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Cornelius ... John Cusack Morton ... Chris Parnell Yankee Fan ... Horatio Sanz Husband ... Seth Myers Wife ... Maya Rudolph Angry Man ... Tracy Morgan [Scene opens with a picture of Yankee Stadium. We pan inside and see the bleacher section. There are lots of fans in Yankee hats, it is a sellout crowd.] Announcer: Now batting for the Yankees. Number two. Derek Jeter. [The crowd cheers, loudly. One man, covered head to toe in Yankee apparel, stands up in the aisle, beer in hand.] Yankee Fan: [drunk] Jeter rules! Derek! [takes a drink of beer] Jeter! [takes another drink] Derek, you RULE!!! [The crowd cheers at his outburst] [From behind him walk two men. They are clad in brown suits and wear brown derby hats, as was the fashion in 1910. They both carry umbrellas and have big handlebar mustaches. They look very out of place.] Cornelius: I say, good chap, would you mind moving out of the way? We are trying to get to our seats. [The Yankee fan turns around and looks at them] Yankee Fan: [confused] The hell are you supposed to be? Morton: We have come to watch the base-ball game. Would you be so kind as to let us pass, good sir? [The crowd cheers as something happens on the field. The heckler is distracted and turns back to the action.] Yankee Fan: Yeah!!! Jeter is a GOD!!! DEREK JETER, YOU RULE!!!! [He takes a swig of beer, spilling half of it down his shirt] GO!!! YANKEES!!!!! [He pumps his fist in the air, excitedly] [The two derby-clad men walk around him and take the two seats directly in front of the drunk fan. They place their umbrellas on the ground and watch the game.] Cornelius: [looking around] Goodness me, what an exciting crowd. You can positively feel the energy in such an arena. Morton: I dare say, this may be the finest stadium we have attended. Such spectacle! Cornelius: 'Tis a glorious day for a base-ball game! Morton: Agreed! [They turn to watch the game] Announcer: Now batting for the Yankees. Number twenty-five. Jason Giambi. Yankee Fan: YEAHHHHH!!!! [He raises his fists in the air] GIAMBI RULES!! Morton: [pointing towards the field] Look here, a batter comes nigh. Cornelius: [squinting to see] My, he looks to be a husky fellow. A bit of a beast. Not like a base-baller at all. Morton: [cupping his hands to his mouth and yelling] Sir, sir. You are too large to play this game, sir. Kindly go home to your logging camp. [Cornelius starts laughing. He claps his buddy on the back.] Cornelius: Well played! Well played! [The Yankee fan leans over their shoulders. He spills some beer on Cornelius.] Yankee Fan: What the hell did you just say? Morton: We were heckling, sir. I was loudly informing the base-ball player at home plate that he would be better off playing a large man's game. And not one with so much grace and style as base-ball. Cornelius: He is sure to feel shame now! Yankee Fan: [confused] That was heckling? Cornelius: Heckling is what we do best. We travel from game to game, heckling base-ballers. It is our favorite past-time. We derive great joy from jabbing at the players with our rapier wit. Morton: [heckling again] Ho, you, batter at the plate! Your uniform is far too sloppy. There are women present, kindly tuck in that shirt! Cornelius: If you can fit it inside your generous helping of pantaloon! Yankee Fan: [still confused] Dude, that's Jason Fricking Giambi. He's on the YANKEES. Don't yell at the Yankees in YANKEE STADIUM, are you looking to get your ass kicked? Morton: [reassuring him] Oh, no, you are mistaken. The public loves our antics. We are quite popular at base-ball games. Random voice offscreen: SHUT UP, YOU MUSTACHED HOMOS!!! [A couple seated next to the hecklers pipes up] Husband: Excuse me, where are you guys from? You're not from here, are you? Cornelius: Why, no! Thank you for asking! We are actually from the past. The year 1911 to be exact. My good friend, Morton, and I invented a time-machine. We use it to travel from year to year, heckling base-ball games. It is our one great pleasure. Morton: [heckling] Mr. Giambi, you have the surname of an Italian! Rather than play base-ball, you should be cobbling my shoes! Wife: Wait, you guys invented a time machine? And you only use it to go to baseball games? Cornelius: Not just to attend games. [He jabs a finger in the air, dramatically] But to HECKLE at base-ball games. We are the world's foremost base-ball hecklers. Morton: [heckling] I have never seen an Italian player! Did you learn to play the game by hitting a meatball with a large breadstick? [He chuckles, he was very proud of that line] Husband: [shaking his head, sadly] That's depressing. Wife: What, the fact that they made a brilliant contribution to technology and invented a time machine? Yet they only use it to travel to baseball games and