Taylor walks in with Temple, the hitting instructor.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         What happened to the private rooms?

<b>                                     TEMPLE
</b>                         We're on an austerity program. This 
                         is what happens when you finish 24 
                         games out.

<b>               BROWN, PEPPER, TEMPLE AND DONOVAN
</b>
               back at the field, supervising the arrival of more players.

               The first is a tall, muscular Latin, PEDRO CERRANO, dressed 
               in black from head to toe. He arrives on foot, carrying a 
               black suitcase and pulling a black bat case on wheels. He 
               looks like a gunfighter coming into Dodge.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Who's that?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         I think it's Cerrano. Defected from 
                         Cuba. Wanted religious freedom.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         What's his religion?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Voodoo.

<b>               BLACK AND TAN ROLLS-ROYCE
</b>
               pulling into the parking lot. Out steps RODGER DORN, high-
               priced third baseman. Brown eyes him with vague disapproval.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Thought you didn't have any high-
                         priced talent.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                              (sheepish)
                         I forgot about Dorn, 'cause he's 
                         only high-priced. Got him as a free 
                         agent three years ago.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Still hits the ball pretty well, 
                         doesn't he?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Yeh, he just can't field it.

               Dorn pulls his golf clubs out of the car.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         We'll shape him up.

<b>               WILLIE HAYES
</b>
               a 22-year-old black, pulling up in a '72 VW Beetle which 
               he's got a Cadillac grille on. He steps out in his shades 
               and sharkskin suit.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Don't recognize this guy.

               Hayes strolls up and introduces himself.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Say hey, Willie Mays Hayes here. I 
                         play like Mays and run like Hayes.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Lou Brown. Nice to meet ya, Hayes.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Thanks. Well, I gotta get my stuff...

               Hayes hustles off toward his car.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         I don't remember a Hayes on the list.

               A motorcycle pulls to a stop in the lot, diverting everyone's 
               attention from Hayes.

               Off steps Ricky Vaughn, a hefty bag over his shoulder. He's 
               still sporting his radical do.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         Look at this fuckin' guy.

<b>                                     TEMPLE
</b>                         Maybe he's the mascot.

               Donovan is speechless. Brown breaks into a small smile. Yes, 
               sir, this is his kinda team.

<b>               INT. PLAYERS' BARRACKS
</b>
               Taylor is putting his stuff away in a locker. Vaughn enters 
               the barracks and immediately draws the attention of Dorn.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Hey, what do we have here? Guy looks 
                         like a fuckin' toilet brush. Hey, 
                         T.B., I love your pony tail. And the 
                         earring's cute too. Where's the 
                         matching bracelet?

               Vaughn whips a hard glance at Dorn, but keeps on walking, 
               making his way along the bunks looking for his assigned bed. 
               It's the one above Taylor. Vaughn unloads his duffel bag in 
               silence.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (offering his hand)
                         Jake Taylor.

               Vaughn shakes it and nods. Says nothing.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         So, you just gonna settle for toilet 
                         brush, or you got another name?

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Vaughn. Rick Vaughn.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Forget about Dorn. He's always a 
                         little tough on rookies. You'll get 
                         a lot worse from other teams.

               The conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Hayes.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Say hey! How ya doin'? Willie Mays 
                         Hayes here.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Jake Taylor.
                              (pointing to Vaughn)
                         Rick Vaughn.

               Hayes doesn't quite know what to make of Vaughn.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         What the hell league you been playin' 
                         in?

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         California Penal.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Never heard of it. How'd you wind up 
                         playin' there?

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I stole a car.

               On Hayes' look, we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               INT. THE BARRACKS - NIGHT
</b>
               It's dark. Everyone's asleep. Three SECURITY GUARDS with 
               flashlights come down to the top bunk where Hayes is sleeping.

<b>                                     GUARD
</b>                         This guy wasn't invited to camp.

               They lift the bunk out of its slots and carry it out the 
               door, Hayes still asleep on it.

<b>               INT. LOCKER ROOM - MORNING
</b>
               The players are dressing out in their uniforms for the first 
               day of practice. Vaughn goes in his locker and finds that a 
               slit has been cut in the back of his cap to accommodate his 
               pigtail. Suppressed laughs are heard from several corners of 
               the locker room.

<b>               INT. CLUBHOUSE - MORNING
</b>
               Brown is addressing his troops before the first workout.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Welcome to Spring Training, gentlemen. 
                         Most managers tell you at this time 
                         that all the jobs are open, that 
                         nobody's a lock at any position, and 
                         that talent isn't everything. They'd 
                         rather see desire and discipline in 
                         a player. Then they tell you that 
                         most of all they want you to have 
                         fun out there, even though they're 
                         gonna work your ass off on 
                         fundamentals and condition you till 
                         you drop. The difference between me 
                         and those other managers is...
                              (pause)
                         I mean it.

               On a locker room full of uneasy faces, we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               EXT. PRACTICE FIELD PARKING LOT - MORNING
</b>
               Hayes' cot is sitting in the lot, just outside the fence, 
               his suitcase set down next to it. Hayes is still asleep, dew 
               on his forehead. Wakened by the noise of activity on the 
               field, he sits up with a start.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Shit, I been cut already?

<b>               THE PRACTICE FIELD
</b>
               We pick up Taylor sprinting his ass off in a 100-yard time 
               trial, staggering across the finish line 10 feet behind 
               Cerrano.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                              (checking stopwatch)
                         11.9 Taylor. Not bad if you'd fallen 
                         down.

               As Taylor tries to catch his breath, Dorn and a relief pitcher 
               named Gant approach the starting line for the next trial.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               looking through the chain-link fence surrounding the field.

<b>               DORN AND GENTRY AGAIN
</b>
               Temple brings them to their marks and blows his whistle. 
               Dorn and Gentry take off.

               Suddenly Hayes, in his pajamas and bare feet comes streaking 
               toward the starting line in hot pursuit. Dorn and Gentry a 
               good 10-yard lead, but Hayes is coming like a bullet. We go 
               to SLOW MOTION as Hayes draws even at the 80-yard mark and 
               blasts on by to win by five. This kid is fast. Brown and 
               Pepper give each other the "Who was that Masked Man" look.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Get him a uniform.

<b>               EXT. THE PRACTICE FIELD - LONG SHOT - DAY
</b>
               The players are spread out on the field doing calisthenics, 
               counting off in unison.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               struggling through a series of pushups. He glances over in 
               disbelief at Vaughn and Cerrano, who are doing them like 
               pistons in competition with each other. Cerrano even starts 
               doing them one-handed.

               Hayes isn't doing them at all; merely pulling his head up 
               and down while leaving his body on the ground.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         C'mon, Hayes, let's do 'em right.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Hey, my philosophy is no pain, no 
                         pain.

<b>               EXT. THE BATTING CAGE - DAY
</b>
               Taylor is crouched behind the plate, warming up his arm. 
               Catching pitches and throwing them half-speed down to second. 
               Brown drifts over.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         How the knees holdin' up, Jake?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Great. Never been better.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Mobility's good? No problem gettin' 
                         off the throw to second?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         No problem.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I need a catcher, Jake. Somebody who 
                         can keep this team together on the 
                         field. You were a helluva player 
                         when you were sound, but around the 
                         league they think you can't take the 
                         pounding anymore.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Around the league they're wrong.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I'm gonna have to put you to the 
                         test, ya know. So, I want the absolute 
                         truth here. Are you 100 percent?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh. Would I bullshit about somethin' 
                         like that?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (walking away)
                         You better if you wanna make this 
                         team.

               Taylor smiles and fires one full-speed down to second. It 
               bounces two feet in front of the bag.

<b>               EXT. BATTING CAGE - DAY
</b>
               Brown is watching batting practice.

               Hayes steps into the cage and begins a preparatory ritual 
               worthy of Babe Ruth -- rubbing dirt on his hands, stretching, 
               knocking dirt off his spikes, twirling the bat, etc. A real 
               slugger's routine.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         C'mon, Hayes, this isn't the All 
                         Star Game. Get up to the damn plate.

               Hayes gets in and takes his stance. On the first pitch, he 
               takes a mighty cut and hits a pop-fly to the pitcher's mound. 
               We take QUICK CUTS of the next three pitches. Hayes takes 
               prodigious swings at all of them, producing three more pop-
               ups, none out of the infield. Brown calls a halt.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Well, you may run like Mays, but you 
                         hit like shit.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         My stroke'll come back once I get 
                         warmed up.

<b>                                     TEMPLE
</b>                              (referring to some 
                              stats)
                         Never did get warmed up last year. 
                         Hit .211 at Maine. I looked him up.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I think Mr. Hayes shows some promise. 
                         His speed could be a big asset.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                              (aside)
                         For what? Running back to the dugout?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         You gotta stop swingin' for the fences 
                         though, Hayes. All you're gonna do 
                         is give yourself a hernia. With your 
                         speed you should be hittin' the ball 
                         on the ground, leggin' 'em out. Every 
                         time I see you hit one in the air, 
                         you owe me twenty pushups.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Hey, no problem.

               The next pitch comes in. Hayes swings and pops it up.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Shit.

               As he gets down to do his twenty, Brown turns to Temple.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Sometimes you can teach a guy to 
                         hit. You can't teach him to run.

<b>               BROWN AND PEPPER
</b>
               coming over to where Vaughn is tossing some casual warm-up 
               pitches to Jake.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         All right, Vaughn, they tell us you're 
                         a pitcher. Let's see what you got.

               Brown and Pepper stand behind Taylor for a better view. Vaughn 
               goes into his wind-up and fires a screaming fast ball that 
               Taylor has no chance to get out of his crouch to catch. The 
               ball rockets an inch over Brown's head, and slams into the 
               backstop.

               Brown stands frozen a second, contemplating his brush with 
               eternity, then turns to Pepper.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Nice velocity.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         Sounded like it.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Sorry, Lou, I wasn't quite expectin' 
                         that much octane.

               Brown turns to the Clubhouse Man who's holding a speed gun.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         How much?

<b>                                     CLUBHOUSE MAN
</b>                         96 miles an hour.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (to Pepper)
                         Better teach him some control before 
                         he kills somebody.

<b>               RODGER DORN
</b>
               fielding grounders at third base. He plays them off to his 
               left side a bit, almost as if he's afraid to get bit by them.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         C'mon, Dorn, get in front of the 
                         damn ball.
                              (making like a 
                              bullfighter)
                         Don't give me this ole' bullshit.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         I took one of these in the eye last 
                         year. Nearly lost my sight.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I'm deeply moved. Every time you 
                         play it off your hip, you give me 
                         forty sit-ups.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         What! That's Little League shit.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         So is this.

               Brown strikes an effeminate fielding position, like Betty 
               Grable shying from a mouse. Dorn burns.

<b>               PEDRO CERRANO
</b>
               in the batting cage, knocking the cover off pitch after pitch 
               with his black bat.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Jesus, this guy hits a ton. How come 
                         nobody else picked up on him?

<b>                                     TEMPLE
</b>                              (to the batting 
                              practice pitcher)
                         Okay, Harris, that's enough fast 
                         balls. Throw some curves.

               Harris winds and throws a fair-to-middlin' curve ball. Cerrano 
               swings and misses it a foot.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Oh.

               Dorn approaches Brown at the cage.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Lou, I wanna have a word with you 
                         here.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Sure.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                              (whipping out his 
                              contract)
                         Those penalty sit-ups you want me to 
                         do? I got it right here in my contract 
                         that I don't have to do any 
                         calisthenics I don't feel are 
                         necessary. What do ya think of that?

               Everyone around the batting cage has stopped what they're 
               doing to see how Brown will react. Brown looks at the contract 
               a second, then drops it on the ground, unzips his fly, and 
               gives it a golden shower. On Dorn's stunned face, we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               DORN
</b>
               doing sit-ups in the infield. Vaughn walks by and smiles.

<b>               LONGSHOT - PRACTICE FIELD
</b>
               Practically every member of the team is doing penalty 
               calisthenics somewhere on the field.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                              (to Temple)
                         We got anybody left playin' baseball 
                         out there?

<b>               INT. THE LOCKER ROOM - AFTERNOON
</b>
               Taylor, Hayes and Vaughn drag in, looking beat from the day's 
               workout.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Shit, the way I played today, I 
                         wouldn't be surprised if they red-
                         tagged me already.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         What do ya mean?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Red tag in your locker means the 
                         manager wants to see you, 'cause you 
                         just died and went to the minors.

               Vaughn's hand freezes on his locker latch, afraid to open it 
               now.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Don't worry, they don't cut anybody 
                         the first day.

               Vaughn is still not so sure. He sits down on his locker stool 
               and glances over toward STEVE HARRIS a starting pitcher, 
               whose locker is adjacent. As Harris takes off his jersey we 
               see three SPLOTCHES OF GREASY SUBSTANCES on his chest, just 
               inside the button line.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         What is that stuff?

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                              (pointing to them in 
                              order)
                         Crisco, Bardahl, Vagisil. Any one of 
                         'em will give you another 2-3 inches 
                         drop on your curve ball.

               Vaughn can't believe this.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         Course if it's cold and I got a shirt 
                         on under my jersey, I just rub a 
                         little jalapeno inside my nose and 
                         get it runnin'. I need to load up 
                         the ball a little, I just wipe my 
                         nose.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                              (revolted)
                         You put snot on the ball?

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         At my age, you put anything you can 
                         find on it. I haven't got an arm 
                         like yours.

               Vaughn just looks at him incredulous.

<b>               TAYLOR AND CARRANO
</b>
               Taylor is undressing, but his attention is diverted by Cerrano 
               whose stall is right next to him. Cerrano has set up an altar 
               in his locker. In front of his bats, which are lined up like 
               sentinels, is a table covered with pictures of baseball 
               players, figurines of saints, several lit candles and, in 
               the middle, a primitive fetish doll with a cigar in its mouth.

               Cerrano has drawn some magic signs on his bats. He finishes 
               an incantation and then lights the cigar on the fetish doll.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         What are you doin' there, Pedro?

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         Bats. They are sick.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         So are mine. Is somethin' goin' 
                         around?

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         No hit curve ball. Straight ball, 
                         hit it very much. Curve ball, bats 
                         are afraid. I ask Jo-Buu to come. 
                         Take fear from bats.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Jo-Buu?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Maybe he's the pagan saint of 
                         baseball.

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         I offer him cigars and gin. He will 
                         come.

               Cerrano pours some gin in a small cup and puts it next to 
               the fetish doll. Harris has been listening to all this. 
               Cerrano grabs a towel to head for the showers.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         I wouldn't leave this gin sittin' 
                         around out here with this group.

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                              (with a certain gravity)
                         Is very bad to steal Jo-Buu's gin. 
                         Is very bad.

               Cerrano closes his locker and goes off to the showers, leaving 
               everyone to wonder just how bad.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               MONTAGE SEQUENCE
</b>
               compressing and detailing the progress of spring training. 
               We see:

               A) Vaughn on the pitcher's mound. A tin replica of a batter 
               has been set up at home plate and rope stretched across the 
               plate to delineate the strike zone. Vaughn fires a pitch and 
               hits the tin batter in the hip, leaving a dent in him.

               B) Cerrano in the batting cage, flailing away in futility at 
               several curve balls.

<b>               C) HAYES
</b>
               doing push-ups at night. He's the only one left on the field, 
               except Temple, who supervises.

<b>               D) TAYLOR
</b>
               doing the "scramble" drill -- blocking down balls purposely 
               thrown in the dirt, one after another. When it ends, he can 
               hardly get to his feet.

<b>               E) CERRANO
</b>
               waving a ten-foot BOA CONSTRICTOR in the sign of the cross 
               in front of his locker before opening it. No red tag greets 
               him. Hayes watches from a safe distance.

<b>               F) VAUGHN
</b>
               holding a mirror under the vents on his locker door to get a 
               peek inside to see if there's a red tag there.

<b>               G) DORN
</b>
               taking a hard ground ball off the chest. Brown applauds. 
               Dorn is pissed.

<b>               H) VAUGHN
</b>
               throwing at the "ropes" again. The tin batter is dented in 
               every conceivable place now. Vaughn whips in another fast 
               ball. This one hits the tin man in the head, knocking it 
               completely off.

<b>               I) TAYLOR
</b>
               in an exhibition game, attempting to throw out a base stealer. 
               Jake springs out of his crouch and fires down to second -- 
               on a bounce. The ball skips into center field.

<b>               J) HAYES
</b>
               also in an exhibition game, swinging at a pitch and popping 
               it up behind the plate. He just drops in his tracks and starts 
               to do push-ups as the catcher makes the catch behind him.

<b>               K) CERRANO
</b>
               flailing away again at a curve ball. This and the remaining 
               shots are all in exhibition games.

