Big Sexy Mothers’ Day

A Play in One Act by Keith Good

(Lights up on Petco Park in San Diego. BARTOLO Colon, pitching for the visiting Mets and owner of a career .092 batting average, stands in the on-deck circle, gamely swinging his bat. A BATBOY approaches to take the batting donuts from him as he walks to the plate.)

Bartolo: Hey, kid.

Batboy: (excited) Yes, Mr. Colon?

Bartolo: What’s up with the pink jerseys in the clubhouse?

Batboy: (disappointed) Is… Is that what ballplayers think about during the game? Tomorrow’s jerseys?

Bartolo: Mostly I scan the crowd for hot chicks and sing Prince songs.

Batboy: (walking back to the dugout) Tomorrow is Mothers’ Day. The pink-trimmed jerseys are MLB’s latest shameless attempt to sell more merch.

Bartolo: (walking to the plate) ¿Dia de los Madres? ¡Dios mio! I completely forgot. My wife is going to kill me.

(As Bartolo digs in at the plate, his wife, PAULA, appears before him.)

Bartolo: Uh…Happy Mother’s Day, mi amor.

Paula: Don’t you “mi amor,” me, Bartolo Colon. You forgot again.

Bartolo: No, no. I didn’t forget again (rubs a phantom hurt on his cheek). Not after last year. I got you something!

Paula: Is that why you’re imagining me while you’re at the plate?

Bartolo: No worse than my usual at-bats.

Paula: True.

Bartolo: I… I’m going to pick up your gift after the game.

Paula: “You got me something” or “you’re going to pick something up after the game?” I’m just your imagination and already your story is going to shit.

Bartolo: No, mi amor… (looks to the bat in his hands) For you, today, I will get a hit.

Paula: You’re 0 for 2016, Barty. Best stick to, “I’m going to pick up your gift later.”

Bartolo: Yes, yes. I’m going to pick up your gift later.

Paula: Ok, then. What is this gift you’re about to pick up?

Bartolo: (panicking) Ahhh…Armageddon on laserdisc!

Paula: Laserdisc, really? (beat) Why not Deep Impact?

Bartolo: I said the first thing that came into my brain.

Paula: Think better, Big Sexy, or your new nickname is going to be “No Sexy.” I bear you four beautiful children? I tend your house? I even do that weird thing you wanted with the Mrs. Met costume, and the best you can do is shitty Ben Affleck space movie?

Bartolo: Steve Buscemi is pretty good in that movie. Compare Armageddon to Shawshank and its caca, but if you take it for what it is—

Paula: Bartolo. Mother’s Day is tomorrow. You’re on track for a smack-face.

Bartolo: I… I killed the NL DH for you?

Paula: Try again.

Bartolo: Jewelry! A… a Mother’s ring!

Paula: Good! With my birthstone?

Bartolo: Birthstone? That’s not a real thing.

(Paula feints forward.)

Bartolo: Aye! Dios mio! Okay, okay… I got you a car.

Paula: You can’t just hand out cars when things get boring, Barty. This isn’t the Price is Right.

Bartolo: Okay, okay! I’ve got nothing! It’s more likely that I hit my first career home run for you than I come up with a decent gift before tomorrow!

(Bartolo shrinks back from Paula, swings his bat in frustration. In the process, his bat swings across the plane of the plate and… Crack! The ball zips from Bartolo’s bat, high, deep, landing in the Citi Field outfield bleachers.  He stands for a moment, dumbfounded, before dropping the bat and breaking into a home run lope. He rounds the bases, steps on home plate with a giant, relieved grin on his face. Paula can only shake her head. Bartolo passes the batboy as he jogs back to the Mets’ dugout.)

Bartolo: (to batboy) Two grand with your name on it if you find me that baseball, kid.

(Lights down.)

END.

*Picture of Bartolo Colon courtesy of Arturo Pardavila III; used under Creative Commons License.