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> Mike Brito interviews Adrian Beltre

Mike Brito wears his trademark white hat and smokes a cigar at the back booth of Spanish Café. Adrian Beltre approaches with a sandwich and sits down to join him. Beltre is wearing a San Francisco Giants hat and a Houston Astros t-shirt. Brito pulls out the radar gun and jots down the reading.

Mike Brito: Two miles per hour. You call that walking?

Adrian Beltre: I haven't seen you for a long time, my friend. Where have you been?

MB: Since I no longer stand behind home plate with my radar gun, I have been forced to put my skills to use elsewhere.

AB: Doing what?

MB: I work for Highway Patrol. I sit on a motorcycle, smoke my cigar, and jot down the radar readings.

AB: Do you pull people over and write tickets?

MB: No, I just smoke the cigar and point the radar gun. It is the good life.

Brito points the gun toward Beltre's stomach.

MB: I am getting a reading. Something is coming out of your stomach at 1 mile per hour.

Beltre lifts up his shirt to find green stuff oozing from his stomach.

AB: Oh yeah, it does that every once in a while. It is a side-effect of having surgery in the Dominican Republic. Sometimes I ooze.

MB: Tell me Adrian, why have you had such a successful season this year?

AB: I'm not sure. I guess it's because this was the first time I realized I was playing for a job.

MB: What do you mean?

AB: Well, the past few seasons, the team would pick up another third baseman toward the end of the season to motivate me. In 2002 it was Tyler Houston. In 2003 it was Robin Ventura. When I feel like my job is threatened, I play a little better. But this year, I play for a new contract. If I have a big season, I cash in big on next contract.

MB: Will the Dodgers be able to afford you?

AB: They can afford me if they want to keep me. I know Mr. McCourt has money. He bought a $20 million house.

MB: Can you picture yourself in a uniform other than the Dodgers?

AB: Not really. But if it happens, I will go back to being mediocre, only to play good against the Dodgers. That's what ex-Dodgers do, you know?

MB: Have you been contacted by any other teams yet?

Beltre adjusts his shirt and then his hat before taking a sip of coffee from a New York Yankees mug.

AB: I really don't know. I let my agent Scott Boras handle those types of things.

MB: I hear that your agent is a greedy, blood-sucking asshole who is ruining baseball.

AB: Yeah, he's been very, very good to me.

MB: So, you had a great season. Forty-eight home runs to tie the record for homers by a third-baseman in a season. You'd never hit more than 23. Are you afraid that you might become the next Brady Anderson?

AB: Who is Brady Anderson?

MB: Very amusing, Adrian. What does it mean to you to tie Mike Schmidt's record for homeruns by a third baseman?

AB: Who is Mike Schmidt?

MB: Yes…well. Does it ever confuse you that you are Dominican yet you have a French name?

AB: Adrian is not a French name.

MB: Touche. Do you think you deserve to be MVP of the National League?

AB: I do not care about that. I care about getting a big contract next season…oh, and winning, I suppose.

Just then, a swiss army knife falls to the floor. Brito picks it up the knife and scrutinizes it.

MB: Did you drop this?

AB: Sorry.

Beltre checks his oozing appendix scar.

AB: (laughing) Oh, those doctors. I keep finding all sorts of crazy things in here.

Beltre uses the knife to cut his sandwich in half.

MB: So what exactly is wrong with the ankle?

AB: Oh that? I hurt it early in the year doing that stupid handshake with Lima. I got all confused and twisted my ankle. And if you don't do the handshake, he gets real sad. He gets that puppy dog look in his eyes. I just can't say no to him.

MB: Good luck with getting that big contract.

AB: And good luck with your radar gun.


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