<b>               L) HAYES
</b>
               waving a ten-inch garter snake in front of his locker. Even 
               at this size we can tell it scares the hell out of him, but 
               it works its magic. No red tag.

<b>               M) VAUGHN
</b>
               with a runner on third, winding up and throwing a pitch four 
               feet over Taylor's head. The run scores.

<b>               N) HAYES
</b>
               attempting to steal second. He goes into a hell-bent-for-
               leather head first slide. Unfortunately, he comes up two 
               feet short of the base. The second baseman, who's waiting 
               for him with the ball, makes a motion for him to keep coming. 
               Hayes flips him the bird.

<b>               O) LOU BROWN
</b>
               on the bench. He turns to Pepper with a look that says, "Can 
               you believe this shit?"

<b>               P) TAYLOR
</b>
               waiting for a throw at the plate. Just as he's about to catch 
               it, the runner knocks him flat.

<b>               Q) BROWN
</b>
               his head in his hands. As Taylor gets up and goes to the 
               wrong dugout, the MONTAGE ENDS.

<b>               EXT. INDIANS' PRACTICE FIELD - LATE AFTERNOON
</b>
               Players are filing off the team bus after the game. We PICK 
               UP Taylor, Hayes and Vaughn as they head toward the locker 
               room.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         This is final cut down day, right?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh, better get your snake ready, 
                         Hayes.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         No, I'm goin' cold turkey today. My 
                         hands are too screwed up to hold it 
                         anyway.

               Hayes reveals a pair of red and cut hands.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         If you're gonna use that head first 
                         slide, you better get yourself some 
                         gloves or you're not gonna have any 
                         skin left on your hands.

               They've reached the locker room now.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I don't wanna go in there.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Whatever happens, keep it to yourself 
                         until you're outta the locker room. 
                         Don't celebrate in front of guys who 
                         just died.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         What if we're one of the deceased?

               Taylor goes into the locker room. Hayes and Vaughn hang back.

               Cerrano is already at his locker. He's got two snakes this 
               time and some kind of voodoo head dress on. He sprays a patch 
               of white paint on the locker door from a spray can, draws a 
               symbol door. No tag. He kisses the snake, leaving some white 
               paint on his lips, like a kid who's just had a glass of milk.

               Taylor, exhausted from the game, lifts his latch and peers 
               inside. He's made it, too. Cerrano offers a hand. Taylor 
               shakes it and breaks a weary smile.

<b>               GENTRY
</b>
               opens locker, slumps on stool. He's a goner.

<b>               HAYES AND VAUGHN
</b>
               the two rookies, are still hanging back.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         C'mon, Vaughn, let's show some nuts 
                         here. If they cut us, we'll just 
                         sign with the Yankees.

               Hayes strides manfully to his locker and pulls it open. This 
               doesn't tell him much, however, because he's got his eyes 
               closed. He stands that way a beat ot two, then opens one 
               eye.

               Seeing no tag, he turns and walks double-time out of the 
               locker room, as if he had to get to the john.

               He comes outside, turns a corner, and starts leaping around 
               like a wild man.

<b>               VAUGHN
</b>
               drawing strength from Hayes, walks resolutely to his locker 
               and whips it open. There hanging from the top hook is the 
               "red death." Vaughn stares at it expressionless, then slowly 
               closes his locker.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               INT. BROWN'S OFFICE - LATE AFTERNOON
</b>
               Vaughn goes right in without knocking and leans on Brown's 
               desk.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I got news for you, Mr. Brown. You 
                         haven't heard the last of me. You 
                         think I'm shit now, but someday you'll 
                         be sorry you cut me. I'm gonna catch 
                         on somewhere else, and every time I 
                         pitch against you, I'm gonna stick 
                         it up your ass.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Good, I like that kinda spirit in a 
                         player. The only problem is, I didn't 
                         cut you.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         What do you mean?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I think somebody's been havin' fun 
                         with you.

               We GO TO Vaughn, his faced a mask of anger and embarrassment.

<b>               THE LOCKER ROOM AGAIN
</b>
               Vaughn charges across the room and jumps Dorn. The men grapple 
               and fight all over the room, until Taylor finally gets them 
               separated.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                              (to Vaughn)
                         What's the matter, little lady? Can't 
                         you take a joke?

               Vaughn gives Dorn a look that indicates this isn't over. Lou 
               Brown enters the room.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Can I have your attention, please? I 
                         counted up your ballots for team 
                         captain and I think you chose the 
                         right guy. If you hadn't, I woulda 
                         told you he won anyway. Mr. C for 
                         the year -- Jake Taylor.

               The team breaks into applause and whistles as Taylor's name 
               is announced. Dorn is the only one who seems unhappy about 
               it. As Taylor accepts the congratulations of his teammates, 
               he turns to Vaughn.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Forget about Dorn. You got other 
                         things to do.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Like what?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Packing for Cleveland.

               Taylor gives him a wide smile. Vaughn finally allows himself 
               one.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               EXT. THE CLEVELAND SKYLINE - DAY
</b>
               Such as it is. We MOVE DOWN to the same diner we saw during 
               the opening of the film.

<b>               INT. INJUN DINER - DAY
</b>
               The same three guys as before are at the counter.

<b>                                     THELMA
</b>                         You see the new lineup the Indians 
                         got?

<b>                                     BOBBY
</b>                         I never heard of most of 'em.

<b>               INT. EXECUTIVE LIMOUSINE - DAY
</b>
               The Business Executive is talking to the limo driver as he 
               reads the sports section.

<b>                                     BUSINESS EXECUTIVE
</b>                         I don't know the majority of these 
                         names.

<b>               EXT. CLEVELAND DOCKS - DAY
</b>
               The two Longshoremen again, looking at a paper.

<b>                                     LONGSHOREMAN
</b>                         Who are these fuckin' guys?

<b>               EXT. CLEVELAND MUNICIPAL STADIUM - DAY
</b>
               The two Korean Groundskeepers again, dragging the infield.

<b>                                     GROUNDSKEEPER
</b>                              (in subtitles)
                         They're shitty.

<b>               INT. CLEVELAND MUNICIPAL STADIUM - DAY
</b>
               Taylor is alone in the stadium, standing near home plate in 
               his street clothes, taking in the massive stadium, remembering 
               glories past. He steps into the batter's box and takes his 
               stance.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (to himself)
                         Two down. Bottom of the ninth.

               Taylor points to the left field stands. He imagines a pitch 
               coming in, takes a mighty swing and admires the flight of 
               the imaginary ball as it arches high in the mid-day sky, 
               landing deep in the left field seats. Breaking into his home 
               run trot, he circles the bases, slapping the third base 
               coach's hand and exchanging low fives with his teamates as 
               he reaches the plate.

               Suddenly, his reverie is interrupted by the sound of applause. 
               He turns and looks in the dugout, where Hayes and Vaughn are 
               giving him a hand.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Really got all of that one.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         What was it? A slider?

               Taylor is too embarrassed to reply.

<b>               INT. CLEVELAND RESTAURANT - NIGHT
</b>
               One of Cleveland's finest. Taylor, Hayes and Vaughn are seated 
               at a table.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         What are you gonna have?

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         I don't know. What language is this?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         French.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         They got patty melts over there?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Forget it. I'll order. Let's have a 
                         toast.

               The three raise their wine glasses.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Here's to baseball, here's to the 
                         start of two great careers, and for 
                         me, here's to at least one more good 
                         year in the sun.

               The glasses CLINK. Suddenly Taylor's attention fixes on 
               something across the room -- a stunning young woman in her 
               late twenties, LYNN WESTLAND. She's having dinner with a 
               DATE in a three-piece suit.

               Hayes and Vaughn follow Taylor's eyes to the woman.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         What is it? The chick?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         That's my wife.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Does she know it?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I mean she woulda been if I hadn't 
                         screwed it up. Who's that guy she's 
                         with?

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         I don't know. He's not wearing a 
                         name tag.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         You want me to beat the shit out of 
                         him?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         No.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         What does she do?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         She's a librarian.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         A librarian? Shit, I gotta start 
                         readin' again.

<b>               INT. CLEVELAND RESTAURANT - NIGHT
</b>
               A WAITER approaches the table where Lynn and her date are 
               sharing a dessert.

<b>                                     WAITER
</b>                         Miss Wells, there's a telephone call 
                         for you.

               Lynn is somewhat surprised, but gets up to take the call. We 
               FOLLOW her to the pay phone in the hall.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Hello.

<b>                                     VOICE
</b>                         Hello, Lynn. It's Jake.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Jake? How did you know I was here?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Just a hunch. I took you there when 
                         you got your masters. I figure you're 
                         probably wearing the black velvet 
                         dress with the red sash.

               She is indeed. Lynn is a little unsettled by this display of 
               clairvoyance.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         How did you know that? I didn't have 
                         this dress when we were...

               Sensing that something's askew, she turns and looks across 
               the way to see Jake talking to her on the pay phone on the 
               other side of the hall, maybe ten feet away. He gives her 
               his best grin.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         You look great.

               Lynn, as is often the case with Jake, is both charmed and 
               put-out. She goes with put-out.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Thanks. What are you doin' here? 
                         Aren't you supposed to be in Mexico 
                         somewhere?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I'm playin' with the Indians again. 
                         Back in the Bigs.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         That's great. I'm happy for you, 
                         Jake.

               And she is. Not so sure about herself, though.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (starting away)
                         I gotta get back...

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Wait a minute. What's your number. I 
                         tried calling you at home, but you're 
                         not listed...

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         My life is different from when you 
                         knew me.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Meaning what? That I don't know you 
                         anymore?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Couldn't we talk about this some 
                         other time? I really gotta...

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Okay, just gimme your number.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         I don't think that's a good idea.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Why not? Because of the guy you're 
                         with? What is he, a banker?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Lawyer. Please, Jake, he's watching 
                         us.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I'm not leavin' without your number. 
                         You still wear those great little 
                         tortoise-shell glasses? I always 
                         loved it when you took them off.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (exasperated)
                         Jake...

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         The number, Lynn...

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (reluctant)
                         All right. 555-9314.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Thank you. I'm back, Lynn, and I'm 
                         gonna be around.

               She looks at him a beat, unsure what to say, then heads back 
               toward her table. We go to Lynn's date. None of this has 
               been lost on him.

<b>               INT. TAXI - DAY
</b>
               Taylor, Hayes and Vaughn are the fares.

<b>                                     CABBIE
</b>                         What's the number again?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (looking at a piece 
                              of paper)
<b>                         1036. 
</b>
<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         What is this place?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Furnished apartment building owned 
                         by the Indians. We get special rates. 
                         With what we're makin' we'll need 
                         it.

               The Cabbie pulls to a stop and points to the other side of 
               the street.

<b>                                     CABBIE
</b>                         That's it.

               Taylor and the others turn to see a dismal, run-down building 
               with a neon sign that says "The Turk."

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Welcome to the Big Leagues.

<b>               INT. THE TURK - DAY
</b>
               Jake goes to a pay phone in the hall and dials the number 
               Lynn gave him.

<b>                                     VOICE ON PHONE
</b>                         Hello, Cuyahoga Sheet Metal.

               Taylor doesn't like the sound of this.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         You got anybody workin' there named 
                         Lynn Wells?

<b>                                     VOICE ON PHONE
</b>                         Never heard of her.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Didn't think so.

               Taylor hangs up, staring off into space.

<b>               INT. THE INDIANS' LOCKER ROOM - DAY
</b>
               Various players are dressing out for the game. We PICK UP 
               Cerrano putting on his undergarments. They're all black, 
               including his jock. Dorn reads the Wall Street Journal, while 
               Taylor sits on the trainer's table getting his knees taped.

               Hayes checks the fit of his new uniform from every angle in 
               a mirror. He thinks he looks pretty good. Vaughn just squeezes 
               a baseball in his left hand, obviously a little uptight. 
               Taylor gives him a chuck on the shoulder.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Take it easy. We got 162 of these to 
                         go.

               Lou Brown enters the locker room.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         All right, let's gather 'round.

               The players turn their attention to Brown.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I'm not much for inspirational 
                         addresses. I just wanta point out 
                         that every newspaper in the country 
                         has picked us to finish last. The 
                         local press thinks we'd save everybody 
                         a lot of time and trouble if we just 
                         went out and shot ourselves. Me, I 
                         like to waste sportswriters' time so 
                         I'm for hangin' around and seein' if 
                         we can give all these guys a nice 
                         big shitburger to eat.

               Cheers all around.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         Aren't we gonna have a prayer? I 
                         mean we're not all savages like 
                         Cerrano.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         You guys go ahead. I belong to the 
                         church of three-run homers.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         All right, let's bow our heads.

               Many of the players follow suit. Suddenly the silence is 
               shattered by a loud explosive SOUND, scaring the hell out of 
               everybody. All eyes turn to Cerrano, who has just set off a 
               charge of gunpowder on his locker altar.

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         Have to wake up bats.

               Disgusted, Harris and the others turn back to their prayers.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         Dear Lord, we ask...

               Harris never gets to finish. The smoke rising from Cerrano's 
               gunpowder explosion sets off the automatic sprinklers in the 
               ceiling. As Harris and the faithful look up into the downpour, 
               we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               EXT. MUNICIPAL STADIUM - DAY
</b>
               The stands are nearly empty. Of the fans who have showed up, 
               many wear doormats around their necks.

               Bobby, Vic, Johnny and Thelma, our four fans from the diner, 
               sit alone in the vast expanse of the centerfield bleachers. 
               All four wear Indian head dresses and have war paint on their 
               faces. The three men each have tom-toms. Thelma works on her 
               needlepoint.

<b>                                     JOHNNY
</b>                         You read the Plain Dealer today? 
                         They said this is gonna be the worst 
                         Indian team we've had in years.

<b>                                     THELMA
</b>                         Everybody laughs at the Indians now, 
                         but there were other times. Even won 
                         the Series in '48. Then Willie Mays 
                         made that catch on Vic Wertz in the 
                         '54 Series and Cleveland's never 
                         been the same since.

<b>                                     JOHNNY
</b>                         As the Indians go so goes Cleveland, 
                         huh?

<b>                                     THELMA
</b>                         If we ever lost the Indians, Cleveland 
                         would die.

<b>               INT. MUNICIPAL STADIUM PRESS BOX - DAY
</b>
               We get our fist glimpse of HARRY DOYLE, the Indians' 55-year-
               old radio announcer. Harry's never walked past a bar in anger. 
               He's been with the Indians through thin and thinner.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                              (on the air)
                         Hello, everybody, Harry Doyle here, 
                         welcoming all you Friends of the 
                         Feather to another season of Indians 
                         baseball.
                              (pouring some Jack 
                              Daniels in his Coke)
                         A lotta new faces for the tribe this 
                         year, as they take on the defending 
                         American League champs, the New York 
                         Yankees. And listen to the roar of 
                         the crowd as the Indians takes the 
                         field!

               Doyle leans out the press box window with his mike, trying 
               to pick up the sound of a couple guys CLAPPING down below.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Yes, sir, they love this club here 
                         in Cleveland.

               Doyle takes a hit of his spiked Coke.

<b>               DOWN ON THE FIELD
</b>
<b>               A YANKEE HITTER
</b>
               flies out to Hayes, who makes a "basket" catch a la Willie 
               Mays.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         High fly ball, centerfield. Hayes 
                         under it now... Oh, makes a basket 
                         catch, Willie Mays style, and the 
                         side is retired.

<b>               THE INDIAN DUGOUT
</b>
               The team comes in off the field to much enthusiasm and back-
               slapping.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         All right, way to look, way to look. 
                         Nice catch, Hayes. Don't ever fuckin' 
                         do it again. Okay, let's get it goin'!

<b>               DOYLE IN THE PRESS BOX
</b>
<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Bottom of the first, Willie Mays 
                         Hayes to lead it off for the tribe.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               going through his warmup routine at the plate.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         A lotta people say you can tell how 
                         a season's gonna go by the first 
                         hitter of the year. In the last 
                         fifteen years, the Indians have never 
                         had the season lead-off hitter reach 
                         base.

               Hayes is in the batter's box now. The Yankee pitcher winds 
               and fires. Hayes swings and hits a little dribbler toward 
               the second baseman, who races in and scoops it up bare-handed.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Hot shot toward the hole. Rudia knocks 
                         it down, gets up, fires to first. 
                         Too late! Hayes beats it!

               Doyle leans out the window again trying to pick up some 
               cheering.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         And so the string is broken. Maybe 
                         things will turn around a little for 
                         the Indians this year.

<b>               THE BLEACHERS
</b>
               Our four fans (from here on known as the Bleacher Band), 
               overjoyed by Hayes' hit, start beating the tom-toms and 
               singing a fight song they've composed called "In the Land Of 
               Burning Waters" to the tune of the old Hamms Beer jingle.

