It takes awhile, but eventually everyone settles down so you can speak.
"Guys," you begin, "tonight was a tough loss. When I think of what to say in these situations, I remember the words of the Zen-philosopher Basho: A flute with no holes is not a flute, and--"
"You know what, Joe?" Evan Longoria interjects, "We're all sick of your Zen-Architect this and that! Just tell it like it is: If you would have pulled the Velociraptor Jesus over here in the 8th, we would have won!"
"You better watch your mouth, Mullet-Boy," David Price rebuts.
"There's no way we could know that, Longo," you counter.
Before you know it the locker room is abuzz with controversy. You try and quiet the rabbleous mass to no avail. When it looks like Kyle Farnsworth is about to go ballistic you grab a nearby baseball and hurl it at a water cooler, striking it with a loud, reverberating pang, silencing the team.
The baseball rolls to a defeated stop on the floor, a once great symbol for the majesty of childhood dreams, it now represents the empty soul of those dreams forgotten.
"Clear on out, guys. We'll deal with this tomorrow," you tell the team.
As the players file out the locker room, Longoria walks over to Price and says, "I'm sorry I called you out earlier. You are a valued member of this team, and a great friend. Perhaps we should have a beer later and speak of how to overcome the Yankees tomorrow."
"I'll see you at the bar... friend," says Price as he leaves the clubhouse a more contented man.
When it's just Longoria and you left in the clubhouse you realize that this talk actually went well, and the players must first overcome themselves if they want to overcome other challenges.
Longoria is packed up and walking to the door when you call out to thank him with a smile on your face. But when Longoria turns back to you, your smile turns into a horrific gasp as you watch your third baseman, the star of your franchise, slip on the ball you threw earlier to quiet your players. Longo flies up into the air and, as he falls, is impaled by a broken bat coincidentally left standing in the middle of the clubhouse. The bat protrudes obscenely from Longo's chest, and there is no doubt that he is dead.
Your mind is blank with the carnage of Longo laying like a slain vampire when you notice movement out of the corner of your eye. You turn to see Elliot Johnson peeking out from behind his locker. His big doe-eyes waiting for your next move. Do You: