Hey, kids! It’s time once again for your favorite show! Let’s join the gang in their Clubhouse, where they’ll give you tips on Fail, Fail, and more Fail! Come on, everybody! You know the words! From falling behind on the second pitch, to trying to pull outside pitches, to swinging at Ball Seven, to piling up 13 Ks, to stranding 7 runners in the last three innings, there is nothing quite like Manny Mouse and the Failketeers! Won’t you join us?
| FINAL | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | R | H | E |
| Indians (8-11) | 0 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 2 | 8 | 0 |
| Angels (11-10) | 3 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 2 | 0 | 0 | X | 5 | 15 | 1 |
W: Jer. Weaver (3-0) L: Huff (1-3) S: Fuentes (3)
It’s Fail
It’s Fail
It’s Fail
It’s on my team
-- “Lump”, The Presidents of the United States (paraphrased)
Roll call, Failketeers!
Cabrera: I’m Drooby!
Sizemore: I’m Grady!
Hafner: I’m Pronky!
Branyan: I’m Windmill!
Peralta: I’m Jhonny!
Valbuena: I’m Luey!
Redmond: What?
Valbuena: Say your name, Mike.
Redmond: You’ll have to speak up, son.
Hafner: Uncle Manny? Why is this guy on the team again?
Acta: He keeps Fausto from having to wear the headgear, Pronky.
Huff: I’m Davey!
Redmond: You’re late.
Huff: And you’re old.
Redmond: What?
Huff: (shouting) I said, you’re golden!
Redmond: Thanks, Rick.
Huff: I’m Davey!
Redmond: I know who you are, Waits!
Huff: (mutter mutter)
Acta: All right, everybody, let’s sing the song!
Choo: I will not.
Acta: Fine. Everyone else, then!
Who’s the leader of the Fail who’s made for you and me?
M-A-N, N-N-Y, M-O-U-S-E!
Choo: That can’t be how you spell “Manny.”
Kearns: It’s not. It’s Spelling Fail.
Sizemore: It’s a good warmup for Game Execution Fail.
Branyan: I threw my back out hitting the high note.
Peralta: This team doesn’t HAVE a high note!
Branyan: Maybe it was tying my shoes.
Valbuena: I have Velcro!
Redmond: What?
Every time we get on base, we Fail spectac-larly
M-A-N, N-N-Y, M-O-U-S-E!
Acta: Let’s go, everyone!
(David Huff begins pitching. He allows a leadoff homer on his second pitch, followed by a single, double, and sac fly. Down 2-0, he buckles down and allowed only one more RBI single to fall behind 3-0.)
Acta: All right, guys, nice Fail!
Huff: Damn! I got ahead of more guys, then they hit it hard anyway.
Redmond: We’ve got ‘em right where we want ‘em, kid.
Sizemore: Anaheim?
Redmond: About 7:20. We’re in the Pacific time zone here.
Hafner: That umpire called an outside pitch a strike! But I showed him, I swung at the other two pitches out of the strike zone.
Branyan: I hit a double.
Choo: Oh, you did not. You blooped a ball with the force of a jellyfish.
Branyan: Correction: a Portuguese Man of War!
Choo: It’s still a jellyfish.
Peralta: I got a 2-out RBI!
Acta: Well, let’s nip that shit in the bud right now.
Team: Right!
Valbuena: I do not like this pitcher, he does not throw strikes. I will take the walk.
Hitting Coach: Guys, I know he likes to stay away from lefties, but it’s really important that we try to take that pitch and pull it all the way across our bodies. That way, we can end up with the weakest, most feeble outs imaginable.
Lefties: Got it, coach!
Redmond: What?
Marson: Did you even see the ball, Mr. Redmond?
Redmond: I swung at it, didn’t I?
Marson: That doesn’t actually answer my question.
Redmond: No, it doesn’t.
Valbuena: Hey, if I’m Luey, what do we call Marson?
Westbrook: Gloveless?
Masterson: Captain Butter?
