Brockmire (2017–…): Season 2, Episode 1 - The Getaway Game - full transcript
Before realizing his mistake in leaving his true love behind, Brockmire must undergo obstacles the new league throws at him.
♪♪
Biggest change in this country
in the 10 years that I was gone?
America went from being a boob
nation to being an ass nation.
I mean, 30 years ago,
if a company ran an ad campaign
on 3 TV networks
and 10 magazines,
everybody saw it.
And what they saw mostly was
boobs -- boobs, boobs, boobs.
I mean, eventually,
we just forgot all about butts.
[Groans]
We were just so relentlessly
hammered with images of boobs.
And by the '80s, Charles,
big old fake boobs --
just these enormous sacks
of viscous chemicals
that were bolted onto
the front of a woman's chest
in defiance of all
good taste and gravity.
Which gift basket
does she get?
Chantal?
Oh, the "Jeter."
Oh, my God.
She earned it.
You know, iPads don't
grow on trees.
Maybe you should consider
not giving the Jeter
to every woman
you bring home?
No, Charles, I'm afraid I can't,
because I'm sexually generous
in all the ways that
one could possibly be.
Besides, those "Piazza" baskets
that you designed,
Charles, they're confusing,
and they're unpopular.
There's an element
of sadness to them.
Anywhoodles, I'm at the Big
Freedia bounce show last night,
and I'm just --
I'm getting lost in the applause
of like a hundred
clapping asses.
And it hits me,
it dawns on me --
I am surrounded
by the very people
that got America
back into ass.
I'm talking about straight
black men,
the gays, of course,
and thick women.
God bless 'em.
'Cause, see, when the Internet
expanded all media
into the limitless chaos
that we know it to be today,
the power of
the straight-white-male gaze
got diluted,
and all of a sudden,
all these long-forgotten voices
could finally be heard, man,
and they were screaming, "Butts!
Come on! Butts are wonderful!"
And that, my friend,
is how the titty wool
that had been pulled
over our collective eyes
was finally lifted.
She's waking up.
Oh. I'll go hide
in the bathroom.
They always go
to the bathroom.
I'll hide in the pantry.
Calm down.
[Jazz music plays]
♪♪
I got the Jeter
last time.
What about that one?
That one is reserved for someone
else, if she ever comes here.
Which she won't.
But I can get you
two Piazzas instead.
But those
are in the pantry!
Shit.
[Rustling]
Ta-da! Ha ha!
There is one Piazza
for you right there.
A Squatty Potty
and olive oil?
He's an Italian
catcher.
It's so obvious.
And your second Piazza.
There you go.
Got it?
Great to see you again.
You take care, now.
-In conclusion...
-You're still not done.
...this country is
only getting dumber
and hotter
and more crowded,
but when I see butts
of all shapes
and sizes and colors
not only represented,
but celebrated, well,
it gives me hope --
hope that things can still
change for the better.
♪♪
-Strike!
-Santos looks at a fastball.
Count evens, 2-2.
'Course, Santos
is only playing today
because Fitzgerald
finally got his call-up
to the major leagues,
so congratulations to Fitz.
Get me another beer.
-No.
-Come on.
-No.
-Please.
-Focus.
God damn it.
[Switch clicks]
Santos pops a curveball
up and out of play.
You know, folks,
I think I understand
just how Fitzgerald felt.
I mean, he was a star
here in New Orleans
right from the get-go,
yet he had to wait and wait
and wait for that call-up
to the major leagues,
to the point where he probably
started to question
the decision-making
of the Atlanta organization.
As Santos bounces one
to the left side,
this should probably do it.
And the New Orleans Crawdaddys
are gonna drop this one
to Nashville
by a count of 7-2.
-Suck!
-I have been Jim Brockmire.
Please stay tuned
for the postgame wrap-up.
Let me ask you a question.
Was it clear just now, when I
was talking about Fitzgerald,
that I was actually referring
to my own career situation?
Oh, that was intentional?
I can never tell if you're
calculating or just spiraling.
I mean,
what's the holdup?
Seriously?
What do I have to do?
I mean, I've played by all
their stupid rules, have I not?
Art Newly
is hard to replace.
He's like a more likable
Vin Scully, and you're...
-[Belches]
-...not that.
They can't do anything
with you publicly.
It's gonna look like
they're pushing him out.
Well, they won't have
to push too hard.
The man is 75 years old.
A stiff breeze and an uneven
sidewalk, and down he will go.
Want to hear
some good news?
As of today, we have the
number 3 podcast in America.
No shit? Oh!
Remind me to ask that
Marc Maron how my ass tastes.
[Crowd chanting "Brock!"]
Charles:
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,
to another live episode
of "Brock Bottom,"
brought to you
by Old Spice Deodorant.
Like Jim Brockmire, Old Spice
is an original
that still feels fresh.
Now, without further ado,
I'd like to present to you
the one-man MOTH
and the best
freestyle storyteller
in the podcast game...
Jim Brockmire.
[Cheers and applause]
♪♪
Hey! All right!
I thank you.
-Whoo!
Let's get right to it,
shall we?
I need a suggestion for a
90-minute improvised monologue.
-Baseball!
-Pinstripes!
-Wyoming!
-You said Wyoming.
I heard Wichita.