behave like juveniles? Dad: No, I mean that heckle. It sucked. Cornelius: Look, the batter has acquired his second strike. Let us cheer for a strike-out! Morton: Ho, pitcher, fling that base-ball past the Italian! Fling it fast and hard, let us see the tertiary strike! Cornelius and Morton: [chanting] Tertiary! Tertiary! Tertiary! Random Voice Offscreen: SHUT UP OR I'M GONNA RAM THAT UMBRELLA UP YOUR ASS! Yankee Fan: [leaning down, serious] I'm warning you guys, seriously. Stop heckling the Yankees. You're gonna get killed. Cornelius: Never fear, good friend. We shall yell at the team afield instead. Which base-ballers are those? Yankee Fan: Those are the Boston Red Sox. [He gets worked up] RED SOX SUCK!! GO BACK TO BOSTON, LOSERS!! [He points at the field and screams, spilling some beer on Morton and Cornelius.] [The crowd around him cheers] Morton: [trying to follow] Yes, perchance you wear red stockings because of your lack of manliness! Red is a feminine color, not becoming of a base-baller! [Dead silence greets this] Random voice offscreen: RED SOX SUCK!! Cornelius: [trying to work the crowd up] We have evidence to the fact that the Boston team does indeed suck! [He points to the field] You players will be incurring our wrath if you do not stop sucking! [He turns towards the crowd, arms and hands spread wide, waiting for applause. It's still dead quiet.] Random voice offscreen: YOU SUCK TOO!! Cornelius: Good people! I have informed the Boston team that they are inferior to our Yankees. Let us now taunt them by making delightful puns based on their last names! [A Ziploc bag filled with a brown substance flies out of the crowd and hits Cornelius in the face. He stops to pick it up.] Offscreen Voice: SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!!! [The crowd cheers] Cornelius: [to Morton] It appears someone has flung a bag full of excrement at me. [He turns back to the crowd] Good show! Thank you for the idea! I shall now fling it at the Boston team! [He turns to the field and tries to throw it. But he throws like a girl and it lands about two rows down. The crowd starts to jeer him. Another Ziploc bag is flung and hits Cornelius in the back of the head. The crowd cheers.] Husband: Uh, honey, let's get out of here. [He takes her hand and the two of them start to slink away] I don't really want to sit in the crap-flying section. Yankee Fan: [leaning over] Okay, guys, would you just relax. The Red Sox are coming up to bat now, you can go nuts on them. No one will care. Announcer: Now batting for Boston. Number thirty-five. Rickey Henderson. [Lots of boos] Random Voice Offscreen: HENDERSON IS A QUEER! [The crowd cheers] Cornelius: [standing up] Yes, this Henderson is an odd fellow. His queer mannerisms give away his lack of base-ball skills! [Dead silence from the crowd] Yankee Fan: [under his breath to Cornelius] That's not what he meant! Morton: [standing up, and pointing] What, ho! The Boston base-ballers have seen fit to play a negro on their team! A colored base-ball player! They mock the good fans of New York! [He turns around, to dead silence] Yankee Fan: [embarrassed, under his breath] Shut up, just shut up, man. Cornelius: The progressive team from Boston has seen fit to break the great color barrier of our sport. What nerve they have! [yelling] Boo! Boo to the rule-breakers! Boo I say! Yankee Fan: Dude, they broke the color barrier, like, 60 years ago. Shut up, please! [An angry black man walks up, and places his hand on Morton's shoulder] Angry Man: Are we gonna have a problem here? Yankee Fan: Awww, crap. Nice job, guys! [He stands and run away, spilling his beer] Good luck! Cornelius: Kindly sir, please un-hand my friend. We are simply enjoying the base-ball game. We do not wish to start trouble. Morton: And besides... [He strikes a fighting pose, both fists up, like old school boxing] If you do not wish to receive a thrashing, you will gladly step away. I excel at the art of fisticuffs. [The angry man looks behind him, and a group of his friends stand up. They all look angry and very big] Angry Man: [threatening] And we gonna excel at the art of jackin' you up. Morton: Ah... that is different. [He reaches down to pick up his umbrella] Come, Cornelius, fetch your derby. Let us be off, off to our time machine. We have more base-ball games ahead of us. [Cornelius picks up his umbrella, runs his fingers along the brim of his derby, and bows towards the crowd.] Cornelius: Good day, fine people! We have enjoyed the afternoon at the game. It has been our pleasure! [Another bag of excrement flies out of the crowd and hits him. Then come two more.] Random Voice Offscreen: YOU SUCK!! [The crowd cheers] [Cornelius and Morton exit the bleachers, presumably off to their magic time machine.] [end] Rate or review this sketch. |
