BRAMPSON—What is it?
BAT BOY—Well, couldn't you maybe give Mister Powell just one more chance? I know he hasn't been....
BRAMPSON—Hasn't been? Why, he has ruined this whole team, that's what he 'hasn't been.' I'm through with Mister Powell! I've given him his last chance. And that's final. Get me a pinch hitter. Somebody. Anybody. Get in there and hit yourself. Get the trainer. Get the janitor. Anybody.
(Soft roll of drums and a "ting" on the triangle. Out of the darkness of the dugout, Boog Powell steps forward. He stands stiffly, expressionless, towering hugely over Manager Brampson. His sleeves are pushed up on the massive, muscular arms and they glint like satiny steel. He is swinging a gigantic sequined bat, whose every move gives off little diamond-bursts of light)
BOOG—(Rumblingly) Well, here I am.
BOOG—I am ready to bat in my accustomed spot.
BRAMPSON—In a word: no.
BOOG—(Firmly, steely-voiced) I can do it, sir.
BAT BOY—The crowd is starting to holler, sir. And....