Act I
Home Clubhouse, Fenway Park.
Enter John Lackey, Dustin Pedroia.
Lackey: So this girl, she had the biggest--
Tito [Off Stage]: Lackey?
Lackey: Yeah, Tito. In here.
Enter Tito, carrying a large box.
Tito: Hey Pedey. I ran into Sciosc- in the hall and he asked if I would give this to you. So here you go.
Lackey: Thanks.
Tito: No problem. You ready for tonight?
Lackey: For sure.
Tito: Good. Then I'll see you guys later.
Exit Tito.
Pedroia: So what you get?
Lackey: Give me a second twerp.
Pedroia [losing interest]: Fine. Whatever man.
Lackey: Do you got a knife?
Pedroia: Here. So you were saying about that girl...
Lackey [Cutting through the packing tape]: What? Oh, yeah her. [Lackey pulls a note from the box and begins to read] She had the...What the hell?
Pedroia: What's that?
Lackey: Here. Read it. It's a note from Sciosc.
Pedroia [Reading]: Dear John, [Pedroia giggles] I hope that you find these useful for your time in Boston. You used them enough when you were here in L.A. Love, Mike. Huh. What did he send? Some of your old crap?
Lackey: Golf balls.
Pedroia: What? Oh! I totally get it. Golf balls because you spent so much time on the disabled list playing golf instead of playing baseball. Ouch! He burned you man.
Lackey: I don't--
Pedroia: You're not going to let that go...
Lackey: No.
Pedroia: What are you gonna do about it?
Lackey: Something. He can't just insult me like that.
Exuent Omnes.
Act II
Home Clubhouse, Fenway Park.
Enter entire Red Sox team. The team sits; Lackey and Pedroia stand before the assembly.
Pedroia: Friends, Romans, Countrymen. Lend...
Lackey: Wrong play dude.
Pedroia: What? Oh sorry. Listen, guys. Mike Scioscia is a jackass. You are not going to believe what he just did to John. He tried to insult him by sending him golf balls. He implied that Lackey was just taking money from the Angels and not making a real effort to help them win ballgames. [Assembly grumbles] From what we've seen, we know that that's not true. [Assembly grumbles agreement]
Lackey: We need to show Scioscia that he was wrong, that I always gave my all for that club. They just haven't been good enough and he is full of himself and overrated. [Assent from the assembly] Then forth, dear countrymen. Let us deliver our puissance into the hand of God, putting it straight in expedition. Cheerily to sea, the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France. (2.2.185-9)
Exuent Omnes.
Act III
Home Dugout, Fenway Park.
Enter John Lackey and Red Sox.
Lackey: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, or close the wall up with our Red Sox dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility, but when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger. Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage. (3.1.1-8)
Pedroia: Oh hell yeah. We're going to win tonight.
Scutaro: What's he throwing Pedey?
Pedroia: Fastball is flat. He can't get the curve into the strike zone. And you can spot the change from miles away.
Scutaro: And the zone?
Pedroia: So small it's like trying to throw the ball through the eye of a needle. And Lackey, you're looking really good man. You set them up and we will knock them down. And that strikeout of Hunter? The man couldn't have looked more stupid if you paid him. You shouldn't make your friends look that silly.
Exuent Omnes.
Act IV
Home Dugout, Fenway Park. Top of the ninth inning.
The Red Sox sit glumly on the bench. John Lackey stands in front. John Farrell enters.
Farrell: John, I know this is important to you but this is not the best way to do this. You should throw a little bit easier. Striking out all the batters is selfish. The team needs you to be able to throw and to throw really well in October. Your elbow is gonna disintegrate.
Lackey: You're right, for sure, that I need to do this. But trust me, my motives are really good.
Farrell: I can't believe you John.
Lackey: You'll just have to.
Exit Farrell.
Ellsbury: This is hopeless. They're just so much better. Bunt single, first to third, and a sac fly.
Youkilis: It's too bad that we can't use the players down in Pawtucket or up in Portland. Then we might actually stand a chance. If we could only call on Westmoreland...
Lackey: God's will, I pray thee wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; it ernes me not if men my garments wear; such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if is be a sin to covet honor I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. God's peace, I would not lose so great an honor as one man more methinks would share from me for the best hope I have. Oh do not wish one more. Rather proclaim it presently through my host that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart. His passport shall be made and crowns for convoy put into his purse. That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is called the Feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day and comes safe home will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named and rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall see this day and live t'old age will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors and say, "Tomorrow is St. Crispian." Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars and say, "These wounds I had on Crispian's day." Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot but he'll remember, with advantages, what feats he did that day. Then shall our names familiar in his mouth as household words -- Lackey the Ace, Ortiz and Pedroia, Cameron and J.D., Scutaro and Youk'lis -- be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. This story shall the good man teach his son, And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by from this day to the ending of the world but we in it shall be rememberèd. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition. And gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not here and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon St. Crispin's day. (4.3.23-67)
[Cheers from the bench.]
Exuent Omnes.
[Heard from off-stage: Sounds of a baseball game. Cheers from the crowd. Dirty Water.]
Act V
Home clubhouse, Fenway Park. The next day.
Pedroia and Scutaro enter.
Pedroia: So Scoots. Why exactly do you have a banana taped onto your baseball cap?
Scutaro: It's a tradition in Venezuela.
Pedroia: You said that was only for yesterday.
Scutaro: Yeah well... Mike Scioscia was trying to be funny and told me that I should eat it. So I'm going to kick his ass.
Pedroia: Dude. You can't beat up the opposing manager.
Scutaro: Watch me.
Pedroia: Seriously. Scioscia is an old man and you would get in big trouble. Why don't we just make him apologize, send him to sensitivity training.
Enter John Lackey.
Pedroia: Hey John! Good win last night. How you feelin'?
Lackey: It was good, for sure. I feel pretty good.
Pedroia: Well, that's alright. You talked to Scioscia yet?
Lackey: Not yet no. But I probably should, right?
Pedroia: Yeah. I think that would probably be best.
Exit Pedroia and Scutaro. Enter Mike Scioscia.
Lackey: Sciosc! You're not supposed to be in here man.
Mike Scioscia: I know. I just needed to talk to you.
Lackey: Be quick about it before someone sees.
Mike Scioscia: I wanted to apologize about what I did to you yesterday. It was inappropriate and was immature.
Lackey: Yeah, I'm sorry about what went down too. You were very influential in making me into the pitcher that I am. I do appreciate all that you've done.
Mike Scioscia: Aww, John. You should also know that I knew that you always gave everything you had.
Exuent Omnes.
Seriously. That's how Henry V ends: a joke about a guy wearing a leek on his hat and Henry and the King of France kiss and make up.
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