<b>                                     BLEACHER BAND
</b>                         In the land of burning waters, waters 
                         Lurks the Injun nine, oh so fine, we 
                         Love those mighty Redmen, Turn their 
                         foes to dead men, Ummmmm.

<b>               FIRST BASE AREA
</b>
               as Hayes comes back to the bag, where the Yankee FIRST BASEMAN 
               is waiting for him.

<b>                                     FIRST BASEMAN
</b>                         Showed some real power on that one, 
                         Slugger.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         I plan to get at least a double out 
                         of it.

               Hayes reaches in his back pocket and pulls out one of the 
               pairs of black leather gloves he bought earlier.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         And now Hayes is putting on a pair 
                         of black gloves, sending a little 
                         message to the Yankees.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                              (to the First Baseman)
                         Bought a hundred of these, one for 
                         each base I plan to steal. Excuse 
                         me, here, I gotta take my first step 
                         toward the Hall of Fame.

               Hayes takes his lead-off and crouches, ready to steal.

<b>                                     FIRST BASEMAN
</b>                         You look real sharp, but you'll never 
                         steal second with your shoe untied.

               Hayes looks down at his shoe. It's not untied. He notices 
               too late that the PITCHER is throwing over to pick him off.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Brewster, quick move to first...

               Hayes dives back for the bag, but never gets there; his face 
               smashing up against the First Baseman's glove, which is 
               already holding the ball.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         He got him. Hayes is picked off.

<b>                                     FIRST BASEMAN
</b>                         Nice base running, dildo. Hard to 
                         get your thumb out of your ass with 
                         the gloves on.

               Hayes lies in the dust humiliated.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Well, so much for that.

               Doyle takes a long pull on his Coke and we GO INTO A MONTAGE 
               depicting the Indians' progressive disintegration in this 
               game. We see:

               A) THREE FIELDERS converging on a short pop fly into left 
               field. They all collide and go down in a heap as the ball 
               drops untouched.

               B) DORN playing a grounder off his hip. He fumbles it, picks 
               it up, fumbles it again. No play.

               C) TAYLOR crouched behind the plate, but up off his haunches, 
               ready to throw. We hear the voice of his thoughts.

<b>                                     TAYLOR'S VOICE
</b>                         Guy's goin'. Gotta be goin'... get 
                         the throw up. Don't bounce the damn 
                         ball.

               The runner on first takes off as the pitch comes in. Taylor 
               catches the ball and fires down to second. The ball sails 
               three feet over the second baseman's head and on into center 
               field. Taylor stands there, disgusted.

<b>                                     TAYLOR'S VOICE
</b>                         Nice throw, dickhead.

               D) CERRANO striking out on a curve ball. He bawls his bat 
               out on the way to the dugout.

               E) THE THREE FIELDERS we saw before, converging on another 
               pop fly into short left. This time all three dive off at the 
               last instant to avoid a collision. Once again the ball drops 
               untouched.

<b>               END MONTAGE.
</b>
<b>               THE SCOREBOARD
</b>
               It shows Yankees 4, Indians 0 after five innings.

<b>               DOYLE UP IN THE BOOTH
</b>
               There are two empty Coca-Cola cups near the mike. He's working 
               on a third.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Top of the sixth. Rookie sensation, 
                         Ricky Vaughn, on to pitch now. You 
                         can close the book on Winters...

               Vaughn stands on the mound rubbing up the baseball with the 
               same intensity we saw in the locker room.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Easy does it, Ricky. We're only four 
                         down. We're still in this thing.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         Don't worry if you're off the plate 
                         on a few pitches. Doesn't hurt to 
                         put the fear of God in a hitter.

               Vaughn nods and continues to grind the ball as Pepper and 
               Taylor leave. The Yankee Hitter steps in.

               Vaughn winds and fires a screamer. Taylor has to leap high 
               to come down with it.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         First pitch is a little high...

               The Yankee Hitter is slightly unnerved by this pitch.

<b>                                     YANKEE HITTER
</b>                         This guy kinda wild?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I figure you got a 30% chance to 
                         survive this at bat.

               ANOTHER PITCH to the Yankee hitter. It's outside.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Ball four.

               ANOTHER PITCH to a SECOND YANKEE HITTER. It's low.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Ball eight.

               ANOTHER PITCH to a THIRD YANKEE HITTER. He has to jump over 
               it.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Low, and Vaughn has walked the bases 
                         loaded on twelve straight pitches. 
                         By the laws of probability, you'd 
                         think one of those coulda drifted 
                         over the plate.

<b>               THE BLEACHER BAND
</b>
               Bobby gives the downbeat and, in honor of Vaughn, the three 
               men stand to pound out a version of "Wild Thing" on the tom-
               toms. Bobby does the vocal.

<b>                                     BOBBY
</b>                         Wild thing, You make my heart sing, 
                         You walk everything.

               Pepper has reached the mound...

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         Okay kid. I think we got 'em scared 
                         enough now. Time to get a few of 'em 
                         out.

               Vaughn nods. He's plenty upset with himself.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         Just relax, and keep the arm up on 
                         top. Gotta throw strikes. No place 
                         at the inn for this guy.

               He gives Vaughn a pat on the butt, and goes back to the 
               dugout.

               The Yankee hitter, HAYWOOD, stands in. He's the first baseman 
               who tagged Hayes out.

<b>                                     HAYWOOD
</b>                         Hey, Taylor, what you doin' back up 
                         here?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Couldn't cut it in the Mexican League.

               Vaughn, determined to throw a strike, winds and delivers. 
               The ball is a perfect strike, right down the middle.

               Haywood crushes it to deep left field. Vaughn drops his head, 
               not even bothering to look.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Oh, shit...

               The ball lands in the second deck; a grand slam home run.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                              (to Brown)
                         Looked like a strike anyway. You 
                         want me to go get him?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         No, let's see how he reacts.

               Vaughn paces around on the mound, rubbing up the ball. The 
               next hitter, COLEMAN, steps in. Vaughn gets up on the rubber, 
               his face set. He winds up and fires one right into Coleman's 
               back. Coleman goes down in a hurry.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Interesting.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         At least he hit what he was aimin' 
                         at.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I think you can go get him now.

               Both benches are up on the dugout steps ready to come out. 
               The only thing holding them back is that Coleman is being 
               tended to by the trainer.

               The home plate umpire thumbs Vaughn out of the game. Vaughn 
               comes down to protest, but Pepper quickly grabs him and 
               hurries him off the field.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         C'mon, kid. As soon as Coleman gets 
                         up, he's gonna be lookin' for you.

               Coleman finally gets to his feet, still a little shaken. He 
               looks around for Vaughn, but he's already disappeared into 
               the dugout. Coleman walks down to first under his own power.

               Brown signals for a new pitcher and the players on both sides 
               begin to return to the benches.

<b>               VAUGHN
</b>
               walking alone down the tunnel to the locker room. He angrily 
               knocks one of the overhead light bulbs out with his glove.

<b>               DOYLE IN THE PRESS BOX - LATER THAT NIGHT
</b>
               He now has five empty cups next to the mike, plus a near-
               empty bottle of Jack Daniel's.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         So, a tough start for the Erie 
                         warriors, as they drop a heartbreaker 
                         to the Yankees, nine to nothing. The 
                         Post Game Show was brought to you 
                         by...
                              (searching for the 
                              paper)
                         Christ. I can't find it. The hell 
                         with it. This is Harry Doyle saying 
                         good night, everybody, and Happy 
                         Hunting.

               With that Doyle passes out on his face.

<b>               RACHEL PHELPS
</b>
               in her private box at the stadium. With her are Donovan and 
               Butler.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                              (getting up to leave)
                         We're off to a good start, gentlemen. 
                         Let's keep it up.

               We GO TO Donovan. He watches Rachel go in disgust.

<b>               INT. THE CASCADE BAR - NIGHT
</b>
               Taylor, Hayes and Vaughn are in a booth, having a beer. Vaughn 
               is still in a funk.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         God, I was horse shit tonight.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Only thing you got to be sorry about 
                         was hittin' Coleman.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         What?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         If you wanted to send a message, it 
                         shoulda been to Haywood. He hit the 
                         damn homer. Coleman was just picking 
                         his nose in the on-deck circle.

               Vaughn nods slowly.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Forget the other stuff. It coulda 
                         happened to anybody. Besides, Haywood 
                         didn't hit it that good. That ball 
                         wouldn't have been out of a lotta 
                         parks.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Oh yeh, name one.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (after a pause)
                         Yellowstone.

               Vaughn just looks at Taylor a second and then smiles in spite 
               of himself.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Shit...

<b>               EXT. CLEVELAND MUNICIPAL LIBRARY - DAY
</b>
               We see Taylor walking up the steps and through the massive 
               front door.

<b>               INT. CLEVELAND LIBRARY - DAY
</b>
               We PICK UP Taylor making his way past the circulation desk. 
               He glances around and finds what he's looking for: Lynn, 
               talking to one of the reference librarians. She finishes her 
               conversation and turns, to find herself face to face with 
               Taylor. She's wearing her tortoise-shell glasses.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (hushed)
                         Jake, you shouldn't have come here.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I was wonderin' why you'd give an 
                         old friend a bum phone number.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Let's talk in my office, okay?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I don't wanna talk in your office.

               Lynn starts to walk. We'll FOLLOW them as they make their 
               way through the library. Lynn tries to keep the conversation 
               hushed. Taylor could give a shit.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         I told you I don't think it's a good 
                         idea for us to see each other.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Why not?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         We don't have anything in common. 
                         Sometimes I wonder if we ever did.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         What are you talkin' about? We were 
                         both athletes, world class, hot for 
                         each other. What more can you have 
                         in common?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         I stopped bein' an athlete three 
                         years ago. Books are my life now.

               Jake suppresses a smile.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Don't you dare laugh, Jake. In two 
                         years I've put together one of the 
                         best special collections departments 
                         in the country.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         So what is it? You're still sore I 
                         never read Moby Dick?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         You never read anything I asked you 
                         to.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Not like what's-his-name at the 
                         restaurant?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         His name is Tom, and keep your voice 
                         down.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         What do ya see in this guy?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         He's stable. He's intelligent... and 
                         I've never found him in bed with a 
                         stewardess.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         That's 'cause no stewardess would 
                         have him. Wouldn't you rather be 
                         with somebody who's in demand?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Just like always, you don't take 
                         anything seriously. Everything's a 
                         joke to you.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         C'mon, Lynn, for Christ sake, I'm 
                         just tryin' to loosen things up a 
                         little. I'm gettin' frostbite here.

               Lynn stops and turns to face him.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Tom and I are getting married in the 
                         fall.

               Taylor is momentarily floored by the revelation.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         What? That's crazy, Lynn. I got plans 
                         for us.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (walking again)
                         What plans?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I was gonna play another a year or 
                         two, then we go to Hawaii, and have 
                         a couple kids who grow up to be 
                         Olympic champions.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (stopping again)
                         How can you think stuff like that? I 
                         haven't seen you in two years. You 
                         never even wrote me a letter.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I'm sorry, Lynn, but I wasn't exactly 
                         proud of my situation. C'mon, you 
                         didn't think about me at all since I 
                         been gone?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (walking again)
                         Not so loud, Jake.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Remember the three nights we spent 
                         on the beach in Vera Cruz? You have 
                         nights like that with Mr. Briefcase?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (stopping again)
                         What about the night you had in 
                         Detroit with Miss Dairy Queen?

               They're in the large reading room now.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         What was I supposed to do? She bet 
                         me fifty bucks she had a better body 
                         than you. I had to defend your honor.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (whirling on him and 
                              exploding)
                         What a bunch of bullshit!
                              (exasperated)
                         I have a much better body than she 
                         does.

               With this the whole reading room turns around and stares at 
               her. Lynn is mortified by her outburst. Taylor tries to smooth 
               it over.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (addressing the library 
                              patrons)
                         She's right. Take it from me, she 
                         really does. I mean Miss Dairy Queen 
                         has quantity, I give her that, but 
                         the, ah, quality just isn't there.

               Nice job, Jake. Lynn is still mortified.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         How many think Lynn oughta give me 
                         another shot?

               Most of the hands in the room shoot up.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         The ayes have it.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (walking off again)
                         You haven't changed at all, have 
                         you?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I'm afraid I have or I wouldn't be 
                         here. C'mon, Lynn, I don't wanna do 
                         time for things that happened years 
                         ago.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (turning back to him)
                         I'm sorry, Jake. You'll always be 
                         the little boy who wouldn't grow up.

               Lynn starts off for her office door.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Lynn, wait...

               Lynn continues on into her office. As the door closes, we GO 
               TO Taylor's forlorn face.

<b>               INT. RACHEL PHELPS' OFFICE - DAY
</b>
               Rachel is in closed-door session with Donovan.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         A quarter of the season's gone, we're 
                         15 and 24, seven games out of first. 
                         Our attendance is just below 180,000. 
                         That's bad, but not bad enough.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Projected over the whole season, we 
                         stand to wind up 36 games under .500 
                         and 28 out of first. That should be 
                         bad enough for anybody.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         We finished 24 out last year and 
                         still drew 890,000. When school's 
                         out for the summer, attendance is 
                         liable to rise. Plus, this team is 
                         showing signs of improvement. I didn't 
                         think we'd win 15 games all year. 
                         Any ideas?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         On how we can get worse?
                              (sarcastic)
                         How about a series of fines for good 
                         play? Maybe a $30,000 bonus to the 
                         guy chosen Least Valuable Player.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         This is no laughing matter, Donovan.
                              (pause)
                         I think maybe the problem is we're 
                         coddling these guys too much.

               As Donovan wonders what she means by that, we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               INT. CLEVELAND AIRPORT - DAY
</b>
               We PICK UP Taylor, Hayes, Vaughn and the other Indians coming 
               down a corridor to their plane.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         What's with this? We never leave 
                         from this terminal.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Maybe the other one's jammed up.

               They come through the gate where they see two American 
               Airlines jets on the tarmac.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                              (pointing to the jets)
                         Which one is ours?

<b>                                     GATEMAN
</b>                         That one.

               The gateman points off-screen. Suddenly, an old DC-3, with 
               the Indian logo on it, pulls into frame.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               INT. THE DC-3 - NIGHT
</b>
               This one was obviously bought from the military. The seats 
               are 40's Army issue, and the ribs of the fuselage are exposed. 
               The plane is bobbing and lurching through a ferocious storm.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         What is this, Lou?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Front office says it's an economy 
                         measure, 'cause we're not drawin' 
                         good.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Well, they certainly have spared 
                         every expense.

               We PICK UP Cerrano crossing himself. Harris sees it.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         Oh, so now you come around.
                              (pointing up)
                         He's not fooled.

               Hayes sits petrified in his chair, his knuckles whitening on 
               the arm rest.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Call the stewardess, Vaughn. I need 
                         one of those bags.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         There aren't any stewardesses.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         I wonder if there's any pilots.

<b>               INT. MILWAUKEE STADIUM - PRESS BOX -DAY
</b>
               We PICK UP Doyle doing the play-by-play of the Indians' next 
               game. He can barely keep his eyes open.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Two down, top of the ninth. Last 
                         chance for the red and blue.

<b>               THE FIELD
</b>
               The Brewer pitcher delivers and a Cleveland player hits a 
               ground ball to the Brewer Second Baseman who throws him out.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Bouncing ball to second. This should 
                         be it. Collins up with it, on to 
                         first, and the game is over.

<b>               DOYLE
</b>
               in the press box again.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         So, the Sons of Geronimo, still 
                         suffering a bit from propeller lag, 
                         are nipped by the Tigers tonight, 7 
                         to 0. The only excitement for the 
                         tribe provided by Rick Vaughn who 
                         set an American League record by 
                         throwing four wild pitches in one 
                         inning. Congratulations, Rick. For 
                         the Tigers, 5 runs, 9 hits, and no 
                         errors. For the Indians, one run, 
                         and let's see, one hit.
                              (to his Stat Man)
                         Is that all we got, one fucking hit?

<b>                                     STAT MAN
</b>                              (whispering)
                         You can't say "fuckin'" on the air.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Don't worry about it. Nobody's 
                         listening anyway.

<b>               INT. HOTEL BAR - NIGHT
</b>
               Dorn and Harris are at one table; Taylor and Vaughn at one 
               across the way.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         Who you got lined up tonight?

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Where are we? Kansas City, right? 
                         Gotta be Arlene

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         You call her?

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Don't have to. She knows when I'm in 
                         town.

<b>               TAYLOR AND VAUGHN
</b>
<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I'm about ready to turn in. I've 
                         anesthetized my knees enough.

               A GUY from the bar approaches the table.

<b>                                     GUY
</b>                         Excuse me, Mr. Vaughn, can I have 
                         your autograph?

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Ah... yeh... sure.
                              (signing)
                         My first autograph. I couldn't give 
                         these away a couple weeks ago.

