The Collected Works of Itsy Bitsy Boss: "The Muzzle"

By Tom Segrave

This book is the collected works of Tom Segrave, an author who exposes the paradoxes of psychiatric illness: the good and the bad, the insights and the insanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543969436

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Print ISBN 978-1-54396-942-9

eBook ISBN 978-1-54396-943-6

The Collected Works

OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN

Ad Infinitum

Inevitability

50 Poems

OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN

A screenplay by Tom Segrave

Note: The entire picture is filmed in an amateur way.

FADE IN:

EXT. BASEBALL FIELD - DAY, 1950’S

Music begins. On the field, RED BEATTY (white, 10) takes the plate. He saunters up to the batter’s box, hammering his cleats with his bat as he approaches. Dirt flies off his cleats, in all directions, as if his cleats are exploding with every hit from the bat.

Red takes the plate, and digs in, taking a few practice swings before he enters the batter’s box. The PITCHER (white, 10) on the mound has a massive wad of chewing gum in his mouth, and spits onto the mound. He looks over at the SHORTSTOP (white, 10), who gives him a wink. The pitcher then delivers the first pitch.

Red fouls the first pitch off, over the CATCHER’s (white, 10) head.

The pitcher then goes through just about the same routine as previously, only looking to the SECOND BASEMAN (white, 10) instead of the shortstop. The second baseman gives him a thumbs up, in place of the wink.

On the second pitch, Red converts a base hit, a line drive to center field. Red runs through first base, and takes a look at second, and then retreats to first base.

The next BATTER (white, 10) takes the plate. The pitcher goes through another routine of spitting, and checks the runner on first base, Red, as if the pitcher is emulating a professional pitching ace.

This batter takes one strike. He then takes a ball. Red looks over at his father from first base, FRANK BEATTY (white, 40-ish), in the stands. His father is austere and poses as such, folding his arms across his chest and allowing a firm look to come over his face, raising his eyebrows. Frank then winks at Red. Red’s shoelace is seen to be untied.

On the next pitch the batter hits a sharp grounder to the shortstop, Red trips on his shoelace, and gets thrown out running to second base. Red looks, again, to his father, who now shows an ugly face - a face much different and uglier than the face we had seen just a moment ago, as if he has become an entirely different person, almost a demon.

CUT TO:

EXT. BASEBALL FIELD - DAY, LATE 1980’S

The song continues. TOMMY BEATTY (white, 10) saunters up to the batter’s box, hammering his cleats with his bat. Just as in Red’s scene, Tommy knocks an inordinate amount of dirt from his cleats, as if they explode with every tap of the bat.

The PITCHER (white, 10) on the mound is the spitting image of the pitcher in the previous scene, and acts just the same, as well. He, also, has a massive wad of gum in his mouth, and motions to other PLAYERS (white, 10-ish) on the field like a real charlatan. The pitcher spits on the ground just prior to delivering the first pitch.

Tommy fouls the first pitch over the CATCHER’s (white, 10) head.

The pitcher goes through the motions on the mound once again, digging his cleat into dirt around the pitching rubber. He then delivers a pitch.

Tommy then converts a single, a line drive to center field. From first base, he looks over towards his father, the aged Red (white, 40-ish), who shows an austere presence, just as Red’s father had, before this scene eclipsed the previous one. Red folds his hands on his chest, and raises his eyebrows.

Tommy goes through the exact same motions that Red had gone through in the previous scene, taking a good lead off of first base. The next BATTER (white, 10) comes to the plate. Just as in the last scene, almost identically, this batter takes one strike, and then a ball. Tommy’s shoelace is untied.

On the third pitch, the batter hits a sharp grounder to the SHORTSTOP (white, 10). Tommy then trips on his shoelace running to second, and gets thrown out on his way down the base path. When he looks over at Red, Red’s face is the same kind of ugly that Frank’s had been, previously.

CUT TO:

EXT. INTERCHANGE BETWEEN THE TWO BASEBALL FIELDS - DAY

The subject of the scene changes rapidly between the father and son, both in uniform and on their respective baseball fields, Red becoming Tommy, and Tommy then fading to Red. Both play shortstop, with their teams now in the field. Their uniforms shift in color from Red’s orange to Tommy’s green. For a moment the young player on screen is Red, and when Red looks up at his father, his father has vanished behind a smokescreen.

In the stands around Frank, men are seen smoking cigarettes, cigars, and pipes. A faint red glow comes from within the smokescreen.

