Hardball Theatre: Party Crashers
A Play in One Act by Keith Good
[Lights up. We’re standing before a large, luxurious house. A set of hand-carved oak double doors are lit by a pair of carriage-styled porch lights. From inside the house we hear the muffled thump of music, the rise and fall of a party.]
“Party at Napoli’s.”
[CLEVELAND waves TORONTO in. TORONTO gives the donuts to CLEVELAND as he passes. CLEVELAND opens the box, inhales the sweet aroma.]
Hey everybody! Toronto brought Timmy’s!
[A cheer from the house as CLEVELAND closes the door.]
[A moment later, BRYCE Harper saunters on stage, a girl on each arm. He knocks on the door. CLEVELAND opens it slightly.]
“Party at Napoli’s.” Hope you don’t mind, I brought some guests.
[CLEVELAND waves BRYCE and his hotties in.]
The more the merrier.
[CLEVELAND peers into the night before again closing the door.]
[After a moment, DETROIT sneaks on stage, carrying a car tire under one arm and what looks to be some sort of cloth binder under his other. He pauses at the doorstep, takes a deep breath, then knocks.]
Hey! Shhh! Cut it out!
[DETROIT knocks again. The sounds of the party inside lessen, although not by much. CLEVELAND eventually opens the door a crack.]
Oh, hey, Detroit. Is that a tire? You having car problems again?
“Party at Napoli’s.”
“Party at Napoli’s.” It’s the password.
I know you’re having a party in there. I know the password is “Party at Napoli’s.” I was hiding in the bushes. I saw Toronto and Bryce get in.
Uh, nope. No party in here.
[An uncomfortable beat.]
Just let me in. I’m usually invited to these things. Look, I brought automotive parts and Motown music.
Is that a Caselogic CD binder? You get it mail order from Columbia House? Keep it beside your collection of puka-shell necklaces and Ace of Bass casingles?
[ST. LOUIS saunters on stage, a case of Busch Light in his arms. He’s wearing a shirt which says “Doin’ it the right way.”]
Party, party, hombres!
Listen, guys, I don’t know what you think you heard, but there’s no party. Just me watching ‘Major League.’
Broseph. I brought some Busch Light.
Even if we were having a playoff party—which we’re not—that would mean Boston would be inside—which they aren’t—and they would have brought every variety of Sam Adams—which they didn’t—meaning the last thing we theoretically need is 24 cans of Busch Light.
C’mon. It’s not a playoff party without Detroit and St. Louis.
[The thump of commotion sounds from inside. TEXAS crashes down from a second story window and belly flops to the grass. Glass rains down around him. Groggy, he gets up, pats the debris from his uniform, and re-enters the house.]
TEXAS [to CLEVELAND]
Oh, hey, dude, I think someone maybe broke your second story window. Also, there’s, uh, a lot of tequila vomit up there? Might want to get a dirt devil or something.
[TEXAS shoulders past DETROIT and ST. LOUIS, stumbles back into the party. A Beat.]
He really likes ‘Major League.’
[ST. LOUIS opens his mouth to again object, but before he can, a slurred voice yells from offstage.]
“Party at Applebee’s!”
[The three turn and watch as CHICAGO, fall-down drunk, stumbles toward the door.]
CHICAGO [to CLEVELAND]
Heeeey! “Smarty at Snapple, Please.”
[CLEVELAND looks sternly to CHICAGO, nods at DETROIT and ST. LOUIS.]
Uh… “Farting at snatches, please.” No? Not it? Ok. “Blarting a mall cop sneeze.” “Hearty Chunky Soup with Cheese?” Okay, listen. Listen. Dude, listen. I’ve…got my ticket punched like, a few weeks since? And let you in on a secret…? I’ve been raging pretty hard waiting for the rest of you butts. So no, I don’t know your stupid safeword. Who needs a safeword? Just go to town ‘til you stop, homes.
[Despite CLEVELAND’s best efforts to shut him up, CHICAGO keeps rambling.]
You want a safeword? How about 103 wins, bro? That safeword enough? And don’t tell me the NL Central is weak. You’re…dude, uh, YOU’RE Ukraine.
It’s “Party at Napoli’s.”
CHICAGO [turns to ST. LOUIS]
Yeah! Bro! That’s what she said. [singing] “Chicken Parm with extra cheese.” [beat] Louie? Issat you, dude? I didn’t think you were invited to this party.
He’s not. [Quickly catching himself] Even if there was a party, which there isn’t.
Ooooohhh! I get it. Can I uh—not—go inside? I heard Harper—totally didn’t—bring two of Maxim’s “Top 5 Most Boneable Stadium Ushers.”
[With a sigh, CLEVELAND shoves CHICAGO inside. DETROIT and ST. LOUIS watch him go in, then turn to CLEVELAND.]
Listen, if you really want…
[DETROIT and ST. LOUIS lean in, hopeful.]
There’s a thing at the Yankee’s place tonight. You can go there.
New York! I can’t stand that guy.
He’s always working “27” into casual conversation
DETROIT [a pantomime of the Yankees]
“Me and Bernie Williams ate, like, 27 burritos.”
Plus he’s been strangely mopey since Jeter left him.
If you guys had won division titles instead of me, would you let me in?
Uh… Yep. I totally would.
Okay, this has been fun, and I realize the irony of me saying this to you, but… There’s always next year.
[CLEVELAND ducks back into the house. The door closes with a thud and click.]
BRYCE [from inside]
You finally drop those losers? They were creeping out my usher ladyfriends.
[DETROIT and ST. LOUIS share a look.]
You wanna go…?
I mean I have all these beers.
I’ve got my Columbia House CDs.
We don’t need them! We’ll have our own party.
[DETROIT and ST. LOUIS turn to walk away from the party but are stopped cold to see MINNESOTA lurking just behind them. MINNESOTA is disheveled, clothes wrinkled and dirty.]
Yeah, we’ll throw our own party! First question: wanna huff some glue? Second question: do you have any glue?
[Beat. Without a word, DETROIT and ST. LOUIS exit by different directions, leaving MINNESOTA alone.]
Header image by Lori. Used and modified under Creative Commons 2.0 License.