[Laughter]
Method to my madness on that one
because the only person
that I ever knew from Wichita
was none other than television
and film's Kirstie Alley.
-Yeah.
-Yeah.
-Ooh!
-Oww!
Now, this is a story
about the first time
that she tried to
convert me to Scientology.
Man: Yeah!
[Slurring]
So, now, at this point...
all the "Veronica's Closet"
writers, they g--
they went home, okay?
It's just me and Kirstie
alone in a dressing room,
so I'm -- I'm pretty psyched.
Anyway, the room's really dark,
but I can just make out --
I could just see this --
this tear,
one single tear
kind of gently making her --
its way down her face.
So I got down.
[Groaning] Okay.
I said, "Kirstie,
why are you crying?"
[Laughter]
And she pulled me close,
and she whispered one word
into my ear, folks.
She said...
"Wichita!"
[Laughter]
"Wichita!"
[Cheers and applause]
Appreciate it.
Next up.
Come on up.
Step right up.
This is a small-batch rye,
aged 18 years.
Ooh!
Yeah, m-my dad
was an alcoholic.
Instead of telling fun stories,
he'd get angry
and make us all fight
for the last uncooked hot dog.
Okay, we're gonna let
that sad story
just die right there
on the vine,
and we're gonna take
a lovely photo together, okay?
Right there.
[Camera shutter clicks]
All right.
Thank you so much for coming.
Appreciate it.
Step right up.
What do you got there?
Are these magic mush--
Oh, the-- Oh!
These are all caps, too.
Oh, my goodness.
Well, if history has
taught us anything,
it's that this evening
is almost certain to end
with me stealing a boat.
Is that something?
I don't even know why.
Hey, uh, Jim.
Could I...
Y-- One --
Pardon me a moment.
Yes, my friend?
Art Newly just announced
that he's officially retiring
at the end of the season,
and the new head
of PR from Atlanta
is coming down tomorrow
for a meeting.
Now, I don't want you to read
too much into this.
-Holy shit! I did it! I did it!
-We still don't know.
No, I made it back to the top
of the mountain, Charles.
Oh, my God!
I could not have done it
without you.
I love you! Mwah!
I love you, Charles.
I can't believe you won't
say it back to me.
I am not gonna say it,
and I can't believe
you're saying it to me.
That's just gonna make it
all the sweeter
when I finally wear you down.
But tonight is about
celebratin', baby!
Not too hard.
You s-- You have
the meeting tomorrow.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
All right. Hey, everybody.
Everybody, I want you
to show me your cocaine.
Who's carrying cocaine?
Hold it on up there.
-I got some.
-Okay.
Let's see.
-Me, me, me, me!
Right here.
-All right.
That appears to be
only an eight ball.
So I'm gonna go with you two
'cause I got
a busy day tomorrow!
[Elevator bell dings]
You could say
what you will,
but I am just
so happy for you, bro.
Oh, well,
thank you, Raj.
Could not have done it
without you calling
all those road games.
No, you've been a lifesaver.
Come on.
Look, thank you.
I just enjoyed joining your
brotherhood of the booth.
And I must say,
you're much less racist
than I thought you'd be.
Well, my goodness.
I wish I could take
more credit for that,
but, uh, the bar
set by old white men
in this great country of ours
is just, oh, so very low.
Yep. As soon as you raise it up
a little bit,
someone knocks it
back down, huh?
Man, you keep screwing up.
-We do.
Listen, let's commemorate
this hand-off on the 'gram.
Get in here.
-Ah, the ubiquitous 'gram.
-Mm-hmm.
-All right. Hey, whoa, whoa!
What are you doing here,
asshole?
-Whoa, whoa! Jim!
-What's that?
Hey, look,
I invited him, okay? Look --
-You invited him?
-Yes. You're both my brohams,
so I was hoping
we could end this feud
because you actually have
a lot in common, okay?
You're both really
stubborn superstars.
I mean, you --
-Whoa, whoa. Superstar?
Are you kidding me?
Hey, I've known all the titans
of mascotry, okay?
The Phillie Phanatic,
he officiated my wedding.
You are not a superstar.
You are a mime
in Muppet's clothing.
What -- What's that?
What is that?
I don't even understand that.
I think
he's flipping you off.
You fuck your mother with
that claw, you stupid idiot?
-Come on!
-Jim Brockmire?
-Yeah.
-I'm Whitney Masterson.
I'm the new head of PR
for Atlanta.
Is -- Is there a problem?
-No, no.
I mean, I don't pretend to be
a crustacean for a living,
so I'm very good,
thank you.
Raj, can you join us,
as well, please?
Yeah. Come on.
More the merrier.
Plan the old line
of succession here.
Hey, medium mascot talent!
At best!
Dummy!
First of all, Jim,
the organization
wishes to thank you
for doing
all that it asked of you
over the last year.
Well, please thank
the organization
for doing everything
I asked of them.
[Chuckles]
It was a little unusual,
only calling home games,
and it was a bit of
a strange contract rider.
I mean...
"Jim Brockmire does not ride
the bus -- exclamation point.
Make sure they spell
'exclamation point'
because that's how much
I don't want to ride the bus."
