FASTBALL ON THE
OUTSIDE CORNER
The Josh Gibson Story
A PROPOSED FEATURE FILM
from the completed screenplay by Gregg Delso
This site presents selected scenes from the completed screenplay for FASTBALL ON THE OUTSIDE CORNER: The Josh Gibson Story, illustrated with historical photographs and selected artistic visualizations.
As you read, you’ll be invited at several points to indicate whether you would buy a ticket to see the film if it were made. Your response helps demonstrate audience interest in bringing the film to the screen.
EXT. NORTH SIDE/PITTSBURGH - NEIGHBORHOOD STREETS - DAY
Heavy steel-mill SMOG filters the sun and blue sky over the hilly neighborhood of the Smoky City.
SUPER: "PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA 1925"
The sound of METAL WHEELS ROLLING rises.
Josh, now thirteen, beams as the dank, sooty air rushes past.
On roller skates, he streaks down the sidewalk of a steep hill, then hops the curb into soot-darkened, brick-paved streets.
The smooth glide turns bumpy. He throws his head back, letting out a staccato yell as his skates rattle over the bricks.
JOSH
Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Laughing, he carves a sharp turn at the next crossroad, picking up speed as he slaloms downhill.
Spotting an alley ahead, he lines up another hard turn.
He cuts into the alley—and slams straight toward the back of a horse-drawn milk wagon.
Josh swerves. His skates clip the curb, pitching him head-over-heels through the air.
He crashes onto the sidewalk, the back of his head smacking hard against the pavement.
Looking up, the sky snaps to BLACK as he loses consciousness.
He comes to, wiping something wet from his face. Above him, the milk wagon's HORSE snorts, drool falling.
The DRIVER's face appears beside the horse's head. Both images sharpen into focus.
MILK WAGON DRIVER
You okay, son!?
Josh pushes to his knees, wincing as he rubs the back of his bruised head.
JOSH
Yes, sir. I think so.
MILK WAGON DRIVER
You could'a killed yer damn fool self, son! You one lucky fool child, you know that?
The horse SNORTS, as if agreeing.
INT. GIMBELS DEPARTMENT STORE - ELEVATOR - DAY
Looking sharp in an elevator operator's uniform, the broad-shouldered Josh stands at ease.
He watches the illuminated floor numbers descend on the brass panel as the elevator settles into the lobby and the silver doors slide open.
Josh smiles warmly at a Caucasian GENTLEMAN in a business suit.
JOSH
Morning, Mr. Blum!
The young president of Gimbels, JACQUES BLUM, mid-30s, steps into the elevator, smiling.
BLUM
Good morning, Josh. How we doing?
JOSH
Just fine, Mr. Blum. Just fine. Up to your office, sir?
BLUM
No, Men's Department, please. I need to check on some inventory.
The doors close. Josh presses the sixth-floor button and the elevator begins its ascent.
BLUM
Goods are more important than figures, Josh. Do you know why?
JOSH
Well, I expect goods make the figures, Mr. Blum.
They share a hardy LAUGH.
BLUM
Exactly! Without the goods, there'd be no figures. I see a bright future in retail for you, Josh.
JOSH
Oh I don't know, Mr. Blum. Enough for me now to worry about my electrical studies right now.
BLUM
Yes, you're wise to think so. It's a good field to be in. A lot of new technology coming down the road.
JOSH
Yes sir, I 'spect I could do just fine with it.
BLUM
How's the ball playing coming? I hear you're quite the hitter, doing our Gimbels team proud.
JOSH
Oh it's goin' just fine, Mr. Blum. Don't believe we've lost but a few games since I joined the team.
BLUM
Is that so?
JOSH
Yes, sir. And the Crawfords are interested in me. Asked me to play with 'em.
BLUM
The Crawfords? They're a professional team, aren't they?
JOSH
Well, not just yet. They pass the hat around. But I hear if Mr. Greenlee has his way, they might be right soon enough.
BLUM
(concerned)
Greenlee. That wouldn't be Gus Greenlee, would it?
JOSH
Yes, sir. I do believe that's him.
