It’s crunch time in the office of Kendrick Hall Towers Gibby, as they prepare to woo a big account, or fear closing their doors forever. Meanwhile, Kevin Towers has a existential crisis.
INT. KENDRICK HALL TOWERs GIBBY OFFICE, WRITER ROOM – MORNING
Copywriters Parra, Ross, and Kubel sit around a table strewn with papers and burrito wrappers. They are having an animated discussion.
KUBEL: When I think of fall, it’s all earth tones.
PARRA: (holds up a loosely drawn one-sheet depicting a ball player on a field of orange and brown leaves) We have the visual, just no tag.
ROSS: (squinting) I can’t see anything.
PARRA: It’s right here. (passes it over to Ross, who inspects it closely)
ROSS: I think this is getting there, but it could probably use more undead. And maybe some cryptic runes written in blood?
EATON walks in, arm in a sling.
EATON: How’s the copy going? Towers has a client meeting later and we need this done.
KUBEL: Maybe if he ever gave us direction, we’d be done.
INT. TOWERS OFFICE – MORNING
Towers stands by the long bank of windows, looking down at the street below. He holds a tumblr of brown alcohol and his face is empty. The phone rings, and he lets it go for a bit, before finally answering it.
[cut to Billy Beane in the Stomper outfit, minus the head. He is standing in a tunnel leading to the field at the Oakland Coliseum. We cut back and forth between the characters as they converse]
BEANE: Kevy! Glad I could catch you. Look, I’ve been thinking about my roster, and your roster, and I think we could make a deal here.
TOWERS: It’s September, Billy.
BEANE: Exactly! No one will ever see it coming. Look, how about I send you, say, Scott Sizemore and Bartolo Colon, for…Paul Goldschmidt.
TOWERS: You have to be kidding me, no one will take that seriously.
BEANE: But you will.
TOWERS: And why would I do that?
BEANE: Because I know your secret.
Towers looks down at his phone in shock, his face going white.
BEANE: Now, why don’t you be a good boy and say yes?
BEANE: (turns off cell phone, puts Stomper head on, and run/waddles out to the roaring fan of 10 Oaklandites)
INT. TOWERS OFFICE – MORNING
Towers hangs up the phone, the dial tone audible. He goes around the desk to sit down, and unlocks a lower drawer. Inside, is a photo of a much younger Towers, signed, "To Bill Bavasi, my biggest fan."
TOWERS: (muttering to himself) How did he find out, who I really am?
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM – AFTERNOON
The junior associates of Kendrick Hall Towers Gibby wait nervously around a conference table, blown up one sheets depicting empty ballparks drawn up in the orange, reds, and browns of fall. Towers sweeps into the room, clients in tow. They sit down but Towers remains standing.
TOWERS: Fall. It’s the end of the year. Days are going shorter, the weather is turning cooler, we’ve backloaded the year with a variety of holidays. Pumpkins, feasts, football. Gifts and sugarplum fairies are just around the corner. But first there’s baseball. And not just any baseball, but the most glorious version of the perfect game. It culminates every year with the World Series, or the Fall Classic. After that, we can gorge ourselves with frivolities. But before that, is the Series. We’ve imagine a series of ads that depict the game in glorious fall colors.
SELIG: I like the visuals, but where are the players?
TOWERS: The beauty of the Fall Classic isn’t the players, or even the team. It’s us. (he moves a cellophane sheet over each ad, which has the phrase "It’s All Our Classic")
Selig appears to be impressed, and Heath Bell attempts to start a slow clap.
INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE CONFERENCE ROOM
Towers leads his ad team out of the conference room, and they all have looks of smug satisfaction. As they reach the elevator, though, out of the lift comes Justin Upton and the Braves, holding placards under their arms. Towers watches with visible shock as Upton goes into the conference room to make a pitch.
INT. SMOKE FILLED BAR
Towers sits at a bar with Gibby, they both have a drink.
TOWERS: Can you believe him?
GIBBY: We let him go, you can’t expect that the Braves wouldn’t try for this account, too.
TOWERS: I’d expect some kind of professional respect.
GIBBY: I think we did okay, I think we got this.
Into the bar walks Upton and his brother, BJ Upton. They sit down at the other end of and nod at Towers and Gibby.
UPTON: So I bet you’re wondering if we got the account.
UPTON: I’m sure they’ll let you know soon enough, or maybe the absence of an answer will let you know.
The bartender approaches the group with a phone.
BARTENDER: Is there a Mister Towers?
TOWERS: (takes the phone) What.
SELIG: (v/o through phone) We really enjoyed your pitch, Towers, but I regret to inform you we won’t be going for it.
TOWERS: Dangit, Selig, you went with Upton’s?"
SELIG: No. Sabean’s. Look, I gotta go. Take care of yourself.
Towers stares down at the phone, and then hands it back to the bartender. He throws a few bills onto the bar, stands up, and walks out of the bar. He doesn’t know where he’s going, and he doesn’t care.