Tuesday September 3rd, 2013. Yankee Stadium. It is the bottom of the second inning in a game between the Chicago White Sox and the New York Yankees. The Yankees have runners on first and third against Chicago ace/scarecrow Chris Sale. On third stands turtle-like creature Vernon Wells. Noted helmet-phobe Eduardo Nunez is at first as Chris Stewart and his flyswatter come to bat.
Cut to Joe Girardi in the Yankees dugout. Words from The Binder echo in his mind that no one else can hear.
Joe Girardi: Damn, looks like we're going to have to rely on Stewie to get a hit here to score a run.
Binder: (Yes...seems absurd to have such a poor hitter in the lineup.)
Girardi: Hey! Starting him was your idea!
Binder: (Of course! Think of the delicious pitch framing! Besides, players under 25 cannot be trusted.)
Girardi: You're right, Binder. You're always right. (Hugs binder)
Curtis Granderson: Hey coach, who are you talking to?
Girardi: Um...just thinking out loud Grandy! Go about your business.
Granderson: muttering (Crap. Looks like we'll have to start slipping anti-psychotics into the Gatorade again.)
Binder: (You know Joseph, there is another way to get the run home. A...sneakier way: Wells shall steal home.)
Girardi: Steal home!? Did you mistake Wellsy for Mike Trout? How could he possibly make it before the throw?
Binder: (Very simple. We Deadites know you humans better than you know yourselves. All you need to achieve greatness is proper...motivation. I call this "Operation Hotpants". First, have Nunez take off for second, then...)
Girardi feverishly jots down instructions as laid out by the sentient ledger. He communicates these instructions to third base coach Rob Thomson via a form of interpretive dance, also known as relaying signs.
Rob Thomson: Alright, Vernon. While Stewart pretends to hit, you're going to steal home. Nunez will head toward second, and you'll dash for home when the catcher lets go of the throw.
Vernon Wells: I dunno coach. I'm not as spry as I used to be.
As Sale steps on the mound and prepares to throw his next pitch, Thomson produces and flicks a Zippo lighter. He applies the flame directly to the rear of Wells' pants.
Thomson: Alright Vern, get ready to go!
Josh Phegley receives Sale's delivery and readies to fire to catch the bolting Nunez.
Wells: AHHHH! MY FANNY'S ON FIRE!!!
Wells dashes towards home with the quickness of a man half his age. In an effort to put out his burning derriere he slides into the dirt, coincidentally also crossing home plate ahead of Phegley's tag.
Wells: (breathing heavily and panting) Ahhhh...that's better. Wow, I can't believe that I made it! I will surely be remembered fondly by Yankees fans forever for such an amazing feat! Old Timers' Day here I come!
Meanwhile, back in the dugout.
Girardi: That was incredible! I'm sorry I ever doubted you Binder! I owe you one Joba relief appearance for that one!
Binder: (Damn right you do. But it's as I said, it's all about the proper motivation with you meatbags. Now, go replace CC Sabathia's candy stash with leafy green vegetables. I want him nice and angry for his start tomorrow night.)