Hall of Fame (a one act play)

Hall of Fame

by Matt Waters

Characters:

Duke 42 years old. Well dressed, wearing a long black coat and dark slacks. Hair is combed, lively disposition.

Brad 22 years old. Wearing a ragged Philadelphia Phillies jersey and jeans. Straight brimmed Philadelphia 76’ers hat hangs loose on his head. Slurring his words, head swivels as he speaks.

Gretta Just turned 7 years old. Wearing a children’s Phillies jersey.

Setting:

Citizen’s Bank Park, where the Philadelphia Phillies play their home games. Three stadium styled chairs are set up center-stage, occupied by the characters. The seat of Gretta is not yet visible as the curtain rises.

…………………………………………………..

BRAD:
(Shoving half a hot dog down his throat)
Come on Phillies! Get a hit! Fuck!

DUKE:
Take it easy, guy.

BRAD:
This is the season! We’re losing to Houston! Fuck!

DUKE:
One of 162, brother, this game is a needle in a haystack.

BRAD:
Fuck!

DUKE:
Is the profanity necessary?

BRAD:
(Stands up)
You’ve been killing us all day, ump, all day! You have been murdering us! You are a disgrace to your profession! You are a disgrace to humanity!

DUKE:
It’s the second inning.

BRAD:
All day!

DUKE:
Would you relax?

BRAD:
(Sits down)
Got to let them know that bullshit don’t fly in this town.

(Springs back up)

Oh my God! What kind of call is that? Oh my God! Is Wandy Rodriguez a Hall of fucking fame pitcher? Holy shit! Why don’t you just hand them the game? I remember this umpire, he pulled the same shit against us last May, and I think that was against Houston too! And I think Wandy was pitching! It’s a conspiracy!

GRETTA:
(Spotlight shines. Reveals GRETTA, seated next to Duke, on his right)
Dad? What’s the hall of fucking? Fame?

DUKE:
(To GRETTA)
That’s the Hall of Fame… sweetie… the Hall of Fame…. It’s a wonderful building in upstate New York. You remember upstate right, with the pretty forest trees? There’s a great hall with golden plaques.

GRETTA:
That sounds fun.

DUKE:
It is. Would you like to visit someday?

GRETTA:
Yes, that is highly intriguing.

DUKE:
Aw, Gretta, is that another word mommy taught you?

GRETTA:
I’m not telling.

DUKE:
What does mommy say about words, Gret?

GRETTA:
There are no big words, only better words.

DUKE:
Absolutely. That’s my girl.

GRETTA:
Daddy?

DUKE:
Yes, string bean?

GRETTA:
Is the magical Wandy going to the Hall of Fame?

DUKE:
Probably not, honey. Even though he is a good pitcher. But only the best make it to Cooperstown. That’s the town where the Hall is.

GRETTA:
Then why can’t we hit him? Why are the Phillies missing everything? It’s quite prophetic.

DUKE:
I think you mean pathetic, my dear. Prophetic means a prediction coming true. Pathetic refers to a sad failure. But this isn’t pathetic, honey bunny. It’s baseball. Over the course of one hundred sixty two games, unexpected events occur constantly. Besides, it’s still early in this one. We’ve got a long way to go. Miles to go… miles to go… who said that Grettie? Who did we talk about the other day, in the car?

GRETTA:
Oh… I know… I know… Robert… Freeze?

DUKE:
Oh, so close. Frost. Robert Frost. Very good, Grettie, very good…. You know, baseball is like poetry in motion. It’s like a story, and the players are the authors, the games are the chapters, and the season is a book.

GRETTA:
Daddy?

DUKE:
Yes?

GRETTA:
Is Doctor Holiday going to the Hall of Fame?

DUKE:
That’s Halladay, sweet pea, Halladay. Our pitcher today, our ace, the best in the game… and yes, he’s going to the Hall of Fame. One day he’ll have a golden plaque.

GRETTA:
In Cooper Town?

DUKE:
That’s right. He’s a beautiful pitcher. He puts the ball right where he wants it. There’s a difference between Roy and Wandy. They are both talented, but Roy is special. Wandy is special, too, but Roy is on another level. Because it’s all location, pitch location.

GRETTA:
I don’t understand.

DUKE:
You will, honey, in time. When you start loving music. You’ll see a perfectly timed lyric, or chord, how a fastball on the outside corner is just the same… how the best musicians sound a little different, and the best pitchers…. You’ll get it. It’s all music.

GRETTA:
Isn’t it funny that Wandy is beating Doctor Holiday?

DUKE:
It is funny, Grettie. But that’s life. And baseball. You have to roll with the punches.

BRAD:
(Stands up)
You bums! You fucking bums! It’s pathetic! They get the first two guys on and do nothing! Now here comes Mayberry to strike out!

DUKE:
(To BRAD. Tugging on his shoulder)
Hey. Would you chill out? I’m trying to watch the game with my daughter.

