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We open on Gerald Field. It’s the bottom of the 9 th , P.S. 118 is down 3-0. Curly is on first, Gerald is on second, and Rhonda is on third with nobody out.
Eugene:
Wow, what a great game! Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, zero outs.
Sheena:
Nice haiku, Eugene!
Sid:
We’d better win, we’ve lost every game this season.
Nadine:
Don’t worry Sid, Arnold’s up next.
Arnold steps up to the plate and does his traditional butt-wiggle. Cut to Stella is sitting on the bleachers, who’s been awkwardly sitting by herself the entire game. She strikes up a conversation with Phoebe’s Mom, Reba.
Stella:
That’s my son wiggling his butt out there.
Reba:
Course hon, everybody knows Arnold. You must be real proud.
Stella:
Absolutely. Gosh, I’ve missed out on so many Little League Games.
Reba:
Lucky for you, baseball hasn’t changed much in the last 150 years.
Stella:
Which one is your kid?
We follow Reba’s finger straying away from the group of kids in the dugout and ending on Phoebe, who is by herself on the other side of the bench scribbling in a notebook.
Reba (V.O.):
That’s her, that’s my little Phoebe.
Stella (V.O.):
Aw, she’s so cute.
Reba:
You can see the resemblance, right? Sports aren’t really Phoebe’s thing, but it still does my heart good watching her interact with other kids. Go Phoebe!
Stella:
Go Arnold!
We hear Curly’s internal monologue while standing on first base.
Curly (V.O.):
That Arnold, always the hero. Not this time, I want to be the hero. I’m going to steal home plate.
Against all logic, Curly races to steal second in a bases loaded situation.
Curly:
¡Viva la Revolución!
Rhonda:
Oh, we’re stealing bases now? Well, I’m not ruining my brand new capris by sliding.
Rhonda calmly walks to home plate and is tagged out. Gerald is staying put on second base amidst all the confusion.
Gerald:
Curly, what are you doing man? Get back to first!
Curly:
I’m gonna steal home plate Gerald. Hear that everyone! I’m gonna steal home plate!
Gerald:
You’re not stealing home without stealing second, and I’m not going anywhere.
Curly points down. Suddenly he is standing on second while Gerald is in no man’s land.
Gerald:
Wait, what happened?
Curly:
I stole second.
Gerald is tagged out. The opposing team humors Curly and lets him round third while he laughs maniacally. We see this from Phoebe’s POV as she is scribbling down stats in her notebook.
Phoebe:
Fascinating.
Curly slides but is still a good 45 feet away from home plate. He is unceremoniously tagged out. Arnold never gets a chance to swing.
Stella:
Good try, Arnold!
Curly: ( Elvis impression)
Thank ya very much.
The team lays around the dugout in silence after another humiliating loss.
Helga:
Criminy, we’re the laughingstocks of the entire city!
Stinky: ( sadly)
There goes my chance at an athletic scholarship.
Curly:
Sorry guys, it’s hard for me to run when I’m carrying the entire team on my back!
Nadine:
We could use a coach to give us some direction.
Eugene:
What about Coach Wittenbur--
All the Kids in Unison:
No!!!
Arnold:
What about Phoebe? ( Phoebe blushes) She’s really smart and could give us a strategic edge over the other teams.
Harold:
Not Phoebe, no way.
Helga:
Got something against a girl coaching a baseball team, pink boy?
Harold:
No, I got something against someone who doesn’t know anything about baseball coaching a baseball team.
Phoebe:
Oh, I’m a bit of a historian of America’s pastime. I’ve studied the playing styles of everyone from Bob Gibson to Honus Wagner.
Harold:
Who-nus Wagner?
Phoebe reveals the copious notes that she’s been taking all season.
Phoebe:
I’ve, uh, also been keeping track of everyone’s stats. I think that I can turn these numbers into a winning formula.
The kids are impressed and start to talk themselves into Phoebe being their coach.
Helga:
Well, I don’t see anyone pitching a better idea. It’s going to take some AP Calculus to get this sorry excuse for a team on the right track. But if anyone can do it, it’s Phoebe.
Eugene:
Three cheers for Phoebe!
Phoebe:
Thank you Eugene, but that isn’t necessary.
Eugene:
Please? I’ve been dying for a reason to cheer all season long.
Phoebe:
Very well.
Everyone in unison:
Phoe-be! Phoe-be! Phoe-be!
----
Cut to Arnold’s room. Phoebe has tons of baseball books open, with many charts and graphs taped to the walls. Arnold, Helga, Gerald are sitting around in awe.
Gerald:
I’ve never seen this many numbers in my life. Numbers everywhere. (Gerald attempts to wipe the number 33 off his shirt) Get ‘em off me, get ‘em off me!
Phoebe:
My research is based on the writings of Bill James. He coined the term “sabermetrics,” the empirical analysis of baseball statistics.
Helga:
I’m not doubting you or Bill Jim’s commitment, Phoebs, but I don’t know how any of these charts are going to teach Harold how to hit a curveball.