BLUM
Do you know anything about Greenlee, Josh?
JOSH
Not much. 'cept he's a business man. Owns the Crawford Grill over on Wylie Avenue. Likes baseball. Helps out with uniforms 'n stuff.
The elevator reaches the sixth floor. The doors open. Blum steps out, then turns back, pointing at Josh.
BLUM
You watch your step with Greenlee, Josh. He's not to be trusted.
The doors close, leaving Josh alone. He absorbs the warning as the floor numbers descend again.
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EXT. HILL DISTRICT/PITTSBURGH - AMMON BASEBALL FIELD - DAY
A SEA OF HANDS passes a hat filled with loose change.
The hat moves quickly through packed bleachers, surrounded by hundreds of standing FANS.
With CRAWS stitched across his chest, Hooks Tinker stands bow-legged in center field, eyes fixed on his PITCHER.
Around him, the youthful faces of the other Crawford players—late teens to early twenties—wait at their positions, poised for the next pitch.
In the bleachers, Cum Posey, in his usual suit and tie, watches intently. A few rows back, Helen Mason smiles.
Hooks sets himself as his pitcher peers in for the sign from sixteen-year-old catcher Josh Gibson.
Josh flashes one finger, eyes on the RUNNER at first, taking a casual lead.
HOOKS
(to himself, eyeing base-runner)
You best watch yourself, son...
The pitch comes. The batter lets it pass.
UMPIRE
Steeee-rike one!
Josh catches the ball and snaps a throw to first, catching the runner off the bag.
The first baseman slaps the tag—
1ST BASE UMPIRE
Yer out!
—then jogs over to shake the pitcher's hand as the game ends.
Hooks sprints in from center to join the celebration.
HOOKS
Oh yeah! Ball game!
(finding Josh)
Heck-of-a-throw, Josh!
JOSH
Thanks, Hooks! Great game!
Hooks looks past Josh, spotting Cum Posey standing near the Crawfords' bench.
HOOKS
Thanks.
(eyeing Posey)
Talk to you later.
Josh scans the thinning bleachers. Helen waves. He grins and heads toward her.
JOSH
Enjoy the game?
HELEN
Oh my, yes. That was quite a throw there to catch that base-runner.
Josh shrugs, bashful.
JOSH
Just what I do I guess. Don't rightly think too much about it.
Smiling, a little embarrassed by his attention, Helen takes his hand. They linger, gazing at each other.
HELEN
What else you do without thinking too much about?
Josh clasps her smaller hands, beaming.
JOSH
Whatchoo wanna do tonight? Let's do somethin' fun. Anything you want!
Nearby, Posey speaks with quiet authority to a wide-eyed Hooks.
HOOKS
So what you think, Mr. Posey? My boys would sure be honored with a game against your Grays!
POSEY
Well, I can't say we should rule that out, Hooks, but your boys, good as they are, they're still raw. They need a little seasoning.
Posey's gaze drifts to the bleachers, where Josh still sits, absorbed in Helen.
POSEY
Say, Hooks, who's that new boy you got behind the plate?
EXT. ST. LOUIS/MISSOURI - STARS PARK - DAY
A modest CROWD watches as the ST. LOUIS STARS, led by the good-natured centerfielder extraordinaire, JAMES "COOL PAPA" BELL, take the field.
The lanky 27-year-old speedster yaps with his LEFT FIELDER as they warm-up tossing a ball back and forth.
BELL
(throws ball)
We need to send these highfalutin Easterners off with another loss.
(waits, catches ball)
Yes sir, we take two of three here and Cum Posey'll think twice about callin' his Grays champions.
They finish their warm-up tosses as Bell turns to face home plate.
BELL
Okay, here we go! Here we go! Let's play us some baseball!
EXT. STARS PARK - MOMENTS LATER
The scoreboard posts a zero for the Grays in the top of the first as Bell steps to the plate against pitcher LEFTY WILLIAMS.
Rubbing dirt between his palms, Bell peers back and notices Gibson now catching behind the plate.