Yeah, you know,
I used to say the bus
is just like
a concentration-camp train
that made more stops,
but, uh, well,
I quickly discovered
that people prefer
their Holocaust humor
to come
from Roberto Benigni
and [Chuckles]
pretty much nobody else.
Okay.
Before I was hired in PR,
I interned in the
analytics department,
and I learned a very
important lesson.
Human perception...
is a lie.
But math -- math always
tells the truth.
For example, we believed that
hiring an Internet celebrity
would bring in new fans,
but the numbers told
a different story.
What is that --
like, two pie charts?
I don't understand
what's happening.
It's a Venn diagram, Jim.
Oh. Okay.
According
to focus groups,
our fans
hate your podcast,
and your podcast fans
hate baseball.
Interesting, right?
-Mm-hmm.
So, next, we tested
that same group to find
Art Newly's likability --
92 out of 100.
I mean, makes sense.
He's beloved by generations.
Then, we tested, uh,
Jim's likability.
67.
-Ha!
-Okay.
-Yeah!
-Is that a good number?
-Great question.
We needed context.
We needed a control.
So we tested Raj.
And here's where
it gets interesting.
Raj is an 84.
[Chuckles]
Out of what, like 200?
Out of 100.
200 would make your 67
look even worse.
You get how that works?
-Yes, no, thank you.
I'm not a complete idiot.
Look, anybody could
see that this kid's gonna be
a big star one day.
-Agreed.
Which is why
replacing Art Newly
will now be a two-man
competition between you and Raj.
This kid's a hack!
Are you kidding me?
I've known sperm on a crusty
sock with more life experience.
I'm sorry, Jim.
The decision's been made --
far above my head.
With insistent and
unwavering support from me.
I think I speak for Raj when
I say that neither one of us
wants any part
of this thing.
No.
No, I'm in -- 100%.
Et tu, broham?
Look. You've been
like a mentor to me.
Uh-huh. We both know it.
So there's no way
I'm gonna let them pit us
against each other.
Ah. Excellent.
Y-Y-You gonna bow out, then?
No, I just think we should try
our best and see what happens.
Hey, "F" that, all right?
"F" that.
Look, I know this has been
a dream of both of ours
for a very long time.
A dream. That's really funny.
No, not really.
I just did, like, improv
for a little while,
and then I took
a broadcasting class.
I didn't even
really finish it.
I really wanted to call
G-League basketball,
but that's, like,
a hard gig to get.
Then Jesus Christ, man,
let me have it.
Why can't we both
just try to earn it?
'Cause I might not win it
that way, Raj.
Do you know how many
diverse play-by-play men
there are in baseball?
It's not a rhetorical question.
I literally have no idea.
I'm not a baseball fan.
I just want to know if I
should hire a publicist.
Okay, have it your way,
but you and I,
we are sworn enemies now,
I mean it.
You never know where or how
or when I am gonna strike next,
but let me put it
to you this way.
Bob Costas did not expect
to get pink eye
at the Sochi Olympics
either,
but I sure as shit
made that happen.
Okay, okay, you're --
you're mad at me now.
But I will win you back
because everyone loves me.
It's a rare gift.
Only Sandy Bullock,
Alex Trebek, and I have it.
Announcer:
Ladies and gentlemen,
Fan Fest is about to begin.
I freakin' love you.
Have fun out there, okay?
I'll send some your way.
The gates are open.
Head down to the field to meet
your favorite Crawdaddy.
There you are, fan.
Enjoy the Fan Fest.
Are you wearing sunblock?
Fan Fest is three hour--
You [bleep] Charles.
You screwed me right
in the asshole.
-What?
-You tricked me into thinking
this podcast thingy
would get me the Atlanta job,
but it didn't do dick.
Quite the opposite.
God damn it.
I should just -- I should quit
that stupid podcast.
If you're gonna quit anything,
it should be this.
What?
You're doing radio broadcast
of a Minor League Baseball game
to, what, 20,000 people?
"Brock Bottom" gets half
a million downloads an episode.
Hey, give us a second here,
friend, all right?
We're in the middle
of something, okay?
We're making good money
from the live shows,
but the real money
is in touring.
If you quit this, we can sell
out theaters across the country,
maybe even leapfrog over
"Fresh Air"
for the number-two spot.
Well, as much as that
Terry Gross
needs to taken down
a peg or two,
I am a baseball man,
Charles.
I mean, the podcast is nice
and everything,
but, uh, it ain't
the major leagues.
Ah! Yeah!
[Speaking Creole]
Is he speaking Creole?
Bam!
Oh, oh. Bam!
God, there's
so many of you.
I am really screwed.
Oh, there he is.
What's he doing now?
Oh.
Is that supposed to be me?
Oh, I get it.
I'm so drunk I can hardly walk.
That --
That's just hilarious.
You know what, though?
You're not quite
selling it, though.
Can I give you
a quick pointer?
[Grunts]
[Bat clanks]
Shouldn't you be
more discreet about that?
I am being discreet.
Not pouring anything
out of this, am I?
So, what was that big idea
to beat Raj you texted me about?
I spent all last night
looking up
things people
like on the Internet.
Came up with a lot of videos
of autistic kids
sinking 3-point baskets,
but, uh, apparently,
they're very hard
to find on short notice.
And that dog who can't catch
pizza -- You know that guy? --
he is booked solid
for an entire year.