Phoebe:
Having an intellectual advantage out in the field is far more beneficial than any physical attribute, Helga. We may not be fast enough to chase down fly balls or strong enough to hit towering home runs, but with this data we can predict where a ball is going to be hit and which pitch is going to be thrown.
Arnold:
Sounds like we’re going to need some more hot chocolate.
Suddenly Stella enters Arnold’s room with Miles, Grandpa, Oskar, Ernie, and Mr. Hyunh.
Stella:
Hey Arnold…wow, you four sure are studying hard. You’re really getting me into this “Team Spirit” stuff. Let me show you what we’ve been working on…
In a close-up all six of them lift up their shirts to reveal letters painted on their bellies: A (Ernie), R (Miles), N (Oskar), O (Stella), L (Grandpa), D (Hyunh). However, we zoom out to reveal that they are standing in the wrong order—spelling out the name RONALD.
Arnold:
Uhh… thanks Mom, but the next game is in four days. And my name isn’t Ronald.
Miles: (to Oskar)
See? This is what happens when someone misses dress rehearsal.
Oskar (N):
It’s not fair, I wanted to be a vowel!
Ernie (A):
Me too!
Grandpa:
Oh, quit being salty, you two.
Hyunh:
This is all very creepy!
----
Cut to Phoebe’s first practice at Gerald Field. She hands everyone a personalized baseball card.
Phoebe:
Greetings everyone! I’ve taken the liberty of printing out baseball cards for all of you. They contain all your statistics as well as an in-depth player evaluation.
Helga:
“Rough around the edges but oozing with talent.” I’m blushing, Phoebe.
Sid:
“ Perfectly average.” Alright!
Curly:
“Completely unusable?”
Phoebe:
Curly, all of your at-bats are unpredictable and it’s seriously messing with the data. Because of this, I’m cutting you from the team.
Curly:
You made the right call coach, I’m out. But I’m stealing home.
Curly steals home plate and runs away.
Phoebe:
I’ve also reassigned you to positions that better showcase your skills. Arnold is a natural shortstop. And Stinky, you’re reminiscent of a young Randy Johnson. You’ll be our fireball-hurling pitcher.
Stinky:
Willikers. I’ll practice by hucking rotten tomaters in my backyard.
Phoebe:
Today’s lesson will be on two out situations. And from now on, Curly’s glove will be home plate. Any questions?
Rhonda:
Yeah, I’ve got a question. This is boring.
Arnold:
Give it a chance, Rhonda. Phoebe put a lot of effort into this.
Rhonda:
Fine.
Phoebe:
Excellent. Let us begin.
----
We begin a montage that alternates between Phoebe instructing the team (such as her wheeling a blackboard onto the field) and the team translating her teachings into success onto the field, with wins becoming more and more lopsided. The montage ends with the team celebrating a victory by tossing Phoebe into the air and chanting her name. It’s starting to get to her head.
Stella:
Is it… normal for a team to cheer for their coach like that after every game?
Reba: (concerned)
Hmmm…
Cut to Phoebe’s house. Her room is even more cluttered with baseball ephemera than Arnold’s room was. Her parents enter her room with tea and cookies.
Reba:
Hey hon, getting ready for tomorrow’s game?
Phoebe:
Oh, I already know we’re going to win that game 14-0: Nadine will hit for the cycle and Stinky will record ten strikeouts. I’m preparing for the game after that.
Phoebe’s parents look at each other.
Kyo:
Um, Phoebe, your mother and I are concerned that you are taking this a little too seriously. This is supposed to be a fun activity for you and your friends.
Phoebe:
I’m constructing an utterly perfect baseball team, who wouldn’t want to be part of that? Our only limitations are what’s written in the rulebook. I’ve been trying to contact the commissioner to remove the Mercy Rule, but she won’t return my calls. Oh, you brought cookies. Leave the plate.
Phoebe returns to working alone.
----
The next day at practice, Phoebe gives everyone on the team some heavy reading material.
Phoebe:
Real sloppy effort in the last game, team. Errors abound.
Eugene:
But we won 18-2.
Phoebe:
Two. Eighteen to Two. Those two runs shouldn’t be a part of this team. Speaking of: Eugene, your output has slipped recently--I’ve traded you to another team for a bag of baseballs. Toodles.
Eugene sadly walks off the field in a moment reminiscent of Lou Gehrig’s speech.
Eugene: ( from a distance)
I’m okay.
Phoebe:
Today on the curriculum will be pitch count management, proper stretching regime and a stirring read through the Farmer’s Almanac for upcoming wind patterns. Now let’s move, move, move!
We begin a montage of Phoebe turning the squad into a well-oiled machine. They’re winning by more runs than ever, but they look miserable doing it. One day during practice, the team communicates via non-verbal signs behind Phoebe’s back that something must be done about their coach. This whole scene will be subtitled (ST).
Stinky (ST):
I think I speak for everyone when I say, “This really bites.”
