BOOG—Well, I can hardly pick up a bat. But if the team needs me....
BOOG—Wait a minute. I've got an idea. Now then. Here's my plan....
(Lights out on left, up on right, the dugout. There is another sharp, clean crack and Manager Brampson, who has been pawing one toe in the dirt, looks up in surprise. The players come to the edge of the dugout and gaze offstage at the field)
BRAMPSON—Well, look at that! Now we've got a man on first and a man on second! And nobody out. If I only had someone who could drive them in.
(He turns and looks at the line of Baltimore players in the dugout. They all avert their eyes)
(Lights out on right, up on left. The Scientist walks into the laboratory, whistling merrily. He checks his bubbling vials, nodding in satisfaction. Then he glances over at the cage. A look of anguish comes over his face as he notices the cage is empty, its door swinging open. Then he sees there is a note taped to the door. He snatches it from the bars and moves to stage center, reading. Music up. The Scientist now paces, singing aloud from the note)
SCIENTIST—DEAR MAD DOCTOR MONSTER-MAKER:/YOU POOR, MISGUIDED MOVER AND SHAKER,/YOU CREATED A ROBOT TO DO YOUR BIDDING,/TO RUIN THE ORIOLES, WHY, ARE YOU KIDDING?/BENEATH THIS RUBBERIZED PLASTIC COVERING,/A MAGNAVOX SOUL IS ALIVE AND HOVERING./POOR MAN, POWER IS YOUR ONLY AIM,/WHILE AS FOR ME, IT'S THE OLD BALL GAME!/I'M STRONG, I'M LOOSE, I'M FREE TO GROWL!/AND NOW I'VE KIDNAPPED THE REAL BOOG POWELL!/SO RAISE YOUR GLASS IN A TOAST TO ME,/YOU DRINK WINE, I'LL HAVE STP!
(Music down. The Scientist crumples the note and throws it aside, angrily)
SCIENTIST—Hmmmph. It looks like I've done my job too well! My very own monster has turned on me. But I'll fix his clock! He's smart, sure, because I've made him that way. He doesn't know that I have the final control over him....
(He stalks to the counter and spins some dials on a radio apparatus. He checks the gauges as they swing up to power)