Written by David Duchovny

Directed by David Duchovny

TAGLINE: In The Big Inning

Piney: Moose couldn't find the plate if you nailed it to his ass.

White Coach: Shut your pie hole, Piney. Kid's got to learn. Come straight over the top, Moose. Straight over the top. Come on!



Josh Exley: You sure your boy got the right prescription in those spectacles?

Catcher: Ah, don't worry, Ex. See, I told him to throw it right at your big, nappy, home-run-hitting head. So you can bet a hundred clams that ball's going anywhere but there.



White Coach: Moose! Straight over the top.

(The White Coach, Piney, and the other team members all make pitching motions calling encouragement. Very funny.)

Piney: Over the top. Yes.



(Next pitch bounces off the cactus.)

Umpire: Ball! (throwing the ball back to the pitcher) Leave the cactus alone, son!



Catcher: Gee, I don't know, Ex. The Yanks could use those 60 home runs a year. Well, now that, uh, Jackie Robinson's up there in the Bigs people are saying you're going to be next. The first black Negro man of color in the American League. Shoot, Ex, you'll be famous, man.

Josh Exley: I don't want to be no famous man. Just want to be a man.



(Now all the members of the Grays are also calling encouragement to the white pitcher.)

GRAYS: Over the top! Over the top! Over the top, man!



(A baseball hits the KKK Rider on the head, knocking him to the ground. Moose gets ready to throw another ball.)

White Coach: That's what I'm talking about Moose-- straight over the top. Come on, straight over the top with it.

(White Coach tosses him another ball. Moose knocks two more KKK Riders to the ground.)



Vin Scully: It's a gorgeous day for baseball here in the City of The Angels and I'm told it's a gorgeous day all over our republic today-- from Bangor to Bellflower, from Amarillo to Anchorage the sun is shining and it's a perfect day to play baseball . . . Eddie Perez will start it off . . . That ball is ripped . . . and it's going, going, gone . . .



Scully: Mulder, it is such a gorgeous day outside. Have you ever entertained the idea of trying to find life on this planet?

Mulder: I have seen the life on this planet, Scully, and that is exactly why I am looking elsewhere.



(Scully opens a paper bag she is carrying and removes a paper-wrapped frozen dessert. This gets Mulder's attention.)

Mulder: Did you bring enough ice cream to share with the rest of the class?

Scully: It's not ice cream. It's a nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle.

Mulder: Ugh. Bet the air in my mouth tastes better than that.



Mulder: You sure know how to live it up, Scully.

Scully: Oh, you're Mr. Live-it-up. Mulder, you're really Mr. Squeeze-every-last-drop-out-of-this-sweet-life, aren't you? On this precious Saturday you've got us grabbing life by the testes stealing reference books from the FBI library in order to go through New Mexico newspaper obituaries for the years 1940 to 1949 and for what joyful purpose?



Scully: I don't care. Mulder, this is a needle in a haystack. These poor souls have been dead for 50 years. Let them rest in peace. Let sleeping dogs lie.

Mulder: No, I won't sit idly by as you hurl clichés at me. Preparation is the father of inspiration.

Scully: Necessity is the mother of invention.

Mulder: The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

Scully: Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.

Mulder: I scream, you scream, we all scream for nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicles.

(Mulder sets the book down and lunges for Scully. He grabs her arm and takes a bite of the dreamsicle. The cone breaks and pieces of the dessert splatter down on the book.)

Scully: No-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho! Mulder!



Scully: Mulder!? You cheat. I can't believe that you've been reading about baseball this whole time.

Mulder: I'm reading the box scores, Scully. You'd like it. It's like the Pythagorean Theorem for jocks. It distills all the chaos and action of any game in the history of all baseball games into one tiny, perfect, rectangular sequence of numbers. I can look at this box and I can recreate exactly what happened on some sunny summer day back in 1947. It's like the numbers talk to me, they comfort me. They tell me that even though lots of things can change some things do remain the same. It's . . .

Scully: Boring.



Scully: Mulder, can I ask you a personal question?

Mulder: Of course not.

Scully: Did your mother ever tell you to go outside and play?



Mulder: (fake sneezes) Ah . . . Choo!

(As Mulder pretends to sneeze, he rips the page out of the book. Scully stares at him in disbelief.)

Scully: You just defaced property of the U.S. Government.

