Eight Men Out

Chick Gandil:
You go back to Boston and turn seventy grand at the drop of a hat? I find that hard to believe.

Sport Sullivan:
You say you can find seven men on the best club that ever took the field willin' to throw the World Series? I find *that* hard to believe.

Chick Gandil:
You never played for Charlie Comiskey.

Shoeless Joe:
Big whop now. Big whop, Betsy; you tell me when.

Swede Risberg:
Does it ever answer you, Joe?

Freddie:
Probably sleeps with it.

Lefty Williams:
Lay off him.

Freddie:
Ask it for a triple, Joe.

Lefty Williams:
I said leave him alone.

Hap Felsch:
You crackers stick together, huh Lefty.

Lefty Williams:
Never mind that. Just leave him be.

Freddie:
Hey, Lefty. The Civil War was sixty years ago. Ease up.

Hap Felsch:
Besides, you guys lost. It was in all the papers.

Freddie:
That wouldn't help Jackson none.

Bill Burns:
Eddie's gettin' too old for this. I know what it's like. You walk out there with your arm about to fall off.

Billy Maharg:
You couldn't pitch when you was younger, Burnsie.

Abe Atell:
They say that six or seven guys. I find that hard to believe.

Arnold Rothstein:
Doesn't surprise me.

Abe Atell:
Yeah, but they're the champs.

Arnold Rothstein:
You were champ and you went down for the bucks.

Abe Atell:
This is different.

Arnold Rothstein:
Let me tell you about these guys. I grew up with them. I was the fat kid they wouldn't let play. "Sit down, fat boy'. "Sit down, you might learn something." Well, I watched, and I learned and pretty soon, I owned the game. Now those guys I grew up with come to me with their hats in their hands. Tell me, champ, all those years of puggin', how much money did you make?

Abe Atell:
The honest fights or the ones I tanked?

Arnold Rothstein:
Whatever you made, I made ten times that amount betting on you and I never took a punch. Not one.

Abe Atell:
Yeah, but I was champ. Featherweight champeen of the world!

Arnold Rothstein:
Yesterday. That was yesterday.

Abe Atell:
They don't take nickle bets down here fellows.

Abe Atell:
You, you were a ball player.

Bill Burns:
Bill Burns.

Abe Atell:
'Sleepy' Bill Burns! Strictly bench material.

Bill Burns:
I won a few games.

Abe Atell:
You lost a few more.

Abe Atell:
And you my friend did not get that nose bobbing for apples.

Billy Maharg:
I was a fighter; sort of.

Abe Atell:
Sort of. Let me see; Maharg. Billy Maharg!

Billy Maharg:
Yeah. You seen me fight?

Abe Atell:
Yeah, I seen you fight. You were a bum.

Kid Gleason:
People are human.

Ring Lardner:
Sports writers of the world unite; you have nothing to lose but your bar privileges.

Buck Weaver:
I saw him play.

Buck Weaver:
He was the best. Run, hit, throw... he was the best.

Buck Weaver:
Nah. Those fellas are all gone now.

Hap Felsch:
I may be dumb, fellas, but I ain't stupid.

Kid Gleason:
How's that arm holdin' up, Dickie?

Buck Weaver:
You get out there, and the stands are full and everybody's cheerin'. It's like everybody in the world come to see you. And inside of that there's the players, they're yakkin' it up. The pitcher throws and you look for that pill... suddenly there's nothing else in the ballpark but you and it. Sometimes, when you feel right, there's a groove there, and the bat just eases into it and meets that ball. When the bat meets that ball and you feel that ball just give, you know it's going to go a long way. Damn, if you don't feel like you're going to live forever.

Ring Lardner:
I think they're the best, Hughie. The best ever.

Buck Weaver:
Who's the Babe Ruth?

Eddie Cicotte:
What's this, Harry?

Eddie Cicotte:
That's awfully white of him. He didn't happen to mention when we can expect that bonus he promised us in return for taking the flag, did he?

Swede Risberg:
Cheap bastard.

Kid Gleason:
Look, fellas, if it was up to me...

Eddie Cicotte:
Kid, we got no beef with you.

Eddie Cicotte:
It's flat.

Charles Comiskey:
We're prepared to offer you certain powers...

Charles Comiskey:
Unlimited powers. We are offering you a five year contract...

Billy Maharg:
He's gonna knock his brains out doin' that!

Bill Burns:
What brains? Shoeless Joe is ignorant; Hap Felsch is just dumb.

Sport Sullivan:
Look at those hands, ladies. You should have been a pug, Chickie.

Chick Gandil:
I did some fighting in my time. Once I was fighting a guy, my eyes were all bloody but I landed a lucky punch. The next thing I know I'm steppin' on something and it's the other guy's teeth. The referee raised my hand and someone shoved fifty bucks in my shorts. "What does he get?" I asked. The referee says, "From the looks of this jaw, a liquid diet for six weeks." Now what we should have done is held each other up for thirteen rounds and split the fifty.

Hired Killer:
You're gonna lose tomorrow.

Lefty Williams:
Oh, is that so?

Hired Killer:
I know it for a fact. That your wife?

Lefty Williams:
Yeah, what's it to you?

Hired Killer:
You don't lose tomorrow, she dies.

Lefty Williams:
Who sent you?

Hired Killer:
You made a promise to certain people.

Lefty Williams:
You son of a b*tch!

Hired Killer:
You can't protect her. If I don't do it, somebody else will. First inning, Mister Williams.

Eddie Cicotte:
I always figured it was talent made a man big, you know, if I was the best at something. I mean, we're the guys they come to see. Without us, there ain't a ballgame. Yeah, but look at who's holding the money and look at who's facing a jail cell. Talent don't mean nothing. And where's Comiskey and Sullivan, Attell, Rothstein? Out in the back room cutting up profits, that's where. That's the damn conspiracy.

Sport Sullivan:
You know what you feed a dray horse in the morning if you want a day's work out of him?

Jimmy:
What?

Sport Sullivan:
Just enough so he knows he's hungry.

PeeWee:
Say it ain't so, Joe. Say it ain't so.

Buck Weaver:
How do I look?

Helen Weaver:
You look just fine.

Buck Weaver:
I look like a future jailbird.

Eddie Cicotte:
It's about my bonus, Mr. Comiskey. You promised me a $10,000 bonus if I won 30 games this year and I think I deserve it.

Charles Comiskey:
Harry, how many games did Mr. Cicotte win for us this year?

Eddie Cicotte:
Yeah, but you told Kid to sit me down the last two weeks of the season to get ready for the series. That cost me five more starts; I know I would have won at least two more games.

Charles Comiskey:
29 is not thirty, Mr. Cicotte. No bonus.

[the Sox have just won the AL penant and are in the clubhouse. Some champagne bottles are sitting on a table]

Eddie Cicotte:
What's this, Harry?

Harry:
Mr. Comiskey sent these down for you. A congratulations for a successful pennant race.

Eddie Cicotte:
That's awfully white of him. He didn't happen to mention when we can expect that bonus he promised us in return for taking the flag, did he?

Harry:
This is your bonus.

Swede Risberg:
Cheap bastard.

Kid Gleason:
Look, fellas, if it was up to me...

Eddie Cicotte:
Kid, we got no beef with you. [opens one of the champagne bottles - nothing happens] It's flat.

Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis:
Regardless of the verdict of juries... no player who throws a ball game... no player who undertakes, or promises to throw a game... no player who sits in conference with a bunch of crooked players and gamblers where the ways and means of throwing a ball game are discussed, and does not promptly tell his club about it... will ever play professional baseball again.