[“HEY, WHATCHA DOING?”]
TINY (sung cheerily):
Hey, whatcha doing?!?
PHIL (spoken, not looking up):
Not much.
It feels like the song is over. The shortest song in the history of friendship. Phil starts to read the book in front of him, a little embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming. Tiny tries again.
TINY (sung):
Hey, whatcha reading?
PHIL (spoken):
I’m reading about snakes.
He holds up the book. It’s about snakes. Again, it seems like the song will end here. But Tiny persists.
TINY (sung):
Hey, what’s it saying?
PHIL (spoken):
About snakes?
TINY (sung):
Yeah, about snakes. Tell me everything I’ve
always wanted to know about snakes but was
afraid to ask!
PHIL (spoken):
Well . . . a lot of them are poisonous.
TINY (sung):
And?
PHIL (spoken, warming up):
The longest one ever in captivity was Medusa, a
twenty-five-foot python.
TINY (sung):
And?
PHIL (sung):
And Medusa’s diet included rabbits, hogs, and
deer!
TINY (beaming, and loudly sung):
That’s the coolest thing I ever did hear!
Phil seems surprised by this sudden burst of friendship. At this point, the other team members, all in uniform, come back and mill around. Phil’s book disappears, and a notebook appears. The other team members leave, and Phil opens up the notebook.
All dialogue is sung from here on in, until end of song.
TINY:
Hey, whatcha doing?
PHIL:
I’m trying to get through math.
TINY:
Math was invented by a psychopath.
PHIL:
A psychopath who never takes a bath.
TINY:
A stinky, smelly psychopath—
that’s who invented math.
Both boys are very proud of themselves and their repartee. But now there’s an awkward pause. Until Phil unexpectedly (to both of them) jumps in.
PHIL:
Hey, whatcha doing?
TINY:
Just thinking, you know.
PHIL:
I know what it’s like to be thinking.
TINY:
I’ll be standing in the outfield, staring at the sky . . .
PHIL:
. . . but what I’m really seeing are the thoughts
that travel by.
TINY:
I pretend the clouds are in a soap opera . . .
PHIL:
I make friends with blades of grass.
TINY:
There are clouds in love, clouds in lust . . .
PHIL:
I’m afraid the coach will kick my ass.
Singing this line makes Phil downcast, and Tiny notices. The other players return, and again the stage is full with the comings and goings. Tiny steps downstage to address the audience.
TINY (spoken):
Phil became a decent first baseman. I found that my talents at basketball and football—two sports that appreciate size—were not transferable to the baseball diamond. Very quickly, I held the league record for being hit by pitches.
Nothing can cement a friendship like a common enemy. And in Little League we found that in a certain Fascist-forward despot named Coach Frye. I haven’t changed his name, because I would love to see Coach Frye try to sue me. Bring it on, Coach Frye. There’s not a jury in the world that enjoyed gym class.
Tiny sits down on the bench, itchy and restless. The other teammates sit on the bench, too.
COACH FRYE comes out. He’s ugly and out of shape. You know those gym teachers who force you to do ten thousand sit-ups even though they themselves haven’t seen the lower half of their body in twenty years? The ones who blow their whistles like they’re the master and you’re the dogs? Yeah, that’s him.
COACH FRYE (spoken):
Alright, you pansies. I don’t want you to sissy up the field, understood? This isn’t a softball team—I want you unloading artillery out there. Billy, you’re up.
One of the boys leaves the bench and goes offstage. The kids’ eyes follow him. They start to cheer him on.
COACH FRYE (yelling):
Come on, Billy! Did your mom teach you how to hold a bat? This isn’t gardening. Wait for your pitch and don’t just stand there.
Then Tiny’s cheer drowns out all the others.
TINY (exaggeratedly effeminate, even flirtatious):
Hey, batta batta. THWING, batta batta!
BULLY PLAYER #1:
Idiot. Our guy is batting. You’re distracting him!
PHIL (coming to Tiny’s defense):
Tiny’s rubber. You’re glue. Whatever you say bounces off him and sticks to you.
BULLY PLAYER #2:
Tiny’s gay.
COACH FRYE:
Hey! HEY! No insulting teammates.
PHIL (valiantly):
It’s not an insult. It’s just a thing. Like, some people are gay. Some people have blue eyes.
COACH FRYE:
Shut up, Wrayson.
BULLY #1 (loud whisper):
You’re so gay for each other.
PHIL:
We’re not gay. We’re eight.
BULLY #1:
You want to go to second base . . . WITH TINY.
TINY:
Second base?
Tiny stands up and takes a step downstage, in front of the coach, who seethes. “SECOND BASE” is about to begin.
This is Tiny’s number, but everybody’s going to be looking at the boys in uniform. This should be the most homoerotically charged baseball dance number since “I Don’t Dance” in High School Musical 2. As Tiny sings, the guys in the chorus—including Phil—pull off a hilariously elaborate old-fashioned, high-stepping, highly choreographed dance, their bats used as canes and their ball caps as top hats. Midway through, half the guys swing their bats toward the heads of half the others, and even though it’s totally faked, when the other boys fall backward dramatically and the music cuts out, the audience is going to gasp. Moments later, they all jump up in a single motion and the song starts up again. (Or, if you can’t do all that, just make it fun.)