(Carrying the torn page, Mulder gets his leather jacket and runs out of the office. Scully watches him go. If anything, she has a slight smile.)

Scully: You rebel.



Arthur Dales: What in hell took you so long?

Mulder: I'm-I'm sorry, sir, I'm-I'm looking for Arthur Dales.

Arthur Dales: I'm Arthur Dales.

Mulder: No, you're not.

Arthur Dales: Don't be a wiseass, son.

Mulder: No, I-I'm sorry, sir, I know Arthur Dales and you're not Arthur Dales.



Arthur Dales: Arthur Dales is my brother. My name also happens to be Arthur Dales. It's the same name, different guy. The other Arthur, he moved to Florida the lucky bastard. Now, our parents weren't exactly big in the imagination department when it came to names. If it would help you wrapping your little head around this stupefying mystery, Agent Mulder, we had a sister named Arthur, too and a goldfish.

Mulder: How do you know my name?

Arthur Dales: My brother told me all about you. He said you were the biggest jackass in the Bureau since he retired. Yeah, we're big fans. Sometimes we'd stay awake for hours at night just talking about you. Just fascinating. Now, unless you're hiding some Chinese food let's call it a day.



Mulder: Okay, and you're standing with Negro League legend Josh Exley who disappeared without a trace during a season in which he reportedly hit 60 home runs.

Arthur Dales: Sixty-one.

Mulder: 61 home runs in 1948.

Arthur Dales: Forty-seven.

Mulder: '47, whatever. I don't really care about the baseball, so much, sir. What I care about is this man in the picture with you. I believe to be an alien bounty hunter.

Arthur Dales: Of course you don't care about the baseball, Mr. Mulder. You only bothered my brother about the important things like government conspiracies and alien bounty hunters and the truth with a capital "T."

Mulder: Wait a minute. I like baseball.

Arthur Dales: You like baseball, huh?

Mulder: Yeah.

Arthur Dales: How many home runs did Mickey Mantle hit?

Mulder: (thinks) A hundred and sixty-three.

(Disappointed, Arthur Dales begins to close the door. Mulder pushes it back open.)

Mulder: Righty. 373 lefty. 536 total.



Arthur Dales: What you fail to understand in your joyless myopia is that baseball is the key to life-- the Rosetta Stone, if you will. If you just understood baseball better all your other questions your, your . . . the, uh . . . the aliens, the conspiracies they would all, in their way be answered by the baseball gods.



Mulder: Yes, sir, that may be true. I'm thinking that your experience in Roswell could be germane to a conspiracy between men in our government and these shape-shifting alien beings.

Arthur Dales: Oh, don't bore me, son. My brother Arthur started the X-Files with the Federal Bureau of Obfuscation before you were born.



Arthur Dales: You say "shape-shifting." Agent Mulder, do you believe that love can make a man shape-shift?

Mulder: (soft laugh) I guess . . . women change men all the time.



Arthur Dales: Do you believe that that passion can change your very nature? Can make you shape-shift from a man into something other than a man?

Mulder: What exactly has your brother told you about me?



Mulder: I would have believed you.

Arthur Dales: You weren't . . . ripe.

Mulder: Not ripe? Let me tell you something: I have been ripe for years. I am way past ripe. I'm so ripe I'm rotten. This cuts to the very heart of the mystery of what I've been doing with my life for the past ten years.



Arthur Dales: Mr. Mulder-- maybe you'd better start paying a little less attention to the heart of the mystery and a little more attention to the mystery of the heart.



Arthur Dales: This little fellow goes by the name of Pete Rosebud. If you keep pumping coffee money into him he'll tell you a story about baseball and aliens and bounty hunters.

Mulder: (putting a dime in the toy) You're making me feel like a child.

Arthur Dales: Perfect. That's exactly the right place to start from, then, isn't it? Now, the first thing you got to know about baseball is . . . it keeps you forever young.



Young Arthur Dales: : Mr. Exley? Mr. Exley, my name's Arthur Dales. I'm an employee of the Roswell police department.

Josh Exley: Have I broken a law, sir?

(Another player, Buck Johnson, passes them.)

Buck Johnson: You stole . . . second base in the third inning. I'm a witness. (to Young Arthur Dales) Officer, I seen Ex steal . . . at least 50 bases this year.



Josh Exley: Hey, Officer Dales, you're a decent man, ain't you?