<b>                                     GUY
</b>                         I saw your record on the news. You 
                         made their Hall of Shame. 
                         Congratulations.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                              (embarrassed)
                         Thanks.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         You're a celebrity now, Vaughn.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I thought you had to do somethin' 
                         good to be a celebrity.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Not if you do it colorfully.

<b>               DORN AND HARRIS
</b>
<b>                                     DORN
</b>                              (pointing to the door)
                         What'd I tell ya.

               We GO TO the door to find ARLENE standing with two friends, 
               RENE and VICKI. ARLENE is a looker alright, 27, and seriously 
               built. She cases the room, spies Dorn and comes over to his 
               table.

<b>                                     ARLENE
</b>                         Hi, Rodger. This is Vicki and Rene.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Hi, doll. This is Steve Harris.

<b>                                     ARLENE
</b>                         Where's your buddy Gant?

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                              (indicating Vaughn)
                         They cut him to make room for bristle 
                         boy over there.

<b>                                     ARLENE
</b>                              (looking over at Vaughn)
                         Is that Vaughn, the guy they call 
                         Wild Thing?

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                              (in disgust)
                         Yeh.

<b>                                     ARLENE
</b>                         He's kinda cute. They say he could 
                         be a big star.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         What are you talkin' about? He 
                         couldn't find the plate if it was 
                         magnetized. He won't last the year.

<b>                                     ARLENE
</b>                         He struck out five in a row before 
                         the wild pitches.
                              (taking her leave)
                         Maybe I'll check him out.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                              (grabbing her)
                         Wait a minute, you're with me.

               Taylor watches this exchange from across the room.

<b>                                     ARLENE
</b>                         I don't remember you makin' any date.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Since when do I have to make a date? 
                         Who's been showin' you this town the 
                         last three years?

<b>                                     ARLENE
</b>                         Ancient history, Rodger. I gotta 
                         look out for myself now. I don't 
                         have to be a slave to no .235 hitter.

               ARLENE pulls away and heads for the jukebox as Dorn seethes. 
               She punches a button and we hear X's version of "WILD THING."

               ARLENE sashays right up to Vaughn in time with the music.

<b>                                     ARLENE
</b>                         Wild Thing, you make my heart sing.

               ARLENE knows how to make the big entrance. Vaughn's slightly 
               overwhelmed.

<b>               DORN
</b>
               taking this all in from across the room. Taylor comes up 
               next to him.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Guess we're over with, eh, Dorn?

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Speak for yourself, Taylor. I got a 
                         couple good years left.

<b>               INT. THE INDIANS' DC-3 - NIGHT
</b>
               We PICK UP Taylor in his seat, glasses on, reading something 
               by the light of a flashlight rigged up to the back of his 
               seat. We MOVE to reveal it -- the Classics Illustrated comic 
               book of "Moby Dick."

               Hayes wanders by, an air-sick bag hanging around his neck.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         "Moby Dick?" What is that?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         It's one of the masterpieces of 
                         American literature, that's all.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Lynn put you on to this?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Long time ago.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Well, we're goin' to a club tonight. 
                         You wanna come along?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         No, I got some more reading to do.

               Taylor indicates a stack of Classic Comics next to him.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         What, you got a test or somethin'? 
                         Why don't you just go over and see 
                         her? Maybe she'll let you slide on a 
                         couple of these.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I might if I knew where she lives.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Easy. Tail her home from the library.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         You mean sit in a car and wait for 
                         her to come out? That's kinda 
                         juvenile, don't you think?

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                              (as if that had 
                              anything to do with 
                              it)
                         Yeh.

<b>               EXT. CLEVELAND LIBRARY - LATE AFTERNOON
</b>
               Taylor sits in his car, across the street from the employee 
               entrance of the library. He scrunches down a bit as Lynn 
               comes out of the building and heads for her car. She gets in 
               and we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               SERIES OF SHOTS OF LYNN
</b>
               driving through the city with Taylor following at a discrete 
               distance. Finally, Lynn pulls up outside an expensive-looking 
               townhouse. Taylor pulls up further down the street and watches 
               her go inside, debating whether to go in after her.

<b>               INT. CLEVELAND BAR - EARLY EVENING
</b>
               Taylor's having a beer, still trying to decide whether to go 
               see her or not.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               pulling up outside the townhouse he saw Lynn go into. He 
               goes up the stairs and knocks on the door.

               Lynn answers, looking more dressed up than when she left the 
               library. She's surprised to see Taylor.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Look, Lynn, I'm sorry I followed you 
                         home but I wanna...

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (hurried)
                         This isn't my place...

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Whose place is it?

               Before Lynn can answer, Tom appears at the door.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         Who's there, love?
                              (spying Taylor)
                         Oh, Mr. Taylor, right?
                              (pointedly)
                         I remember you from the restaurant. 
                         Lynn's told me a lot about you. Why 
                         don't you come in for a while?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Nah, that's o.k., I got some things 
                         to do...

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Yeh, he's gotta be goin'...

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         No, really, come on in for a drink.

               Before Taylor can beg off further, Tom ushers him inside and 
               closes the door. In the room are two other couples: ARTHUR 
               HOLLOWAY, a senior partner in Tom's firm and his wife CLAIRE, 
               and BRENT BOWDEN, another lawyer in the firm and a 
               contemporary of Tom's. His wife is JANICE. This is a very 
               upscale group.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         Excuse me, everybody, this is Jake 
                         Taylor.
                              (making the intros)
                         Jake, Arthur and Claire Holloway 
                         Brent and Janice Bowden. Jake is a 
                         professional baseball player.

               Polite nods from the group, except for Janice, who seems 
               somewhat intrigued.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         So, Jake, what brings you here this 
                         evening?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I, ah, just had a couple books I 
                         wanted to discuss with Lynn. I thought 
                         this was her place.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         Well, it soon will be.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh, I heard you guys were engaged. 
                         Congratulations.

               Taylor sticks out his hand. Tom's not sure whether Taylor's 
               putting him on or not. He shakes anyway.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         Thank you. What can I get you to 
                         drink?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Beer'll be fine.

               Tom goes off to get the beer.

<b>                                     JACK
</b>                         What team do you play for, Jake?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         The Indians.

<b>                                     CLAIRE
</b>                         Here in Cleveland? I didn't know 
                         they still had a team.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh, we have uniforms and everything. 
                         It's really great.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                              (handing Jake his 
                              beer)
                         They're last right now, but hopefully 
                         moving up, eh, Jake?

               Tom clinks his glass with Jake's beer, the slight 
               condescension in his manner not lost on Taylor. Lynn is 
               uncomfortable with this whole situation. Janice moves a bit 
               closer to Taylor. It's obvious she finds him attractive.

<b>                                     JANICE
</b>                         I'm told that baseball players make 
                         very good salaries these days.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         That depends on how good they are, I 
                         guess.

<b>                                     JANICE
</b>                         How good are you?

               Lynn is irritated by Janice's directness.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I make the League minimum.

               Tom and the others react as if Taylor's just announced a 
               death in the family.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         He was one of the best in baseball 
                         until he had problems with his knees.

               Everyone is somewhat surprised by Lynn's quick defense of 
               Taylor, including Lynn herself.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         What are you going to do when your 
                         career ends? I mean you can't play 
                         baseball forever, can you?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Somethin'll come up.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         Will it?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I don't know, I was thinkin' of goin' 
                         to Hawaii, and having a couple of 
                         kids who grow up to be Olympic 
                         champions.

<b>                                     JACK
</b>                         Oh really. In what event?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Swimming. Maybe the two hundred meter 
                         Individual Medley. I figure it oughta 
                         be big by then.

               Jack just nods. He never heard of it.

<b>                                     BRENT
</b>                         You got the girl picked out?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I did, but I wasn't smart enough to 
                         hold on to her.

               Lynn's eyes drop to the floor.

<b>                                     BRENT
</b>                         You used to be an athlete, didn't 
                         you, Lynn?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (not wanting to pursue 
                              it)
                         Yes.

<b>                                     BRENT
</b>                         What did you do?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (reluctant)
                         Two Hundred Individual medley.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Alternate on the '80 Olympic Team.

               A tense silence settles on the group.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Well, I gotta be goin'. Nice to have 
                         met you all.

               Taylor exchanges a quick glance with Lynn and heads for the 
               door.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         Let me walk you out.

               Tom accompanies Taylor to the door, out of earshot of the 
               others.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Thanks for the beer.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         Don't mention it.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I'll let you know if I land a good 
                         job. I know you're concerned about 
                         it.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         Yeh, well, I just wanted Lynn to 
                         know what she would've had ahead of 
                         her.

               Tom sticks out his hand. The two men shake to keep up 
               appearances for their onlookers across the room.

<b>                                     TOM
</b>                         Stay away from her.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (smiling)
                         Suck my dick.

<b>               INT. VAUGHN'S ROOM - DAY
</b>
               Vaughn and Hayes are watching a soap opera on an old black 
               and white TV. Pepper pops his head in.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         Lou wants to see you down at the 
                         office, Rick.

               Vaughn looks somewhat apprehensively at Hayes.

<b>               INT. LOU BROWN'S OFFICE - DAY
</b>
               Brown is lost in thought at his desk. Vaughn appears at the 
               door like a boy expecting a spanking.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         C'mon in, Rick.

               Vaughn comes in and takes a seat. He's worried.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Rick, I'm not gonna beat around the 
                         bush here. You got a great arm, one 
                         of the best I've ever seen, but your 
                         control hasn't come around like we 
                         hoped it would.

               Vaughn nods contritely.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Now, there are a lotta pitchers that 
                         started out wild and, after workin' 
                         it out in the minors, for a while, 
                         went on to great careers.
                              (pointing to a picture 
                              on the wall)
                         Take Sandy Koufax there...

               Vaughn looks at the picture on the wall. He squints slightly. 
               Brown notices it.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         What about Koufax?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Never mind Koufax.

               Brown quickly prints some big letters on a legal pad and 
               goes to stand about fifteen feet from Vaughn.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Read these letters, starting at the 
                         top.

               Vaughn balks a second and then concentrates on the pad, 
               squinting. Unsettled, he squints harder. He even tries closing 
               one eye.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Can't read it, can you?

               Vaughn shakes his head no.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         You gonna send me to the minors?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Nope.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               INT. CLEVELAND LOCKER ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
               Taylor, Hayes, Vaughn and the others are dressing out for 
               the game. Vaughn is wearing his glasses.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         These things make me look ridiculous.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Drop in the bucket, Vaughn.

               Meanwhile, Cerrano is sharpening a long knife at his locker.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         What's that for?

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         Gin and cigarettes not enough for Jo-
                         Buu. I still can no hit curva ball 
                         for sheet. I hafta make a sacrifice 
                         to him.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Sacrifice? You mean like something 
                         living?

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         Si. I kill unborn children.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         Not while I'm here you're not. That's 
                         murder.

               Cerrano pulls the unborn chicken out of his pocket -- a common 
               store bought egg. Harris is a little embarrassed at his 
               outburst.

               Cerrano touches the egg to his forehead, then places it on 
               his altar. In one swift motion he slams the knife down on 
               it, cutting it into two perfect halves. Taylor and the others 
               are agape at a knife sharp enough to do this. As the yolk 
               spreads out on the altar, Brown emerges from his office.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         All right, let's hit the field.

               The locker room quickly empties, leaving one man behind -- 
               Harris. He looks around to make sure everyone is gone, then 
               tiptoes over to Cerrano's locker. Screwing up his courage, 
               he picks up Jo-Buu's cup of gin.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         Here's looking at ya, Jo-Buu.

               He bolts it down, then backs into the middle of the room, 
               waiting at the ready, as if half-expecting a bolt of 
               lightning. When nothing happens, he gloats at the fetish 
               doll in triumph.

<b>               HARRIS
</b>
               strutting out of the dugout, feeling like a million bucks. 
               As he emerges onto the field, a Hitter in the batting cage 
               swings and misses, the bat slipping out of his hands. Away 
               it flies, whirling off down the third base line in a wide 
               arc. It hits Harris in the back of the head and knocks him 
               cold.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               HARRIS
</b>
               watching the game from the dugout, a zip-lock baggie full of 
               ice-cubes strapped to his head.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         We're in the ninth, two down, man on 
                         first and the Indians clinging to a 
                         one run lead. VAUGHAN, one out away 
                         from his first major league victory...

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               VAUGHAN
</b>
               Vaughn, wearing his new glasses, paces the mound nervously. 
               He goes to the rosin bag, wipes his brow, shakes out his 
               arm. Finally up on the rubber, he gets the sign from Taylor, 
               goes to his stretch, checks the runner and fires to the plate.

<b>               THE OAKLAND BATTER
</b>
               swings and hits a grounder between third and short. Dorn 
               moves to his left, but the ball goes past his glove and into 
               left field. There is some question as to whether Dorn really 
               gave it a full effort.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Bouncing ball, Dorn can't get to it, 
                         into left field, base hit. Clarke 
                         digging around second, he'll make it 
                         to third, and the A's have runners 
                         at the corners.

               Vaughn stomps around on the mound, obviously upset. He glares 
               at Dorn a beat before getting back on the mound. Dorn's face 
               is non-commital. Brown paces in the dugout.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         You want me to go get him?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         No, he's come this far. Let's see if 
                         he can finish it.

               Doyle downs a little more rum and coke in the press box.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Vaughn in a little trouble here, but 
                         I'll tell ya, these Cleveland fans 
                         are great. Listen to them get behind 
                         Vaughn.

               Doyle imitates the sound of a crowd cheering with his own 
               voice, punctuated by whistles and clapping.

<b>               THE BLEACHER BAND
</b>
               Thelma calmly knits her blanket with the scores of all the 
               Indians' games stitched into it, the Madame La Farge of 
               Cleveland. The boys, however, are a little restless.

<b>                                     BOBBY
</b>                         We need some defense here. Maybe we 
                         oughta do a wave.

<b>                                     JOHNNY
</b>                         C'mon, Indians don't do waves. Let's 
                         keep this thing pure.

<b>                                     VIC
</b>                         What harm could it do?

<b>               REXMAN
</b>
               The next Oakland hitter, steps in. Taylor flashes a sign. 
               Vaughn comes to the stretch and delivers. High, ball one. 
               The runner on first goes down to second without a throw, the 
               pitch being too tough to handle.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Runner goes, high, Taylor has no 
                         play. The go-ahead and potential 
                         winning run is in scoring position.

               Taylor walks out in front of the plate to throw the ball 
               back to Vaughn.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Forget the runners, Ricky, get this 
                         guy at the plate.

               Taylor goes back behind the dish. Vaughn gets up on the 
               rubber. He winds and comes to the plate. Way high this time.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         High ball two, and the crowd doesn't 
                         like that call one bit.

               Doyle imitates the sound of a crowd booing. Taylor, meanwhile, 
               has gone out to the mound.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Okay, let's get nasty here, Rick. 
                         You know he's lookin' for this pitch. 
                         Gotta come up with somethin' studly.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Fuckin' Dorn. Game shoulda been over 
                         by now. Dorn coulda had that ball. 
                         He tanked it on purpose.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         This isn't the California Penal 
                         League, Vaughn. We're professionals 
                         here. We don't tank a play for 
                         personal reasons, so cut the crybaby 
                         shit. You've pitched a helluva game. 
                         You wanna finish it, don't ya?

               Vaughn nods.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Can you give me a strike on this 
                         pitch?

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Yeh, but I don't know if there'll be 
                         much on it. My arm feels like jello.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Just make sure it's over the plate. 
                         I want him to swing.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         The last time I did that, the guy 
                         hit one that hasn't landed yet.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Don't worry, I'll take care of it.

               Taylor starts back toward the plate, and then stops.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         By the way, I been meaning to ask 
                         you. Why'd you steal that car?

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I was bored.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Next time you might think about takin' 
                         in a movie or somethin'.

               Vaughn permits himself a little smile and release from the 
               tension. Taylor smiles back, and trots off toward the plate.

<b>               THE BLEACHER BAND
</b>
               Bobby and Vic are doing a two-man wave. When one sits down, 
               the other stands up.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               has settled in behind the plate now. He starts talking to 
               the batter, Rexman.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Helluva situation we got goin' here, 
                         huh, Rexman? Two on, two out, you're 
                         down by a run in the ninth. You got 
                         a chance to be a hero on national 
                         television, so whatever you do, don't 
                         blow it. They'll be callin' you a 
                         gutless choke artist all over America.

               Rexman shoots Taylor a wicked glance.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         You're a free agent at the end of 
                         the year. Not much demand for gutless 
                         choke artists. What are you hittin' 
                         now? .230? .240?

<b>                                     REXMAN
</b><b>                         .316.
</b>
<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Hey, nice average. Uh oh, on second 
                         thought, that still means you got a 
                         seven outta ten chance of goin' in 
                         the dumper.

