7:40 @ Brands SW

*Open on a rain-soaked, dilapidated ballfield*
*Overcast skies and a steady sheet of rain allow the viewer only to make out roughly a dozen silhouettes and the red glow from 5 cigarettes*

Duke:  Well fellas, this is quite a place to find ourselves huh?  Getting soaked in this weather, cold as the arctic... really damn glad you remembered the beer, Dallas.

Dallas: I've got my priorities locked up tight, chief.  *wipes the rain from the barrel of his bat, glares suspiciously into the distance*

Don:  How the fuck did we find ourselves here anyway?  Why are we always the ones that show up for this shit and the rest of the fucking world puts their feet up on ottomans next to their fire in their warm goddamn living room?  I want my dog's head in my lap, a brandy in one hand and my remote in the other.  Instead, you assholes convince me that we've got to be out here.  *flicks cigarette butt aggressively at nothing in particular*

Duke:  Don, chill out man.  We got beer, we've got cigs, and if this timeline plays out like it's supposed to - we'll be out of here in 5 minutes and you can get your precious lap pleasures from your poor fucking pug.  A pug!  Christ man, did the adoption place refuse to give you a bigger dog because they knew you were going to try and fuck whatever you took home?

Don:  Yeah Duke, that's what happened.  Don't talk shit about Tupug Shakur either; he's small but I've seen him go after Great Danes dude.  Total gangster.  Truth.  5 minutes?  Is that what we're looking at?  Hmm, now I want a scotch.

Derrick:  *looks at watch* This is the field, right?  I don't got a compass so I'm all mixed up and this rain is getting in my eyes and I'm wet and I'm tired of just sitting here, did anyone bring a powerbar or something, this beer is starting to get to my head and I think it might be laced with something, does Keystone do that kind of stuff, what the hell man?  *palms water from his forehead down his face, his eyes are bloodshot*

Dallas: Shut. The. Hell. Up. Derrick.

Duke:  Derrick, just keep an eye out. Once our contact shows up, and we get confirmation, we can get out of here.  You can run over to the Burger King and shovel a Whopper in your face if you want.  Just watch out for unverified contact on the trip.  Oh, and be sure to ask for extra mayo on there - you mayo-loving-freakshow. 

Derrick:  Which way's the BK, Duke?

Duke: *points to the southwest using his bat*
*As his gaze follows the barrel, he sees movement in the distance.  A shadow is out there, hovering near the fence.*
Hell, fellas - this might be it.  Eyes up, get your packs ready to roll.  Derrick, no BK.

Dallas: 'bout damn time. 

*team rises in unison and begins walking in 2 columns towards the fence*

Don:  We sure this is our guy?

Duke: Look at his mannerism, how he just shuffles side to side.  He doesn't really seem to have any idea what he's doing here, does he?  That's our guy.  Some character to be responsible for managing this operation.

*team comes closer to the fence and hears the character mumbling to himself*

 Duke: Hey, Ida - what the hell man?  Couldn't you see us sitting out there?

Ida: *whirls around rapidly, eyes huge and mouth agape*  So you made it?  Good, I was just sitting in my car for awhile, not doing anything.  Well I just got a call from HQ - game's off today.  Teams didn't show and the rain is too much but I think you guys could have won against this team anyway.  Unless you had Dickey batting clean up for you, haha!  *pulls hood over his head and wanders off*

Don: Well, that was awesome.  ALWAYS A PLEASURE, IDA - KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. you half-blind, whistle-swallowing maniac.  *turns to Duke*  Guess what fucker?  I'm going to take a bath in scotch when I get home.  Then me & Tupug are going to rock out to some Steeley Dan on vinyl and make a mess of some empanandas.  So long, dickweeds.  *lowers the bill of his cap and begins sprinting for a SmartCar parked on the street*

Duke:  The rest of you in for a drink at Kodi's? 

Team: HUZZAH!  *team locks arms and begins skipping across the field in unison.  Faintly, 'Blurred Lines' can be heard from the group*

*behind them, still at the fence, sits Dallas.  He picks up a stick, sharpens one end and stabs at a chunk of mud on the ground.  He takes another stick and uses it to draw a smiley face on the clump of mud*  You'll be my best friend.   Muddyweather Franklin VonSuperPal will be your name.