Brian Cashman: So Roger, what do you think about our latest offer? We believe it tops the offers presented from the Astros and Red Sox.Roger Clemens: (clasps hands, smirks) Yeess, it's goood, very goood. There are just a few items that need to be worked out. (Turns to agent Randy Hendricks) Randy, fetch my golden cane, the one lined with the rare Dodo feathers, and meet me outside by the red hover jet. Keep the engine running!
Randy Hendricks: Yes, your excellency. I am nothing more than your humble servant, a mere piece of dirt in your benevolent presence.
Roger Clemens: I wish to negotiate this last portion of the contract alone. C'vest lou coiselles van chez?
Brian Cashman: Huh?
Roger Clemens: Oh, it was just some French I picked when I was ostrich hunting last year with my offspring Koby and Kory. I named them all with the letter K to recognize my immortal achievements on the baseball diamond.
Brian Cashman: (rolls eyes) I know...
Roger Clemens: How dare you roll your eyes in my general direction! I demand ten million more in pure sterling silver!
Brian Cashman: Ok Roger calm down, we'll work this out. Right now we are down to about 120 million guaranteed. I think that is a bit excessive. I am afraid we cannot pay you this much, especially considering that you are 44 years-old and only want to start pitching on the last weekend of August.
Roger Clemens: Why yes, I must not pitch until then. There's simply too much to do this summer. For one, my spouse and I wish to glide around the world on a parachute constructed of dollar bills and gilded pennies. My beaches need tending as well. And of course I must watch my son Koby play baseball. Did you know he recorded a hit last night?
Brian Cashman: Yes I know, you tell me every ten minutes. You also keep asking me to cut Jorge Posada and start Koby at catcher. I can't do that either. Forty million is as much as I will pay you.
Roger Clemens: Well I never! How droll you are, Mr. Cash Man. To think that a man with such a moniker can only pay like a pauper. I will call the Red Sox on my Roger Clemens customized cellular phone, the one with alabaster buttons and chrome screen and tell them that I will play for them!
(Five minutes pass)
Roger Clemens: How sad, the Jewish merchant who is in charge of the Red Sox will not pay me the 120 million I demanded. He even refused to buy me an ivory, bronze-tipped shotgun to hunt wild ostrich. I will pitch for you, Mr. Cash Man, if you buy me this gun and a Hummer to chase the ostriches with.
Brian Cashman: That can be arranged. However, I don't understand why you need another Hummer. I recall that you already have six.
Roger Clemens: Nine actually, Mr. Cash Man. But they are all H3 models and I wish to have new model customized for a man of my stature. I wish for my face to be carved in each of its twenty-two doors...
Brian Cashman: You want a stretch-Hummer?
Roger Clemens: Affirmative. It must have twenty-two doors, twenty-two wheels, twenty-two pistons, twenty-two gas tanks, twenty-two plasma TVs, twenty-two computers, twenty-two crystal statues of me, and twenty-two android servants draped in Turkish velvet to serve me and my friends champagne.
Brian Cashman: I will let you indulge in your sick lust of the number twenty-two if you sign for twenty-eight million instead of 120 million.
Roger Clemens: You will give me my customized Hummer and ostrich rifle?
Brian Cashman: Yes, but I want you to pitch by June.
Roger Clemens: Only if you present me with a prostitute of a different ethnic heritage before each of my starts.
Brian Cashman: Deal.
Roger Clemens: (smiles deviously) One more thing Mr. Cash Man...
Brian Cashman: What?
Roger Clemens: I want the announcement of my signing to be made public at this Sunday's Yankees-Mariners game. The jumbotron much read "Rogers Clemens is now a Yankee" and all of the peons below must cheer for me as if I am their God. After this is done, I will be flown from the press box on a throne propelled by hydrogen rockets. In my hand I will to hold a sceptre engraved with the number twenty-two. A blue cashmere cap will flow to my knee-caps. When this throne lands on the pitcher's mound, all twenty-five Yankees must scurry to the mound and support it on their unworthy backs. I will descend from my throne, walking on the bowed heads of Yankee players as if they were stairs made of flesh. Then a virgin cow will be flown down to home plate from a helicopter. Once on home plate, the cow will be sacrificed in my name. You will drink its blood, Mr. Cash Man. Give me that and I will pitch for your baseball squadron.
Brian Cashman: Err...how about we stop after the jumbotron message but instead I offer you an extra prostitute before each start?
Roger Clemens: I accept, Mr. Cash Man.
Brian Cashman: Welcome back to the Yankees!
No comments:
Post a Comment