Marty:
Hey, Callaghan, how's your wife and my kids?
Bill:
Oy vey, Marty, that joke's about as old as your Spankees pitching staff. Maybe you should overpay for some new stuff? By the way, Marty, this is the first I've heard of you since, when was it, after Game 3 of the ALCS? What's up with that?
Marty:
Oh, no biggie, I just wanted to give you [sarcastic cough] Sawx [cough] fans plenty of time to riot and kill each other, you know? Didn't want to intrude on that class act.
Bill:
What's with that cough, Marty? Are you choking or something? Maybe you should take a pill. I hear the little white ones are good. At least that's what your blow buddy Giambi says.
Marty:
You're the one who's going to be crushing oxycontin and snorting it up your nose to relieve your pain after the press conference when Randy Johnson first tries on his new Pinstripes.
Bill:
Oh, Marty. You and your Spankees cohorts just don't get it do you? Where your moves once inspired awe they now reek of desperation and slappy timidity. Steinbrenner could sign fucking Moses and you still won't get to the promised land. There's no parting the Red Sox sea.
Marty:
Your hubris is pathetic even by Boston standards.
Bill:
Hey, Marty, all this hubris is making me fucking hungry. You think you can ring up your boy Rivera to serve me a couple of meatballs?