BRAD:
This is Philly, bro. It’s the bleachers, bro. You from here, bro?
(Toward the field)
Mayberry! You suck!

DUKE:
(Pokes BRAD. Displays police badge under shirt)
The bleachers are no excuse, friend. Now sit down. And enjoy the game. Quietly.

BRAD:
(Face becomes fearful)
OK, man. Just chill.
(Sits down. Drinks out of paper cup)
Mayberry. You suck.

DUKE:
(Biting lip)
Tough crowd… you know… tough crowd.

BRAD:
(Leaning out of seat)
Nice swing, Mayberry. You… you bum! You fucking bum!

DUKE:
(to BRAD)
Listen. Mayberry isn’t a bum. There’s no such thing as a bum at the Major League level. Everyone is capable of helping the team in some kind of a way. It’s up to the manager to utilize their skills properly. And I trust Charlie.

BRAD:
Charlie’s an asshole. Mayberry sucks. And this entire team isn’t the same since losing in the playoffs last season. Bunch of pussies.

DUKE:
Oh. You think five games last October says more about this team than ninety plus wins the past four years?

BRAD:
The playoffs are what matters.

DUKE:
Yeah? You think that’s the best way to judge players?

BRAD:
And I’ve got my eyes on Halladay, too… that choker. He choked in game five! Choked!

DUKE:
Unreal…

GRETTA:
Daddy, why is he saying doctor Holiday choked?

DUKE:
(To GRETTA)
He didn’t choke, honey. Doctors don’t choke. They save people from choking. This guy is talking crazy.

BRAD:
(To GRETTA)
It means he failed. Halladay failed last season. Like he’s failing today. And he should be ashamed.

GRETTA:
A shame?

DUKE:
(To BRAD)
Don’t talk to my daughter.

BRAD:
I’m just letting her know the truth.
(Toward field)
Go on Mayberry! Get it over with!
(To DUKE)
There goes your boy, copper. Really helping the team! With his special skills! There he goes, down 0-2 in the count. You know what his special skill is, copper? Having a daddy who played in the big leagues. That’s all that matters… connections. Why don’t you teach your daughter that? This guy is fucking useless. What did he hit last season, .220?

DUKE:
Mayberry crushes lefties. That’s his job. It has nothing to do with his dad.

BRAD:
Wandy is a lefty. Why can’t he get a hit off him? Right now?

DUKE:
(Pulls out phone. Clicks away)
I’m going to look up what Mayberry hit against lefties last season.

BRAD:
(Pulls out phone too. Clicks away)
I’m going to look it up, too. Can’t trust your stats. You’ll probably tell me hit—

DUKE:
(Pockets phone)
.306. .953 .OPS. Eight homers. That’s his job. And he does it well. Oh, and he also hit seven homers against righties. He’s a good player. You don’t know what you’re talking about.

BRAD:
(Stares at phone. Puts it away)
So what? Stats don’t mean shit. You think last season’s stats are going to help him out now? Today is all that matters.

DUKE:
(Jumps out of seat)
Yes! Yeah Mayberry! Yeah!

GRETTA:
Yay!

DUKE:
(To GRETTA)
Three run home run! We take the lead!

BRAD:
(Still seated)
Big deal…

DUKE:
(Sits down. To GRETTA)
See that, Gretta? Against guys like Wandy, Mayberry is like Ryan Howard. That’s why in life you have to put yourself in the right situations. Life is all about context.

GRETTA:
Con text…

BRAD:
(To DUKE)
That’s it. I’ve listened to your shit all day. That’s ridiculous. Mayberry does not hit like Ryan Howard. Not ever. I don’t give a shit if it’s me on the mound.

DUKE:
You’ve embarrassed yourself enough, and it’s only the second inning. Why don’t you drink your beer and shut up?

BRAD:
Yeah, well why don’t you…
(Drinks out of paper cup)

Why don’t I… you… (Stands and shoves fingers down throat)

GRETTA:
Daddy!

DUKE:
What in God’s name are you doing?

BRAD:
(With fingers down throat)
Mayberry… su..cks…
(Vomits on DUKE and GRETTA)

GRETTA:
(Crying)
Daddy… no… why…

DUKE:
(Springs out of chair)
You miserable piece of shit!
(Tosses Brad on the floor)
You are under arrest.
(Handcuffs Brad)

BRAD:
I still puked on you, copper!

GRETTA:
Daddy, what’s happening?

DUKE:
Don’t worry, Grettie. Justice is being served.

GRETTA:
(Picking vomit out of hair)
Just tice…
(Starts crying again)
Daddy… you’re sad…

DUKE:
(Wiping vomit out of eye)
It’s OK… honey… it’s OK…

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About mw2828

I am a writer currently working out of the New York area. https://mythandmist.wordpress.com/ View all posts by mw2828

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