The scene shifts entirely to Tommy, and Tommy makes a diving play, and then throws out a base runner. When he looks up at his father, he sees that original, dapper Red, who winks at him in the same fashion as before.

The music fades out.

CUT TO:

INT. LIVING ROOM - EVENING

On a rocking chair, in the corner of the room, sits a brunette with a dimly-lit, round, and seemingly beautiful face, RACHEL BEATTY (50-ish). She rocks back and forth, paging through a lengthy document. She wets her pointer finger, and thumbs through the document, with a sincere earnestness about her countenance.

The fire burns in fireplace, with the fire providing the only light in the room. Although Rachel’s face looks round, kind, and attractive, in the dimly-lit room her actual features remain somewhat unknown.

RACHEL

Years and years ago, when I was still a young, young woman, my father and my brother had some long period of time during which they could not agree on much of anything. This time was marked by fighting and cursing and swearing, yelling and screaming and shouting. Only one year ago, my brother predeceased me, and left me in his will a screenplay, the likes of which could supposedly explain this sad period of time, and could also unveil the many secrets of my family - secrets, he stated, that only my father’s eldest son and heir would ever have known. In his early adulthood, my son has become a filmmaker, and my brother asked my son and me to make this story available for all to see and hear the story of the great Red Beatty, our father. This all seemed silly to me to read in his will, being that I obviously knew my father quite well, as an educator and a very humble yet greatly insightful man. My brother, you see, suffered from schizophrenia, and his perspective on reality has long been known to be off-base. I took it upon myself to offer my narration in place of my brother’s original narration, in order to temper my brother’s obscure account of what he called the facts. I was also careful to leave my brother’s storyline in place, to maintain the integrity of my late brother’s rendition of our father’s life, no matter how brilliantly absurd and counterfactual his account actually is. The screenplay itself is amateur, with a very unnatural feel to it. Furthermore, my brother’s account is not only unnatural, but totally uncomfortable for me.

CUT TO:

EXT. BASEBALL FIELD, LATE 1950’S - DUSK

The young Red (17) is escorted away from the field to a round of applause from the stands. Red looks up at the stands, and focuses on a woman dressed in all black, walking slowly down the steps towards the dugout. She is carrying a white rabbit in her arms. She pets the rabbit’s head for a moment. She then looks over her shoulder, and the rabbit leaps from her arms. The rabbit hops down the stands, and then hops down to the dugout. Red eventually cannot pay any more attention to the rabbit, as other PLAYERS (white, teens) trot up to him and slap him on the back. His father escorts him away from the field. The cheers are more polite than modern cheers, given the late 1950’s era, but the crowd is ecstatic nonetheless. Red looks back at the field, to see the woman attempting to open the gate to go onto the field. The rabbit is hopping on the field, and hops all the way to the pitcher’s mound, where it stops and sits on the rubber. Red is now walking from the game with his father, Frank (50-ish).

FRANK

It’s not that I want you to do this for me. It’s that I want you to do this for you. I need you to speak with a friend of mine. You know him, but you don’t yet know what he has to do with your future.

RED

Dad, my future only has to do with me accepting the scholarship from college to play baseball.

FRANK

That’s vanity, having to arouse that type of fanfare. You have a higher purpose, and a true obligation - a commitment - to your family.

RED

Sir, my higher purpose is whatever you think it should be.

FRANK

Son, I spent my younger days dilly-dallying around and wasting time. Only when I made my way with the corporate organization did I have any kind of security. My goal for you is to be the most secure individual you can possibly be. Sports?! I played sports. It’s not what it’s cracked up to be, not even the way the colleges are recruiting the kids these days.

RED

Sir, I apologize, but who is this friend you wanted me to see?

CUT TO:

EXT. HIGH SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DUSK

The dimly lit parking lot allows Frank to spy a PRIEST (white, 70-ish) standing underneath a lamppost. The priest waits patiently, silently, and still, for Frank and Red to make their approach. When they arrive at the place where the priest stands, Frank walks over to the priest, humbly, and extends his right hand for a shake. The priest gently takes Frank’s hand, and they shake hands. The priest looks at Red, puts his hand on Red’s shoulder, and begins to walk and talk with him, as he releases Frank’s hand from the handshake.

No dialogue is overheard as Red and the priest walk off into the darkness, and as Frank remains in the lighted area under the lamppost, smoking a cigar, blowing thick smoke rings.

RACHEL (V.O.)