And then it hit me, Charles --
Make-A-Wish cancer kids.
-Oh, Jesus Christ. No.
-Yes.
Unfortunately, when I called
the Make-A-Wish Foundation,
they informed me that no child
had ever requested a visit
to a Minor League
Baseball broadcast booth.
That is so weird!
So I took the liberty of calling
around to local cancer wards
till I came upon the parents
of 8-year-old Dylan Cole,
and I convinced them
to let him join me
in the booth this afternoon.
What exactly is wrong
with Dylan?
I don't know. Must be really bad
because his doctors,
they did not want him
to leave the hospital.
-I won't be a part of this.
-No, agreed. You know why?
Apparently, he has
a lot of equipment
he needs
to help him breathe,
so there's gonna be no room
for you there in the booth.
Your job is gonna be
to do focus testing.
That means you hang
around here in the stadium
and you gauge how great
this is playing.
Take some videos
so we can show Whitney later.
Oh, man. This is gonna be
so freakin' uplifting!
Everybody's panties
are gonna be wet --
wet from tears!
[Slurps]
Wet from tears, Charles!
-Man: Jim Brockmire?
-Yeah?
We'd like you to meet
the bravest kid in the world --
our son, Dylan.
Hey. Hi. Oh, hi.
That's so many tubes.
H-Hi, Dylan.
Short pop fly to center
for out number three.
Crawdaddys
coming up to bat now,
and to help me call
the bottom of the 4th
is tiny hero and cancer
survivor, Mr. Dylan Cole.
He's eight years old.
-Aww!
Uh, Dylan, who's your
favorite ballplayer, son?
[Breathing heavily]
Hmm?
Okay, how 'bout I, uh --
I'm gonna move the mic
a little bit closer for you,
and that should make it easier.
Go ahead.
[Breathing heavily]
You know what? I-I-If it's
too difficult for you,
I-I -- maybe
you shouldn't answer.
No, I don't want you
to waste the energy, son.
It's all right.
I don't want you to answer.
It's all right. Never mind.
Let go of the mic.
Is he gonna hurt himself?
O-Okay. All right.
Go ahead.
Dylan: Buster...Posey.
Wasn't worth it.
Uh, not by a long shot.
Okay.
♪♪
[Crying]
♪♪
Top of the 5th, folks.
Dylan is gone.
His parents wheeled him
on out of here.
-Oh.
-Um...
See, I invited young Dylan
into the booth
because I thought it might
be inspiring for people.
I mean, who is not inspired
by the courageous tale
of a young man
battling cancer --
as a curveball drops
in there for a strike.
0-1.
See, the thing is, though,
I guess I wonder why
because I was not uplifted
by Dylan's burden.
If anything, it just
turned over the rock
under which I keep buried the
knowledge of my own mortality --
as Sanchez looks
at one high and away. 1-1.
I mean, maybe we like kids with
cancer so much...
No, no, no.
...because they're the only time
that human beings
are actually all
united in empathy.
But, uh, if it takes the torment
of those most vulnerable
among us to bring us
all together,
then, well, what does
that say about humanity --
as Sanchez pulls
that one foul, 1-2.
Is it because
these kids all know
that they're headed
to a better place?
Well, they're all raised
on fairy tales
and Santa Claus, aren't they?
I mean, their certainty
in heaven
should offer us
no consolation --
as Sanchez steps
out of the box.
Out of the way!
No, see, I suspect the true
reason is much darker.
I suspect that, at a base level,
one that none of us
wants to admit,
we love kids with cancer because
their imminent deaths remind us
that we are still alive, people.
They are the ones
being punished, not us --
as Sanchez strikes out
for the fourth time today.
Shit.
That was way worse than
I thought it was gonna be.
Charles: It was
only a one-game suspension.
It could've been
way worse, right?
Hey, Jim?
Yeah?
Why are we here?
Charles, sometimes you
just have to cut out
those annoying middlemen
called fun and conversation...
and get straight
to the booze.
♪♪
I just watched a man pull out
his own loose tooth.
I hate it here.
I didn't get carded
when I came in,
and I'm not even
the youngest person here.
Oh, Lil Pete's all right.
No, don't -- don't make
eye contact with him.
That third trip to juvie,
that changed him.
What are you having, hmm?
I'm buying.
Yeah, um, I can't be
your producer,
your roommate,
your best friend,
housekeeper,
and drinking buddy.
I know you said I can't say
their name anymore,
but I only know one person who
can match you drink for drink.
If you want some company,
I recommend making
a call to Morristown.
[Sighs]
Yeah, you're right.
[Knock on door]
Ha ha!
[Laughs]
Whoo!
You know this is not
who I was talking about.
There he is.
Brockmire.
Oh, man!
I brought you a present.
Oh.
What are those, mints?
Horse tranquilizer.
Ah, you see?
I missed you.
Come here. Mwah!
You're more likable
when you're drunk.
Those are the words that every
alcoholic longs to be true.
This is New Orleans.
Every carnal pleasure
was invented right here.
You're a brown Joe Buck.
Ha ha. No.
Joe Buck is a white me.
This literally could not
get any worse.
Lucy? Okay, it just got
significantly worse.
♪♪
This comeback might be over
before it's begun.
