Apocalypse Castillo
CASTILLO: (v.o.) Clearwater. S--t. I'm still only in Clearwater... Every time I think I'm gonna wake up in the Bank.
Last year, with the Mets after the pop up, it was worse. I'd wake up and there would be nothing. I hardly said a word to the team until I said "yes" to my release. Now I'm here, and I want to be there. Now that I'm here, all I can think about is getting back to the bigs. I'm here a week now...waiting for a spot on the roster...getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute Cholly squats in the bush, he gets skinnier. Each time I look around, the walls move in a little tighter.
Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a baseball job, and for my sins, they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service.
Two men approach the hotel room:
AGENT: Luis Castillo? Luis? Are you in there?
CASTILLO: Si.
CASTILLO (v.o.): It was a real choice baseball job, and when it was over, I'd never want another.
AGENT: We're going to the airport, Luis.
CASTILLOA (v.o.): I was going to the worst place in the world, and I didn't even know it yet. Weeks away and hundreds of miles up a river that snaked through rustbelt Pennsylvania like a main circuit cable that plugged straight into Utley. It was no accident that I got to be the caretaker of Chase C. Utley's memory, any more than being in Clearwater was an accident. There is no way to tell his story without telling my own. And if his story is really a confession, then so is my own.
In the briefing room:
SCOTT PROEFROCK: Come in...have a seat...want a smoke?
CASTILLO: No thanks.
PROEFROCK: Luis - have you ever seen this gentleman before? [gestures] Ever met Rubes or myself?
CASTILLO: No, sir. Not personally.
PROEFROCK: Did you not work for the LOLMets last year?
CASTILLO: No sir.
PROEFROCK: Did you not purposefully drop a pop up to lose a game against the Yankees just to piss off Mets fans and force a trade or your outright release?
CASTILLO: I am unaware or any such activity or operation - nor would I be disposed to discuss such an operation if it did in fact exist, sir.
AMARO: I thought we'd have a bit of lunch while we talk. Let's see what we have...crab fries...schmitters. Try some, Scott, pass it around. Luis, I don't know how you feel about this schmitter, but if you'll eat it, you'll never have to prove your courage in any other way..."
PROEFROCK: Luis, have you heard of Chase Utley?
CASTILLO: I've heard the name.
AMARO: Scott -- would you play the tape for Luis, please. Listen carefully.
PROEFROCK: This was monitored out of Lehigh Valley. It has been verified as Chase Utley's voice.
UTLEY (ON TAPE): I watched Wilson Valdez get 200 plate appearances. That's my dream. That's my nightmare. Hitting into 30 double plays. Making "productive outs." And getting more plate appearances.
UTLEY (ON TAPE): We must destroy them. We must incinerate them. Writer after writer. Morgan after Morgan. Chass after Chass. And they call me an assassin. What do you call it when the assassins accuse the assassin? They lie...they lie and we have to be merciful for those who lie. Those nabobs. I hate them. How I hate them...
AMARO: Chase Utley was one of the most outstanding second basemen this country has ever produced. He was brilliant and outstanding in every way. He was a good man, too, fixing Elvis' glands for the Bat. A humanitarian man. A man of wit and humor. Then he started to read TheGoodPhight. After that, his ideas...methods...have become unsound...unsound.
PROEFROCK: Now he's crossed into the Lehigh Valley with his blogger army who, aside from the smell, worship the man like a god. They follow his every order, however ridiculous.
AMARO: You see, Luis... In this game, things get confused out there. Scouting, analysis, tools, and contracts... Out there with the bloggers, it must be a temptation to be a god. Because there's a conflict in every human heart between the rational and the irrational, between good and evil. The good does not always triumph. Sometimes the dark side wins and the people who take over are what Conlin called antisocial young men living in their mothers' basements. Every man has a breaking point. You and I have. Chase Utley has reached his. And very obviously, he has gone insane.
CASTILLO: Yes sir. Very much so, sir. Obviously insane.
PROEFROCK: Your mission is to proceed up the Lehigh River. Pick up Utley's path at the Sands, follow it to Erv's across from the Iron Pigs' field, and learn what you can there. When you find Utley, infiltrate his team by whatever means available and terminate his command.
WILLARD: Terminate? Utley?
AMARO: He's out there operating without any decent restraint. Totally beyond the pale of any acceptable human conduct.
PROEFROCK: Terminate with extreme prejudice.
AMARO: You understand, Luis, that this operation does not exist, nor will it ever exist.
32 comments
|
14 recs |
Do you like this story?