Little heard of as it may be today for a bold and brilliant young man, my father’s entrance to become a man of the cloth was accurate, to some extent, in terms of my brother’s narration. The exact details as to why my father became a monk at such a young age were entirely unknown to me, but for all I know, perhaps my father once told my brother a story akin to the way my brother presents this part of his film. It simply did not seem important to me how or why my father became a man of the cloth. Simply that his younger days were spent in a responsible manner, which paved the way for my family to remain secure, seemed important to me. Not to mention, in my father’s later years, he shied away from any discussion of the brotherhood.

CUT TO:

INT. FRANK BEATTY’S HOME, LATE 1950’S - NIGHT

There is a slow-sipping, reminiscing, whiskey get together. All attending GUESTS (white, 50’s), dressed somewhere in between dressy and casual, are gathered around Frank’s living room, and all are gesticulating as if they are sharing stories from the past, probably drunk, but maintaining a serious and sober type of feel to the gathering. The men sit around a large, rectangular dining room table, with several bottles of Irish whiskey and several bottles of Northern Irish whiskey in the center of the table. Intermittently, the gentlemen pour themselves drinks, as they sip and sip their glasses. No one drinks too quickly, but no one ignores his drink, either.

There is a fire burning in the hearth. An UNKNOWN MAN stands by the hearth, crumbling up paper and feeding the fire with it, also drinking a cup of whiskey. This unknown man looks over the table where the others sit, every once in a while.

GUEST ONE

What about O’Donnell? He was no leader. He was certainly no boss.

The unknown man throws another piece of paper onto the fire.

GUEST TWO

He was a boss. In fact, that was how he ducked it all. He was the boss, but people thought he was such an oaf that he had to be a front for somebody else.

The unknown man throws another piece of paper onto the fire.

GUEST THREE

But who would ever know who’s the boss? One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I don’t even know who the bossiest gentleman in this room is. Everyone’s got some kind of secret way of proving to himself he’s the boss - maybe proving to his lady he’s the boss - but to get found out as the boss? That’s exactly how he would lose all his ability to execute his affairs like the boss.

The unknown man throws another piece of paper onto the fire.

FRANK

Who’s the boss?! Who’s the boss?! There’s only one boss, and my prize possession in the form of a highly talented son was born to enlist to do his bidding and his good work.

Frank effortlessly gets up from the table where all the guests sit. He takes the final shot from his drinking glass, and goes over to the window, where he points at the full moon.

FRANK

One boss. Up there. Not so high up there that no one could find him out. You all have a pretty good idea about who he is.

The unknown man throws another piece of paper onto the fire.

INT. RED’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Red is stretched out on his bed, with this becoming known as he flicks on a light that sits on his night table. Apparently, Red had not been sleeping, but is dressed in plaid pajamas, which becomes apparent when he takes the comforter off from his body.

Red rolls a crucifix back and forth in his right hand. He does this for a short time, and then he switches to his left hand. Red seems to meditate as his fingers roll the religious item gently, back and forth in a way that seems to promote his concentration. He raises and then relaxes his eyebrows, time and time again, as he plays with the crucifix.

The door to his bedroom creaks open ever so slightly. Startled, Red glances over at it. Red gets up to close it, and drops the crucifix on the floor. He goes to the door, begins to close it, and then seems to notice some noise coming from downstairs. He begins listening to the men speaking downstairs, their voices muffled and only barely audible.

RED

My father would probably wring my neck if he caught me spying tonight...

Red gently opens the door only so much ajar that he can barely slide through the opening. He then carefully closes it almost all the way, but does not close it fully, so as to avoid making any noise that could be overheard by the men downstairs at their gathering.

Red walks down half the flight of stairs, tiptoeing, and perches behind the railing in an attempt to listen to his father’s crowd.

GUEST ONE

Oh c’mon! He was the greatest of the great. No one was able to drink like him. He had the highest tolerance of any man I had ever met. C’mon.

GUEST TWO

You can conjure up a storm replete with lightening that would torch your own family home. O’Donnell was, in fact, the bullshitting boss. But what on earth did he do to become so bossy? That’s a question for the ages. What’s your answer to this, King Frank?

FRANK

Ty Cobb. He was the boss on the field. He was the boss off the field, in certain respects. He was one nasty son of a bitch, too. That’s what made him the boss. He was so nasty that even if the opposition could actually defend himself, the rival’s head would be knocked off his shoulders long before the other guy even went for his pistol.

GUEST ONE

Pour me one more.