Ho. We are definitely not
on the same page
about how to spend
this evening.
"Brockmire."
Wednesdays at 10:00 on IFC.
Biggest change in this country
in the 10 years that I was gone?
America went from being a boob
nation to being an ass nation.
I mean, 30 years ago,
if a company ran an ad campaign
on 3 TV networks
and 10 magazines,
everybody saw it.
And what they saw mostly was
boobs -- boobs, boobs, boobs.
I mean, eventually,
we just forgot all about butts.
[Groans]
We were just so relentlessly
hammered with images of boobs.
And by the '80s, Charles,
big old fake boobs --
just these enormous sacks
of viscous chemicals
that were bolted onto
the front of a woman's chest
in defiance of all
good taste and gravity.
Which gift basket
does she get?
Chantal?
Oh, the "Jeter."
Oh, my God.
She earned it.
You know, iPads don't
grow on trees.
Maybe you should consider
not giving the Jeter
to every woman
you bring home?
No, Charles, I'm afraid I can't,
because I'm sexually generous
in all the ways that
one could possibly be.
Besides, those "Piazza" baskets
that you designed,
Charles, they're confusing,
and they're unpopular.
There's an element
of sadness to them.
Anywhoodles, I'm at the Big
Freedia bounce show last night,
and I'm just --
I'm getting lost in the applause
of like a hundred
clapping asses.
And it hits me,
it dawns on me --
I am surrounded
by the very people
that got America
back into ass.
I'm talking about straight
black men,
the gays, of course,
and thick women.
God bless 'em.
'Cause, see, when the Internet
expanded all media
into the limitless chaos
that we know it to be today,
the power of
the straight-white-male gaze
got diluted,
and all of a sudden,
all these long-forgotten voices
could finally be heard, man,
and they were screaming, "Butts!
Come on! Butts are wonderful!"
And that, my friend,
is how the titty wool
that had been pulled
over our collective eyes
was finally lifted.
She's waking up.
Oh. I'll go hide
in the bathroom.
They always go
to the bathroom.
I'll hide in the pantry.
Calm down.
[Jazz music plays]
♪♪
I got the Jeter
last time.
What about that one?
That one is reserved for someone
else, if she ever comes here.
Which she won't.
But I can get you
two Piazzas instead.
But those
are in the pantry!
Shit.
[Rustling]
Ta-da! Ha ha!
There is one Piazza
for you right there.
A Squatty Potty
and olive oil?
He's an Italian
catcher.
It's so obvious.
And your second Piazza.
There you go.
Got it?
Great to see you again.
You take care, now.
-In conclusion...
-You're still not done.
...this country is
only getting dumber
and hotter
and more crowded,
but when I see butts
of all shapes
and sizes and colors
not only represented,
but celebrated, well,
it gives me hope --
hope that things can still
change for the better.
♪♪
-Strike!
-Santos looks at a fastball.
Count evens, 2-2.
'Course, Santos
is only playing today
because Fitzgerald
finally got his call-up
to the major leagues,
so congratulations to Fitz.
Get me another beer.
-No.
-Come on.
-No.
-Please.
-Focus.
God damn it.
[Switch clicks]
Santos pops a curveball
up and out of play.
You know, folks,
I think I understand
just how Fitzgerald felt.
I mean, he was a star
here in New Orleans
right from the get-go,
yet he had to wait and wait
and wait for that call-up
to the major leagues,
to the point where he probably
started to question
the decision-making
of the Atlanta organization.
As Santos bounces one
to the left side,
this should probably do it.
And the New Orleans Crawdaddys
are gonna drop this one
to Nashville
by a count of 7-2.
-Suck!
-I have been Jim Brockmire.
Please stay tuned
for the postgame wrap-up.
Let me ask you a question.
Was it clear just now, when I
was talking about Fitzgerald,
that I was actually referring
to my own career situation?
Oh, that was intentional?
I can never tell if you're
calculating or just spiraling.
I mean,
what's the holdup?
Seriously?
What do I have to do?
I mean, I've played by all
their stupid rules, have I not?
Art Newly
is hard to replace.
He's like a more likable
Vin Scully, and you're...
-[Belches]
-...not that.
They can't do anything
with you publicly.
It's gonna look like
they're pushing him out.
Well, they won't have
to push too hard.
The man is 75 years old.
A stiff breeze and an uneven
sidewalk, and down he will go.
Want to hear
some good news?
As of today, we have the
number 3 podcast in America.
No shit? Oh!
Remind me to ask that
Marc Maron how my ass tastes.
[Crowd chanting "Brock!"]
Charles:
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,
to another live episode
of "Brock Bottom,"
brought to you
by Old Spice Deodorant.
Like Jim Brockmire, Old Spice
is an original
that still feels fresh.
Now, without further ado,
I'd like to present to you
the one-man MOTH
and the best
freestyle storyteller
in the podcast game...
Jim Brockmire.
[Cheers and applause]
♪♪
Hey! All right!
I thank you.
-Whoo!
Let's get right to it,
shall we?
I need a suggestion for a
90-minute improvised monologue.
-Baseball!
-Pinstripes!
-Wyoming!
-You said Wyoming.
I heard Wichita.
[Laughter]
Method to my madness on that one
because the only person
that I ever knew from Wichita
was none other than television
and film's Kirstie Alley.