               Rexman, slightly irritated, backs out of the box.

<b>                                     REXMAN
</b>                         Shut up, will ya, Taylor?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Hey, I can understand not wantin' to 
                         talk about baseball when your nuts 
                         are in a vice like this.

               Rexman gets back in the box.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         By the way, I saw your wife at the 
                         Capri Lounge last night. Hell of a 
                         dancer. You must be very proud.

               Rexman is trying to ignore Taylor, but failing badly. Taylor 
               flashes a sign to Vaughn. Vaughn goes into his windup.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         But that guy she was with... I mean 
                         I'm sure he's a close personal friend 
                         of yours and all, but tell me...

               Vaughn releases his pitch.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         ...Why was he wearing her panties on 
                         his head?

               Rexman, completely unnerved, takes a feeble swing and hits a 
               high pop-up out in front of the plate.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Uh oh, Rexie, I don't think that 
                         one's got the distance. Maybe if the 
                         wind comes up.

               Taylor moves out two steps and makes the catch easily, ending 
               the game.

               Taylor rushes out to congratulate Vaughn. The players exchange 
               handshakes and high fives, as Brown watches from the dugout.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         It's startin' to come together, 
                         Pepper. It's startin' to come 
                         together.

<b>               EXT. DORN MANSION - AFTERNOON
</b>
               Taylor pulls up outside and walks up to the door. Suzanne, 
               Dorn's wife, answers.

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         Oh hi, Jake, how are you?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Fine, Suzanne, can I have a quick 
                         word with Rodger?

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         Sure, c'mon in, he's in the den. 
                         I'll get some coffee.

               We FOLLOW Taylor into the luxurious den, where we find Dorn 
               watching his wide screen TV in a smoking jacket.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Hey, Jake, old boy, what brings you 
                         out here?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I just wanta tell ya somethin', but 
                         I didn't want to do it in front of 
                         the whole team.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Sure, go ahead.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (like nails)
                         I don't know what your problem is, 
                         but...
                              (bending close to 
                              Dorn)
                         ...if I ever see you tank another 
                         play like you did tonight, I'll cut 
                         off your nuts and stuff 'em down 
                         your fuckin' throat.

               Dorn looks at Taylor for some sign that he's kidding. He 
               doesn't get one.

               Taylor turns and walks on out, as we go to Dorn's stunned 
               face. Suzanne walks in with a tray.

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         Coffee anybody?

<b>               INT. INDIANS' LOCKER ROOM - DAY
</b>
               The Indians are undressing after practice.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Why the hell are we havin' practice 
                         during the All-Star break?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I heard the Big Lady upstairs ordered 
                         it.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         It's hotter than shit in here. What 
                         happened to the air conditioning?

<b>               INT. TRAINING ROOM - DAY
</b>
               We go to Brown, naked and dragging from the heat. He 
               approaches the whirlpool and turns on the water.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (to Dorn)
                         Oh man, this old body can use a soak.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Forget it. It's not workin' again.

               Brown flips on a switch. The whirlpool makes some grinding 
               noises and then quits altogether.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Damn it, I thought they were gonna 
                         replace this thing.

               Harris shouts over from the showers where he's just turned 
               on the water.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         Hey, there's no hot water in here.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         She's at it again. I've had it with 
                         this nickel and dime stuff.
                              (storming out of the 
                              training room)
                         I'm gonna get the Bitch on the phone.

               Brown is stopped short by the sight of Rachel Phelps standing 
               in the middle of the locker room as various unclad players 
               dive for cover.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         You wanted to see the Bitch?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Yeh.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Don't you think you oughta cover 
                         yourself with a towel first, Mr. 
                         Brown?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         There aren't any towels, and I'm too 
                         old to be diving under benches.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Well, I can take it if you can.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         What happened to the new whirlpool 
                         we were supposed to get?

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Revenue problems have forced us to 
                         cut back on equipment. We'll simply 
                         have to fix the old one.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         You fixed it six times already. And 
                         now there's no hot water in the 
                         showers.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         The pipes in this building are old 
                         and rusted. We're replacing them, 
                         but it's a long, expensive process.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         How am I supposed to keep my players 
                         healthy with cold water and no therapy 
                         equipment?

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Your players will just have to get a 
                         little tougher. What are they, a 
                         bunch of pansies?

               Immediately, 30 arms shoot up behind her in the Italian "up-
               yours" gesture. She turns around, but by then the players 
               have quickly returned to normal positions.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Over 162 games even tough guys get 
                         sprains, sore arms, muscle pulls...

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         It's only temporary. Besides, these 
                         guys weren't playing that good when 
                         the equipment was workin'. If I could 
                         get anybody to come and watch this 
                         team, none of this would be necessary. 
                         You oughta be grateful I can still 
                         pay your salaries.

               With that, Rachel turns and walks out. Brown and the others 
               can only watch her go.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               SPORTSCASTER ROSS FARMER
</b>
               On the air.

<b>                                     FARMER
</b>                         In case you haven't noticed, and 
                         judging by attendance, you haven't, 
                         the Indians, that thought-to-be 
                         hopeless collection of has-been's 
                         and never-will-be's is actually 
                         approaching the .500 mark, and with 
                         it, semi-respectability. Nothing to 
                         write home about, to be sure, but at 
                         least we don't have to cover our 
                         eyes.

<b>               INT. THE INJUN DINER - DAY
</b>
               Bobby, Vic and Johnny are at the counter.

<b>                                     VIC
</b>                         Ya know, they could be a lot worse.

<b>               INT. PRIVATE GYM - DAY
</b>
               The Business Executive is talking with a friend while working 
               out on the Nautilus machines.

<b>                                     BUSINESS EXECUTIVE
</b>                         Ya know, I may have underestimated 
                         this team a bit.

<b>               EXT. THE CLEVELAND DOCKS - DAY
</b>
               The two Longshoremen again.

<b>                                     LONGSHOREMAN
</b>                         Ya know, these guys aren't so fuckin' 
                         bad.

<b>               EXT. CLEVELAND MUNICIPAL STADIUM - DAY
</b>
               The two Groundskeepers are repairing the pitcher's mound.

<b>                                     GROUNDSKEEPER
</b>                              (in subtitles)
                         They're still shitty.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               [...] 
</b>
               Brown storms out of the dugout, doing his best to look 
               incensed.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Ah shit, here comes Lou. Gimme a 
                         break, Mel. I gotta get outta here.

<b>                                     WINGO
</b>                         All right, kick some dirt on me. The 
                         Commissioner'll buy that.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Right. Good idea.

               Taylor begins kicking dirt on Wingo's shoes, ala Billy Martin. 
               Wingo takes a dramatic hop, skip and jump and gives Taylor 
               the heave-ho thumb just as Brown arrives. Wingo turns away.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (to Wingo)
                         Hey, don't you go anywhere. I wanna 
                         have a few words with you.

               Brown grabs Taylor and pulls him aside.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (under his breath)
                         What are we arguin' about here?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (struggling as if he 
                              wanted to get at 
                              Wingo)
                         Fucker called that a ball.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         You mean the one that was a foot 
                         outside?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh.

               Taylor breaks away and starts back to the dugout. Playing it 
               to the hilt, he throws his glove and mask to the ground on 
               the way.

               Meanwhile, Brown is going jaw to jaw with Wingo, outraged at 
               the call. Brown pulls a carrot out of his back pocket, and 
               offers it to Wingo, who immediately thumbs him out.

<b>               LYNN
</b>
               leaving her seat and starting up the aisle.

               Taylor comes up the stairs from the locker room, still in 
               full uniform. He emerges onto the box level to see Lynn 
               disappearing down the ramp toward the parking lot.

<b>               LYNN
</b>
               in the parking lot. As she goes to unlock her car, Taylor 
               looks around hurriedly for some kind of vehicle to follow 
               her in.

               He bangs on the bullpen gates and is admitted by the guard.

               Inside is the Bullpen car, a souped-up golf cart with a body 
               shaped like a batting helmet. Taylor hops in and roars out 
               after Lynn.

<b>               INT. CLEVELAND ATHLETIC CLUB - NIGHT
</b>
               Lynn comes out of the dressing room into the pool area, 
               deserted this time of night. She wears a racing suit, but 
               lets her hair hang free. The pool glows like a sheet of 
               emerald glass. She shakes down a beat, curls her toes around 
               the coping, slowly bends at the waist, and then launches 
               into a full-out racing dive.

               We watch as she swims a 100 yard individual medley; first 
               the butterfly, then the backstroke, breaststroke and finally 
               freestyle. We condense the time, of course, SHOOTING some 
               underwater, some SLO-MO, as she knives through the water, 
               her hair flowing behind her, an athlete alone with her medium. 
               The SEQUENCE should convey not only the grace of her strokes 
               and her athletic ability, but the fluid beauty of swimming, 
               its synthesis of power and form.

               As she begins the freestyle leg, another body appears in the 
               pool next to her. It's Jake, and he's racing her the final 
               lap. She immediately responds to the challenge, digging 
               harder, picking up her kick. They go neck and neck for 20 
               yards, but Lynn has one more gear and touches him by half a 
               body length at the wall. Both are winded.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         You still got that great kick. Just 
                         like the first time I ever saw you.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         You follow me here too?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh, what did you want to see me 
                         about?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         What do you mean?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         You wouldn't have been at the game 
                         if you didn't want to see me about 
                         something.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (getting out of the 
                              pool)
                         I just wanted to see you play.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         How was I?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         You looked good, but you oughta open 
                         your stance a little. They're pitching 
                         you inside.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I'll try that. You wanna have some 
                         dinner?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Sorry, I already ate.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Right. I forgot your life is different 
                         now.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (getting out of the 
                              pool)
                         Thanks for the race.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (watching her go)
                         Anytime.

<b>               INT. LYNN'S CAR - NIGHT
</b>
               Driving through the city on her way home. Lynn glances in 
               the rear-view mirror and spots Taylor following her. She 
               smiles to herself. Taylor, of course, thinks he's gone 
               undetected.

               We begin a SHORT SEQUENCE during which Lynn tries to lose 
               Taylor in a chase through Cleveland, car vs. batting helmet.

               The logistics will have to be worked out in Cleveland, but 
               suffice it to say, by the end of the chase she appears to 
               have ditched him.

<b>               EXT. LYNN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
               Lynn comes up the stairs, unlocks the apartment door and 
               steps inside. There's no particular urgency. She feels sure 
               she's shaken Taylor.

               The apartment is full of packing boxes. Tired from the chase, 
               Lynn drops her bag on a box and slumps down on the couch. 
               It's obvious she's not all that happy to have lost Taylor. 
               She goes to the window and looks down to the street for some 
               sign of him.

               Seeing nothing, she turns away from the window disappointed, 
               and starts back to the couch, when something stops her. It's 
               Taylor, standing in the doorway.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Whose place are we at this time?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                              (flustered)
                         Mine. You follow me again?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh. When I saw you at the game, I 
                         figured you wanted to see me about 
                         something.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         I just wanted to see you play.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         How was I?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         You looked good, but you oughta open 
                         your stance a little. They're pitchin' 
                         you inside.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I'll try that.

               Taylor gives a perfunctory nod. They look at each other a 
               second. There's still plenty there. Taylor begins to come 
               toward her. We hear his cleats on the floor. She backs off, 
               but not with real conviction.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         I think I oughta tell you that I'm 
                         moving in with Tom.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Goin' uptown, huh?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         I'm not goin' uptown, I just want to 
                         lead a regular life. You know, like 
                         an adult maybe. With a house and a 
                         garden and normal hours.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         You think I can't lead a regular 
                         life?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         You like the life you've had, Jake. 
                         You like hangin' out with the boys, 
                         livin' in hotels, eatin' dinner at 
                         midnight, having girls send you their 
                         underwear in the mail. Remember the 
                         surprise party I threw for you when 
                         you made the All-Star team? You never 
                         showed up, but the doorbell rang 
                         once and we all got quiet and hid 
                         behind the furniture. It was a guy 
                         to serve you with a paternity suit.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         That was a hoax. The girl was just 
                         trying to get some publicity.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Yes, but you had obviously been with 
                         her. And it happened in front of all 
                         our friends.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I was drownin', Lynn. The endorsements 
                         were dryin' up, my knees were goin', 
                         they were talkin' about sendin' me 
                         down. I was just trying to hold on 
                         to somethin', prove to myself I was 
                         still an All-Star. I don't care about 
                         that anymore. I know I don't have 
                         much time left in baseball. I'm just 
                         a guy trying to put his life back 
                         together. Thinkin' about you was the 
                         only thing that kept me goin' in 
                         Mexico.

               Lynn looks at him a long beat.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         I've come back to you too many times, 
                         Jake. I can't afford to believe you 
                         anymore.

               Lynn is backed up against a desk now. She could move out but 
               doesn't.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I guess this is our last hurrah then.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         I guess so. Did you really read "Moby 
                         Dick?"

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Cover to cover.

               Taylor comes forward to kiss her, tentatively at first. Their 
               conversation is interwoven with the slowly deepening intensity 
               of their kissing.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         When's the wedding?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         October third.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Your mom and dad like this guy?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         You're still their favorite.

               They're unbuttoning each other's shirts now.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Gonna be a big wedding?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Tom doesn't like big weddings. You 
                         coulda read Plot Outlines of 101 
                         Great Novels.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Where?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         At any library.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I mean the wedding.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         All Saints on Euclid.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Nice church.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Yeh. Who saved Ishmael at the end?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Nobody. It was Queequeg's coffin. Am 
                         I invited?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Where?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         To the wedding.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         If you want. Maybe you really did 
                         read it.

               Their shirts are off now.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         This doesn't change anything, you 
                         know. We were always good at this.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Lynn?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         What?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         The zipper on your skirt is stuck.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Use your imagination.

               Taylor's spikes come down across her skirt, catching in the 
               material, ripping it from her body and pinning it to the 
               wood floor. Taylor steps out of the shoe and whisks Lynn OUT 
               OF FRAME. We hold on the skirt, nailed to the floor by the 
               cleats.

<b>               INT. LYNN'S BEDROOM - MORNING
</b>
               Taylor wakens and turns over to find Lynn gone. He looks 
               around but there's no sign of her.

<b>               EXT. LYNN'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
               Taylor comes down the steps, gets in his car, and drives OUT 
               OF FRAME. We HOLD on the SHOT, and...

<b>                                                               DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>               THE SAME SHOT - THAT NIGHT
</b>
               Taylor's car pulls INTO FRAME. He gets out and goes up the 
               steps. There's one light on in the apartment window. Taylor 
               comes up to the door and knocks. Getting no answer, he pushes 
               it open to find that the apartment is completely empty. Just 
               bare hardwood floor. Taylor stands forlorn in the center of 
               the room a beat, then walks on out, switching off the overhead 
               light as he goes.

<b>               INT. RACHEL PHELPS' OFFICE - DAY
</b>
               Donovan is present once again. Rachel does not look pleased.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Well, my worst fears have been 
                         confirmed. We're 60 and 60, nine 
                         games out of first, and only two out 
                         of the first division. Who do those 
                         guys think they are?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Maybe you just have to accept the 
                         fact that they're not as bad as you'd 
                         hoped.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         I don't have to accept anything. Our 
                         attendance is only beginning to rise. 
                         If we can force a losing streak for 
                         a week or two, we can still turn 
                         this thing around. The fans are used 
                         to losers here. At the first sign of 
                         a slump they'll give up on this team.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         What's left to do? You've taken away 
                         everything you can.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Not everything.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               EXT. RURAL HIGHWAY - DAY
</b>
               We pick up a decrepit old Greyhound bus coming down the 
               highway, belching smoke like a diesel semi. On the side we 
               see the visage of Chief Wahoo and the words "Indian Express."

<b>               INT. INDIAN EXPRESS - DAY
</b>
               Complete with all the luxuries of the average school bus. 
               Temple is looking at a memo from Rachel Phelps.

<b>                                     TEMPLE
</b>                         Memo says we'll only be usin' this 
                         for short trips.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Good thing we don't play anybody in 
                         Europe.

<b>               TAYLOR AND HAYES
</b>
               Taylor is staring out the window, still morose about Lynn's 
               leaving. A stack of Classics Illustrated comics sits next to 
               him.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Can I borrow one of those, man? They 
                         don't have any magazines on this 
                         bus.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Sure, go ahead. I think my reading 
                         days are over.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Macbeth. This a good one?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (pointing to his stack 
                              of Classics)
                         These are all Hall of Famers.

               Hayes is impressed.

<b>               EXT. CITY OF NEW YORK - NIGHT
</b>
               The Indian Express makes its way through the streets of New 
               York, enroute to the Indian's hotel.

