full of quarrel and offense
As old Ripken’s back.
Put a pennant in thy purse.
Clemens’ hard heaves still bloody his receiver’s leathered palm.
He painteth corners and maketh music of men’s chins.
Lash Wells to a lesser pair and etch their travel tickets,
To-ronto, and To-ronto, and To-ronto.
Put a pennant in thy purse.
(
Ghost exits.
)
GEORGE: Wine of victory: Must thou always roil from rott’d fruit?
Torre, quickly! Screw your courage to the trading-place!
Opening Day.
ACT V, SCENE VIII. In a dugout.
RIZZUTO: The unkind’st cut doth poorly sells.
YOGI: All is not well that endeth Wells.…
GEORGE: O what a rouge and peasant owner I am!
Betrayal: Thou art known to me as wife.
(
George points a dagger to his heart.
)
Good-bye, good team. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
(
Cashman enters.
)
CASHMAN: My liege! Saint Louis whispers dangerous truths into my ear.
McGwire, the Ruthian knight, doth be for sale. (
George throws away the dagger.
)
GEORGE : Hark, hark, the Mark!
Cashman, quickly! Send Tino Martinez to the block.
Cut the deal!
CASHMAN : Et, Tino, boss?
GEORGE : A row of murderers I shall have. O what teams may come!
RIZZUTO : Unb’lievable! What? A minute, wait!
L’mmie get this in, ’fore ’tis too late.
Get well, Ophelia, in Albany.
YOGI: ’Tis over now, ’cause ov’r it be.
Nineteen Ninety-four
I t was a cold day in April, and the digital clocks were flashing thirteen. Winston Smith scanned his card at the door, nodded respectfully to the security camera outside No. 4, and began leafing through the letters that spilled from his mailbox. They came from celebrities hoping to save wildlife and from the chief executive officers of global corporations. “Dear W. Smith,” one said. “Have you ever sent a fax from the beach? YOU WILL.”
This rattled Winston. He feared beaches, where hot sands often concealed medical wastes. For a frightening moment, Winston wondered if he really wanted the freedom to watch five hundred TV channels or access the electronic-data superhighway from a laptop computer. To calm himself, Winston swallowed a Prozac, grabbed his precious remote box, and flicked on the telescreen. A woman with the piercing, all-knowing eyes ofa TV reporter smiled at him. He knew her as Murphy.
“Trying to figure out which telephone company gives you the best deal?” Murphy said. “Only Sprint offers you The Most. It’s like a billionmegabyte brain in your phone. It figures out who you call the most, then gives you a twenty percent discount on long-distance rates to that number. It’s
that
simple.”
Winston broke into a cold sweat. He’d heard of rebel phone companies but until now had never dreamed of joining one. Murphy vanished from the screen, replaced by a show devoted to the capture of criminals. But Winston still thought about Murphy.
“I will,” he said finally, dialing the number she had projected. “I WILL!”
That night, Winston dreamed of making love to Murphy and saving 20 percent on long-distance rates.
He awoke next morning to the telescreen, where a large, bald man stood before a map of Oceana. “Here’s what’s happening in your world as we speak,” the man said. Winston waited for instructions. The phone rang. A frantic voice shouted, “We want you back, W. Smith! WE WANT YOU BACK!”
This rattled Winston. He thought about nothing else while riding the train to the Ministry of Truth, where he worked in the Department of Conventional Wisdom. That morning, a programmer named O’Brien pulled Winston into a back room.
“We heard through e-mail that you’re switching,” O’Brien whispered. “Before you do, think about it. Think about what’s important.
“I’m making a list, Smith,” O’Brien continued. “It’s my ‘Friends and Family Circle’ list. You could be on it. But in return, we need a list from you. We need to know whom we can count on. Join MCI, and you’ll cut long-distance bills by twenty percent. Of course,
As old Ripken’s back.
Put a pennant in thy purse.
Clemens’ hard heaves still bloody his receiver’s leathered palm.
He painteth corners and maketh music of men’s chins.
Lash Wells to a lesser pair and etch their travel tickets,
To-ronto, and To-ronto, and To-ronto.
Put a pennant in thy purse.
(
Ghost exits.
)
GEORGE: Wine of victory: Must thou always roil from rott’d fruit?
Torre, quickly! Screw your courage to the trading-place!
Opening Day.
ACT V, SCENE VIII. In a dugout.
RIZZUTO: The unkind’st cut doth poorly sells.
YOGI: All is not well that endeth Wells.…
GEORGE: O what a rouge and peasant owner I am!
Betrayal: Thou art known to me as wife.
(
George points a dagger to his heart.
)
Good-bye, good team. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
(
Cashman enters.
)
CASHMAN: My liege! Saint Louis whispers dangerous truths into my ear.
McGwire, the Ruthian knight, doth be for sale. (
George throws away the dagger.
)
GEORGE : Hark, hark, the Mark!
Cashman, quickly! Send Tino Martinez to the block.
Cut the deal!
CASHMAN : Et, Tino, boss?
GEORGE : A row of murderers I shall have. O what teams may come!
RIZZUTO : Unb’lievable! What? A minute, wait!
L’mmie get this in, ’fore ’tis too late.
Get well, Ophelia, in Albany.
YOGI: ’Tis over now, ’cause ov’r it be.
Nineteen Ninety-four
I t was a cold day in April, and the digital clocks were flashing thirteen. Winston Smith scanned his card at the door, nodded respectfully to the security camera outside No. 4, and began leafing through the letters that spilled from his mailbox. They came from celebrities hoping to save wildlife and from the chief executive officers of global corporations. “Dear W. Smith,” one said. “Have you ever sent a fax from the beach? YOU WILL.”
This rattled Winston. He feared beaches, where hot sands often concealed medical wastes. For a frightening moment, Winston wondered if he really wanted the freedom to watch five hundred TV channels or access the electronic-data superhighway from a laptop computer. To calm himself, Winston swallowed a Prozac, grabbed his precious remote box, and flicked on the telescreen. A woman with the piercing, all-knowing eyes ofa TV reporter smiled at him. He knew her as Murphy.
“Trying to figure out which telephone company gives you the best deal?” Murphy said. “Only Sprint offers you The Most. It’s like a billionmegabyte brain in your phone. It figures out who you call the most, then gives you a twenty percent discount on long-distance rates to that number. It’s
that
simple.”
Winston broke into a cold sweat. He’d heard of rebel phone companies but until now had never dreamed of joining one. Murphy vanished from the screen, replaced by a show devoted to the capture of criminals. But Winston still thought about Murphy.
“I will,” he said finally, dialing the number she had projected. “I WILL!”
That night, Winston dreamed of making love to Murphy and saving 20 percent on long-distance rates.
He awoke next morning to the telescreen, where a large, bald man stood before a map of Oceana. “Here’s what’s happening in your world as we speak,” the man said. Winston waited for instructions. The phone rang. A frantic voice shouted, “We want you back, W. Smith! WE WANT YOU BACK!”
This rattled Winston. He thought about nothing else while riding the train to the Ministry of Truth, where he worked in the Department of Conventional Wisdom. That morning, a programmer named O’Brien pulled Winston into a back room.
“We heard through e-mail that you’re switching,” O’Brien whispered. “Before you do, think about it. Think about what’s important.
“I’m making a list, Smith,” O’Brien continued. “It’s my ‘Friends and Family Circle’ list. You could be on it. But in return, we need a list from you. We need to know whom we can count on. Join MCI, and you’ll cut long-distance bills by twenty percent. Of course,
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