-Yeah.
-Yeah.
-Ooh!
-Oww!
Now, this is a story
about the first time
that she tried to
convert me to Scientology.
Man: Yeah!
[Slurring]
So, now, at this point...
all the "Veronica's Closet"
writers, they g--
they went home, okay?
It's just me and Kirstie
alone in a dressing room,
so I'm -- I'm pretty psyched.
Anyway, the room's really dark,
but I can just make out --
I could just see this --
this tear,
one single tear
kind of gently making her --
its way down her face.
So I got down.
[Groaning] Okay.
I said, "Kirstie,
why are you crying?"
[Laughter]
And she pulled me close,
and she whispered one word
into my ear, folks.
She said...
"Wichita!"
[Laughter]
"Wichita!"
[Cheers and applause]
Appreciate it.
Next up.
Come on up.
Step right up.
This is a small-batch rye,
aged 18 years.
Ooh!
Yeah, m-my dad
was an alcoholic.
Instead of telling fun stories,
he'd get angry
and make us all fight
for the last uncooked hot dog.
Okay, we're gonna let
that sad story
just die right there
on the vine,
and we're gonna take
a lovely photo together, okay?
Right there.
[Camera shutter clicks]
All right.
Thank you so much for coming.
Appreciate it.
Step right up.
What do you got there?
Are these magic mush--
Oh, the-- Oh!
These are all caps, too.
Oh, my goodness.
Well, if history has
taught us anything,
it's that this evening
is almost certain to end
with me stealing a boat.
Is that something?
I don't even know why.
Hey, uh, Jim.
Could I...
Y-- One --
Pardon me a moment.
Yes, my friend?
Art Newly just announced
that he's officially retiring
at the end of the season,
and the new head
of PR from Atlanta
is coming down tomorrow
for a meeting.
Now, I don't want you to read
too much into this.
-Holy shit! I did it! I did it!
-We still don't know.
No, I made it back to the top
of the mountain, Charles.
Oh, my God!
I could not have done it
without you.
I love you! Mwah!
I love you, Charles.
I can't believe you won't
say it back to me.
I am not gonna say it,
and I can't believe
you're saying it to me.
That's just gonna make it
all the sweeter
when I finally wear you down.
But tonight is about
celebratin', baby!
Not too hard.
You s-- You have
the meeting tomorrow.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
All right. Hey, everybody.
Everybody, I want you
to show me your cocaine.
Who's carrying cocaine?
Hold it on up there.
-I got some.
-Okay.
Let's see.
-Me, me, me, me!
Right here.
-All right.
That appears to be
only an eight ball.
So I'm gonna go with you two
'cause I got
a busy day tomorrow!
[Elevator bell dings]
You could say
what you will,
but I am just
so happy for you, bro.
Oh, well,
thank you, Raj.
Could not have done it
without you calling
all those road games.
No, you've been a lifesaver.
Come on.
Look, thank you.
I just enjoyed joining your
brotherhood of the booth.
And I must say,
you're much less racist
than I thought you'd be.
Well, my goodness.
I wish I could take
more credit for that,
but, uh, the bar
set by old white men
in this great country of ours
is just, oh, so very low.
Yep. As soon as you raise it up
a little bit,
someone knocks it
back down, huh?
Man, you keep screwing up.
-We do.
Listen, let's commemorate
this hand-off on the 'gram.
Get in here.
-Ah, the ubiquitous 'gram.
-Mm-hmm.
-All right. Hey, whoa, whoa!
What are you doing here,
asshole?
-Whoa, whoa! Jim!
-What's that?
Hey, look,
I invited him, okay? Look --
-You invited him?
-Yes. You're both my brohams,
so I was hoping
we could end this feud
because you actually have
a lot in common, okay?
You're both really
stubborn superstars.
I mean, you --
-Whoa, whoa. Superstar?
Are you kidding me?
Hey, I've known all the titans
of mascotry, okay?
The Phillie Phanatic,
he officiated my wedding.
You are not a superstar.
You are a mime
in Muppet's clothing.
What -- What's that?
What is that?
I don't even understand that.
I think
he's flipping you off.
You fuck your mother with
that claw, you stupid idiot?
-Come on!
-Jim Brockmire?
-Yeah.
-I'm Whitney Masterson.
I'm the new head of PR
for Atlanta.
Is -- Is there a problem?
-No, no.
I mean, I don't pretend to be
a crustacean for a living,
so I'm very good,
thank you.
Raj, can you join us,
as well, please?
Yeah. Come on.
More the merrier.
Plan the old line
of succession here.
Hey, medium mascot talent!
At best!
Dummy!
First of all, Jim,
the organization
wishes to thank you
for doing
all that it asked of you
over the last year.
Well, please thank
the organization
for doing everything
I asked of them.
[Chuckles]
It was a little unusual,
only calling home games,
and it was a bit of
a strange contract rider.
I mean...
"Jim Brockmire does not ride
the bus -- exclamation point.
Make sure they spell
'exclamation point'
because that's how much
I don't want to ride the bus."
Yeah, you know,
I used to say the bus
is just like
a concentration-camp train
that made more stops,
but, uh, well,
I quickly discovered
that people prefer
their Holocaust humor
to come
from Roberto Benigni
and [Chuckles]
pretty much nobody else.