<b>               INT. INDIAN EXPRESS - FULL SHOT
</b>
               We see that now most of the team is reading classic comics.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                              (to Dorn)
                         I'll trade you Song of Hiawatha for 
                         The Deerslayer.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Naw, I'm not into Song of Hiawatha.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         All right then, how about Crime and 
                         Punishment?

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Yeh, that sounds pretty good. That's 
                         a detective story, right?

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Yeh.

<b>               INT. INDIAN EXPRESS - NIGHT
</b>
               The bus slows down and pulls over to the curb.

<b>                                     DRIVER
</b>                         This is it. The Sheffield Arms.

               The players all crowd to the window to get a glimpse of their 
               hotel. Hotel is actually overstating it. This place is one 
               cut below the YMCA.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I don't know if we can survive any 
                         more of these economy measures.

<b>               INT. THE SHEFFIELD ARMS - DAY
</b>
               We pick up Taylor, Hayes and Vaughn coming into their 
               dilapidated hotel room. Peeling walls and ceilings, rickety 
               furniture, rusted bathroom fixtures. Taylor sprawls down on 
               one of the cots. It collapses on the floor in a cloud of 
               dust.

<b>               EXT. YANKEE STADIUM - DAY
</b>
               Vaughn is on the mound warming up.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         So, Ricky Vaughn, roughed up in his 
                         only other appearance against the 
                         Yankees, will see what he can do 
                         with the Bronx Bombers this time. 
                         Vaughn, after a slow start, has come 
                         on lately and now leads the American 
                         League in strikeouts with 221.

               Vaughn finishes his warmups. As Taylor pumps the ball down 
               to second, Vaughn hears a voice from the Yankee dug-out.

<b>                                     VOICE
</b>                         Hey, jailbird!

               Vaughn glances over and sees that one of the Yankees is 
               dressed in a striped prison uniform. He also wears long 
               earrings, high heels, and of course, glasses. Vaughn tries 
               to ignore the guy, but his concentration is broken.

               Vaughn steps up on the rubber for his first pitch. He winds 
               and fires. The Yankee LEADOFF HITTER rips a one-hopper to 
               the wall in right center. Hayes runs it down and guns it 
               back to the infield to hold the guy to a double. The convict 
               whoops it up.

               Vaughn gets back up on the rubber. As he comes to the stretch, 
               he catches sight of the convict again. The guy is doing a 
               pantomime, sneaking up to a car and picking the lock, much 
               to the delight of his teammates. Vaughn throws his pitch in 
               the dirt and all the way to the backstop. The runner on second 
               goes to third.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (throwing the ball 
                              back)
                         C'mon, Rick baby, settle down.

               Vaughn gets ready again. The convict finishes picking the 
               lock and then is suddenly arrested. He puts his hands against 
               the wall and spreads his legs for a weapons check, cracking 
               up the whole bench. Vaughn is getting a little steamed. His 
               next pitch is hammered into left for a single, scoring a 
               run.

<b>               THREE SHOTS OF VAUGHN
</b>
               throwing pitches, followed by:

<b>               SHOTS
</b>
               of the THIRD HITTER lining a double down the right field 
               line, the FOURTH HITTER a triple off the center field wall, 
               and the FIFTH HITTER a single to right. The scoreboard now 
               reads 4 to 0 Yankees. Taylor comes out to talk to Vaughn.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         What's the problem, Rick? You're 
                         throwin' basketballs up there. That 
                         guy in the dugout botherin' you?

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Naw, I'm all right.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Forget him. Worry about the guys 
                         carryin' bats. C'mon, Ricky, let's 
                         get nasty.

               Vaughn nods as Taylor trots back behind the plate.

               Vaughn gets set again as his old nemesis, Haywood, steps 
               into the batter's box. Haywood has a sly smile on his face.

               As Vaughn comes to his stretch, the convict goes back into 
               his act. He's in jail now, struggling against the bars. 
               Finally he bends over and grabs his ankles, while one of his 
               teammates humps up against him, pretending to bugger him. 
               This sends the Yankee bench into hysterics.

               Vaughn has lost it now. He fires to the plate and Haywood 
               creams another tape measure job into the upper deck. Hayes 
               doesn't even bother to run back to the wall. He just watches 
               it go. 6-0 Yankees.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I thought now that Vaughn had some 
                         control, he was ready for the Yankees.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         Not quite yet.

               Brown makes his way to the mound to take Vaughn out.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         So, Vaughn pitches in some tough 
                         luck here as the Yankees put together 
                         as few squib hits and take a 6-0 
                         lead.

<b>               DOYLE
</b>
               in the press box. The stadium below is empty, the grounds 
               crew covering the infield.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Well, the Indians made a gallant 
                         comeback today, but fell one run 
                         short as the Yankees held on for a 6-
                         5 victory, although they didn't do 
                         squat after the first inning. Anyway, 
                         if the bus makes it here from the 
                         hotel we'll be on at 7:30 tomorrow 
                         night. Till then, this is Harry Doyle, 
                         saying so long, everybody, and Happy 
                         Hunting.

<b>               INT. THE HOTEL BAR - NIGHT
</b>
               Brown is alone in the bar having a drink. A figure sits down 
               on the stool next to him. It's Donovan.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Mind if I join you?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (surprised to see him)
                         Donovan. Hell no. What are you doin' 
                         here?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Just wanted to get out on the road. 
                         You damn near pulled one out today.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Someday we'll figure out how to beat 
                         those guys.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Ya know, you've done a helluva job 
                         this year.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Sixty and sixty-one is hardly a 
                         helluva job.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         With this club it is.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Ya know, when I first got to camp I 
                         figured this team had no chance. I 
                         was just hopin' we'd win enough that 
                         I could stay on and really start to 
                         build something here. But there's a 
                         lotta talent on this club, Charlie. 
                         The veterans are starting to play 
                         back to form and the rookies are 
                         developing faster than I thought. 
                         There's two or three potential all-
                         stars in there. I think we're a first 
                         division team right now.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         You really believe that, don't you?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I know it. All we need is something 
                         to bring it all together.

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         Rachel Phelps would never allow that.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         What do you mean?

<b>                                     DONOVAN
</b>                         She doesn't want you in the first 
                         division. She doesn't even want you 
                         in Cleveland.

               On Brown's incredulous face, we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               INT. INDIANS LOCKER ROOM - DAY
</b>
               The players are all gathered around, obviously having been 
               called together by Brown.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (addressing the group)
                         I got somethin' I think you oughta 
                         know about. I wouldn't have known 
                         about it myself if Charlie Donovan 
                         hadn't told me, although I shoulda 
                         guessed it from everything that's 
                         happened. It seems that Mrs. Phelps 
                         doesn't think too highly of our worth.

               We take several CUTS OF FACES around the room.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         She put this team together because 
                         she thought we'd be bad enough to 
                         finish dead last, knockin' attendance 
                         down to the point where she could 
                         move the team to Miami.
                              (pause)
                         And get rid of all of us for better 
                         personnel.

               Taylor, Vaughn, Hayes, Dorn, and the others can hardly believe 
               what they're hearing.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Even me?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Even you, Dorn.

               Silence descends on the room.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         In other words, Phelps thinks we're 
                         all dinks. That we don't belong in 
                         the big leagues.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         That's about it.

<b>                                     HARRIS
</b>                         What if we don't finish last?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         She'll replace you with somebody who 
                         will. After this season, you'll all 
                         be sent back to the minors or given 
                         your outright release.
                              (pause)
                         So, all we're gonna get is this one 
                         year.

               Taylor surveys the bowed heads around the room. He stands to 
               address the group.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I don't know about the rest of you, 
                         but I've been playin' baseball since 
                         I was five years old. I've had some 
                         good years and some years to forget. 
                         I've burned out my knees... I don't 
                         think I have three fingers that work 
                         right... I've lost most of the money 
                         I made and baseball has messed up my 
                         personal life from time to time. But 
                         I know one thing... I can still play 
                         this game a little. And I'd like to 
                         know who in this room thinks they're 
                         the kinda bum Mrs. Phelps is lookin' 
                         for?

               Eyes dart around the room, then come back to Taylor. No hands 
               are raised...

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Well, then, I guess there's only one 
                         thing to do.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         What's that?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Win the whole fuckin' thing.

               We take CUTS of the startled faces of the players. As the 
               idea sinks in, they begin to come to life. MUSIC begins and 
               we're into a...

<b>               MONTAGE SEQUENCE
</b>
               detailing the newly-motivated Indians' drive for the pennant 
               and the "Pennant Fever" it creates in Cleveland. We begin 
               with...

<b>               BROWN
</b>
               hanging a full size blowup of Rachel Phelps on the locker 
               room wall. In the picture she's pointing as if out at the 
               players, and a bubble above her head says, "YOU GUYS STINK!" 
               A set of designer clothes, of the type Rachel wears, have 
               been superimposed on the picture. The clothes are divided 
               into 32 pull-off squares.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I figure it's gonna take 32 more 
                         victories to win this thing. Every 
                         time we win, we peel a square.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               coming out of an elevator in the Turk, with a wheelbarrow 
               full of dirt. We pan him down the hall, where we see a dirt 
               sliding area he's been building up.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               leading off a makeshift base in the hall of the Turk. As 
               Vaughn tosses a ball up in the air, Hayes takes off down the 
               hall toward another base on the dirt sliding area.

               Vaughn catches the ball and rifles a throw down to Taylor, 
               who puts the tag on the sliding Hayes. Cerrano, who's umping, 
               calls Hayes out. Hayes jumps up and argues vociferously, 
               hopping around in frustration.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               PEPPER
</b>
               hitting one rocket-shot ground ball after another at Dorn. 
               Some bounce off his chest and arms, but Dorn stays in front 
               of every one.

<b>               DORN
</b>
               taking off his shirt in the locker room. His chest is a mass 
               of welts and bruises.

<b>               CERRANO
</b>
               "polishing" his bats with black shoe polish and a brush.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               taking batting practice late at night. He attacks the ball 
               swing after swing.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               VAUGHN
</b>
               taking his stretch with a man on first, and firing to the 
               plate. The Batter swings and misses for strike three, while 
               the Runner on first breaks for second. TAYLOR rifles a throw 
               down to second nailing the Runner for a double play.

<b>               DORN
</b>
               taking a hot smash off his chest. He picks it up and guns 
               the runner down.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               stealing home, as the opposing Pitcher tries frantically to 
               hurry his windup. Hayes slides across safely, hooking to the 
               infield side. He jumps up and punches the air with his fist.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               nailing up the pair of black gloves he used to steal home 
               above his bed.

<b>               NEWSPAPER HEADLINE
</b>
<b>               "INDIANS WIN FIFTH STRAIGHT, CRACK FIRST DIVISION"
</b>
<b>               EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT
</b>
               Ross Farmer, microphone in hand, stands in front of a blazing 
               bonfire. A large crowd cheers as various people throw doormats 
               on the blaze.

<b>                                     FARMER
</b>                              (to TV camera)
                         You remember bra burning in the '70's, 
                         well, the newest thing in Cleveland 
                         is doormat burning as Indian fans 
                         are standing up and saying "We won't 
                         be stepped on anymore".

<b>               THREE QUICK SHOTS OF VAUGHN
</b>
               blowing fast balls by hitter.

<b>               RACHEL
</b>
               with Donovan next to her, watching all this good play in 
               disgust.

<b>               AN ANGEL HITTER
</b>
               lining a single to center. Cerrano charges it and fires to 
               the plate as a Runner tries to score from second. Just as 
               Taylor catches the ball, he's once again knocked flat by the 
               Runner. This time he lies still a beat, and then an arm comes 
               up holding the ball.

               The Umpire thumbs the Runner out.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               late at night, sitting head-down in the outboard motor 
               whirlpool. He's hurting.

<b>               EXT. CLEVELAND DOWNTOWN STREET -DAY
</b>
               We PICK UP three Teenage Girls walking down the street wearing 
               T-shirts that say WILD THING--I THINK I LOVE YOU. A Black 
               Kid comes by wearing black gloves on each hand. As he passes, 
               he holds up one finger signifying Number One. The Girls return 
               the signal.

<b>               EXT. EXECUTIVE'S OFFICE - DAY
</b>
               The Business Executive passes his secretary's desk, gives 
               her some instructions, and goes into his office. As soon as 
               he's out of sight, she opens her drawer and slips the earplug 
               from a portable radio into her ear. OVER, we hear the Indians' 
<b>               BROADCAST.
</b>
<b>               THE EXECUTIVE
</b>
               inside his office. He opens his desk drawer and pulls out an 
               earplug. He's also listening to the game.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               INT. BURLESQUE JOINT - NIGHT
</b>
               The Stripper is wearing a squaw costume, with black glove 
               and a WILD THING T-shirt.

               Several members of the audience have radio earplugs on.

<b>               NEWSPAPER HEADLINE
</b>
<b>               "INDIANS SWEEP ORIOLES, MOVE INTO SECOND."
</b>
<b>               SERIES OF SHOTS
</b>
               of squares of leopard skin fabric being peeled away. Under 
               one is revealed a section of bare hip and thigh. Under 
               another, a navel. Under still another, the edge of a bare 
               breast and arm.

<b>               THE INDIAN TEAM
</b>
               all dressed in tuxedos, posed "team picture" style on the 
               infield of Municipal Stadium.

<b>                                     TEAM
</b>                              (in unison)
                         Hello, do you know us?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         We're a Major League baseball team, 
                         but since we haven't won a pennant 
                         in thirty years, nobody recognizes 
                         us, not even in our own hometown.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         That's why we carry the American 
                         Express card. No matter how far out 
                         of first we are, it keeps us from 
                         getting shut out at our favorite 
                         hotels and restaurants.

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         So if you're looking for some big 
                         league clout, apply for the little 
                         green home run hitter.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Look what it's done for us. People 
                         still don't recognize us, but...
                              (whispering)
                         ...we're in the first division now.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               sliding across home plate in his tuxedo and stopping IN FRAME. 
               He holds up an American Express card in a black-gloved hand.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         The American Express card. Don't 
                         steal home without it.

<b>               SHOTS OF FANS
</b>
               filing into Cleveland Municipal Stadium. Tickets being ripped, 
               programs sold, etc.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               swinging and hitting a home run into the left field seats.

<b>               THE BLEACHER BAND
</b>
               beating the tom-toms and whooping it up. The SHOT WIDENS to 
               reveal they're no longer alone in the stands.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               nailing up another pair of gloves above his head. There are 
               a lot of them up there now.

<b>               INT. THE INDIAN BUS - NIGHT
</b>
               On the road again. Everyone's asleep except Taylor who lies 
               across his seat, heating pads on his knees.

<b>               THE LONGSHOREMEN (POSSIBLE OMIT)
</b>
               watching TV in a Cleveland working-class bar. Also cheering 
               the Indians are several punk and heavy metal kids, their 
               faces painted with Indian war paint. Strange bedfellows.

<b>               CERRANO
</b>
               hitting a prodigious home run onto the roof.

<b>               DONOVAN
</b>
               standing up to cheer Cerrano's homer, then remembering he's 
               with Rachel. He sits down apologetically. Rachel watches the 
               events on the field with a face of cold steel.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               hitting a double into the right centerfield alley with two 
               runners on.

               Hayes, the trailing runner, catches up with the lead runner, 
               and they reach the plate at about the same time, one sliding 
               around the Catcher one way, one around the other.

               Both score as the Catcher tries to tag both and gets neither.

<b>               FANS IN THE STANDS
</b>
               going wild, while the Indian mascot dances on top of the 
               dugout.

<b>               TV SCREEN
</b>
               The program in progress is suddenly interrupted by a Sports-
               Break logo appearing on the screen.

<b>                                     VOICE
</b>                         We interrupt this program to bring 
                         you the following special bulletin.

<b>               ROSS FARMER
</b>
               live outside the Indian's locker room. He wears a headdress, 
               warpaint, and a Wild Thing T-shirt.

<b>                                     FARMER
</b>                         Good evening, everybody. The 
                         incredible has happened. The Indians 
                         have finished the regular season in 
                         a first place tie with the New York 
                         Yankees on the strength of a 4-2 win 
                         over the Tigers in Detroit today. 
                         There will be a one-game playoff 
                         here in Cleveland the day after 
                         tomorrow to decide the Eastern 
                         Division Championship, the Indians 
                         having won the coin flip held just 
                         moments ago in the American League 
                         office. We'll have further details 
                         on the news at 11, but for now, get 
                         your tomahawks ready, Cleveland.

<b>               CLOSEUP - A PIECE OF LEOPARD SKIN FABRIC
</b>
               We hear cheers as it's ripped away to reveal the photographic 
               image of Rachel's cleavage. We PULL BACK to see the life-
               size poster is now completely peeled. Rachel stares out at 
               us in a G-string and tassels. The photo is obviously from 
               her showgirl days.