CUT TO:

INT. BASEBALL DUGOUT, LATE 1920’S - DAY

A flashback to the days of Frank’s semi-pro baseball career. The dugout is full of rough looking PLAYERS (white, 20’s, 30’s). Frank’s teammates are chewing tobacco, and Frank is making a disgusted face every time he looks over at the spittoon, which sits directly blocking his line of vision to the field on a makeshift shelf on the fence separating the dugout from the field. Frank twiddles his thumbs, and when a player accidentally inhales some of his own spit, and coughs dramatically, Franks gets up, grabs a baseball bat, and white knuckles the bat to the extent that his face becomes red with anger. Frank turns around, away from the spittoon, and he, himself, spits, in disgust.

The action on the field plays out as Rachel provides a voice over.

RACHEL (V.O.)

It’s true that my grandfather played baseball. My brother fantasizes much greater things in his narration, however. These days, if one types Frank Beatty into Google, stories of Frank Beatty the bootlegging mobster return on the search engine. But in my childhood home? My parents were strict. Once, when I was young, I was found out for smoking grass, and I was not permitted to leave the house for anything but school, and this went on for at least a month or two. My parents called it being grounded. Even to suspect that my father grew up with a mobbed up mentality is the result of my brother’s bizarre ideation, characteristic of my brother’s mental illness. However, my brother’s response to this is that my grandfather was, indeed, one of the first and foremost mobsters during the Prohibition Era, and according to my brother again, not even my father’s daughter knew of my family’s involvement, due to the strict code of silence by which the mob must abide – all male and only male.

The game continues, and the players talk in the dugout.

PLAYER ONE

Capone is in town tonight. At the silent watering hole on Sixth Street. Best game in town for tonight, I say.

Player One reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a broken cigar. He then pulls out a pocket knife, cuts it to a clean burning end, and lights it.

FRANK

How do you know it’s Capone and not some crackpot poseur he sent in his stead? A lot of front to Capone.

PLAYER TWO

Minnie Mouse told me so. She said it and she crossed her heart and hoped to die.

Frank rolls his eyes, and makes a fist. Soon enough, he lets the fist go, and his cheeks blush.

FRANK

She probably crossed her fingers, hoped you’d believe her misleading statement - and hoped you’d die.

PLAYER ONE

I’m going to go over there and drink my fill, regardless of whether the boss who shows up is Al Capone or alakazam.

FRANK

I might grin and bear it tonight, over there. I heard Capone was in town, too.

PLAYER TWO

You have sources, Frank Beatty. I know your sources are good at telling you what’s what and who’s who. I’ll bet on King Frank’s sources for tonight.

Frank rolls his eyes again, and then glances over at Player One, who is having difficulty keeping his cigar lit. Player One strikes yet another match, and attempts to light the cigar again.

PLAYER ONE

(smoke pouring out of his mouth)

Bet that Frank Beatty’s going to ground out to second.

The ball club’s MANAGER (white, 60’s) looks over in the direction of the conversing players, and then looks away. Player One quickly discards the cigar to the floor of the dugout, and steps on it with his baseball cleat.

Frank is on deck. He practice swings the wooden bat in a way which seems inhumanly fast, in terms of his bat speed. Frank goes through what seems to be some sort of ritual, where he swings the bat, then allowing the bat to come around and end up tapping his cleat. He is a right-handed batter.

The PLAYER (white, 20’s) at the plate swings and misses. He has struck out. Disgusted, he moves away from home plate at a quick pace, banging the bat on the dirt three times. When he does so, the UMPIRE (white, 60-ish) menacingly looks over at him, and the player seems to understand, by ceasing and looking down, that if he continues, he will be penalized. With his head down, he walks back into the dugout, sort of scurrying.

Frank takes the plate, slowly sauntering up to the batter’s box. He swings at the first pitch, and fouls it off into the stands. Then he looks over at Player One, smirks, and grounds out to second base. Frank barely runs, seemingly jogging, as he moves down the baseline towards first base. He is thrown out very easily, and then he strides back towards the dugout.

When he returns to the dugout, Player One grabs some amount of money out of Player Two’s hand. Player Two gets up, spits once in the spittoon, and then spits right onto the floor of the dugout.

FRANK

You shouldn’t bet on me. You shouldn’t bet against me. Truth of the matter is, no one should bet in the first place.

PLAYER TWO

No one but Frank Beatty...

CUT TO:

INT. SPEAKEASY - NIGHT

The speakeasy is dimly lit, and full of 1920’s era mobsters and other folks, all dressed in an elegant fashion, in sharp contrast to the aura of the place itself, which is very makeshift as a nightclub. Frank and the two players from the previous scene are chatting in the speakeasy, gesticulating to each other and sipping alcoholic beverages.