Okay.
Before I was hired in PR,
I interned in the
analytics department,
and I learned a very
important lesson.
Human perception...
is a lie.
But math -- math always
tells the truth.
For example, we believed that
hiring an Internet celebrity
would bring in new fans,
but the numbers told
a different story.
What is that --
like, two pie charts?
I don't understand
what's happening.
It's a Venn diagram, Jim.
Oh. Okay.
According
to focus groups,
our fans
hate your podcast,
and your podcast fans
hate baseball.
Interesting, right?
-Mm-hmm.
So, next, we tested
that same group to find
Art Newly's likability --
92 out of 100.
I mean, makes sense.
He's beloved by generations.
Then, we tested, uh,
Jim's likability.
67.
-Ha!
-Okay.
-Yeah!
-Is that a good number?
-Great question.
We needed context.
We needed a control.
So we tested Raj.
And here's where
it gets interesting.
Raj is an 84.
[Chuckles]
Out of what, like 200?
Out of 100.
200 would make your 67
look even worse.
You get how that works?
-Yes, no, thank you.
I'm not a complete idiot.
Look, anybody could
see that this kid's gonna be
a big star one day.
-Agreed.
Which is why
replacing Art Newly
will now be a two-man
competition between you and Raj.
This kid's a hack!
Are you kidding me?
I've known sperm on a crusty
sock with more life experience.
I'm sorry, Jim.
The decision's been made --
far above my head.
With insistent and
unwavering support from me.
I think I speak for Raj when
I say that neither one of us
wants any part
of this thing.
No.
No, I'm in -- 100%.
Et tu, broham?
Look. You've been
like a mentor to me.
Uh-huh. We both know it.
So there's no way
I'm gonna let them pit us
against each other.
Ah. Excellent.
Y-Y-You gonna bow out, then?
No, I just think we should try
our best and see what happens.
Hey, "F" that, all right?
"F" that.
Look, I know this has been
a dream of both of ours
for a very long time.
A dream. That's really funny.
No, not really.
I just did, like, improv
for a little while,
and then I took
a broadcasting class.
I didn't even
really finish it.
I really wanted to call
G-League basketball,
but that's, like,
a hard gig to get.
Then Jesus Christ, man,
let me have it.
Why can't we both
just try to earn it?
'Cause I might not win it
that way, Raj.
Do you know how many
diverse play-by-play men
there are in baseball?
It's not a rhetorical question.
I literally have no idea.
I'm not a baseball fan.
I just want to know if I
should hire a publicist.
Okay, have it your way,
but you and I,
we are sworn enemies now,
I mean it.
You never know where or how
or when I am gonna strike next,
but let me put it
to you this way.
Bob Costas did not expect
to get pink eye
at the Sochi Olympics
either,
but I sure as shit
made that happen.
Okay, okay, you're --
you're mad at me now.
But I will win you back
because everyone loves me.
It's a rare gift.
Only Sandy Bullock,
Alex Trebek, and I have it.
Announcer:
Ladies and gentlemen,
Fan Fest is about to begin.
I freakin' love you.
Have fun out there, okay?
I'll send some your way.
The gates are open.
Head down to the field to meet
your favorite Crawdaddy.
There you are, fan.
Enjoy the Fan Fest.
Are you wearing sunblock?
Fan Fest is three hour--
You [bleep] Charles.
You screwed me right
in the asshole.
-What?
-You tricked me into thinking
this podcast thingy
would get me the Atlanta job,
but it didn't do dick.
Quite the opposite.
God damn it.
I should just -- I should quit
that stupid podcast.
If you're gonna quit anything,
it should be this.
What?
You're doing radio broadcast
of a Minor League Baseball game
to, what, 20,000 people?
"Brock Bottom" gets half
a million downloads an episode.
Hey, give us a second here,
friend, all right?
We're in the middle
of something, okay?
We're making good money
from the live shows,
but the real money
is in touring.
If you quit this, we can sell
out theaters across the country,
maybe even leapfrog over
"Fresh Air"
for the number-two spot.
Well, as much as that
Terry Gross
needs to taken down
a peg or two,
I am a baseball man,
Charles.
I mean, the podcast is nice
and everything,
but, uh, it ain't
the major leagues.
Ah! Yeah!
[Speaking Creole]
Is he speaking Creole?
Bam!
Oh, oh. Bam!
God, there's
so many of you.
I am really screwed.
Oh, there he is.
What's he doing now?
Oh.
Is that supposed to be me?
Oh, I get it.
I'm so drunk I can hardly walk.
That --
That's just hilarious.
You know what, though?
You're not quite
selling it, though.
Can I give you
a quick pointer?
[Grunts]
[Bat clanks]
Shouldn't you be
more discreet about that?
I am being discreet.
Not pouring anything
out of this, am I?
So, what was that big idea
to beat Raj you texted me about?
I spent all last night
looking up
things people
like on the Internet.
Came up with a lot of videos
of autistic kids
sinking 3-point baskets,
but, uh, apparently,
they're very hard
to find on short notice.
And that dog who can't catch
pizza -- You know that guy? --
he is booked solid
for an entire year.
And then it hit me, Charles --
Make-A-Wish cancer kids.
-Oh, Jesus Christ. No.
