NO RULES BASEBALL - Welcome.

A John Williams epic styled theme begins.

Opening montage:

Layered images of American Flags and baseball fields – from modest Little League parks to Yankee Stadium filled to capacity for a World Series Game.

The voice of James Earl Jones speaks the following text as it crawls down the screen - 'Star Wars' intro-style.

Jones: Our national pastime has always been at the vanguard of important changes in the American fabric. Years before Martin Luther King, Jackie Robinson played civil rights pioneer for Brooklyn USA. Now, in the time of the great American divide, when politicians talk the talk of peace, love and understanding, but walk the walk of war, hate and 'you're the one who makes this country suck,' wouldn't it be right and good if the custodians of the game would lead us all into a more honest future by dropping all the old rules about cheating?

Scene: Press event in a hotel conference room. The commissioner of baseball, Bud Selig, with distinctive bangs, stands at the podium. Flashbulbs from the huge press corps. A line-up of famous baseball luminaries - Aaron, Bonds, Clemens etc. - stand behind Selig.

Selig: After years of trying various performance enhancement policies, Major League Baseball has decided nothing has really worked. Only lesser known players get caught using banned substances because they can't afford the latest masking agents. The owners and players are sick of blaming each other for something we always secretly endorsed. And the fans: You like power. Raw displays of power. Man pitcher power vs. Man batter power. So, for the foreseeable future, we will remove all restrictions on what the players can put into their bodies.

Initially - silence.

One reporter whispers: 'Did he just say what I think he said?'

Then the sound of one set of hands clapping.

It builds to thunderous applause.

The hypocrisy is over!

Cut to: Fans giving opinions to a man on the street interviewer.

Big Vinny: It's about time. We're talking the 21st century here!

Little Dilbert: Great! It'll be so much easier to pick a fantasy league team now. There are internet sites that tell you what drug cycles the players are on.

Cut to the locker room. Ballplayers, coaches and trainers boisterously prepare for a game; these huge men engage in normal locker room repartee while tossing vials and syringes - some are shooting each other up. The occasional fight breaks out between these red-eyed manimals. Coaches do crowd control; Manager Joe Torre is skilled with a cattle prod: "simmer down, simmer down boys, save it for the game."

Cut to an MLB ballpark: The home team stands on the top step of their dugout - then take the field. A 'let's get ready to rumble' style announcer says "Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, these are youuuuurrr St. Louis Clydesdales."

And indeed, these one time St. Louis Cardinals trot onto the field looking like the horses that pull the Budweiser delivery trucks of old – including signature hairy Clydesdale ankles.

Cut to game action: Drug top-offs are administered in the on-deck circle. Then these hitters crush majestic shots over the fences or rip screaming line drives that tear through infielders gloves, then outfielders gloves, then right through the outfield walls. The glowing orange-hot baseballs rattle around the bullpen, scattering the relief pitchers.

Now we hear the voices of a broadcast team.

Play by play guy: "This would be a great time for the bunt; the infielders are playing so far back - the shortstop's at the centerfield warning track! This isn't baseball Jim, this is Armageddon!"

Color commentator [ex-anabolic player, frothing]: "Listen you Euro-sexual. Get with the non-program program! The point of the game is to pound, pound, pound the enemy into meat, hamburger meat, horse meat, doggy-dog meat. Pound that ball until it's leather-meat stew! Make the enemy drink the horsehide slurry!"

The crowd atmosphere is totally Greco-Roman. Foodcourt plumped fans heckle the ana-pumped players who return the favor by climbing the walls and leaping into the mosh-pit of fans.

There are cattle prod give away days for the fans.

Back to:

Color commentator [ex-anabolic player, frothing]: Barry Bonds leaves the on-deck circle. Listen! You can just make out the sound of uniform seams bursting as he walks to the plate. He has that visible syringe now hanging off of his left shank. It looks sort of like a colostomy stint, something he can refill without removing his pants!

Bonds [VO as he prepares]: "I'm just so relieved that I don't have to live a lie anymore. Now I can really just be Barry being Barry."

On his first swing, he hits one over the Golden Gate right into Oakland! The scoreboard flashes '943!' He circles the bases, points to God as he steps on the plate, then rips off his uniform like a tear-away basketball warm-up suit. Barry stands in all his cut splendor, wearing only cleats and a jewel encrusted jock that looks like a boxing championship belt. Barry howls and flexes - it's a glistening Hulk pose-down for the home crowd.

Bonds [to camera]: I'm an entertainer. A businessman. And this is the entertainment business.

Cut to another Selig news conference. Same hotel. Same podium.

Selig: Because of the recent evolutions in the game, we have decided that it is only right that players and management make appropriate changes to equipment and the fields of play. It's the next logical thing to do.

Cut to: Architects point to blueprints, tell team owners how to protect the fans from the game and it's players: "You need higher walls made of ballistic strength plexi – with razor wire on the top."

Cut to: Outfielders wearing big gloves long enough to reach over the higher fences to bring back homerun balls. They appear to have much longer legs now too - really just longer baseball pants covering stilts. We see a hitter pouring a mixture of nails and wet concrete into a cored-out bat. Then a pan across the bat rack: these are serious Louisville bazookas.

One player has a rather X-treme procedure - armor plates inserted under his skin so that he can crowd the plate without fear of death from an errant inside 250 mph fastball.

Cut to: Joe Torre confabbing with Selig behind the batting cage as the armor plated warrior takes his practice cuts:

Torre: Isn't THIS cheating?

Selig: I sympathize Joe. But we have to have a consistent non-policy policy.

Joe (whining): But it's not fair. This guy couldn't see what my pitcher was throwing. So now he's just gonna lean in and get hit? The threat of death was always the equalizer.

Selig: This is America Joe. Get more resourceful. REMEMBER: ANYTHING GOES.

Cut to: Joe watching his pitcher warm up with a surface-to-air rocket-launcher for an arm. The pitched projectile rips the head off the catcher. The headless body stands - a fountain of blood. Sangre Geyser.

Joe (nodding sagely): That'll work.

Final Sequence: President George Bush, one time owner of the Texas Rangers franchise, in a television interview.

George Bush [Smirking, eyes twinkling]: I can't tell you if I can recall if I suspected that any of my players, or some of my players, or most of my players or all of my players were ever told to take steeeroids by me or any of my coaches or general management when I owned the team. I can't recall if I can recall. So, I can't tell you if I can recall or can't recall. [Really smirky- twinkly] I can tell you this though. I like this new version of the game. And I think I might recall having something to do with the new no rules-rules. Could be I never gave the orders to make the Great American pastime the Great New American pastime. But I sure think I know the guy who did give that order. And I think I gave that guy an order. And since I WAS IN CHARGE at the time, I have no doubt that I at least really liked the guy who gave the order to start changing this great game for the better.

End.