MINNIE MONAHAN (white, 20-ish), who is around Frank’s age and is a server at the speakeasy, walks over to Frank and hands him a drink. Minnie is dressed like a French maid, and bubbles with personality, as seen through her body language as she approaches Frank with the drink. She brushes her chest against Frank’s arm after providing him with the drink.

MINNIE

This one’s on Mr. Capone.

FRANK

Tell Mr. Capone this one’s on me.

Frank pushes the drink back at Minnie and places it on her server’s tray. Frank then points over to a dark featured MAN (dark-complexion, 40-ish) in the corner of the speakeasy.

FRANK

Go on, Minnie. Serve Mr. Capone’s associate the drink he just bought himself. Tell him it’s on Frank Beatty.

MINNIE

Fine, Frank. You can serve yourself for the rest of the night.

FRANK

Actually, Minnie, I wanted to ask you a question.

Frank digs into one pocket, and then the next. He fishes around, and fumbles with a small object in his hand. His hand seems noticeably nervous as he pulls the object from his pocket. He puts his hands behind his back, as if he’s handcuffed, and then comes up with a diamond, which he presents in front of Minnie for a brief moment. He holds the diamond in front of his eye, takes a long look at it, and then drops it in the drink.

FRANK

Minnie, if Mr. Capone can accept that iced drink from me, I need to know if you can accept me escorting you out of here tonight. But, only if Mr. Capone can accept the ice cold drink you’re going to serve him, courtesy of Frank Beatty.

Minnie swallows hard. She loses firm footing, nearly dropping the server’s tray, gains it back, and then takes a long look at Frank, directly into his eyes. Frank meets her look with an awful wink, and motions for her to approach the man at whom Frank has just pointed.

Minnie walks nervously over to the dark-featured man in the corner of the speakeasy. The man looks at the drink and goes to take a sip. Frantically, Minnie motions for the man to stop attempting to drink the beverage. She points at the bottom of the glass. The man puts the glass up to his eye, and then fishes out the diamond, takes a closer look, and then hands the diamond to an ASSOCIATE (dark-featured, 40’s).

The associate clumsily pulls a magnifying glass from his pocket. As Minnie turns to walk back towards Frank, the men, in a commotion, say something to each other, and then exit the room behind a curtain in the back. Minnie walks back over to Frank.

FRANK

What’d he say?

MINNIE

Frank, he muttered something about Three Legs Diamond, and that’s all I heard.

CUT TO:

INT. FRANK’S MOTEL ROOM - MORNING

The light in the room goes on, and Minnie’s hand is seen holding the light switch. Frank and Minnie have apparently spent the night together. Minnie gets up from the bed and opens the window blinds. She goes over to the corner of the room, and removes her nightgown. Nakedly, she walks over to the sleeping Frank and plants a kiss on his forehead. She plays with her hair and then heads to the bathroom. Frank rolls over and leans in the direction of the bathroom.

FRANK

We can’t just end up like this, Minnie. Every time the team makes a road trip out here, I fall in love with you all over again.

Minnie pops out of the bathroom, and begins a dialogue with Frank. She is wrapped in a towel.

MINNIE

But I have obligations, Frank, and you have commitments.

FRANK

You have commitments to my son.

MINNIE

Frank, you don’t have a son.

FRANK

Our son, Minnie. We are going to have to have son together. We might even have to get married someday.

MINNIE

But Frank, I have so many obligations. I never know where I’m going to have to serve, or where I’m going to have to help open up shop. It’s not right, the way I live. I always wanted to go to school. I wanted to teach school. But there never seems to be a way to do that. Not with these... Obligations!

FRANK

I’d trust my dying mother to your insight, Minnie. We have a future together, I just don’t know when that future together becomes the present tense.

CUT TO:

INT. RED’S BEDROOM – MORNING, 1950’S

Teenage Red wakes up to a very bright room, the sun shining in through his window. Red notices a crucifix on his chest, and as he is getting out of bed, it falls to the ground in front of him. He bends over, takes it up, plays with it in his right hand, and then his left. He looks over at the far window from where the sun enters the room in a very bright fashion. He then looks out the window by his bed, but the curtains are closed. He opens the curtains, and the light is blinding. He covers his face and eyes, and drops the crucifix on the floor. He bends over to pick it up, and turns his ankle and falls down in the process.