Young Arthur Dales: I try to be.

Josh Exley: Well, the fellas feel like the umps would treat us better if you got us eight more uniforms like these to play in. (indicates the police uniform)

Young Arthur Dales: (laughs) Yeah, you could change your name from the Roswell grays to the Roswell Black and Blues.



(Young Arthur Dales watches Josh Exley sleep. The reflection in the window is that of a gray alien)

Josh Exley: What's the matter, Arthur? You look like you ain't never seen a black man before.



Mulder: I've got to give it to you, Arthur. Calling a Negro league team from Roswell the Grays is pretty clever. E.T. steal home. E.T. steal home.



Mulder: You seriously want me to believe that Josh Exley maybe one of the greatest ballplayers of all times, was an alien?

Arthur Dales: They're all aliens, Agent Mulder-- all the great ones.

Mulder: Babe Ruth was an alien?

Arthur Dales: Yeah.

Mulder: Joe DiMaggio?

Arthur Dales: Sure.

Mulder: Willie Mays?

Arthur Dales: Well, obviously.

Mulder: Mantle? Koufax? Gibson?

Arthur Dales: Bob or Kirk?



Arthur Dales: Like clockwork. Poorboy with my medicine. Give the kid a tip, will ya?

Mulder: So I assume you're speaking metaphorically?

Arthur Dales: Speaking metaphorically is for young men like you, Agent MacGyver. I don't have time for that. I only have time to speak the truth.

(Mulder, holding the hotdog in his mouth, hands Poorboy a dollar.)

Poorboy: (not impressed) You're a regular Rockefeller, ain't you?



(Young Arthur Dales looks around and sees two white men sitting in the stands. They appear to be staring at Josh. As he watches, the two men nod at each other then simultaneously stand and pull out two black objects. Young Arthur Dales runs to Josh Exley and pushes him to the ground shielding his body. He looks back up to the stands and sees the two men spraying the men in front of them with the water guns. Young Arthur Dales stands and apologetically brushes off Josh Exley's shirt.)

Young Arthur Dales: There, uh . . . there was a bee on you.

Josh Exley: Must have been a real big one.

Young Arthur Dales: Could have ripped your head off.



Josh Exley: Hey, Arthur . . . thanks.

(Young Arthur Dales goes back to the dugout. Buck Johnson salutes him.)

Buck Johnson: Officer Arthur Dales making the world safe for baseball and Negroes.



(Young Arthur Dales goes into the connecting hotel room. He sees a figure practice swinging a baseball bat. Young Arthur Dales turns on the light and stares at the figure. It turns. It is a gray alien wearing underwear and a baseball cap. They stare at each other, then Young Arthur Dales gives a high-pitched VERY girly scream. The Gray Alien screams back. Young Arthur Dales holds up the tiny pocketknife blade. They both scream, then Young Arthur Dales faints. The Gray Alien looks down at Young Arthur Dales' body, sets down the bat and sighs, shaking his massive gray head. The Gray Alien has Young Arthur Dales in a chair and is trying to revive him, gently slapping his face.)

Young Arthur Dales: (waking briefly, then sees the gray alien and faints again) Oh . . .

(The Gray Alien sighs, and holds a glass of water to Young Arthur Dales' mouth. He wakes again.)

Young Arthur Dales: (taking a sip) Thank you. (gags on the water when he looks up again)

Gray Alien: (Josh Exley's voice) This is ridiculous. You're supposed to be a big, bad policeman.

(Young Arthur Dales gasps in panic.)

Gray Alien: Now, hold up, Arthur. Now, before you go fainting again, listen to me. It's me, Arthur. It's Ex.

Young Arthur Dales: This is an interesting dream. Wake up. (slapping himself) Come on, Artie.

Josh Exley as Gray Alien: Man, you ain't dreaming. This is what I really look like. This is the real me.

Young Arthur Dales: Ex? It's really you under there, Ex?

(In wonder, Young Arthur Dales begins touching the alien face, poking around the lip and nose. Josh Exley as Gray Alien puts up with it for a moment, then reaches over and sticks his finger up Young Arthur Dales's nose.)

Young Arthur Dales: Ow!

Josh Exley as Gray Alien: I'm not "under" anything, Arthur, and I'm trying not to be insulted by your reaction to my true face. Look, would it be easier if I looked like this?

