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Studio 60 on Roosevelt Avenue

Studio 60 on Roosevelt Avenue

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STUDIO 60 ON ROOSEVELT AVENUE
PILOT
WRITTEN COMPLETELY BY AARON SORKIN TOTALLY ALONE AND UNDER GREAT DURESS

LOGLINE: Once the nation’s best and most respected baseball GM, Sandy Alderson has been reduced to trying to revive a moribund franchise is the depths of deepest, darkest Queens. Along with his sharp-witted and adoring protégés, he fights off the seemingly endless series of controversies and crises that beset him while trying to run a sports team in the country’s most bustling metropolis, and still look fantastic while doing it. Can the pressures of such an important job crush this singularly talented and gifted individual genius?

ACT I

Long tracking shot. We transition from ballplayers talking in front of their lockers to earnest reporters, through a long utility tunnel, and into the team’s lush executive offices. Audio: intermingled bits of in-game sound, post-game interviews, and the typical hustle and bustle of office life. Shot should last at least 7 minutes.

Suits scramble back and forth across a hallway lined with framed covers of old yearbooks, blown up photos of World Series celebrations, etc. SANDY ALDERSON emerges from his office and stalks down the carpet, trailed shortly thereafter by PAUL DEPODESTA.

DEPODESTA: You should look happier, considering tonight’s results.

ALDERSON: This is my happy face, you can’t tell?

DEPODESTA: The team came down from 12 runs down in the bottom of the ninth to win.

ALDERSON: There is no “winning” in this game, Paul.

DEPODESTA: I think there is actually winning in baseball, Sandy.

ALDERSON: We don’t play baseball, we play feeding frenzy. Win or lose, you have to face the reporters who want to know why this guy bunted in the third, or when you’re gonna trade for an ace to bolster the pitching staff. Win or lose, they’re back again the next night, hungry for more. If Sisyphus was alive today, he’d be a GM.

DEPODESTA: If it’s all so pointless, just quit.

ALDERSON: Everything’s pointless, Paul. Might as well do hardest pointless thing there is.

DEPODESTA: Is that what you learned in the Marines, Sandy?

ALDERSON: [shoots a withering look]

DEPODESTA: Sorry, Sandy. I forgot you don’t talk about, well…

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Baseball

The Fred Wilpon Roast of the Mets

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So great to be here roasting the Mets, so many memories with this team: the Kenny Rogers walkoff walk, the 2000 World Series, the called third strike to Beltran, two collapses two years in a row…Jesus, is this a baseball team or Gitmo? No, it can’t be Gitmo–even at Gitmo, the torture ends some time.

But I kid the Mets. What a great stadium they have out there in Flushing. It’s really a great monument to a team. That team is the Brooklyn Dodgers, but still. Wanna learn about the storied history of this franchise? Just go to the Mets Hall of Fame, which is just one plaque that says “consult your local library.”

Look at this great collection of ex-Mets we got up here. Shawn Green, Moises Alou, Damion Easley, Jose Valentin…don’t worry, we’ll get you guys outta here in time for the early bird special. Oh, and don’t move that bag of garbage in the seat next to you– that’s all the starting pitchers we used down the stretch in 07 and 08. Someone fix these guys a drink, and faster than than Rick Peterson said he could fix their arm motions.

I see Carlos Beltran over there on the dais. What a guy. I’d give him the shirt off my back. I have, as a matter of fact. This team’s got as much cash on hand as Carlos has working knee ligaments. That’s why I was so mad you didn’t go to Walter Reed Hospital last year, Carlos. I was hoping I could sneak you a quick trip to an MRI tube when no one was looking. Hey, those co-pays aren’t cheap! You think things are bad now, gimme a month. You guys are gonna be scrubbing foul balls for re-use and sleeping in truck stops on road trips.

Jose Reyes, what a racehorse this guy is. It’s a wonder no one’s shot you yet. This guy wants Carl Crawford money? If you sign with the Mets, I can at least guarantee you Carl’s Jr. money. Seriously, I love this guy, but The Terminator called and he wants his weave back. I know we made you play through a hamstring injury and made things worse for you, but at least we didn’t throw you on a cross-country flight while you were concussed. Just ask Ryan Church about that. If you can catch him on one of his “good days.”

David Wright, face of the franchise. And what an exciting face it is, huh folks? This guy once sent back a bowl of vanilla ice cream for being too spicy. He makes Perry Como look street. Don’t worry, Dave, you might not be a superstar, but you’ll always fit in at a Maroon 5 show. No one can take that away from you!

That’s my time, folks. Remember to come out to CitiField to see the best ballclub Buffalo has to offer. Good night!

Baseball

Jorge and Brian Have a Heart-to-Heart

Jorge, honey? Can I come in?
No.
C’mon, I know you’re upset about the new batting order…
I don’t wanna hit ninth!
Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. That’s part of growing up.
I’m a good hitter!
Of course you are! You’re still a better hitter than 99 percent of all the people in the world. You’re just not as good as the rest of our lineup or bench, or a sizable portion of our minor league system.
It’s not fair!
No, it is fair. It’s the definition of fair. What’s not fair is making you bat in front of people who are still good at baseball. Do you want Robinson Cano to hit ninth? How about Mark Teixeira?
I don’t care, I don’t wanna hit ninth.
What are you going to do, quit?

Maybe I will.

Maybe you could do that. And maybe I could tell everyone what a baby you’re being and embarrass you in front of the entire NY press corps and all your classmates.
Why would you do that?!
Because I love you and want what’s best for you, sweetie! But if you won’t toughen up, I have to what’s best for the rest of the family. Now since you’re quitting, let me just get out my phone and call up Bill Madden. He’s gonna wanna hear all about this…
No, don’t do that! I’ll look like an asshole!
Remember what I always say: only you can make you look an asshole.
*sigh* Fine. I’ll hit ninth.
And?
And pinch hit.
That’s my little slugger. C’mere, gimme a hug.
HA HA, YOU GOT IN TROUBLE.
Hank, leave your big brother alone!