CUT TO:

INT. HIGH SCHOOL - DAY

Red is in class, listening to his history TEACHER (white, 65-ish), a Benedictine monk, discuss World War II. Other STUDENTS (white, 17-ish) sit at attention, in Catholic school uniforms, and two students adjacent to Red are, in near silence, bouncing a rubber ball between themselves, unnoticed by the teacher. Other students look over at the ball being bounced every time the teacher turns to write a note on the blackboard, but these students are very careful to look back quickly at the front of the room so that the teacher believes he has the class’s full attention.

TEACHER

So you see, the fury of the Blitzkrieg had Hitler and his devotees thirsty for war, and more war, and perhaps this was the undoing of what could have become the modern equivalent, in terms of an empire, to Vlad the Impaler’s rule, only on a much larger, international scale.

STUDENT ONE

Sir, who was Vlad the Impaler?

TEACHER

Perhaps the devil incarnate, or a manifestation thereof, some would say. I suppose he was history’s equivalent to Count Dracula. He was the ruler of Transylvania during a period in history.

A STUDENT (white, 15-ish) comes from out of nowhere and peers into the classroom from outside the first-floor window. When the teacher turns his back and writes something on the blackboard, the student quietly wraps on the window. The two students bouncing the ball quickly lose track of their game, and the ball rolls, then dribbles, up to the front of the room. The student at the window turns tail and runs for it, his presence going totally unknown by the teacher.

TEACHER

Speaking of evil, what is this? Games in history lecture? There must be some sort of penance for such action. Who was tossing the ball? I say, who was bouncing the ball?

Red looks away from the instructor in disgust.

TEACHER

Who was bouncing the ball, I say?!

The teacher moves over to his desk, takes a long pause and yawns, then clears his throat by coughing. He takes a ruler from the drawer. He snaps it on his palm, and the students all look down at their desks. He snaps it again on his palm, and then yawns again. Then he wraps it on his knuckles, and his body jerks with the pain he has inadvertently caused his own hand.

RED

Sir, I had the ball in my pocket and it fell out. I apologize. I am very sorry for having a ball in my pocket.

The teacher snaps the ruler very loudly on his hand.

TEACHER

Redmond C. Beatty... Why did you bring this ball to class? Is this the way you treat a Benedictine man of the cloth just prior to attempting to become a member of the order?

RED

Again, I apologize.

TEACHER

What on earth can you do to repay the class for this disruption?

RED

I can only say I’m sorry.

TEACHER

You are not forgiven until you serve one hour of detention beginning after lecture, and you will not be graduating should you forego this responsibility to me.

CUT TO:

INT. LIBRARY DETENTION HOUR - AFTERNOON

The detention hall is hot and stuffy. A bead of sweat falls from Red’s forehead. Red sits in the detention hall, studying a Latin text. In front and across the aisle from Red sits a very LARGE TEENAGER (white, 17) wearing his varsity baseball jersey, draped over his Catholic school uniform. Another bead of sweat runs off Red’s head.

The large teenager, with a straw in his mouth, is chewing up pieces of paper, turning around, and spitting spitballs at Red. As yet another bead of sweat rolls off Red’s forehead, a spitball hits him right between the eyes. Red simply ignores him, removing the spitball and the bead of sweat simultaneously. This action of Red as the target of the spitballs continues as Rachel presents another part to her narration, with the large teenager turning to use Red for target practice, and Red attempting to ignore it by reading his Latin text.

RACHEL (V.O.)

My brother states in his narration that this detention hour is extremely important to my father’s story, in that my father had never been scared to accept punishment for someone else’s wrongdoing. My brother states further that my father considered such an action to be a preemptive penance, and that such an action would prevent the penitent one from having to undergo suffering for future sins. None of this makes sense to me, as my father raised me to be an intellectually spiritual human being, and certainly not a Catholic. I’m relatively certain my brother invented this, and that not one member of the Catholic clergy would agree with there being any legitimacy to my brother’s concept.

The two boys continue to sweat in the detention hall, the spitballs having ceased.

LARGE TEENAGER

Not one for the ladies, eh Red? You’re a traitor to your athletic career to join the ranks of the Benedictines. A good beating is what you’re going to get.

RED

Sports are sports. If it weren’t for the Lord’s divine mastery, mankind could not conceive of the rules for a simple game of badminton. And speaking of sports, didn’t you get kicked off the team for having too many detentions?

The large teenager scratches his head, and then pets the varsity letter on his baseball jersey. He then spits a spitball right into the side of Red’s head. The spitball remains glued to Red’s head, leaking saliva down the side of Red’s cheek. Red finally shows some emotion, and jerks back as he brushes the spitball from his face.