Sid (ST):
I agree with Stinky; it was more fun when we were getting the crud kicked out of us.
Rhonda (ST):
I say that since Arnold started this mess, it’s up to him to fix it.
Arnold (ST):
I’ve tried reasoning with Phoebe, but she won’t listen to me.
Helga (ST):
Perhaps it’s time for more extreme measures, Football Head.
Arnold (ST):
We have to teach Phoebe what made her in love with baseball in the first place.
Harold: (spoken out loud)
What’s going on, why isn’t anyone talking? Ahh, you’re confusing me!
----
Cut to the next game. Arnold is on the mound pitching while Helga is the catcher. Before he throws his first pitch, Arnold calls timeout for a meeting on the mound with Phoebe and all the other fielders.
Phoebe:
Why did you call a meeting on the mound, Arnold? It’s the first inning.
Arnold: (beating around the bush)
There’s a reason why I called you all here today…
Helga:
This is an intervention, Phoebe. You’ve gone completely crazy!
Phoebe:
Hardly.
Gerald:
You’re using us like chess pieces.
Phoebe:
No I’m not. I’m moving each of you around strategically in order to maximize your best attribute.
Gerald:
Uhh…
Phoebe:
I don’t understand why you’re all complaining; we’re in the Championship Game!
Zoom out to reveal this game has considerably more pomp and circumstance than the previous ones, the bleachers are filled with people.
Phoebe:
This team would be nothing without my preparation.
Arnold:
Maybe so, but at least it would be a team. Since this is the last game of the season, we’re going to play the way we want to play, win or lose.
Phoebe:
Fine, see if I care.
Stella (from the stands) :
Go Arnold! Teach those kids a lesson! Meaning the kids on your own team! Teach them a lesson!
Phoebe tosses her notes in the trashcan and pouts from the dugout. The championship game is hotly contested, with several lead changes and close calls. It’s the bottom of the 9 th , two outs, P.S. 118 is down 9-8.
Sid:
Holy moly, we’re only down by one run.
Harold:
Nice haiku, Sid!
Sheena:
Look, Helga made it to first!
Helga stands on first base, eyeing to steal second, but then catches a glimpse of Phoebe looking miserable on the bench. She decides to fake a shoulder injury.
Helga: (badly over-acting)
Uggh, criminy, my shoulder. I think it’s gonna fall off at the hinges. Medic! Medic!
Helga hobbles over to the bench.
Helga:
Phoebe, I can’t continue. We’re going to need a pinch runner to take my spot on first base.
Phoebe:
I’m not the coach anymore. I can’t make substitutes.
Helga pushes her helmet into Phoebe’s hands.
Helga:
You are the substitute.
Phoebe:
Me?
Helga:
We need you; our reserves are super low.
Pan over to the reserve bench, it’s just Brainy and Peapod Kid.
Helga:
Now, get out there, Toots!
Phoebe jogs out to take over as the first base runner.
Gerald:
Your shoulder isn’t really hurt, is it?
Helga:
Nope.
Arnold steps up to the plate representing the winning run. Just like with Curly before, we hear Phoebe’s inner monologue while standing on first.
Phoebe (V.O.):
Alright, think Phoebe, think. So many variables to take inconsideration. Wind resistance, Arnold’s batting average against lefties, the catcher’s 5 th Grade vision tests…
Arnold rips a line drive deep to left field. Phoebe doesn’t have time to plan out an attack, she has to think with her feet.
Phoebe (V.O.):
Oh my, nice hit Arnold. ( Phoebe rounds second) Let’s see, based on the angle the ball bounced off the wall, I have precisely… ( Phoebe rounds third) bah there’s no time to think, I just gotta go for it! Run, Phoebe, Run!
With her team cheering her on, Phoebe slides into home (Curly’s baseball glove) and kicks up a cloud of dust. It takes a few seconds for the fog to clear, revealing that the catcher (Eugene) beat Phoebe to the plate.
Umpire (Jolly Olly Man):
Yerrrrr Outttt!!!
The other team celebrates their championship victory by tossing Eugene in the air while Phoebe continues to lay in the dirt and gaze up at the sky. Her teammates crowd around her.
Helga:
You alright Phoebe?
Gerald:
I’ve never seen anyone run that fast in my life.
Phoebe:
That was… so much fun! ( Phoebe jumps to her feet and brushes the dirt off herself.) I...apologize for my abhorrent behavior, everyone. By focusing so much on numbers, I turned myself into one lone integer.
Arnold:
Don’t sweat it, Phoebe. Now that we got all that winning out of our systems, next season will be strictly focused on enjoying ourselves.
The winning team continues to parade Eugene around.
Eugene:
Great game everybody! We’ll touch bases later. Get it? Touch bases.
Eugene notices that his team is marching right into the subway stairs.
Eugene :
Uhh... guys? Look out for the stairs.
The entire team tumbles down the flight of stairs.
The whole team:
We’re OK.