               General merriment prevails in the locker room. Players shaking 
               hands, back slapping, etc. Hayes comes by to exchange 
               congratulations with Taylor. MUSIC and MONTAGE END.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         Hey, not bad for a has-been and a 
                         never-will-be.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         We haven't won anything yet. We still 
                         got one more to go.

               Dorn comes by Taylor's locker.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Hey, Taylor, there's a coupla drop-
                         dead Annies outside. One of 'em says 
                         she used to know you pretty good. 
                         Brunette, great rack...

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Darla.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Yeh. What doya say we chat 'em up?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (without much 
                              enthusiasm)
                         I don't know...

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         C'mon, you're not gonna keep moonin' 
                         over that library chick, are you? 
                         Forget her, she's gone.

               We leave Taylor thinking it over.

<b>               INT. DORN'S HOUSE - NIGHT
</b>
               Suzanne Dorn is watching the 11 o'clock news. HAL CHARLES is 
               holding forth.

<b>                                     CHARLES
</b>                         The Indians are spending the night 
                         in Detroit and will bus back to 
                         Cleveland in the morning. We're going 
                         to go back now to Ross Farmer who's 
                         standing by at the Hotel Stanley 
                         where the Indians are staying in 
                         Detroit. Ross?

               The scene shifts to...

<b>               THE LOBBY OF THE STANLEY HOTEL
</b>
               where Ross Farmer stands, microphone in hand. Behind him 
               several players can be seen partying in the bar.

<b>                                     FARMER
</b>                         Thank you, Hal. As you can see, the 
                         Indians are in high spirits tonight, 
                         looking forward to their showdown 
                         with the Yankees. Who will start 
                         that game is still a matter of some 
                         conjecture.

               As Ross talks, Dorn walks INTO THE FRAME in the far background 
               with his arm around a YOUNG LOVELY. They're nuzzling and 
               hugging, unaware they're on camera, albeit in the background. 
               Suzanne doesn't miss it though. She moves closer to the screen 
               to get a better look.

               Dorn and the Girl get in an elevator together, obviously 
               going upstairs. As the elevator closes, Suzanne hits the off 
               button. She sits there a second in shock, and then her face 
               begins to harden.

<b>               INT. TAYLOR'S HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
               Taylor and DARLA are undressing, preparatory to getting into 
               bed. They are definitely no strangers to each other.

<b>                                     DARLA
</b>                         You still got that black Corvette? 
                         The one that the sound system took 
                         up the whole trunk?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         No, I had to sell it.

<b>                                     DARLA
</b>                         I thought they gave them to ya.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Not after your knees go bad.

<b>                                     DARLA
</b>                         That's all right, you'll be gettin' 
                         a new one now.

               Darla is down to her bra and panties. She puts her leg up on 
               the bed to unhook her stockings. Taylor is about to take off 
               his pants, but stops.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Darla, I don't think I can do this.

<b>                                     DARLA
</b>                         What do you mean? We did this between 
                         innings once.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I guess I'm just not that guy anymore.

               Darla looks at him a long beat.

<b>                                     DARLA
</b>                              (resigned)
                         Happens to the best of them sooner 
                         or later. What's her name?

<b>               EXT. HALL OUTSIDE TAYLOR'S ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
               The door opens and Darla comes out, fully clothed now. She 
               turns to say goodbye to Jake, who is still bare-chested.

<b>                                     DARLA
</b>                         So long, Jake. Too bad. I was gonna 
                         devote a whole chapter to you in my 
                         book.

               As Darla gives Jake a goodbye peck, the elevator door opens 
               across the hall, and out steps Lynn. She's obviously rattled 
               by the sight of Taylor and Darla together.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Excuse me. I was in town for a 
                         conference and thought I'd drop by, 
                         but I can see you're busy...

               With that she quickly steps back into the elevator and the 
               doors close.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Lynn, wait...

               Taylor leaps to the elevator door, but it's too late. He 
               then sprints to the end of the hall and down the stairs.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               running down the stairs and into the lobby. Seeing no sign 
               of Lynn, he races out the front door to see her pulling out 
               in a taxi. He can only stand and watch her disappear into 
               the night.

<b>               INT. THE INDIANS' BUS - DAY
</b>
               We PICK UP Vaughn making his way to the back of the bus, 
               where Brown has his "office" on the last seat. Most of the 
               other players are asleep after a late night of partying.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         You wanted to see me?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Yeh, Rick. I just wanted to tell you 
                         that I'm startin' Harris tomorrow 
                         against the Yankees, even though 
                         it's your turn in the rotation.

               Vaughn says nothing, but he's clearly disappointed.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         He's got more experience and a little 
                         better record against the Yankees.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Yeh, sure. Whatever's best for the 
                         team.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Don't read anything into it, Rick. 
                         You're one of the guys that got us 
                         here.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Yeh, okay.

               Vaughn turns and walks back up the aisle. Brown watches him 
               go, knowing he's still upset.

<b>               EXT. MUNICIPAL STADIUM - DAY
</b>
               The Indian bus pulls up outside the Stadium, where a group 
               of several thousand fans wait. The players are showered with 
               cheers and applause as they file out.

<b>               INT. BAR - NIGHT
</b>
               Vaughn sits in the bar alone, nursing a beer, still troubled 
               by his demotion. He hears a sexy VOICE behind him.

<b>                                     VOICE
</b>                         You mind if I join you?

               Vaughn turns around to see Suzanne Dorn. She's dressed to 
               draw blood, looking better than we've ever seen her. She 
               slides into the booth.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I don't think I'd be very good company 
                         tonight.

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         Why not?

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Nothin'. Job problem.

               Vaughn falls silent. Suzanne stares at him with a devastating 
               combination of sexual heat and tender admiration. She's 
               pulling out all the stops. Vaughn's a little flustered.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I'm, ah, a ball player.

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         I know, but that's not why I came 
                         over. I don't chase ball players.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Why did you come over then?

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         Because you're the sexiest man I've 
                         ever laid eyes on, and you look like 
                         you could use a... friend.

               We GO TO Vaughn. Forget it. He's a goner.

<b>               INT. VAUGHN'S ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
               Vaughn has dozed off in the bed. Suzanne, is getting dressed. 
               Vaughn wakes up as she finishes.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         Where you goin'?

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         I've gotta get home.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I didn't even get your name.

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         Suzanne. Suzanne Dorn

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                              (having heard that 
                              name someplace before)
                         Suzanne Dorn?

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         Mrs. Suzanne Dorn.
                              (kissing him on the 
                              forehead)
                         So long. You're a great kid.

               With that she walks on out, leaving Vaughn dazed by the 
               knowledge of who he's just slept with.

<b>               THE HALL OUTSIDE VAUGHN'S ROOM
</b>
               Taylor is coming back from the bathroom down the hall as 
               Suzanne comes out of Vaughn's room.

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                              (nonchalant)
                         Hello, Jake.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Hello, Suzanne.

               Taylor is amazed by what he's just seen. As soon as Suzanne 
               is out of sight, he goes to Vaughn's room and opens the door.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Vaughn?

               Vaughn is sitting on his bed in a state of disbelief.

<b>                                     VAUGHN
</b>                         I swear to God I didn't know who she 
                         was.

               Taylor nods that it's all right even though he doesn't believe 
               it.

<b>                                                               DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               THE LIMO
</b>
               pulling up outside the church. Lynn is helped out of the car 
               by her Father. As she starts up the steps, she sees that 
               both sides are lined by the entire Cleveland Indians team in 
               uniform. They form an arch of bats as she passes. At the top 
               of the steps is Taylor. Lynn stops as her father ushers her 
               mother on into the church.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         You look beautiful.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Thank you. I didn't think you'd come.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I can't stay.
                              (indicating the team)
                         We gotta get to the park.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Good luck today, Jake.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh, you too.
                              (pause)
                         Tell me one thing. The night you 
                         came up to my hotel -- was there 
                         really a library conference?

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         No, I came to see you.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Too bad it didn't work out better. I 
                         just wanna say I'm sorry for all the 
                         things I've put you through over the 
                         years.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Even for last night?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Can't be sorry for that. Nothing 
                         happened.

               He says this with absolute conviction. Despite herself, Lynn 
               senses that he's telling the truth.

<b>                                     LYNN
</b>                         Then you weren't defending my honor 
                         again?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I didn't have to. She knew she was 
                         outclassed.

               Lynn smiles. He gives her a kiss and watches as she goes 
               inside. He stands there a long beat, then turns and walks 
               slowly down the steps past his teammates.

<b>               INT. RACHEL PHELPS' OFFICE - DAY
</b>
               Rachel is looking out at the empty stadium. There's a KNOCK 
               at the door.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Come in.

               The door is opened by a Male Secretary and in steps Lou Brown.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Hello, Lou, what can I do for ya?

               Lou puts a folded piece of paper on her desk.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I wanted to hand in my resignation 
                         before you had a chance to fire me.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         What do you mean?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I know what you been tryin' to do 
                         with this team. After the season, I 
                         want no part of it.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Well, I knew I could count on Charlie 
                         to tell somebody. I was just afraid 
                         he might take too long.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Why would you want him to tell 
                         somebody?

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         So you'd tell the team, hopefully 
                         getting them mad enough to knock 
                         themselves out trying to prove they 
                         belonged in this league. I think it 
                         worked.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         You tryin' to make me believe you 
                         wanted us to win all along?

               Rachel nods.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Bullshit. What about the plane, the 
                         bus, the bad hotels...

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         We were broke. We couldn't afford 
                         anything better. Donald left the 
                         team nearly bankrupt. If we'd had 
                         another losing season, I would have 
                         had to sell the team. I knew we 
                         couldn't win with the team we had, 
                         so I decided to bring in new players 
                         and see how they'd do with the proper 
                         motivation. There was never any offer 
                         from Miami. I made it all up.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Why should I believe any of this? 
                         Now that we're winnin' it's easy for 
                         you to jump on the bandwagon.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         If I'd really wanted you to lose, 
                         all I had to do was send the best 
                         players back to the minors. But I 
                         didn't, did I?

               Brown has no comeback for this. He knows now that she's 
               telling the truth.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         You think this was all an accident? 
                         I personally scouted every member of 
                         this team, except Hayes, of course. 
                         He was a surprise. They all had flaws 
                         which concealed their real talent, 
                         or I wouldn't have been able to get 
                         them. But I knew if anyone could 
                         straighten them out, you could. And 
                         if you tell them any of this, I will 
                         fire you.

               Brown can only shake his head at this whole thing.

<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         I love this team, Lou. Go get 'em 
                         tonight.

               The two shake hands. Brown looks at Rachel a beat, still 
               looking for some sign of duplicity. Finally he gives her a 
               grudging smile of respect.

<b>               INT. THE TURK - LATE AFTERNOON
</b>
               Taylor, Hayes, Vaughn and the others are getting ready to 
               board the bus to the stadium. Taylor pulls Vaughn aside.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         I don't know what Dorn's wife is up 
                         to, but I think it'd be best if you 
                         dressed early and got out to the 
                         bullpen before Dorn comes in.

               Vaughn nods.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                              (to Taylor)
                         We got a problem. Cerrano wants some 
                         extra power for tonight. He's lookin' 
                         to sacrifice a live chicken. We can't 
                         have people pukin' in the locker 
                         room before the game.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Tell him not to worry, I'll take 
                         care of it.

<b>               INT. DORN'S HOUSE - LATE AFTERNOON
</b>
               Dorn is ready to leave for the park.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Bye bye, honey, wish me luck.

<b>                                     SUZANNE
</b>                         Before you go, there's something I 
                         wanta tell you.

               Uh oh, we know what this is all about.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               EXT. CLEVELAND MUNICIPAL STADIUM - NIGHT
</b>
               The place is jammed. 75,000 screaming maniacs, most of them 
               decked out in war paint and head dresses. Some carry plastic 
               scalps with Yankee hats on them. Others have caps with the 
               European "No" insignia superimposed over a door mat.

<b>               DOYLE
</b>
               In the press box.

<b>                                     COLORMAN
</b>                         Here's your bourbon.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Won't need it tonight.

<b>               THE LOCKER ROOM
</b>
               starkly quiet in contrast to the stadium outside. Each player 
               has retreated into his own world of concentration.

               Dorn approaches Taylor, who's fitting heavy athletic braces 
               on both knees.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         You know where Vaughn is?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Nope. Haven't seen him.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Let me know if you do. I wanna have 
                         a little talk with him.

               Dorn moves off.

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         Where's my chicken?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         It's comin' in now.

               We see a Bat Boy enter with a bucket of fried chicken. Cerrano 
               looks at it in bewilderment.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         One whole chicken, like you said.

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         But it no alive.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Believe me, Jo-Buu will like this. 
                         He's gotta be gettin' tired of raw 
                         chicken.

               As Cerrano hefts the bucket somewhat skeptically and takes 
               it to his altar, we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               HARRIS
</b>
               warming up in the bullpen. The tension of starting such an 
               important game shows in his face.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Hello, everybody, Harry Doyle bidding 
                         you a Wahoo welcome from beautiful 
                         Municipal Stadium, where tonight 
                         before a capacity crowd of 75,000 
                         screaming featherheads, the braves 
                         of the Cuyahoga will leave their 
                         teepees in search of Cleveland's 
                         first League Championship in over 30 
                         years. Standing in the way, their 
                         long time nemesis, the New York 
                         Yankees, the Big Boys of Broadway, 
                         who have beaten the Indians like a 
                         tom-tom all year long.

               Down in the dugout, the players are lined up ready to take 
               the field. They exchange words of encouragement, hand slaps, 
               clenched fists, but all at a very low key level. This is 
               tension time.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         All right, guys, let's take it to 
                         'em.

               The Indians charge onto the field to a standing ovation.

               In the center field bleachers Thelma's victory blanket 
               containing the scores of every Indian game for the season, 
               hangs from a railing. Bobby, Vic and Johnny pound the tom-
               toms leading the stadium in a monster version of "In the 
               Land of Burning Waters." Even the groundskeepers join in.

               Two down in the first. Harris looking sharp so far... Bouncing 
               ball to third. Dorn up with it.

<b>               HARRIS
</b>
               Throwing the first pitch. The YANKEE HITTER grounds one to 
               Dorn who throws him out.

<b>               THE SCOREBOARD
</b>
               0-0 in the 3rd.

<b>               CERRANO
</b>
               striking out on a curve ball.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               robbing a Yankee of a home run by making a leaping catch 
               over the fence.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               picking a Yankee runner off first.

<b>               THE SCOREBOARD
</b>
               0-0 in the 5th.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               CERRANO
</b>
               striking out on a curve ball, trying to check his swing. 
               Umpire emphatically punches him out.

<b>               DOYLE
</b>
               Looking past him to the field. Harris is on the mound. There's 
               a runner on second.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Still nothing -- nothing, top of the 
                         seventh, two down. Harris has been 
                         in trouble all night, but has battled 
                         his way out with the help of some 
                         great defensive plays.

               Harris comes set and delivers. The Yankee hitter, BURTON, 
               (L) swings and gets all of it.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Uh oh, this one's tagged. Deep center 
                         field. Way back. Way back.

               Hayes climbs up on the wall, but it's long gone. Home run.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         It's off the reservation, home run. 
                         And the Yankees lead it 2-0.

<b>               RACHEL'S BOX (INSERT STORYBOARD # 209G)
</b>
<b>                                     RACHEL
</b>                         Shit.

               Donovan is a little confused by this.

               Burton trots around the bases and is greeted by jubilant 
               teammates at the plate. A silent pall falls on the stadium. 
               As the "2" goes up on the scoreboard, we...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               HAYES
</b>
               popping up and flinging his bat away in frustration. We take 
               CUTS of the worried fans, chewing fingernails, wadding up 
               programs, hanging their heads, etc.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               grounding out, obviously having trouble running. We take 
               CUTS of worried faces on the bench.

<b>               DORN
</b>
               stepping into the batter's box. The crowd is practically 
               sitting on its hands now. Hope draining away.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Dorn up now, two down, bottom of the 
                         seventh. The Indians running out of 
                         chances.

               Dorn swings at the first pitch and lines a sharp single to 
               left. The crowd and the Indian bench suddenly come alive. 
               Cerrano moves to the plate.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         That'll bring on Cerrano, hitless 
                         tonight. As a matter of fact, he 
                         hasn't touched the ball yet.

               The crowd and bleacher band begins to clap as Dorn takes his 
               lead. Cerrano swings at the first pitch and misses. An audible 
               groan goes through the crowd.

               The Yankee pitcher gets set again, and throws Cerrano a big, 
               roundhouse curve. He misses it a foot. Strike two.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Damn, havin' trouble with the curve 
                         ball again.

<b>                                     HAYES
</b>                         We should've gotten him a live 
                         chicken.

               Cerrano steps out and begins to talk to his bat, gesturing 
               and pointing as if arguing with his wife.