Comments
We teach our guys to slide hard and try to take out the other team’s players. But we don’t let them say “fuck” at a World Series celebration, because it’s obscene!
http://www.thegoodphight.com
I was thinking of FM
for the role of photojournalist later on in the script.
Why look'st thou so?' -"With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross."
by RememberthePhitans on Mar 29, 2011 9:07 AM EDT up reply actions
Victorino is probably Col. Kilgore.
Why look'st thou so?' -"With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross."
by RememberthePhitans on Mar 29, 2011 9:16 AM EDT up reply actions
You could be Clean:
Playmate of the Year: [as couple gets steamy, another soldier peers into window] Who are you?
Clean: I’m next, ma’am.
Why look'st thou so?' -"With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross."
by RememberthePhitans on Mar 29, 2011 10:03 AM EDT up reply actions
Cholly don’t surf
"Ninety percent of this game is half mental" - Yogi Berra (SI, May 14, 1979)
by bandwagonesque on Mar 29, 2011 10:08 AM EDT up reply actions 1 recs
Yes. It writes itself.
Why look'st thou so?' -"With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross."
by RememberthePhitans on Mar 29, 2011 11:07 AM EDT up reply actions
Cole on the forward 50’s was a famous surfer from the beaches south of L.A. You look at him and you wouldn’t believe he ever fired a weapon in his whole life.
"Ninety percent of this game is half mental" - Yogi Berra (SI, May 14, 1979)
by bandwagonesque on Mar 29, 2011 11:17 AM EDT up reply actions
Cholly don’t surf
And you know that it ain’t no good.
Are there still teams in Florida?
Cos’ we’ve got plenty of room out here.
Lots of oil – free beaches…
Wait, scratch that.
We do have oil – free room, though.
Nomadic baseball fan, with no agenda other than observation/conversation/mass confusion/mass consumption.
Prosecutor: "Jesus Christ, did ANYBODY tell the truth to the grand jury?"
Barry Bonds: "I did."
Prosecutor: "GAH!"
by victor frankenstein on Mar 29, 2011 7:19 PM EDT up reply actions
Purely coincidental, I started teaching about apocalypticism in class today. I open up TGP after the first class and boom, there it is — Apocalypse Castillo.
by WanderingMoses on Mar 29, 2011 10:56 AM EDT reply actions
The World As We Know Is About To Change™
by WanderingMoses on Mar 29, 2011 12:19 PM EDT reply actions
Who’s in charge here?
Great, great work.
by dajafi on Mar 29, 2011 10:52 PM EDT via mobile reply actions
man, ain’t you?
http://www.thegoodphight.com
by WholeCamels on Mar 29, 2011 11:07 PM EDT up reply actions
UTLEY: I’ve seen bushers… bushers that you’ve seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that … but you have no right to judge me. It’s impossible for words to describe advanced statistics to those who do not know what “busher” means. Busher. Busher has a face … and you must make a friend of the busher. The busher and the waiver wire are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies. I remember when I was with the Reading Phillies. Seems a thousand centuries ago. We went into a hospital to sign autographs for the children. We left the hospital after we had given the children autographs, and this old man came running after us, and he was crying. He couldn’t see. We went back there, and they had taken them and tried to sell them on eBay. There they were all on eBay. A listing of our autographs. And I remember … I … I … I cried. I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it. I never want to forget. And then I realized … like I was hit… like I was hit with a baseball… a baseball right on my wrist. And I thought: My God … the genius of that. The genius. The will to do that. Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they were stronger than we. Because they could stand that these were not bloggers. These were fans… trained mercenary autograph hounds. These fans who cheered with their hearts, who had families, who had children, who were filled with love … but they had the strength … the strength … to do that. If I had ten sections of those fans, then our troubles here would be over very quickly. You have to have fans who are moral … and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to comment without thinking … without passion … without judgment … without judgment. Because it’s judgment that defeats us.
by Wet Luzinski on Mar 30, 2011 12:01 AM EDT reply actions 4 recs
The horror.... the horror...

by Chutley's Impressed by Mac's Speed on Mar 30, 2011 3:16 AM EDT up reply actions 3 recs
FTW!
Rec’d for awesomeness.
Why look'st thou so?' -"With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross."
by RememberthePhitans on Mar 30, 2011 8:48 AM EDT up reply actions
“Every season they rebuilt the Mets roster, every night Cholly knocked it down.”
"I remember being three and I wanted to be a baseball player, that's all I ever really wanted to be. That and Spider Man." -Raul Ibanez
by Jose and the Contrarians on Mar 30, 2011 12:51 AM EDT reply actions 3 recs

































