MacPhail: Mr. Angelos, I'm sorry, but you really can't do that. There are rules about tampering, and you of all people obviously understand that it would violate a number of legal clauses put in place to discourage this kind of thing. I believe you actually negotiated a few of ...

Angelos: That's enough, MacPhailing! I'll handle this myself. Pretty secretary lady! Get me Mark Teixeira on the phone, post haste.

Maggie Gyllenhaal: Right away, Mr. Angelos.

(Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring!)

Mark Teixeira: Yo, Tex in the house! Who's bumping me on the cell?

Angelos: Mark ... it's me, Peter Angelos. Look, let me get right to the point. What's it going to take to get you to sign with the Orioles? Discounted infield tickets to the Preakness? I can make that happen. Lunch with Speaker Pelosi? Within my reach, son. I can't promise everything, but do not underestimate my influence in this town. We're going to make you a hero, my boy. You'll be the new Cal! I'll even have one of those fancy cabs pick you up at the airport, and we can split the tip. Just throw a number at me in terms of salary. No agent fancy talk here, Mark, just mano-a-mano. What say you? 

Teixeira: Um ... Mr. Angelos, all due respect, but I've already signed with the Yankees. I'm actually in a Manhattan restaurant right now with A-Rod and his date, who ... oddly enough  appears to have bigger biceps than I do. But, seriously, why are you calling me? I signed an eight-year contract for $180 million, like, three months ago. I'm a Yankee. Don Mattingly was my boyhood idol. The implication that I should sign with Baltimore at a discount because of some bizarro civic pride that should translate into helping you prop up your poorly-managed business always struck me as crazy talk.

Angelos: Mark ... I like you, so here's what I'm going to do. I'm willing to offer $50 million over the next six seasons, free gloves for the Mount St. Joseph baseball team, and a nonspeaking part as an extra in the next David Simon project. But that's my final offer, son.   

Teixeira: (Silence)

Angelos: Be straight with me, Mark. Your wife won't let you sign here, will she?

Teixeira: The humidity really messes up her hair, Mr. Angelos. And to be honest, I can't convince her that you're not actually The Greek from Season 2 of The Wire.

Angelos: Nonsense, son. I am far better looking than that scoundrel. And he wasn't even Greek, if you recall. But I do agree that Frank Sobatka had to go. Business, Mark. Always business. 

Teixeira: Mostly though, sir, I just don't want to be part of a rebuilding project at this stage of my career. You guys have some decent pieces in place, but I think we actually had a better pitching staff than you do when I played at Mount St. Joe's. I'm sorry, Mr. Angelos.

Angelos: I understand, son. No hard feelings. Now, I'm wondering if you have Kevin Millar's phone number. I'm told he is a suitable fallback option because despite his declining statistical markers, the fans love his scrappy leadership and hilarious clubhouse antics.

Teixeira: I think I'm going to hang up now, Mr. Angelos. A-Rod is my ride home, and he's been missing for like 15 minutes. Cripes, I hope he's not kissing the bathroom mirror again.

(Click)