BELL
Ol' Buck Ewing gettin' himself some rest? Three games in a row too much for him? Hope I didn't wear his arm out stealin' too many bases.
JOSH
You might'a. Can't say I ever seen a man nor beast run faster.
Bell smiles, impressed, and settles into the batter's box.
BELL
Well, nice to see a youngster with good manners.
Williams winds up and fires a pitch to Bell, who lays down a perfect bunt along the third-base line.
Josh explodes from behind the plate, barehands the ball, lasers it to first.
Bell hits the bag at full speed—OUT by half a step.
1ST BASE UMPIRE
Yer out!
Bell turns, stunned, watching Josh calmly admire his throw.
BELL
(eyeing Josh)
Daaamn.
EXT. STARS PARK - MOMENTS LATER
Cool Papa Bell takes his place in centerfield as the Grays come to bat in the top of the second, no score.
BELL
Okay, here we go! Here we go-go-go!
Bell watches as Josh steps up to bat, taking the first pitch for a ball.
BELL
Okay youngster, let's see what you got with the stick.
Josh smashes the very next pitch high and deep to left field.
The left fielder doesn't even move, all he can do is watch the mammoth shot sail over a pair of trolley car garages beyond the shortened left-field wall.
Clearing the second trolley shed by some two hundred feet, the ball finally lands four-hundred-fifty feet from home plate.
Bell—and the rest of the stunned St. Louis fielders—watch open-mouthed as Josh trots easily around the bases.
BELL
Daaamn!
Amazed, Bell removes his cap, staring toward the distant landing spot, then calls over to his left fielder.
BELL
How old he?
LEFT FIELDER
Say he's eighteen.
BELL
Daaamn.
Now that you’ve read more of the completed screenplay, would you buy a ticket to see FASTBALL ON THE OUTSIDE CORNER: The Josh Gibson Story if it were made into a feature film?
If your answer is yes, click below to show your support.
EXT. HILL DISTRICT/PITTSBURGH - CRAWFORD GRILL - DAY
A REPORTER snaps a photo of a new Mack touring bus parked in front of the grill, the words PITTSBURGH CRAWFORDS BASEBALL CLUB – FROM GREENLEE FIELD, painted proudly on its side.
An ATTENDANT loads luggage as PLAYERS say their goodbyes to FAMILY MEMBERS and board the twenty-two-seat vehicle.
Impressed, Josh approaches, handing his luggage to an attendant as he steps up to board the bus.
INT. CRAWFORDS' TEAM BUS - CONTINUOUS
Josh steps aboard and is greeted by a smiling Gus Greenlee.
GREENLEE
Josh! Good to see you!
Josh nods to the seated PLAYERS as he moves down the aisle clocking familiar faces—former Grays Oscar Charleston, Satchel Paige, Ted Radcliffe, Roy Williams, and Jake Stephens—before dropping into the seat next to Judy Johnson.
JOSH
Damn, Jing. This the Craws or the Grays?
A grinning Satchel Paige leans in from the seat behind them.
PAIGE
Does it matter? We playin' ball and gettin' paid to do it! They can call us the Marx Brothers for all I care.
JOHNSON
Amen to that!
Up front, Greenlee raises a hand for attention as a newspaper REPORTER steps beside him. Gus slings an arm around the man.
GREENLEE
Hey, listen up, fellas! Listen up!
(gaining their attention)
I think we're all here now. I want you to welcome aboard JOHN L. CLARK—ace Courier reporter.
Greenlee pats Clark on the shoulder.
GREENLEE
Mr. Clark'll be travelin' with us down south, providin' in-depth coverage back home to Pittsburgh of all the Craws' spring training action.
PAIGE
I hope he don't cover all the action! Some of these boys'll be in trouble with their wives if he do!
The bus erupts in LAUGHTER as Clark smiles, raises his hand and winks.
INT. PRINCESS HALL GRAND BALLROOM - NIGHT
It's a black-tie affair. Anybody-who-is-anybody schmoozes with anybody-who-is-anybody as Armstrong's classic ballad “All of Me” floats up through the room.
