Harrelson and Pinella: A Conversation

Date: The middle of June, 2007
Location: An undisclosed golf course somewhere in the southwest suburbs of Chicago.
Players: White Sox broadcaster Ken "Hawk" Harrelson and Chicago Cubs manager Lou Pinella


Harrelson: Hey, Sweet Lou, how's that carmine derriere doin'?

Pinella: Hawk, you ol' son of a bitch.

Harrelson: So what's the bet today? A sleeve of balls to the guy who stays off the beach today?

Pinella: Eh, I don't know Hawk. I'm tired of gettin' hustled by you, Hawk. I mean, you live on this friggin' course.

Harrelson: I luuvvvv it when you analyze, Lou.

Pinella: Now don't get me started, Hawk, or I'll kick your ass like I did Dibble's.

Harrelson: I'm no can-o-corn, Sweet Lou, like Dibs was. Now you wanna talk can-o-corn. Jay Mariotti, now he's a can-o-corn. Probably never been in a fight in his life.

Pinella: Yeah, Hawk, what's the deal with that guy? At least Psycho Lyons talked shit a seat away from me. This Mari--how do you say his name, Hawk?

Harrelson: I just call him heiny bird.

Pinella: Huh?

Harrelson: You know, Sweet Lou, a bird that flies in concentric circles until it finally disappears up it's own behind.

Pinella: I thought you gave up the sauce, Hawk.

Harrelson: You're dadgum right, I did.

Pinella: (To himself) What the fuck is he talkin' about? (To Hawk) Anyways, so this Jay writer guy...I hear he doesn't actually attend games that he writes about and doesn't do interviews anymore.

Harrelson: Nope, he's afraid to cinch it up and hunker down. At least on the South side he is. I can't speak for that NL park.

Pinella: I don't have a clue what the guy even looks like. Maybe he hides in the back of the reporters and tells that Phil Rogers guy to ask his questions for him.

Harrelson: Nah, Rogers is a big hack, no contact guy. The heiny bird you just gotta reel him in, zone him in, and light him up...like I'm about to do with this 3 iron. (Swings a golf club) You can put it on the board, Yes!

Pinella: You know, Hawk, I sure am glad the guys upstairs at Wrigley got me Soriano. Alex Rodrigez was amazing, but this Soriano guy...

Harrelson: Lou, he's the right size, wrong shape for your club. You need a guy who'll bow his neck.

Pinella: (Stepping onto the tee box) Huh?

Harrelson: You need someone to do some chunkin' for you.

Pinella: Huh?

Harrelson: Someone to throw some hang whiff 'ems.

Pinella: (Swings his golf club) Pitching? (Looking at the flight of his ball) Cabron!

Harrelson: (Looking at Pinella's golf ball) Get foul! Get foul! It will! I luvvvv sleeves of golf balls!

Pinella: What do you mean we need pitching, Hawk?

Harrelson: Instead of spending all that money on one guy, you coulda got double barreled action in Zito and Schmidt.

Pinella: Ah, fuck it Hawk, and your team is any better?

Harrelson: Lou, you better grab some bench talkin' about my team or I'll cancel your postgame show.

Pinella: (Searching the rough for his golf ball) C'mon, Hawk, help me find my ball.

Harrelson: (Walking away from Lou) Sorry, Lou, but you're doing the dreaded lead off walk. Not me.

Pinella: For the forty years I've known you, Hawk, I can never remember you being such an ass. And you call me a hot head.

Harrelson: Sorry, Lou, but I got some gasssssss from the baklava my wife made last night.

Pinella: (Still searching for the golf ball) Here it is! Hey, Hawk, can I take a drop over here?

Harrelson: Sure, but you're just gonna hit a chopper, two hopper.

Pinella: (Swings his wedge) I like it! Stay on the green, stay on the green! How about that shot, Hawk?

Harrelson: (Long space of dead silence)

Pinella: What's the matter, Hawk? Cat got your tongue?

Harrelson: (More dead air)

Pinella: Hey, that guy on the green is playing too slow. Maybe we should ask him if we can play thru.

Harrelson: (Walking toward the green after swinging his club and mumbling to himself) I just missed that one.

Pinella: (To the guy already on the green) Hey, buddy, is it okay if we play thru? You seem to be a little slow today. (The guy on the green looks up and starts running away)

Harrelson: (Motioning to the guy running away) Hey, Sweet Lou, lemme introduce you to the heiny bird himself, Jay Mariotti. He gone!

Pinella: (To himself) I hate golfing with Hawk.