LARGE TEENAGER

Red, let’s face it. You could try out for a semi-pro club and make it to the big leagues if you just walked out of this detention hall right now, and never looked back.

RED

I have priorities.

LARGE TEENAGER

I’m walking out of here right now, then. God can wait with you.

A school AID (black, 35-ish) guards the door to the detention hall, but has fallen asleep. The large teenager gets up and walks by the slumbering school aid in the corner of the room. The teenager takes the aid’s cap from his head and puts it on his own head. The slumbering aid opens one eye, and then falls back to sleep. Just as the large teenager walks out of the room, the dismissal bell rings loudly.

CUT TO:

EXT. WOODSY PATH - AFTERNOON

Red walks down a path through a wooded area as it becomes dusk. The woods are dark and deep. Red whistles to himself and thumbs his crucifix as he walks, as Rachel delivers another monologue.

RACHEL (V.O.)

My brother’s narration states that our father was a very confusing young man at the age of 17. Theoretically, he could have played professional sports, which my brother states my father had predicted would eventually pay big money to big name players. According to my brother, Dad had something else in mind at that age: He was to join the Catholic Church as a leader, not due to outright piety, but due to his father’s advice and instinct that the Church was the most powerful entity on the face of the planet in 1960. My brother gets into this a lot: In his youth, he was preoccupied with secrets, whether it were state secrets, or secrets of the Catholic Church. The older and older my brother got, the less and less his audience would pay him any attention. As he aged, he must have been able to perceive the rotten looks he would get every time he would mention the word secret, and he also must have come better to understand that any secret he claimed to have uncovered simply seemed like a symptom of his schizophrenia. In the narration that had appeared in this section of the film, my brother stated that my grandfather wanted my father to enter the church as a man of the cloth in order to get at some of the supposed secrets of the Catholic Church, secrets my grandfather never had for himself due to his supposed involvement in the Mafia.

Red walks around a corner on the path, a shrub blocking his view around the bend. Red brushes up against the shrub as he walks, and makes an annoyed motion to remove the pricker bush from his right arm. He gets a small cut from a thorn on his right hand’s palm when he does so.

The large teenager awaits him, unbeknownst to Red, ready to trip Red as he walks around the bend. Red trips over the large teenager’s ankle, which is extended.

LARGE TEENAGER

Red Beatty! The pansy of all pansies, ditching athletics to sneak peeks at the pantyhose of some nun in some convent!

Red wipes dust from his forehead from the fall he took to the dusty path. He tries to get up, but falls again, and then brushes himself off while on the ground. Red looks over at his foot, and a garter snake slithers across his shoe. From the ground, Red lifts the animal with his foot and kicks the snake in the direction of the large teenager. The large teenager looks as the snake flies over his head.

RED

C’mon!

The large teenager kicks Red in the side. Red grabs his own torso, and shows a great degree of difficulty in regaining his breath. Red obviously has the wind knocked out of him, and rolls over on his side. The large teenager goes to kick him again, but Red grabs the teenager’s ankle. Red flips the teenager over onto his side, and gets up and begins to walk away casually, seeming to have dismissed the entire episode.

LARGE TEENAGER

Beatty! Pansy of all pansies! I’m going to...

As Red walks, the teenager approaches him from behind. Red puts his head down, and slightly glances backwards, which is not perceived by the teenager as the teenager approaches. Just as the teenager approaches Red from behind to put a grip on Red’s neck, arms outstretched to do so, Red spins and throws a punch directly into the teenager’s eye socket. Red then opens his hand, and he is gripping the crucifix.

RED

I hope you and the rest of the world go to your graves believing I’m the pansy of all pansies, or whatever you called me.

Red looks down at the crucifix, and there is a droplet of blood on it, from his bleeding hand, the cut obviously coming from Red’s tight grip on the crucifix while having thrown the punch, the action of which having further opened the previous wound from the thorn. Red shudders.

Red walks down to the stream, looks back, and sees the large teenager walking the opposite direction, holding his face in his hand. Red washes the crucifix off in the water of the stream, as clouds move in and cover the sun.

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INT. BEATTY HOME - LATE AFTERNOON

Red walks in the front door of his home to see a MAN WHO APPEARS TO BE HIS FATHER resting, perhaps sleeping, on the sofa in the living room, with a 1919 Chicago White Sox baseball cap covering his face. Red looks closely at this man, and makes a confused stare for a longer period of time than would seem natural.

