Crash: [to himself, in the batter's box] You ain't getting that cheese by me, meat. Look for the fastball up. He's gotta come with the cheese. Relax. Relax. Quick bat. Pop the clubhead. Open the hips. Relax. You're thinking too much. Get outta your ****in' head, Crash.
[Pitcher starts his windup.]
Crash: Get on top of the ball. Quick bat. Don't let him in your kitchen --
[Swings and misses, offstride. Strike one. Crash steps out of the box and picks up dirt. Rubs it on his hands.]
Crash: You stupid ****, Crash. What're you swinging at a breaking ball for? Why's he starting me off with a hammer? **** me. You're okay. Stay back. Stay back, you dumb ****. Wait. Wait.
[Pitcher's next delivery. Crash lines drive down the first base line. Just foul.]
Crash: Throw that shit again, meat. Throw that weak ass shit. Now he's gotta try to slip the cheese by me. One and one. You're on top. Now bring me the gas --
[Pitcher's third delivery, right at Crash's head. Crash hits the dirt]
Crash: This son of a bitch throws hard. [pause] Annie, Annie, Annie -- who is this Annie? [catching himself] Jesus, get outta the box you idiot, where's your head? Get the broad outta your head!
Crash: [holds up a hand to the ump.] Time out.
Ump: Time out!
[Crash steps out of the box and motions to the bat boy for the pine tar rag. The boy brings it over. Crash re-applies it to his bat.]
Bat Boy: Get a hit, Crash.
Crash: Shut up.
[Crash walks back into the box]
Crash: [to himself] Awright, awright. You've seen all his pitches. One and two. Relax. Wait. Quick bat. You can hit this shit -- Shorten up. Bring the gas... Be quick -- be quick -- yeah, yeah...
[Crash swings and misses. Strike three.]
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