(Lights up. Bleecher seats in a baseball stadium somewhere. BETSY holds a cardboard tray with hot dogs, a pretzel, a large Beer, and some Cracker Jacks. Lots of mustard packs and extraneous plastic utensils. She sits next to a giant, costumed MASCOT. He's an odd duck; literally. He cannot speak words, so he communicates his lines with duck gestures. In production, maybe subtitles for the audience or some other fancy solution as BETSY rarely "hears" him correctly but the audience knows what he's actually "saying".)BETSY: Well that was certainly an experience.
MASCOT: (Yep.)
BETSY: Is it always so expensive?
MASCOT: (Yes.)
BETSY: I spent all my flag commission already.
MASCOT: (Well, apparently you're eating for four.)
BETSY: Oh stop it! You're not overweight.
MASCOT: (You misunderstood. It degrades me to speak like this, but I'll lose my job if I speak.)
BETSY: More mustard?? I don't know, maybe in a bit. I wanna catch some of "the game" first.
MASCOT: (If you made an effort to actually understand my skilled gestures instead of just assuming you know what I am trying to communicate, it might actually work out.)
BETSY: Enough with the mustard already. And thank you, I sewed it myself.
MASCOT: (I'm not talking about mustard.)
BETSY: Baseball? In the 18th century? No way Jose!
MASCOT: (Don't call me by my real name. I signed a contract.)
BETSY: I love the way the salt is everywhere on the pretzel. And you can just scrape it off onto the ground like it's nothing. Woosh, watch it fly!
MASCOT: (Someone will have to clean up after you. You're making a mess. It's insensitive.)
BETSY: Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes!
BETSY: The adrenaline, wow. This is something.
MASCOT: (You're supposed to sit down now Betsy. It's over. That's the way it works.)
BETSY: I know you have wings and not arms, you don't have to keep telling me. You're a duck, I get it!
MASCOT: (It's on days like this one that I remind myself: I am an artist. I do this job for the health insurance.)
BETSY: It's touching. It really is. To know that something you were a part of can balloon and or snowball into something like this.
MASCOT: (I know you'll misunderstand me. But I have no idea what you're talking about. Not even a clue.)
BETSY: Oh, I hear you loud and clear. This: America's pastime!. You wouldn't be here today dressed like a giant duck and I wouldn't be here collecting my free poncho and getting drunk had the forefathers - and myself! - not come before us.
MASCOT: (I wouldn't mind not being here dressed as a giant duck. Believe me.)
BETSY: I'm just saying. Old America (me!) made New America. Which made baseball.
MASCOT: (America also made college. You could benefit from it.)
BETSY: No I can't stay. This is just a visit. There's so much more Americana for me to explore.
MASCOT: (The sooner you leave, the sooner I get my nicotine.)
BETSY: I made a drunken promise I would explore it all and explore it all I shall: Superman. Jazz music. Cowboys. Quesadillas.
MASCOT: (Not Americana.)
BETSY: Hey, I'm Betsy Ross. I designed a flag and by default define Americana and what I say goes. And I say Quesadillas.
MASCOT: (Quack Quack.)
BETSY: (To the field:) You call that SAFE!?!? You're blind!
MASCOT: (The game hasn't started yet Betsy...)
BETSY: Yeah tell him whose boss, #3. (Swept away in her own enthusiasm) The Ducks win the pennant! The Ducks win the pennant.
MASCOT: (We're barely minor league.)
BETSY: You read my mind. I want a funnel cake!
(BETSY darts off spilling drinks and food on her way out. The MASCOT produces a cigarette and lighter from a duck pocket on his duck costume. He lights it and finds a way to awkwardly inhale through his over-sized bill. As the "National Anthem" begins to play, he smokes and scratches himself.)
FADE TO BLACKOUT
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