Tuesday, January 24, 2012
How the Prince Fielder Deal Got Done
/buzzer on desk sounds
SECRETARY: Mr. Dombrowski? Mr. Ilitch is here to see you. He looks upset.
DOMBROWSKI: Just wonderful. Send him in.
SECRETARY: No, Mr. I. You pull the door to get it open. No, sir, I didn’t change the doorknobs overnight. No, sir, Ted Turner isn’t behind this. There you go…
/door opens gingerly
DOMBROWSKI: Doing the best I can, sir. And it’s “Dave”, by the way.
ILITCH: That’s what I said, Dan. Now the Venezuelan immigrant boy that shovels my snow had distressing news for me today…
DOMBROWSKI: It didn’t snow last night, sir.
ILITCH: I know that, you twit. Marion made a comment about how there hasn’t been much snow this year. So I had some shipped in from Alaska. Turns out she was happy there wasn’t any of that white crap around. Point is, this boy tells me that Pudge hurt his knee and is out for the year! Why wasn’t I told?
DOMBROWSKI: Pudge was traded years ago, sir. It was Victor Martinez. And I did tell you about it. You questioned my heterosexuality and went back to your 2pm massage.
ILITCH: Ahh, yes. The 2pm massage is the best way to cap off the 1pm massage. And don’t sass me, Doug. Point is, this will not do! We need to protect our franchise player! Who’s the fellow that enjoys the moonshine?
DOMBROWSKI: Miguel Cabrera, sir.
ILITCH: Yes. The Puerto Rican fellow. Now why haven’t we signed a new DH yet?
DOMBROWSKI: Sigh. Well, there’s really no one out there in our price range that I feel can replace Victor. I’m close to a decision, though. I know you liked Johnny Damon when he was here.
ILITCH: No. Hell no. That boy’s wife had the nerve to thumb her nose at Marion’s cooking one weekend at our cottage.
DOMBROWSKI: Really, sir? I thought you hated your lovely wife’s cooking.
ILITCH: Now it’s true that Marion’s cooking tastes like a dog’s scrotum, but it’s not some spoiled wench wife of the help’s place to say so. Now tell me, Dave, can we get Cobb back?
DOMBROWSKI: Ty Cobb, sir?
ILITCH: Do you know another one? Moron.
DOMBROWSKI: He died over fifty years ago, sir.
ILITCH: No kidding. How about Greenberg?
DOMBROWSKI: Also dead, sir.
ILITCH: Kaline? I just saw him last week.
DOMBROWSKI: He’s in his late seventies, Mr. Ilitch. I hardly consider him an option.
DOMBROWSKI: He’s Arizona’s manager.
DOMBROWSKI: Also in Arizona. And he hates you.
ILITCH: Damn. How about Sheffield?
DOMBROWSKI: Still on the payroll, but not an option, I’m afraid.
ILITCH: How about the fellow that hit fifty homers for us? Um…Fielder!
DOMBROWSKI: Sigh. Fielder reti…
/light bulb goes off over Dave’s head
DOMBROWSKI: Fielder…he’s available, if you’re serious, sir.
ILITCH: Of course I am, Donald! I’ve always been a fan of Fielder. In fact, Marion had me watch a film of his last week. Have you seen “Precious”? Fielder was delightful in that. I think that was Fielder...
DOMBROWSKI: I’m sure he was. How many years and how many dollars are we talking about, sir?
ILITCH: I’ll be 83 in a couple months, Dwayne. I’ll be lucky to see Christmas. I don’t give a damn. Just get us Fielder. The bastard children can worry about the future.
DOMBROWSKI: No problem, sir.
ILITCH: Great! And see if Lolitch or Morris wants a job, too. I hear we might have a rotation spot up for grabs. Spare no expense!
/blows nose with $100 bill
DOMBROWSKI: Will do.
ILITCH: Great! I’m off to get my noon massage. You’re doing a fine job, Denny.
DOMBROWSKI: Sigh. Thank you, sir.
/giggles and calls Scott Boras