(He morphs into a Sexy Blonde Woman and climbs onto his lap.)

Josh Exley as sexy blonde: (still with Josh Exley's voice) Would this be easier for you to handle?

Young Arthur Dales: Mmm . . . No. Somehow, that's even weirder.

(The door opens and another teammate enters.)

Teammate: Bus leaves in five . .

(Sees Sexy blonde in Young Arthur Dales' lap.)

Teammate: Ooh.



Young Arthur Dales: So why did you, uh, leave your family in, uh . . . in Georgia?

Josh Exley: My people guard their privacy zealously.

Young Arthur Dales: I can understand that.

Josh Exley: They don't like for us to intermingle with your people. Their philosophy is we stick to ourselves; you stick to yourselves-- everybody's happy.

Young Arthur Dales: So what happened?

Josh Exley: Well, you know what happened.

Young Arthur Dales: You fell in love with an earth woman.

Josh Exley: (he laughs) No. I saw a baseball game.

Young Arthur Dales: Oh.



Josh Exley: I tell you, when I saw that baseball game being played this laughter just . . . it just rose up out of me. You know, the sound the ball makes when it hits the bat?

Young Arthur Dales: (smiling) Yeah.

Josh Exley: It was like music to me. You know, the smell of the grass, 11 men-- first unnecessary thing I ever done in my life and I fell in love. I didn't know the unnecessary could feel so good. You know, the game was meaningless but it seemed to mean everything to me. It was useless, but perfect.

Young Arthur Dales: Yeah, like, uh . . . like a rose.

Josh Exley: Yeah, yeah, yeah, like a rose. See? You get it, Arthur. You're a fan.



Mulder: Let me get this straight: a free-spirited alien fell in love with baseball and ran away from the other non-fun-having aliens and made himself black, because that would prevent him from getting to the majors where his unspeakable secret might be discovered by an intrusive press and public and you're also implying that . . .

Arthur Dales: You certainly have a knack for turning chicken salad into chicken spit.



Mulder: You're also implying that this baseball-playing alien has something to do with the famous Roswell UFO crash of July '47, aren't you?

Arthur Dales: You're just dying to connect the dots aren't you, son? Look, I give you some wood and I ask you for a cabinet. You build me a cathedral. I don't want a cathedral. I like where I live. I just want a place to put my TV. Understand my drift?

Mulder: (after a pause) Drift it is, sir.



Arthur Dales: Trust the tale, Agent MacGyver, not the teller. That which fascinates us is by definition true. Speaking metaphorically, of course.

Mulder: Okay, so was Ex a man who was metaphorically an alien or an alien who was metaphorically a man or a something in between that was literally an alien-human hybrid?

(Arthur Dales frowns, then hands Mulder a pint of liquor.)

Mulder: It's official. I am a horse's ass.

(They both take a drink.)



Arthur Dales: What is it to be a human, Fox? Is it to have the chemistry of a man? In the universal scheme of things a dog's chemistry is nearly identical to that of a man. But is a dog like a man?

Mulder: Well, I have noticed over the course of time, a man and his dog will often start to look like one another.

Arthur Dales: (laughs) To be a man is to have the heart of a man. Integrity, decency, sympathy: these are the things that make a man a man and Ex had them all, had them all, more than you or I.



Young Arthur Dales: You still consider them to be your family?

Josh Exley: Of course I do. Who you think my family is?

Young Arthur Dales: I don't know. Your team?

Josh Exley: Don't get cornball on me, man. Next thing you're gonna be telling me is I owe it to all the little kids to break the home-run record, or I owe it to the black folks who think I'm one of them, to make it to the majors or I should just keep playing out of some meaningless human concept of pride or loyalty.

Young Arthur Dales: I don't know, Ex.



Josh Exley: We don't think like that, man. We may be able to look like y'all, but we ain't y'all. You know the big thing that separates us from you?

Young Arthur Dales: What's that?

Josh Exley: We got rhythm.



Alien Bounty Hunter: : It's over.

Josh Exley: I know.

Alien Bounty Hunter: I warned you. You didn't listen. Now you die.

Josh Exley: It's the right thing to do.

Alien Bounty Hunter: What do you know of the right thing to do? You-- who would risk exposing the entire project for a game? A game!

Josh Exley: (smiling sadly) I hit a home run tonight.

Alien Bounty Hunter: A home run?