<b>                                     CERRANO
</b>                         I pissed off now, Jo-Buu. I good to 
                         you, I stand up for you. If you no 
                         help me now, I say fuck you, Jo-Buu. 
                         I do it myself.

               Cerrano gets back in the box and digs in. The Yankee pitcher 
               comes to his stretch and delivers. Another big breaking curve 
               ball. Cerrano swings and knocks the crap out of it. Everyone 
               in the stands and on the bench jumps to their feet, rooting 
               for the ball to get out.

<b>               DOYLE (STORYBOARD #212EE)
</b>
<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Long drive, deep centerfield. Way 
                         back. It might be. It could be. The 
                         ball is... Downtown, welcome to the 
                         Happy Hunting Ground. The game is 
                         tied.

               The fans go crazy as Cerrano circles the bases.

<b>               RACHEL'S BOX (STORYBOARD # 212GG)
</b>
               Rachel jumps out of her seat, hands above her head. Donovan 
               hesitates a beat, then follows suit.

               Cerrano carries his bat with him, holding it high above his 
               head. As Cerrano disappears into the dugout, we go to the 
               scoreboard as the 2 goes up.

<b>               DOYLE (STORYBOARD # 212NN)
</b>
<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Two down in the top of the ninth, 
                         still tied at 2, Harris working on 
                         an eight-hitter.

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               YANKEE HITTER
</b>
               lining a single to right field. Harris mops his brow, 
               obviously tiring.

<b>               ANOTHER YANKEE HITTER
</b>
               smashing a double off the wall, the lead runner stopping at 
               third. Brown signals to the bullpen to get somebody warm.

<b>               HARRIS
</b>
               on the mound, looking like he's out of gas.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Activity continues in the pen, as 
                         Harris is really digging himself a 
                         hole now. He got the first two 
                         hitters, and then gave up a single 
                         and a double and has now gone 3-0 to 
                         Cheevers.

               Harris comes set and fires to the plate. It's way high.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         High, ball four and they're loaded 
                         for Haywood, the biggest Indian killer 
                         of them all.

               Brown has seen enough. He makes his way to the mound.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (taking the ball from 
                              Harris)
                         You pitched a hell of a game, Steve. 
                         Take a seat and we'll see if we can 
                         get this guy for ya.

               Brown signals to the bullpen with his left hand.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Give me Vaughn.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (surprised)
                         You want Vaughn?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         I know he hasn't done real well 
                         against this guy, but I got a hunch 
                         he's due.

<b>               VAUGHAN
</b>
               striding in from the bullpen. He doesn't look relaxed. As he 
               nears the infield he purposely doesn't look at Dorn. Dorn 
               stares at him with undisguised venom.

               As Vaughan gets to the mound, he sees Patton getting his 
               convict uniform on in the Yankee dugout. He looks away to 
               see Haywood in the on-deck circle smiling out at him.

               Meanwhile, the CROWD has gone nuts at the sight of Vaughn. 
               Bobby, Vic and Johnny are blasting out "Wild Thing" on the 
               tom-toms and the whole stadium, 75,000 strong, is singing 
               it. Doyle just pushes the mic forward and lets the crowd do 
               it's work.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Okay, Ricky, Haywood likes the hard 
                         stuff in. Curve him on the hands, 
                         bust him away, and don't get up with 
                         anything. You listenin' to me Rick?

               Vaughn nods, but we can tell he's too nervous to have digested 
               any of that.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (Patting him on the 
                              butt)
                         O.K., kid, you're my man. Let's go 
                         get him.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         C'mon Ricky, this guy is the out you 
                         been waitin' your whole life for.

               Brown and Taylor leave Vaughn alone on the mound, the SINGING 
               of the crowd ringing in his ears.

<b>               DOYLE (INSERT STORYBOARD #216N)
</b>
<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         O.K. Vaughn has finished his warmup 
                         and we're ready to...

               No sooner has Taylor settled in behind the plate, than Dorn 
               starts toward the mound. Vaughn watches him come with fear 
               and trepidation.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (seeing it)
                         Oh, shit.

               Dorn arrives at the mound, and holds out his hand for the 
               ball. Vaughn gives it to him. Dorn rubs it up, staring long 
               and hard into Vaughn's eyes. Vaughn is sweating bullets. 
               Finally Dorn speaks.

<b>                                     DORN
</b>                         Let's cut through the crap. I only 
                         got one thing to say to you. Just 
                         rear back and strike this motherfucker 
                         out.

               He smiles and hands Vaughn the ball back. Vaughn returns the 
               smile and accepts the ball. While Dorn trots back to his 
               position, Vaughn turns his back to the plate for one last 
               moment of concentration. As he turns around to face us, we 
               see a new man as the wicked opening CHORDS of X's "Wild Thing" 
               are heard on the TRACK, only louder and more savage than 
               before.

               Vaughn steps up on the rubber, his face hardened into fierce 
               resolve. There's nothing nervous about him now. This kid is 
               gonna make somebody pay.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Haywood steps in, the American League 
                         triple crown winner. .341 average, 
                         48 homers, 121 R.B.I.'s. He's homered 
                         the only two times he's faced Vaughn.

               Taylor sets down a sign. Two fingers for the curve ball. 
               Vaughn shakes it off. Taylor puts down another sign. Vaughn 
               shakes it off. Finally, Taylor puts down one finger -- the 
               fast ball. Vaughn nods with steely purpose.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         All right, Ricky, let's get nasty.

               Vaughn winds and delivers a hissing blur toward the plate. 
               Haywood takes a ferocious swing and misses. Strike one.

               We see the number 97 come up on the digital readout of the 
               SPEED GUN which a club employee holds behind the screen.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (to Haywood)
                         All right, looks like the boy is 
                         pumped. Sucker was movin', wasn't 
                         it? Ever hit ya, it'd leave a two 
                         foot hole comin' out.

               Taylor gets ready to flash another sign. The convict jumps 
               up and down trying to distract Vaughn. No way.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                              (for Haywood's ears)
                         Let's see, what should we call now. 
                         Let's see how he feels about old 
                         number one.

               Taylor puts down one finger. Vaughn nods and then winds and 
               fires again, another blazing rocket. Haywood takes a wicked 
               rip, but doesn't get it. Strike two. 99 comes up on the gun. 
               The convict has stopped jumpin'.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Nice swing, Haywood. Good follow-
                         through. Keep it up, I'll show you 
                         the ball sometime.

               The fans are going wild. They're all standing now, yelling 
               for a strikeout. Vaughn gets back up on the rubber with the 
               look of an animal sighting prey. Taylor gets down to give 
               the sign.

<b>               DUGOUT (INSERT STORYBOARD # 216R)
</b>
<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Forget the curveball. Go with the 
                         heater.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Well, shit, all these pitches to 
                         choose from. Maybe we'll try somethin' 
                         different this time.

               Taylor wiggles his fingers around and then puts down the big 
               No. 1. Vaughn gives him a quick nod.

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         And if I don't see you again, Haywood, 
                         have a nice winter. Okay, buddy?

               Vaughn goes into his windup and unleashes a screaming bullet 
               toward the plate. Haywood pulls the trigger, but it's already 
               by him. Strike three. 101 on the gun. Taylor leaps up and 
               gives Vaughn the fist. The fans are going berserk. MUSIC 
               ends.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Oh, Lordy, three straight heaters 
                         and the Yankees are blown down. No 
                         runs, two hits, three left on, and, 
                         are you ready, Cleveland? We go to 
                         the bottom of the ninth, still tied 
                         at two.

               Doyle turns the mike off.

<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                              (to his color man)
                         Can you believe this, Monty?

               Monty takes a big swig straight from the bourbon bottle.

<b>               OMIT
</b>
               Sequence omitted from original script.

<b>               ANOTHER INDIAN HITTER
</b>
               grounding out to short.

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               walking up to the plate.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Two down in the ninth, Hayes steps 
                         in hitting .291, trying to get 
                         something going for the Tribe.

               Taylor and the others yell encouragement to Hayes as he digs 
               in at the plate. The Yankee pitcher delivers and Hayes hits 
               a high bouncer toward short. The shortstop waits for it to 
               come down and then fires to first. Too late. Hayes streaks 
               across the bag, beating the throw by a hair. Once again the 
               CROWD comes to life.

               The Yankee Manager comes to the mound and waves for a new 
               pitcher.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         And Horton is wasting no time. He's 
                         goin' to the Duke.

               Out of the pen comes BILLY DUKE, a good facsimile of Goose 
               Gossage only Duke is bigger and meaner.

<b>               (INSERT STORYBOARD #219M)
</b>
<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         Duke leads the league in saves, 
                         strikeouts per inning and nose hairs.

               The Duke finishes his warmups and stares over at Hayes. Hayes 
               smiles, snaps his black gloves out of his hip pocket, and 
               carefully pulls them on over his hands.

               The Duke does not care for this kind of showmanship.

               Brown comes over to talk to Taylor, who's been watching Duke 
               from the on-deck circle.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Ya know I'd be an ass not to pinch-
                         hit for you here. You're 0 for 18 
                         against Duke. Plus you're beat to 
                         shit you can hardly walk, there's no 
                         way you can get around on this guy's 
                         fast ball. So I want the absolute 
                         truth here. Can you beat this guy?

<b>                                     TAYLOR
</b>                         Yeh.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Okay.

               Taylor starts for the plate, as Duke finishes his warmups. 
               Brown comes down the dugout steps.

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                              (to Pepper)
                         Send Hayes the first pitch. I don't 
                         want Taylor takin' too many strikes.

               Pepper begins flashing signs out to Hayes. Duke gets up on 
               the rubber and takes his stretch. Hayes leads away, crouching 
               low. Duke snaps a throw over to first, the first baseman 
               slapping a hard tag on Hayes, but Hayes is back.

               The crowd is on its feet again. The "GO" chant starts, 
               punctuated by thousands of black-gloved hands punching the 
               night air.

               Duke comes set again. Hayes leads away. Duke watches him, 
               checks him again. We go to SLOW MOTION as Duke kicks and 
               comes to the plate.

               Hayes takes off like a shot, head down, eating up ground. 
               Taylor swings and misses. The Yankee catcher comes up 
               throwing, rifling a clothesline dart to second base. Hayes 
               leaves his feet diving for the bag. The second baseman snaps 
               down the tag. Too late. Hayes is in there.

               The stadium is really rockin' now. Duke prowls the mound. 
               Taylor steps out of the box and flashes a sign to Brown.

<b>                                     PEPPER
</b>                         What's he doing?

<b>                                     BROWN
</b>                         Flashing some signals. That's a hell 
                         of an idea.

               Brown flashes a sign out to Hayes. A hint of a smile comes 
               over Hayes' face as he dusts himself off.

               Taylor steps back in as Duke gets up on the rubber. Taylor 
               digs in his back foot, then points to the left field bleachers 
               ala Babe Ruth.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         What's this? Taylor is pointing to 
                         the bleachers, calling his shot.

               The crowd, electrified by Taylor's gesture, remains on its 
               feet. Duke stares in at Taylor, comes to his stretch and 
               then lets go a steaming fast ball right at Taylor's head. 
               Taylor goes down in a swirl of dust, the ball missing him by 
               inches. The stadium explodes with BOOS, but as soon as Taylor 
               picks himself up, the crowd begins to ROAR again.

               Bobby, Vic and Johnny are pounding out a heavy beat on the 
               TOM-TOMS. Everyone in the stadium begins to CLAP in unison 
               with the DRUMS.

               Taylor steps back in and once again points to the bleachers.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                              (Taylor points again)
                         Unbelievable. They're on their feet 
                         here, stomping, clapping. C'mon, 
                         join in wherever you are out there. 
                         Let's hear you, Cleveland.

<b>               THE LONGSHOREMEN
</b>
               and several of their friends at their bar, huddled around 
               the RADIO with the punks and heavy metal kids we saw before. 
               Slowly they begin to clap in time with the tom-toms which 
               are audible on the T.V.

<b>               THE BUSINESS EXECUTIVE
</b>
               at the opera with his wife, a radio earplug in his ear. His 
               hand taps on his leg in sync with the TOM-TOMS.

<b>               THE TWO KOREAN GROUNDSKEEPERS
</b>
               (Sc 222 before scene 221) beating on their shovels in the 
               bullpen.

<b>               LARGE APARTMENT BUILDING
</b>
               FRAMED against the Cleveland skyline. In several of the lit 
               windows we see people banging things or clapping.

<b>               THE STADIUM AGAIN
</b>
               Duke gets back on the hill. Getting the sign he wants, he 
               comes to his stretch, checking Hayes at second.

               As Duke starts his delivery to the plate, we go to SLOW 
               MOTION. The clapping in the stadium stops as everyone hushes 
               to watch the pitch. We...

<b>                                                                    CUT TO:
</b>
<b>               THE LONGSHOREMEN, THE BUSINESS EXECUTIVE, THE GROUNDSKEEPERS 
</b><b>               AND THE APARTMENT DWELLERS
</b>
               They've all stopped too in anticipation of the pitch.

<b>               THE STADIUM
</b>
               Everything from here on will continue to be in SLOW MOTION. 
               As Duke whips his arm toward the plate, Hayes takes off for 
               third. Taylor, instead of swinging away, shortens up on the 
               bat and bunts Duke's pitch down the third base line.

               The Yankee third baseman, caught completely unaware, charges 
               the ball frantically.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               barreling down the line toward first on his sore legs, giving 
               it everything he's got.

<b>               THE THIRD BASEMAN
</b>
               scooping up the ball barehanded and firing on the run to 
               first.

<b>               TAYLOR
</b>
               pounding down the line. He strains for the bag as the Yankee 
               first baseman stretches to his limit for the throw. Taylor 
               and the ball arrive at almost the same time. Taylor hits the 
               bag and then sprawls in the dirt as his knees give out.

               The umpire brings up his arms, and spreads them wide. Safe. 
               Taylor's beaten it.

               The first baseman looks up to see something that strikes 
               fear into his heart across the field. It's...

<b>               HAYES
</b>
               streaking for home, trying to score all the way from second 
               on a bunt.

               The first baseman fires to the plate, as the catcher positions 
               himself for the throw. Hayes launches into a flying feet-
               first slide. The catcher brings the tag down. Hayes hooks to 
               the outside, his trailing foot reaching for the plate.

<b>                                     DOYLE (V.O.)
</b>                         Hayes is gonna try to score! Here 
                         comes the throw. He slides. He is...

               Hayes' foot catches the corner of the plate. The umpire puts 
               the palms down and whips them apart. It's all over, folks. 

<b>               SLOW MOTION ENDS
</b>
<b>                                     DOYLE
</b>                         ...Safe. The Indians win it. The 
                         Indians win. Oh my God, the Indians 
                         win it!!

               Pandemonium breaks loose in Municipal Stadium. Rachel hugs 
               Donovan, dances around, punches the air, then hugs Donovan 
               again. Everywhere people are hugging and kissing each other. 
               Bobby, Vic and Johnny are going berserk in the bleachers. 
               Thelma sits quietly, a tear rolling down her cheek.

<b>               QUICK CUTS
</b>
               of our other fans. We see...

               A) The Business Executive stand up and yell "Yes!" in the 
               middle of the opera. Several other men stand up and express 
               their excitement as well.

               B) The Longshoremen whoop it up in their bar -- exchanging 
               fives and hugs with the punkers and heavy metal kids.

               C) The various apartment dwellers dancing, clapping, yelling 
               out the windows.

               D) The two Korean Groundskeepers just shaking their heads in 
               amazement.

               E) Elsewhere in the stadium, the joyous exultation continues 
               unabated. The crowd pours onto the field as Hayes runs toward 
               Taylor and literally leaps into his arms.

               F) The two spin around throwing their fists in the air.

               G) Cerrano and Harris embrace. Dorn gives Vaughn a hug, then 
               steps back and decks him with a right hand.

               H) Dorn pulls Vaughn back to his feet, and they hug again.

               I) Up in the stands, Rachel watches all this with tears in 
               her eyes.

               Taylor starts off the field when he sees something that 
               catches his eye. Standing by the field rail is Lynn. She 
               holds up her left hand and smiles. There's no ring on it. 
               Taylor races over to her as she jumps down from the rail and 
               hugs herself to him. We HOLD on the celebration as it swirls 
               all around them, and...

<b>               ROLL CREDITS
</b>
<b>                                         THE END
</b></pre><br>
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	<td><h1>Major League</h1><br><br>
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    	<b>Genres</b> : &nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="/genre/Comedy" title="Comedy Scripts">Comedy</a><br><br><br>
		
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What baseball team does Rachel Phelps inherit from her deceased husband?
What baseball team does Rachel Phelps inherit from her deceased husband ?
Cleveland Indians
Cleveland Indians
The Cleveland Indians.
The Cleveland Indians .