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A monologue from the play by Neil Simon
One out, a man on second, bottom of the seventh, two balls, no strikes… IN A MINUTE, MA! This is for the World Series!
One pitch, Mom? (He whispers to himself.) Eugene Morris Jerome… I hate my name! Eugene Morris Jerome.
It is the second worst name ever given to a male child. The first worst is Haskel Fleischman. How am I ever going to play for the Yankees with a name like Eugene Morris Jerome?
You have to be a Joe… or a Tony… or Frankie… If only I was born Italian… All the best Yankees are Italian… My mother makes spaghetti with ketchup, what chance do I have?
(Pause.) What I am about to tell you next is so secret and private that I’ve left instructions for my memoirs not to be opened until thirty years after my death. …
I, Eugene Morris Jerome, have committed a mortal sin by lusting after my cousin Nora. I can tell you all this now because I’ll be dead when you’re reading it…
If I had the choice between a try out with the Yankees and actually seeing her (He clears his throat.) for two and a half seconds, I would have some serious thinking to do…
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