-Yes.
Unfortunately, when I called
the Make-A-Wish Foundation,
they informed me that no child
had ever requested a visit
to a Minor League
Baseball broadcast booth.
That is so weird!
So I took the liberty of calling
around to local cancer wards
till I came upon the parents
of 8-year-old Dylan Cole,
and I convinced them
to let him join me
in the booth this afternoon.
What exactly is wrong
with Dylan?
I don't know. Must be really bad
because his doctors,
they did not want him
to leave the hospital.
-I won't be a part of this.
-No, agreed. You know why?
Apparently, he has
a lot of equipment
he needs
to help him breathe,
so there's gonna be no room
for you there in the booth.
Your job is gonna be
to do focus testing.
That means you hang
around here in the stadium
and you gauge how great
this is playing.
Take some videos
so we can show Whitney later.
Oh, man. This is gonna be
so freakin' uplifting!
Everybody's panties
are gonna be wet --
wet from tears!
[Slurps]
Wet from tears, Charles!
-Man: Jim Brockmire?
-Yeah?
We'd like you to meet
the bravest kid in the world --
our son, Dylan.
Hey. Hi. Oh, hi.
That's so many tubes.
H-Hi, Dylan.
Short pop fly to center
for out number three.
Crawdaddys
coming up to bat now,
and to help me call
the bottom of the 4th
is tiny hero and cancer
survivor, Mr. Dylan Cole.
He's eight years old.
-Aww!
Uh, Dylan, who's your
favorite ballplayer, son?
[Breathing heavily]
Hmm?
Okay, how 'bout I, uh --
I'm gonna move the mic
a little bit closer for you,
and that should make it easier.
Go ahead.
[Breathing heavily]
You know what? I-I-If it's
too difficult for you,
I-I -- maybe
you shouldn't answer.
No, I don't want you
to waste the energy, son.
It's all right.
I don't want you to answer.
It's all right. Never mind.
Let go of the mic.
Is he gonna hurt himself?
O-Okay. All right.
Go ahead.
Dylan: Buster...Posey.
Wasn't worth it.
Uh, not by a long shot.
Okay.
♪♪
[Crying]
♪♪
Top of the 5th, folks.
Dylan is gone.
His parents wheeled him
on out of here.
-Oh.
-Um...
See, I invited young Dylan
into the booth
because I thought it might
be inspiring for people.
I mean, who is not inspired
by the courageous tale
of a young man
battling cancer --
as a curveball drops
in there for a strike.
0-1.
See, the thing is, though,
I guess I wonder why
because I was not uplifted
by Dylan's burden.
If anything, it just
turned over the rock
under which I keep buried the
knowledge of my own mortality --
as Sanchez looks
at one high and away. 1-1.
I mean, maybe we like kids with
cancer so much...
No, no, no.
...because they're the only time
that human beings
are actually all
united in empathy.
But, uh, if it takes the torment
of those most vulnerable
among us to bring us
all together,
then, well, what does
that say about humanity --
as Sanchez pulls
that one foul, 1-2.
Is it because
these kids all know
that they're headed
to a better place?
Well, they're all raised
on fairy tales
and Santa Claus, aren't they?
I mean, their certainty
in heaven
should offer us
no consolation --
as Sanchez steps
out of the box.
Out of the way!
No, see, I suspect the true
reason is much darker.
I suspect that, at a base level,
one that none of us
wants to admit,
we love kids with cancer because
their imminent deaths remind us
that we are still alive, people.
They are the ones
being punished, not us --
as Sanchez strikes out
for the fourth time today.
Shit.
That was way worse than
I thought it was gonna be.
Charles: It was
only a one-game suspension.
It could've been
way worse, right?
Hey, Jim?
Yeah?
Why are we here?
Charles, sometimes you
just have to cut out
those annoying middlemen
called fun and conversation...
and get straight
to the booze.
♪♪
I just watched a man pull out
his own loose tooth.
I hate it here.
I didn't get carded
when I came in,
and I'm not even
the youngest person here.
Oh, Lil Pete's all right.
No, don't -- don't make
eye contact with him.
That third trip to juvie,
that changed him.
What are you having, hmm?
I'm buying.
Yeah, um, I can't be
your producer,
your roommate,
your best friend,
housekeeper,
and drinking buddy.
I know you said I can't say
their name anymore,
but I only know one person who
can match you drink for drink.
If you want some company,
I recommend making
a call to Morristown.
[Sighs]
Yeah, you're right.
[Knock on door]
Ha ha!
[Laughs]
Whoo!
You know this is not
who I was talking about.
There he is.
Brockmire.
Oh, man!
I brought you a present.
Oh.
What are those, mints?
Horse tranquilizer.
Ah, you see?
I missed you.
Come here. Mwah!
You're more likable
when you're drunk.
Those are the words that every
alcoholic longs to be true.
This is New Orleans.
Every carnal pleasure
was invented right here.
You're a brown Joe Buck.
Ha ha. No.
Joe Buck is a white me.
This literally could not
get any worse.
Lucy? Okay, it just got
significantly worse.
♪♪
This comeback might be over
before it's begun.
Ho. We are definitely not
on the same page
about how to spend
this evening.
"Brockmire."
Wednesdays at 10:00 on IFC.