Thursday, October 10, 2013

The ALDS Game Five Pregame Speech

(Inside visitor’s clubhouse in Oakland.)
DAVE DOMBROWSKI: Gentlemen, congratulations on rebounding in Game Four and getting to this point. But you all know that the ultimate goal this season is a World Series championship. We in the organization are proud of you, as is the city of Detroit. But you all will be remembered for what happens on this field tonight. We need to win this game and move on to Boston in the ALCS. Now Jim here isn’t the kind of guy that believes in pregame speeches.
JIM LEYLAND: (Grumble)Horseshit(Mumble)…

DOMBROWSKI: That’s why we’ve flown in someone who is. I want you all to feel the gravity of the situation. Please pay attention to everything he has to say. This man is a winner and has been in your shoes before. He is…

(clubhouse doors kicked open)

KIRK GIBSON: You fuckers disgust me. Look at ya. You’re facing elimination at the hands of Oakland. OAKLAND! This city is nothing more than San Francisco’s gaping asshole. It even smells like shit in here. And you’ve let these fuckers beat you twice now. And tonight, they could send you home for good. Well, not if I have anything to say about it. Look. It’s no secret that I don’t see eye to eye with your team’s owner on things. That crazy old shit and his monkey boy over here (points at Dombrowski) used me and Tram like whores and kicked us to the curb when it was convenient for them. But I’ll be damned if I let the team I put on the map lose to a bunch of fucking no-names in Oakland without a fight! You guys look like a bunch of pussies out there! No FIRE! No GRIT! No…

DON KELLY: Will to win?

GIBSON: Don’t ever fucking interrupt me again, son. I’ll crush your windpipe and skull-fuck your eye socket before you even know what hit you. Here, hold this for me.

(spits chaw into Kelly’s hand)

GIBSON: Take a look in the mirror. ALL OF YOU! Where’s your balls, gentlemen? Did you lose ‘em when you were shitting your pants for three games in Miami?

(pulls pants down)

GIBSON: Take a good, long look here, men. THESE are balls! I assume that you have them, too. Now start using them!

(pulls pants back up)

GIBSON: I look around this room and see a group of guys that forgot that they are WINNERS! You! You ever hear of Marty Castillo?

ALEX AVILA: I think so. Why?

GIBSON: Because he was a shitty Detroit catcher that couldn’t hit for shit, just like you. People think you have this job because of who your daddy is. If I were you, I’d be doing my damndest every game to prove those fuckers wrong. I’ve seen you do it before. But you take a couple foul balls to the melon and you’re hitting like a bitch. Knock it off! Get your shit together, son! How about you, kid? You ever hear of Chet Lemon?


GIBSON: You kind of remind me of him. Except for the fact that Chet didn’t suck and strike out every fucking time he stepped into the box. Chester was a KILLER! Chet didn’t take shit from NO ONE! Meanwhile you wander up there, pull your head off every ball, and saunter back to the dugout with an “aww shucks” look on your face. GET PISSED! GET ANGRY! You’ve got all the raw talent in the world and you’re pissing it all away like your name is Matt Nokes. STOP IT! That goes for all of you! Including YOU, superstar!


GIBSON: You’ve been limping around and crying like a baby for over a month now. You’re hitting like shit. You don’t run, you don’t field, you don’t do anything except stand there living off what you did in the past. Your Triple Crown means jack and shit right now! In 1988, I could barely fucking stand. In some countries, I was considered legally dead. But I went up there, stared down that ugly hippie Eckersley prick, and took that cocksucker deep and won the game! No excuses! Block out the pain or get your ass back to wherever you come from! That brings me to YOU.


GIBSON: Yeah, you. No one in this room has more to prove than you tonight. They’re ALL questioning you out there. They say the money went to your head. They said that swimsuit broad fucked up your brain. They say you’ve thrown too many innings and your arm’s shot. They say all sorts of shit like that and this is your opportunity to shut those pricks up for GOOD! You didn’t let that pussy go to your head, did you, boy?

VERLANDER: No. That’s ridiculous.

GIBSON: Good. Gentlemen, never mix broads and baseball. Rozema and I learned that the hard way. Back in ’83, we went on a three day bender. We woke up in Tijuana with empty wallets, pounding headaches, and red sores on our dicks. It burned to piss for a month straight. Never let that happen to you. Anyone here ever do that?

(entire room looks at Porcello)

RICK PORCELLO: It does burn pretty bad.

GIBSON: See? Back to you, Justin. Where’s that confident asshole that threw two no-hitters? Where’s the fucking WARRIOR that won the MVP and Cy Young? Tonight you go out there and show the world that you are JUSTIN FUCKING VERLANDER and NO ONE pushes you around! You fucking here me?

VERLANDER: Yes, sir!

GIBSON: Fucking A right, you do. Finally, I’ve got something to say to YOU! You’re the worst offender in this room.

VICTOR MARTINEZ: ¿Que? What I do wrong?

KIRK GIBSON: Are you shitting me? What did you do wrong? Look, pal, I don’t know how it is in Venezuela. But when some kangaroo-fucking, koala sucking cock-snot from Australia tries to show me up in MY fucking stadium? He’s not leaving that yard without a missing limb and an eyeball dangling from his socket. All you did was let him push you around, just like you all let a rookie…A FUCKING ROOKIE, do to you in Game 2. This shit ends now. NOW! You men are BETTER than this! Do you fucking hear me?


GIBSON: Gentlemen, tonight you play for an entire city. You play for every fan that plunked their hard earned dollars down to watch you play the greatest game there is. You play for every motherfucker that wore that beautiful Old English D before you. You play for yourselves and your families. You play to prove every sonofabitch wrong that ever doubted you. Most of all, you play for your teammates! There is no “I” in “Tigers”, you understand?

KELLY: Actually, there is.

GIBSON: (glares at Kelly for two minutes) Who is this fucker? You know what, forget it. This is your time. Your futures and legacies are in your own hands. You can go out there and limp-dick your way through like you did in Games 2 and 3 or you can play like fucking CHAMPIONS! What’s it going to be?

EVERYONE: Champions!

GIBSON: God damn right. You get out there and treat every pitch like it could be the last. You put your foot on their throats and you don’t let up! You get out there and you fucking WIN! No excuses! No regrets! You play like champions and ‘ol Gibby will take everyone out after the game for ribeyes and lapdances. On three, FUCKING WIN! ONE, TWO, THREE!


GIBSON: Damn right. Let’s do this.

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