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Scene: Phillies' Clubhouse at Citizen's Bank Park, pregame.*
*Ed. note: The following is probably transcribed from an actual audio recording, and is totally not the author's limited French augmented with Google Translate, because articles like this are all about accuracy.
Bob McClure: "So, Phillippe, is this making sense to you? You've got to throw strikes, get the ball over the plate. With your stuff, you should be pitching better than this."
Phillippe Aumont: "Oh que le soleil tapait sur mon visage, des étoiles de remplir mon rêve. Je suis un voyageur de temps et d'espace, d'être où je suis."
McClure: "Uh, sure, yeah, sounds like you've got a good handle on things. Why don't you head on out to the bullpen and talk to Rod, make sure he knows what we've talked about."
Aumont: "Pour s'asseoir avec les aînés de la course en douceur, ce monde a rarement vu. Ils parlent de jours pendant lesquels ils sont assis et attendent et tout sera révélé."
McClure walks away slowly, shaking his head. "Chooch, you understand this guy, right?"
Chooch: "Eet ees deeficult, but I theenk I do. Fasboll, corfboll, sometimes change-ahp."
Aumont makes his way to the bullpen. "Talk et chanson de langues de grâce chantante, dont les sons caresser mon oreille. Mais pas un mot que j'ai entendu ce que je pourrais raconter, l'histoire a été très clair. Oh, oh."
Nichols: "Oh, yeah, hey there Phillippe. Bob said you'd be coming out to work on some stuff before the game. What's the plan?"
Aumont: "Oh, je volais été ... maman, il n'est pas impossible de nier que j'ai été voler, n'est pas sans nier, ne peut nier."
Nichols: "Well, okay, but do you want to work on your curve or locations or what? I;m here for you, buddy, tell me what you want to do."
Aumont: "Tout ce que je vois vire au brun, comme le soleil brûle le sol. Et mes yeux se remplissent de sable, comme je scrute cette terre perdue. Essayer de trouver, d'essayer de trouver d'où je viens."
Nichols: "Ahh, right. Well, you've obviously got something in mind. Why don't you start warming up, and I'll just tell you what I see."
Aumont stretches. "Oh, pilote de la tempête qui ne laisse aucune trace, comme des pensées à l'intérieur d'un rêve. Respectez le chemin qui m'a conduit à cet endroit, le courant de désert jaune."
Nichols says nothing.
Aumont takes the bullpen mound, and delivers a pitch three feet over the catcher's head. "Mon Shangri-La sous la lune d'été, je vais revenir. Bien sûr que la poussière qui flotte haut en Juin, quand Movin 'par le Cachemire."
Nichols: "Okay, see there's something we can work on. Your command just isn't there, Phil. Keep the ball in the zone, let's work on that, okay?"
Aumont throws a pitch five feet off the plate. "Oh, père des quatre vents, de remplir mes voiles, à travers la mer d'années. En l'absence de disposition, mais un visage ouvert, le long du détroit de peur. Ohh."
Nichols: "Okay, okay, you got the height down that time. How about this, take something off it, just relax and get one over."
Aumont buries one in the dirt ten feet in front of the plate. "Quand je suis sur, quand je suis sur mon chemin, oui. Quand je vois, quand je vois le chemin, vous restez-oui."
Nichols: "Just try to relax, take it easy, okay? You're overthrowing the hell out of these, with your stuff, you don't need to do that. Just lob one in, let's start there. Can you do that for us?"
Aumont sees Chase Utley in the outfield, calls and waves to him. Utley wanders over. "Ooh, ouais ouais-, ooh, oui-oui, quand je suis en bas. Ooh, ouais ouais-, ooh, oui-oui, eh bien je suis en bas, si bas. Ooh, mon bébé, oooh, mon bébé, laissez-moi vous y emmener."
Utley looks on quizzically. "What's going on, Rod?"
Nichols: "Man, Chase, I have no idea. They send him out here to work on something with me, but he keeps speaking in French, and I have no idea if he understands."
Utley: "I think I know what's going on here, but I need to see something first. Phil, what comes next?"
Aumont: "Permettez-moi de vous y emmener. Permettez-moi de vous y emmener."
Utley grins. "Yeah, Rod, don't worry, I got this."
FIN