[Charlie Manuel, Jimmy Rollins and Eric Bruntlett share a ride to the airport early Friday morning…]

Charlie: Thanks for the ride, Jimmy. I woulda taken my car, but I’ve been hearing some crazy damn sounds comin’ outta that sumbitch lately.

Jimmy: You should take it to a mechanic.

Eric: Yeah, a mechanic!

Charlie and Jimmy: SHUT THE FUCK UP, ERIC.

Charlie: Say, what’s he doing back there?

Jimmy: I found him waiting in the bushes when I pulled out of my driveway this morning. He insisted on riding with me.

Eric: I want some apple juice!

Jimmy: Well, maybe you should have said something before we passed three Wawas on the way to the airport.

Eric: …And a pretzel!

Charlie: No pretzel! We’re late enough as it is. Come on Jimmy, step on it or we’re gonna hold up the plane.

Jimmy: What’s the big deal, Skip? You think they’re gonna take off for Atlanta without the reigning MVP?

Charlie: Dammit, son, that’s exactly the kind of complacency we don’t need on this team if we want to win a championship!

Eric: I want a championship, too… and apple juice!

Charlie and Jimmy: SHUT THE FUCK UP, ERIC!

Charlie: Aw hell, the light’s turning yellow. Step on the gas!

Jimmy: I don’t know, Skip. I think we need to accept the fact that that light’s going to turn red no matter what we do. [Steps on the brake]

[Suddenly, due to a technical glitch the traffic light remains stuck on yellow.]

Jimmy: Well, what do you know? I guess I could’ve kept driving.

Charlie: Pull over, Jimmy.

Jimmy: Pull over? Why?

Charlie: Just pull over, dammit!

Jimmy: OK, OK!

[They pull over.]

Charlie: Jimmy, get in the back seat. Eric, take the wheel.

Jimmy: WHAT?!?

Eric: Yayyy!

Jimmy: But this is my car! I always get to drive.

Charlie: Not today you don’t. I can’t have you lollygagging at traffic lights when we’re trying to catch a dadgum plane. Eric, step on it!

Eric: [Floors the gas pedal] WHEEEEEE!!!

[The car plows through the airport fencing, races onto the tarmac and screeches to a halt just inches away from the steps leading up to the Phillies’ charter jet.]

Charlie: God-DAMN, that was some reckless driving, son!

Jimmy: I swear to God, Bruntlett, if you fucked up my ride I will kill you.

Charlie: Now do you see why we can’t afford to have you slowing up out there, Jimmy?

Jimmy: Lesson learned, Skip. It won’t happen again.

Eric: Can I have apple juice on the plane?

Charlie and Jimmy: SHUT THE FUCK UP, ERIC.

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