RED

Dad? Dad?

Red moves closer to the man who appears to be his father, and lifts his cap ever so slightly. He then gently puts the cap back on the sleeping man. Red plays with a silver hair that has slipped into his palm. The man then begins to awaken, and Red moves away from him, briskly towards the door. Red then doubles back to the stairway that leads up to his room.

Red rushes up to his room. He closes the door behind him, and puts his hands on his head. Red then goes into his closet, and from the top shelf, grabs his baseball glove. Red then very quickly trots out of his room and back down the stairs. He quietly but quickly rushes out the front door of the home.

From the vantage point of the front door, which is left halfway open, Red is seen jogging down the street. Someone closes the door as Red moves briskly towards the sunset.

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EXT. PROFESSIONAL BASEBALL STADIUM – BEFORE DUSK

The ninth inning of the game is ushered in by cheering fans. Red makes his way through the stands, and approaches the home team’s dugout.

A HOTDOG VENDOR (black, 35-ish) puts down his work, and trots back up the stairs to meet with someone. Red picks up the tray of hotdogs and balances it in his baseball glove, which he wears on his left hand, and pretends to be vending them, as he moves closer and closer to the home team’s dugout. Red cautiously eyes the PLAYERS (white, 20’s, 30’s) playing the game, with special attention to PLAYER ONE, on deck.

Player One takes the plate. He bangs his cleats with his bat, and an inordinate amount of dirt flies from his cleats. Just before taking the plate, he goes through what seems to be a ritual, where he swings the bat and knocks the bat on his cleat at the finish of the swing. He then takes the plate.

The PITCHER (white, 30’s) has a massive wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. He digs into the dirt on the mound, spitting as he does so.

Player One takes the first strike. The pitcher squares up again, and stares down Player One for an extended period of time. Player One then takes a pitch, a ball.

On the next pitch, Red watches the player single to center field. Red has made his way all the way down through the stands, and stands at an angle adjacent to the dugout from where he can overhear the conversation in the dugout.

PLAYER IN DOUGOUT

Man, that’s Shoeless Joe Jackson.

NEXT PLAYER IN DUGOUT

That’s Ty Cobb! We all gave up on Shoeless Joe a long time ago.

Player Two comes up, and squares off with the pitcher. Player Two drives a double into the left field gap, and Player One flies around the base paths. He hustles around third base, and comes into home and scores.

PLAYER ONE

That’s a 50-year-old gentleman, give or take a few minutes.

Red looks at the game in awe. When Player One trots into the dugout, Red looks to the floor, and finds rosary beads on the floor. He picks them up, and begins to roll them in his palm.

Red then walks down towards the dugout, and sees Player One emerge from the dugout. Player One bears a striking resemblance to Frank Beatty, but Red’s vantage point is from bit of a distance. He peeks out at Red, takes a good look at him, and is rolling what appear to be rosary beads in his palm. He then mystically disappears into the dugout.

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INT. MONASTERY - NIGHT

The scene opens in a monastery, which is dark and musty. Red walks down the hallway, and is thumbing his rosary beads, balancing a stack of books. He drops them as he fumbles for a key to his bedroom door, dressed in a monk’s garb. He then picks them back up. He carries with him the small mountain of books, just barely able to hold them in his strong arm as he plays with the keys to open his bedroom door.

Once inside his room, he studies away, Latin text after Latin text. Music begins to play. He rapidly flips through book after book.

Still inside the monastery, Red rushes out of his room, down the hall to the library, and there, too, he flips through book after book, now manically. He has a bottle of wine with him, and hides it intermittently under his clothing, looking through the texts. He studies; he drinks; he studies. He eventually makes it back to his bedroom, carrying an inordinate number of books, once again, and he drops the books and his bottle of wine. Red clumsily attempts to clean up the mess, leaving the spilled wine, taking all the books he can carry. Once inside his bedroom, Red drinks and studies until he passes out. Just as Red has gone to sleep, and the song has faded out, the door cracks open to his room, and three dark FIGURES appear, one the MONSIGNOR (white, 80-ish). The focus is on a copy of the Bible that is open on Red’s desk to Revelation.

RACHEL (V.O.)

My brother had some terrible sort of conception about my father’s days in the brotherhood. To my brother, my father was quick to discern the secrets of the Catholic Church, and somehow our supposed inclusion in the Catholic Mafia made my father an exception to the rules that most men of the order had to follow. My brother goes on to narrate that in those days, Catholics were supposedly oppressed in the United