Acta: Cappy! I like that.
Marson: I dunno, sounds too much like “Crappy.”
Choo: What’s your point?
(Huff continues to “pitch.” In each inning, the Angels get a man in scoring position, but Huff manages to weasel out without further damage. Meanwhile the Indians are practicing their hitting coach’s strategem to a T, stranding a runner in each of the 3rd through 6th innings.)
Acta: All right, Abreu has struck out his last two times against Davey, so even at 90 pitches, I’m leaving him it to take advantage of that matchup.
(Brandon Wood singles with two strikes, which is Epic Brandon Wood Strikeout Fail. Aybar flies out. Huff falls behind Abreu 2-0.)
Redmond: (chuckling to himself) We’ve gotten Abreu on the low stuff today, we’ll go with the Belt High Meatball Suprise. He’ll never be expecting that.
Abreu: You know you’re talking out loud, right?
Redmond: No, I prefer the acrobats, I’ve never liked the clowns.
(424 feet later, the Angels lead 5-1.)
Acta: All right, guys, it’s rally time!
Sizemore: We don’t have to use the monkey, do we?
Cabrera: The monkey scares me.
Peralta: They have a monkey?
Hafner: The Rally Monkey, Jhonny. They’ve been using it in Anaheim for years.
Peralta: There’s a team in Anaheim?
Kearns: I’ve played in the NL for 8 years and *I* know the Angels play in Anaheim.
Peralta: You look familiar. Have you ever been to Ohio?
Redmond: This fellow with the giant ears does not throw strikes, I have walked.
Team: Huzzah!
Cabrera: He’s right, guys, this guy has giant ears.
Team: Huzzah!
Choo: Wait, why are we cheering his ears?
Cabrera: Also, I drew a walk.
Team: Huzzah!
Hafner: As long as it’s not a HIT.
Choo: What?!
Redmond: Second base!
Sizemore: Hey, he threw me a strike! What should I do?
Valbuena: Bunt!
Branyan: I’m sleepy.
Hitting Coach: Remember the plan!
Sizemore: Oh, right! (grounds into fielder’s choice to second)
Choo: This man is simply dreadful. I too have walked.
Hafner: Bases loaded! Do or die! Sydney or the bush!
(The bush)
LaPorta: Boy, that was bad. Three pitches.
Peralta: My hero!
(Branyan grounds out: 3 men left on base. Team goes 0-for-3 with runners in scoring position (albeit with a walk) in THIS INNING ALONE.)
Huff: Coach, Raffy has put guys on base again!
Acta: I have the answer: I will replace the hard-throwing grounder-inducing left-hander with a hard-throwing grounder-inducing left-hander! They will never expect that!
Sipp: ‘sup?
Acta: Throw him the double play pitch, Tony!
Sipp: On it.
(double play on third pitch)
Sipp: Yo.
Belcher: Tony, we need to work on your efficiency: last time you needed one pitch, and this time it took three. Go ahead and walk a couple guys next inning so you can get more practice.
Sipp: Solid.
(Cleveland comes to bat)
Kearns: Don’t worry, I have an idea.
(421 feet later, Indians trail 5-2.)
Peralta: I will strike out!
Valbuena: I will walk again!
Acta: I will pinch-hit for the very old right-handed guy who can’t hit!
Redmond: Who can replace my mad skillz?!
Acta: I will use the very old right-handed guy who can’t hit! They will never expect that!
Team: Huzzah!
Grudzielanek: I am concerned, he is not throwing strikes.
Valbuena: Take the walk!
Choo: Take the walk!
Cabrera: Take the walk!
Peralta: I like cheese!
Grudzielanek: No! I will swing at ball three and foul it off!
Team: Huzzah!
Grudzielanek: Now I will swing at ball four and foul it off!
Team: Huzzah!
Grudzielanek: Now I will swing at ball five and foul it off!
Team: Um … yeah … I’m not sure about this plan …
Grudzielanek: Now I will swing at ball six and foul it off!
