BOOG—Wait just a minute, Frankenbaum.
BRAMPSON—Uh, yes. Wait a minute. (Turns to Boog) Uh, lissen: Is he serious? Can he really blow up the Orioles?
BOOG—Yes, he is, and yes, he can.
BRAMPSON—(To the Scientist) But why? Go blow up the Pirates, for heaven's sake. Why us?
SCIENTIST—Because the Boog Powell here is not real, that's why. Because I made him and I control him, that's why. I created him and 1 can create more robots. I can rule baseball; I can govern all mankind. That's why.
BRAMPSON—Not real? Boy, I'll say Boog Powell's not real. Wow! Did you see those homers he hit today, fella? Talk about unreal.
SCIENTIST—(Struggling to reach the switch) But you don't understand. None of you understand....
(Music up. Brampson starts to pace around the clearing, gesturing excitedly, shirttails swinging. He comes to stage center and sings)
BRAMPSON—so I DON'T UNDERSTAND?/UNDERSTAND?/DOES A CHILD UNDERSTAND ICE CREAM,/THE WAY I UNDERSTAND THIS BASEBALL TEAM?/LISSEN: SO YOU MADE A ROBOT;/WELL,/I'LL TELL YOU WHAT,/WE'RE ALL ROBOTS, WE'RE ALL SLAVES,/TO THOSE CHEERS, TO THOSE WAVES;/WHY, WE'RE ALL IN THE THRALL./OF BASEBALL/SURE,/WE'RE ALL CONTROLLED,/IF I MAY SAY SO,/BY THE THRILLS, BY THE GAME,/BY THE 'SAY, HEY,' SO,/BLOW UP BASEBALL AND YOU'VE BLOWN,/ANY HOPE OF A WORLD TO CALL YOUR OWN/HUH! WHO WANTS A WORLD/SO DAMNED TAME,/A WORLD WITHOUT/ITS FAVORITE GAME!
(Music down. Now the Scientist wavers. Boog Powell releases his grip and the crowd remains silent, watching the mad doctor. He looks into their faces)