Josh Exley: Number 61. I set a record.

Alien Bounty Hunter: Show me your true face so you can die with dignity. As your executioner I show you my true face before I kill you. (The Bounty Hunter morphs into a Gray Alien.) Show me your true face or you will die without honor.

Josh Exley: This is my true face.

Alien Bounty Hunter as Gray Alien: So be it.

(As Josh Exley turns and presents the back of his neck to the Bounty Hunter, Young Arthur Dales drives up. The Bounty Hunter stabs the Plam into Josh Exley's neck.)



Young Arthur Dales: Ex?!

Josh Exley: No . . . Let me be! Let me be!

(Young Arthur Dales sobs as he reaches Josh Exley and holds him.)

Josh Exley: (desperate) Don't. Get off me. Our blood is like acid to you people. Arthur, get away. Don't touch it.

Young Arthur Dales: It's just blood, Ex. Look. It's just blood.

(Young Arthur Dales shows Josh Exley his fingers which are covered in red blood.)

Josh Exley: (amazed) Wow.



(Night. Mulder is at a baseball field hitting balls fired from a pitching machine. He is wearing a baseball jersey - Gibson, #20, the Grays. Scully walks around the fence and watches him.)

Scully: So, uh . . . I get this message marked "urgent" on my answering service from one Fox Mantle telling me to come down to the park for a very special very early or very late birthday present. And, Mulder . . . I don't see any nicely wrapped presents lying around so, what gives?

Mulder: You've never hit a baseball, have you, Scully?

Scully: No, I guess I have, uh . . . found more necessary things to do with my time than . . . slap a piece of horsehide with a stick.

Mulder: (with a look that make anyone melt) Get over here, Scully.

(Mulder holds the bat out for her. Scully walks over and takes it. Mulder steps behind her and wraps his arms around her tightly, also holding the bat around her hands.)

Scully: This my birthday present, Mulder? You shouldn't have.

Mulder: This ain't cheap. I'm paying that kid ten bucks an hour to shag balls.

Mulder: Hey, it's not a bad piece of ash, huh? The bat - talking about the bat. Now, don't strangle it. You just want to shake hands with it. "Hello, Mr. Bat. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." "Oh, no, no, Ms. Scully. The pleasure's all mine."

(Scully laughs as their hands grip the bat.)

Mulder: Okay, now, we want to . . . we want to go hips before hands, okay? (holds his hand a few inches from her hip) We want to stride forward and turn. That's all we're thinking about. So, we go hips . . . before hands, all right?

(He gingerly touches her hip and with his hands and his own hips pressed against her, turns her the right way.)

Scully: Okay.

Mulder: One more time.

(He touches and turns her hips more confidently.)

Mulder: Hips . . . before hands, all right?

Scully: Yeah.

Mulder: What is it?

Scully: Hips before hands.

Mulder: (speaking right into her ear) Right. We're going to wait on the pitch. We're going to keep our eye on the ball. Then, we're just going to make contact. We're not going to think. We're just going to let it fly, Scully, okay?

Scully: Mm-hmm.

Mulder: Ready?

(Mulder tries to readjust their grips on the bat. Momentary hand struggle between them.)

Scully: I'm in the middle.

(She gets her hands back between his. They are both grinning - very cute.)

Mulder: All right, fire away, Poorboy.

(A ball comes to them and they hit it. It goes way foul.)

Mulder: Ooh! That's good. All right, what you may find is you concentrate on hitting that little ball . . . The rest of the world just fades away-- all your everyday, nagging concerns.

(Scully giggles. They hit the ball again.)

Mulder: The ticking of your biological clock.

(Another hit)

Mulder: How you probably couldn't afford that nice, new suede coat on a G-Woman's salary.

(Another hit.)

Mulder: How you threw away a promising career in medicine . . . (intimately into her ear) . . . to hunt aliens with a crackpot, albeit brilliant, partner.

Mulder: Getting into the heart of a global conspiracy. Your obscenely overdue triple-X bill. Oh, I . . . I'm sorry, Scully. Those last two problems are mine, not yours.

(Another hit.)

Scully: (with a big smile) Shut up, Mulder. I'm playing baseball.

(They continue to hit the balls. Scully laughs. As the balls fly up into the black, star-studded night sky, we see them turn into shooting stars.)

Linda Note: David you rock! ;)

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