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Rocket, the Movie

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We here at Houstoned Ballz do have some connections. For instance, some reader out in Hollywood sent me this transcript. It’s of a meeting between a young screenwriter and a powerful studio head. The kid’s agent, Ari Gold, set up the meeting, but Ari can’t make it because he’s got to handle some business for Vincent Chase. So the kid has to handle the movie pitch on his own.

Let’s listen in:

“It’s a biopic,” the kid (who I’ll call John) says.

“Oh, good,” the studio head (who I’ll call Max) says. “People love movies about musicians.”

“No,” John says. “It’s about sports. It’s a sports biopic.”

“I don’t know. Those sports flicks don’t do so great overseas. Unless it’s about soccer. Those foreigners are crazy about soccer.”

“No, sir. It’s not about soccer. It’s about a baseball pitcher. The greatest pitcher who ever lived.”

“Greg Maddux? Why would anyone want to see a movie about Greg Maddux? That guy is boring. He can’t even throw a decent fastball.”

“No, sir. It’s about Roger Clemens.”

“The steroids guy? Why would anyone want to see a movie about a cheater?”

“Well, why did anyone want to see a movie about a blind junkie piano player?”

“Good point. Good point. Now hurry up. I’ve got another meeting. Ashley Judd’s coming in, and I hate to keep Ashley Judd waiting.”

“Sure. Now we open in September 2005. Clemens is kneeling at the side of his dying mom. ‘Win the pennant for me, son.’ ‘Sure, Mom. Sure.’ Then she dies.”

“Nice. Nice. I like it so far. Tugging at the heartstrings. Very good. Go ahead.”

“So it’s that night. And he’s on the mound, and he’s about to throw his first pitch to the Florida Marlins.”

“Marlins? Marlins? They’re boring. How about if we make it the Milwaukee Brewers. Then we can use some of the leftover footage from that Bernie Mac movie where he was a Brewer and it bombed. I’ve got to make some money back on that somehow. Or better yet, how about the Yankees? Or the Dodgers? Or better yet, the Red Sox. People love the Red Sox.”

“Well, sir,” John says. “This is history we’re dealing with. And Mr. Clemens did pitch against the Marlins that night.”

“Damn. I hate facts. Okay, go ahead.”

“So,” John stands and starts to pace. “Rocket’s on the mound. He’s staring in at his catcher, waiting for the signal, and he flashes back to 1986.”

“Good. Flashbacks. All biopics do that. Very good.”

“Well, we’re also going to do flash forwards to.”

“Hey! Like Lost! The kids will love that.”

“He’s in 1986. It’s the World Series. Game Six. Red Sox versus the Mets.”

Max stands, shouting: “Red Sox. Yes. Yes. People love those Red Sox.”

“The Red Sox are going to win the Series, and Rocket’s going to be the hero. But suddenly he hurts his finger and he can’t pitch.”

“Tragedy. Good. Good.”

“Now we flash forward to February 2008. Rocket’s in Congress. They’re asking him questions about steroids and his butt. And he’s telling them he never did anything. Then flashback and we’re at a pool party in Miami. And Jose Canseco and Roger Clemens are in the house. And their wives are there. And there are flashing their tits, comparing boob jobs.”

“Kid,” Max says. “I love this. Drugs. Boobs. This is going to be a hit. Is there any sex?”

“Funny you should say that. Because now we’re back in 2005 and his mom’s just died and there is this woman in the stands next to his wife. And we now flash back to the early-90s and we’re in a karaoke bar and Rocket’s there with his Red Sox teammates and there’s this cute little 15-year-old girl singing, and Rocket gives her his phone number.”

“Okay, kid. Stop it right there.” Max stands and starts walking to the door. “What kind of movie are you trying to make here? I ain’t making no movie about no pedophile. At least not a big budget movie. Now those indie fellas love movies about perverts, but I can’t pull it off.”

“But, sir.” John stands. “I’ve already been talking to people. Dennis Quaid’s all set to play Rocket. Miley Cyrus’s dad will let her play the 15 year old. Reese Witherspoon is all set to play the Rocket’s wife. She thinks she can get another Oscar out of playing the wounded wife.”

“Hold on, Kid.” Max walks back to John. “You got Miley Cyrus for this?”

“Yep. Her dad say we could have her for the role right after she finishes with some photo shoot for Vanity Fair.”

“Miley Cyrus, huh?” Max sticks out his hand. “Kid, why didn’t you say so in the first place? I think we’ve got a deal. This is going to be huge. Huge I say.”

-- John Royal

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