Kearns: Marky? You know, you don’t have to …
Grudzielanek: Now I will swing at ball seven and foul it off!
Choo: Cut that shit out, you f&$^ing Kansas City Royal! Dayton Moore is not walking through that door!
Grudzielanek: Now I will … wait … he threw it in the strike zone. I missed it completely.
Choo: Schmuck.
Redmond: I admit, I could never have had the energy to foul off that many pitches.
Marson: No, you would have struck out right away.
Redmond: You don’t last as long as I have in this league without conserving energy here and there.
Peralta: You look familiar.
Cabrera: I too have walked! Two men on! One swing ties it up!
Sizemore: I’m tired of this weak shit. I’m pounding the ball.
(Sizemore pounds the ball.)
Peralta: Hey, who’s that guy in right field? He looks familiar.
Kearns: He looks like a block of cheese with arms.
Peralta: I think it’s Spongebob Squarepants.
Branyan: Or a refrigerator.
Hafner: I used to look like that.
Peralta: You look familiar …
(Bobby Abreu makes a magnificent running catch of Sizemore’s blast down the line, which would have driven in two runs easily if someone like Bobby Abreu were playing right field.)
Universe: Neener, neener.
Choo: Shut up, universe!
Universe: Choo … come to the dark side …
Kearns: The Yankees?
Peralta: The White Sox?
Choo: I hate this team.
Belcher: (whispering to Sipp) Remember the plan, kid.
Sipp: Yo, where’s your chin at?
Belcher: Never mind that, just walk me some batters.
Sipp: Mathematical!
(Sipp walks the first two batters.)
Belcher: All right, now show him the strikeout stuff!
Sipp: Rhombus!
(Matsui whiffs.)
Belcher: And now the double play ball!
Sipp: Shmowzow!
(Morales grounds into double play)
Acta: All right, now that I’ve lined up Grady, Mr. Choo, Pronky, and the Windmill in order, they can bring in the lefty.
LaPorta: Is this part of the plan?
Acta: It’s ALL part of the plan, Portly.
LaPorta: That’s “Porty.”
Acta: Not from where I’m sitting.
Ozzie Guillen: You’re fat!
Acta: Stow it, Ozzie!
(Choo watches strike three)
Peralta: My hero!
Hafner: I thought *I* was your hero!
Peralta: You look familiar. You look kind of like Travis Hafner.
Hafner: I *am* Travis Hafner!
Peralta: Hey, I know that guy! He’s my hero!
(Hafner reaches on an error)
Branyan: I would like to watch the fattest pitch imaginable go by for strike three.
Fuentes: I don’t really have that kind of control any more.
Branyan: (watches strike three) Oh, that was quite excellent. Right down the middle. Good show!
(Kearns draws a walk after falling behind 0-2)
Peralta: My chance to be the hero!
Choo: Be a real hero, not a Pronky hero!
Hafner: Hey!
Redmond: More like a B-minus, I’d say.
Fuentes: With a 1-2 count, I will throw a terrible high fastball that no one would possibly swing at.
Peralta: I will show you! (whiffs on chin-high fastball) Ha!
Choo: My God, we left seven men on base in the last three innings alone!
Acta: Yes.
Kearns: We hit 1-for-11 with runners in scoring position!
Acta: True.
Sizemore: We left 14 men on base!
Acta: (beaming) The Angels only left 12.
Peralta: They did hit 2-for-15 with RISP.
Acta: I didn’t say we couldn’t improve.
Valbuena: Improve?
Acta: Tomorrow, we must Fail harder!
Team: Huzzah!
Choo: Forget the cigarettes, can I hit the liquor store?
Buffum: Too late. I cleaned them out.
Choo: I do not like your writing. You make us sound like a bunch of bumbling clods who can’t score runs to save our lives.
Buffum: What’s your point?
Acta: All right everybody, let’s sing the good-bye song.
Choo & Buffum (unison): F*#& you.