I can't decide if I miss the Davies twins or not. I definitely miss Gonzalez, and the effective Chuckie of '06, and Wicky is making me nostalgic for even Kerry Ligtenburg. He may have blown his share of saves, but at least he was kind of cute. I was extremely grateful to only have to listen to Wickman throw the game away on the radio on the way home last night . . . actually seeing him mess up that play on first might have prompted criminal activity.
But speaking of criminal activity in Missouri this weekend . . . will the guys hang out with Good and/or Evil Davies while they're in town?
On the plane last night . . .
Frenchy: Psst! Hey, Heap, you awake?
Heap: Yeah, what do you want? I really don't feel like talking right now.
Frenchy: I know, but . . . I just wanted to ask you something.
Frenchy: /looks over his shoulder
Frenchy: Do you . . . kind of . . . hate Wicky?
Heap: Frenchy, no. You can't blame that loss entirely on him.
Frenchy: Oh, I know, I know. I went 0-6!
Frenchy: But, still. I mean, you can tell me. You kind of hate him, right? Just a little?
Heap: No -- Frenchy, just leave me alone, okay?
Frenchy: Geez, fine. I'll just take my scintillating conversation elsewhere.
Heap: Yeah, good luck with that.
Frenchy gets up, wanders the plane. Everyone has the lights over their seats turned off, trying to sleep or moping about the game. Everyone, except one person . . .
Frenchy: /wanders over
Frenchy: Hey, are you one of the beat writers?
Hampton: Hmm? Oh, no.
Frenchy: Are you new on the training staff or something? I've seen you hanging around on the past few road trips. I should have introduced myself, my name is --
Hampton: Yeah, I know who you are. We've met.
Frenchy: We have? Oh, I'm sorry -- did you bring me Gatorade yesterday or something?
Hampton: Well, yes, but we actually met in 2005.
Frenchy: Oh, in the minors!
Hampton: No . . . I pitched for about a month after you were called up.
Frenchy: /looks at him closely
Frenchy: Kyle . . . Farnsworth?
Hampton: No, I was a starter! Mike Hampton!
Frenchy: /blank stare
Hampton: . . . The short guy?
Frenchy: Oh, yeah! Sorry, I didn't recognize you.
Hampton: That's okay, I haven't been around a lot this year. Or last year. Or most of the time you've been in the majors.
Frenchy: So are you getting ready to rejoin the rotation?
Hampton: Oh hell no. I won't even touch a baseball until March. And then only for several minutes a day.
Frenchy: Then . . . why are you on the road trip?
Hampton: My wife said I needed to get some fresh air, talk to people, get reacquainted with being, you know, "outside" of the "basement." Stuff like that. You know how women are!
Frenchy: Oh, sure! Hey, I'm getting married in a few months, you got any advice for me?
Hampton: Of course! Have a seat.
Frenchy: No one is sitting here?
Hampton: Nah. People don't generally sit within fifty feet of me. They think I'm bad luck.
Frenchy: Why would they think that?
Hampton: Beats me!
The next morning at the hotel, Heap wanders down to the lobby.
Heap: Hey! Frenchy! There you are.
Frenchy: Hmm? Oh. Hi.
Heap: I was about to go get something for breakfast, have you eaten?
Frenchy: Oh, yeah. Mike and I went to breakfast hours ago.
Heap: . . . Mike?
Frenchy: Yes! Mike Hampton! Duh, Heap! He's only like, half our payroll!
Heap: I was afraid that was who you were talking about.
Frenchy: Afraid? Why?
Heap: Frenchy . . . Hampton is . . . kind of strange.
Frenchy: Whatever!! You're just jealous that I'm friends with the veterans!
Heap: No, I'm not! Why is he even coming along on the road trips lately?! Chipper bet me fifty dollars that it's because his wife kicked him out and he needs a place to sleep.
Frenchy: That is so immature! Why don't you go hang out with your beloved Wickman?
Heap: Wicky is in the middle of his intense three hour breakfast regimen, but that's not the point --
Hampton: Hey, Jeff, there you are! Ready to play golf?
Heap: You can't play golf the morning of a game!!
Frenchy: Don't tell me what to do!
Frenchy: /wanders off with Hampton
Heap: Well . . . fine!
Heap: /crosses arms
Heap: I mean . . . pssh! Like I care!
Heap: /looks around the empty lobby
Heap: /takes out cell phone
A phone rings in an apartment in Kansas City.
Good Davies: Hello?
Good Davies: Heap . . . hi.
Heap: Yeah, hi! What the hell is up with you calling me uptight?
Good Davies: I wasn't talking about you specifically!
Heap: You were, too! You said you "felt distant," and you named names!
Good Davies: Well, you guys weren't that nice to me when I was losing!
Heap: Well, excuse me for giving you the benefit of the doubt, but when "you" lost, I usually assumed it was your evil twin who was trying to sabotage your career!
Good Davies: Look, I'm sorry, okay! No hard feelings?
Heap: Fine, whatever. I'm in St. Louis today if you want to drive over and hang out.
Good Davies: . . . Okay. I'll be there in a few hours.
Later, there is a knock on Heap's hotel room door.
Heap: Hey, Ky--
Evil Davies: Hello, Brian.
Heap: You! What are you doing here?
Evil Davies: My brother told me you showed up in Missouri and threatened him. So here I am.
Heap: Threatened him?! I'm here for a series with the Cardinals! And what do you care, anyway? You don't even like your brother!
Evil Davies: Yes, but somehow I like you less.
Heap: So, what? You're here to kick my ass? All I said was that I wanted to hang out with him while we're in town!
Evil Davies: Well, he felt very threatened by that. He's fragile. Probably because I've been tormenting him since the womb.
Heap: Man, I don't have time for this crap --
Heap: /starts to shut the door in Evil Davies' face
Evil Davies: /holds the door open
Evil Davies: Well, you'd better make time.
Evil Davies: /hisses
Evil Davies: /raises hands, Dracula-style
Frenchy: /runs up to the hotel room door
Frenchy: /whacks Evil Davies in the back of the head with a golf club
Heap: Frenchy! Uh -- thanks!
Frenchy: No problem! Man, who would have thought a few weeks in the American League would make Kyle so weird?
Heap: Um, you do know that this is the Evil Davies . . . right?
Frenchy: Oh, seriously?
Heap: You thought Good Davies was attacking me?!
Frenchy: No, I was just pissed about that dig at us in that article! I mean, wouldn't you hit me in the back of the head with a golf club if I dissed you in the press?
Heap: Er -- Wait, why are you back from golf so soon? What did you play, three holes?
Frenchy: Not even . . . it wasn't really that fun. Mike can't touch anything round until the spring, so I had to set up his shots for him, then he said that the handles on his clubs were "a little too close to being round," and he made me hit for him, too. Then he said I had to carry him because he's had some "mishaps" with golf carts in the past, so. I left.
Heap: Told you so.
Frenchy: Hey! Maybe next time some evil doppelganger is attacking you, I'll just let nature take its course.
Heap: You just said you only hit him because you were mad about that article!
Frenchy: Yeah, well. What should we do with him, anyway?
Heap: /stares down at the unconscious Evil Davies
Heap: Put him in the rotation?