CLEMENS RESIDENCE, HOUSTON, TX – CHRISTMAS EVE


Roger Clemens sits in bed pouting with his arms folded as he grumbles to himself.

CLEMENS: Stupid Christmas party. Everyone having a good time and thinking they’re so great. Fine honey, you and the kids go on without me. I just want to sit here alone anyway. Bah humbug!

A creak in the floorboards outside the door.

CLEMENS: What was that?

A ghostly moaning from the hallway.

VOICE: Raaah-ger. Raaah-ger.

CLEMENS: Who…who…who is that?

VOICE: It’s meeeeeeee, your old All-Star teammate…Mark McGwiiiiiire. Boo-aaaaah.

Mark McGwire enters with a long chain draped over his shoulders.

CLEMENS: What the hell are you doing here?

MCGWIRE: I have come to waaaaaaaarn you…warn you to change your ways and come clean. Boo-aaaaah.

CLEMENS: Why are you talking like that?

MCGWIRE: Because I am a ghooooost. Ooooohhh!!!

CLEMENS: You’re not dead.

MCGWIRE: No, but my career is. Ooo…

CLEMENS: Quit it.

MCGWIRE: Sorry.

McGwire drops his head – and the ghost speak.

CLEMENS: Why are you in here?

MCGWIRE: I ran into your wife. She thought maybe you and I could have a talk.

CLEMENS: Yeah, well, I’m not going to that stupid Christmas party: Everyone eating and laughing and carrying on.

MCGWIRE: You just don’t want to face questions about steroids.

CLEMENS: That’s not true. I’ve always hated that Christmas party nonsense.

MCGWIRE: We shall see about that; because tonight you will be visited by three ghosts.

Clemens rolls his eyes.

MCGWIRE: Oh, come on Roger, I really put a lot into this. Plus, I don’t get out much lately.

CLEMENS: Yeah, no kidding.

MCGWIRE: Don’t end up like me Roger. Confess now and beg for mercy. Then maybe the people will forgive you. Maybe you’ll get your normal life back. Do whatever you can to avoid my fate. Every link in this chain represents a year I won’t get into the Hall of Fame. And your chain could be much longer. Booo…

CLEMENS: Alright, let’s get this over with. Man, between you and Canseco, no wonder LaRussa’s a drunk.

MCGWIRE: Yes, well, ahem, first, I give you the Ghost of Pitching Past.

Nolan Ryan strolls in.

CLEMENS: Nolan, what’s up man?

RYAN: Hey pardner.

MCGWIRE: Nolan! Where is your ghost cloak?

RYAN: Don’t push it Ginger.

McGwire scowls.

CLEMENS: So, aren’t you supposed to take me somewhere or…?

MCGWIRE: No, no. No need for that. I’ve got everything we need right here on my I-phone. Right Nolan?

McGwire hands the I-phone and a notecard to Ryan.

RYAN: Yeah, alright, uh, I’m the Ghost of Pitching Past.

He reads from the card.

RYAN: Look at these superb digital photos depicting how much you liked the Christmas party in 1986 – the year you struck out 20 batters in one game. You were having a wonderful time because you were honest and carefree.

CLEMENS: Oh yeah, look at that. Boy, I was skinny.

RYAN: And then in 1999 – your first Christmas party with a World Series ring.

CLEMENS: That was a fun one. Hey Nolan, remember that time when…

McGwire steps in and grabs the I-phone.

MCGWIRE: No, no, I’m sorry Roger, but it is time for us to leave your glorious past. Surely, you are now overcome with grief and remorse.

CLEMENS: Nah. I mean, I’m wearin’ the World Series ring.

RYAN: That is a beaut, pard.

MCGWIRE: Okay, you asked for it. Enter, oh Ghost of Pitching Present.

Curt Schilling walks in.

SCHILLING: Gentlemen.

CLEMENS and RYAN: Oh, son of a…!

SCHILLING: Look, I don’t like you and you don’t like me. I’m only here because I love the game so much.

They roll their eyes as Schilling takes the I-phone.

SCHILLING: So, you just relived your glory days at the Christmas party when everyone used to like you.

CLEMENS: Used to? They still do.

SCHILLING: Let’s see for ourselves.

MCGWIRE: Work that I-phone magic Curt.

Schilling taps the I-phone screen and it rings. A Woman’s Voice answers the call.

VOICE: Hello?

CLEMENS: Is that my wife?

VOICE: Roger?

CLEMENS: Honey?

VOICE: Where are you calling me from? What are you doing?

CLEMENS: This…I don’t know. You tell me. It’s this thing you cooked up with Mark McGwire.

MCGWIRE: I should clarify something here…

VOICE: Mark McGwire?! Did I tell you I ran into him at the Apple Store and he tried to sell me an I-phone? I think he’s like an assistant manager there or something.

They all shake their heads in disgust at McGwire.

CLEMENS: Oh, I see. Well, I’m sorry we took you away from the fun at the party…

VOICE: Yeah right, fun. You’re lucky you didn’t come.

CLEMENS: Really? Why?

VOICE: Oh, people are looking and pointing at me, and…

CLEMENS: What?

VOICE: You know that cute kid who plays Little Drummer Boy every year…Timothy Krandle?

CLEMENS: Of course! What is adorable little Tiny Tim up to?

VOICE: About 325. And his head is bigger than his drum.

CLEMENS: Oh no. You don’t think…

VOICE: I’ve gotta run for cover honey. Tiny Tim is swinging the Christmas tree around like a pinwheel.

CLEMENS: No wait.

The I-phone screen goes dark.

CLEMENS: No, get her back.

SCHILLING: She’s gone Roger.

CLEMENS: No! What will become of her? What will become of Tiny Tim?

SCHILLING: I think you know the answer to that.

Clemens drops his head.

CLEMENS: It’s all my fault. That kid looked up to me.

Clemens takes a deep breath.

CLEMENS: Okay. I’ll do it. First thing tomorrow I’ll call a press conference and…

MCGWIRE: Whoa, whoa, whoa. We’ve got one ghost to go Roger.

SCHILLING: But Mark, we’ve just succeeded.

MCGWIRE: We’ve succeeded when I demonstrate all the features of this fine product including the rich HTML email capabilities.

SCHILLING: But…

MCGWIRE: And to do that I need the Ghost of Pitching Future!

Old-timer Gaylord Perry enters.

RYAN: Hey it’s good ol’ Gaylord Perry. What’s up pardner?

Perry picks up the I-phone.

PERRY: What in God’s name is this thing?

MCGWIRE: Look at Gaylord Perry, Roger. Gaze into your tortured future. He too has 300 plus victories and over 3000 strikeouts. He won Cy Young awards in both leagues, just like you. But he was always suspected of cheating – of throwing a spitball – so he has lived his retirement in shame. And he never made it to the Hall of Fame.

PERRY: I’m in the Hall of Fame.

MCGWIRE: What?

CLEMENS: Hey, that’s right. He is. And his fans still love him! Screw you McGwire. And screw your I-phone!

MCGWIRE: Son of a…!

ALL: Merry Christmas!

PERRY: Merry Christmas, everyone.