There was construction on 4th Street in front of the Metreon when we arrived to see “Moneyball” at midnight, The sidewalk was closed, and there were many confusing detour signs. What would Billy Beane do, I asked myself, glancing down at my WWBBD bracelet. (What Would Billy Beane Do, though formerly it stood for World Wide Bell Biv Devoe, my old New Jack swing message board.) The answer was, walk right alongside the construction workers and their equipment, exploiting a pedestrian inefficiency. Right down the middle of the street? Probably the most moneyball way we could have walked in there.
We passed a soda machine on our way on. I pushed the buttons but nothing came out. “You have to put three dollars in. Welcome to San Francisco,” a custodian told me. I angrily threw a garbage can across the room.
I called up the Metreon box office repeatedly last night to lobby for a Student ticket rate. They didn’t call back, even when I offered to throw some arcade tokens into the deal. So when I arrived, I turned up the charm with the girl at the box office.
“Who’s the best-looking GM in baseball?” I asked the ticket girl.
“Um, Theo Epstein?”
“Never mind. Look, we want to see ‘Moneyball’ at midnight, and the Cinemark in Pleasant Hill is really interested. First one to tell me I get the student price gets our admissions.”
She asked me if I was really going to drive 26 miles each way and miss the first half hour of the movie to save two dollars. I angrily threw a napkin dispenser against the wall.
I told my assistant “Paul” (Paul requested an alias in this story) to run the numbers on his computer. “You mean my iPhone?” he asked. “This isn’t a conversation, Joey!” I yelled. “I mean, Paul!”
Then I paid $11.50 for my ticket, after wheedling two quarters out of Paul. Moneyball exact change move.
Paul wanted chicken fingers, but they were way out of our price range. I told him that the market for chicken fingers was out of control. We can’t replace chicken fingers, because there’s nothing as delicious as chicken fingers, and if there were, we couldn’t afford it. Instead, I ordered two large popcorns, one set of curly fries and convinced the soda guy to let me have a burned soft pretzel he was about to throw in the trash. I took approximately 72 mustard packets, because it’s the most undervalued condiment in America.
I insisted that we finish both giant bags of popcorn before the previews were over so we could get the refill. Other moviegoers could pace themselves. We’re not like other moviegoers.
“Isn’t that way too much food?” asked Paul. “We’re not selling jeans here,” I told him. Then I angrily threw a half-eaten bag of popcorn across the lobby.
We spent some time looking at the movie displays in the lobby before going into our theater. The scouts say that Taylor Lautner has a good face, he’s a four-tool actor, but Paul shook his head. “They should have cast Christopher Mintz-Plasse in that role.”
“Why?”
“Because he gets on - “
“Base?” I guessed.
“No.”
“Moneyballs?” I guessed again.
“No. Podcasts.” Paul said.
When we got inside, I insisted that we all lean forward at the edge of our seats, to appear more invested in the movie, just like Billy Beane made Art Howe do. Paul insisted that he would sit how he wanted, he was only on a one-movie deal, so I traded his seat for a box of Jujubes. “Now you’re standing. Cuz you got MONEYBALLED!” I yelled. Paul decided he was going to go watch “Killer Elite” instead.
As for the movie, you know I don’t watch those. I left after the previews to drive around in circles in my pickup truck, and had Paul text me updates on the plot. While I can’t directly endorse the movie, I have full confidence that “Moneyball” will come very close to winning an Oscar before losing at the last minute.