A banner reads: WELCOME HOME CRAWFORDS!
Nearly a thousand jovial SUPPORTERS pack the gala.
Drinks flow. A trumpet sings.
Onstage, a 30-year-old, charismatic LOUIE ARMSTRONG blows his horn, backed by a crack band.
ARMSTRONG
(now singing)
All of me, why not take all of me? Oh, can't you see, I'm no good without you. Oooh-beh-bah-do...
Senator Coyne flirts with a BLONDE. A jovial Gus Greenlee yacks it up with Satchel Paige.
Oscar Charleston and Judy Johnson—dressed sharp—converse at a table with three beautiful WOMEN.
A 20-year-old JOSH GIBSON enters, dressed to the nines. He smiles at the sound of Armstrong's voice, eyes drifting toward the stage as he moves deeper into the room.
ARMSTRONG
(singing)
Take these lips, I want to lose them. Ooh-baaaybee. Take my arms, I'll never use them. Your goodbye, left me with eyes that cry...
Josh passes the DANCE FLOOR as COUPLES glide past him.
Faces turn. Smiles meet his gaze, but he moves on.
Josh nods politely to teammates, exchanging smiles and handshakes, absorbing the spectacle.
At the BAR, he pauses, visibly taken in by the scene by Armstrong.
ARMSTRONG
(singing)
How can I go on, dear, without you?
You took the part that once was my heart. So why not take all of me?
The BARTENDER lifts a glass, pointing to Josh.
Accepting the drink with a grateful smile, Josh nods easily like he’s done this a thousand times before.
He lets the music pull him in as the song ends to APPLAUSE and Greenlee climbs onto the stage, clapping.
GREENLEE
How about that, ladies and gentlemen?! How about that!
The incomparable Louie Armstrong!
Armstrong bows and exits as Greenlee steps forward.
GREENLEE
I don't want to interrupt this wonderful evening with any long-winded speech—
PATRON
Impossible, Big Red! Impossible!
LAUGHTER.
GREENLEE
Well tonight, then, we'll attempt the impossible. Just like the opening of Greenlee Field tomorrow!
More APPLAUSE.
GREENLEE
After seventeen thousand miles on the road this spring, ninety games against all-comers, I can say this team is ready to show black baseball what they've got.
He gestures broadly.
GREENLEE
Stand up, fellas! Let everyone see you!
Crawford PLAYERS rise throughout the room to APPLAUSE.
Josh stands too—surprised, humbled—nodding, smiling, suddenly feeling like royalty.
As the attention fades, Josh retrieves his drink and moves from the bar, met with more handshakes and proud pats on the back.
GREENLEE
With Greenlee Field opening tomorrow—the only independently-owned Black ballpark in the country—we're bringing baseball to a whole new level in Pittsburgh!
APPLAUSE.
Josh spots Judy Johnson and heads his way.
GREENLEE
In keeping with the impossible, I'll stop talking. Thank you all—and see you tomorrow!
Greenlee exits to cheers.
The band strikes up again—this time Armstrong’s melancholy tune, “Solitude".
ARMSTRONG
(singing)
In my solitude, you haunt me,
with reveries of days gone by...
LOUIS ARMSTRONG AND HIS ORCHESTRA
Josh stops as the song hits him. He watches the dancers again, his eyes welling.
ARMSTRONG
(singing)
In my solitude, I'm praying,
Dear Lord above, send back my love...
The trumpet lifts near the end, carrying Josh back with it.
As the song ends, a brighter tune jumps in, and Josh reaches Judy Johnson at the bar.
JOSH
Some clam bake, huh?
JOHNSON
Yeah. Big Red sure knows how to throw one helluva party.
(nods at Josh's drink)
Better not let Oscar or Smokey Joe see you with that hootch.
Josh shrugs, proud. Takes a sip.
JOSH
Ain't nuthin' I can't handle.
Johnson smiles at the younger man.
JOHNSON
(musing)
It's good to be young.
(toasts)
Even better to be happy.
EXT. HILL DISTRICT - GREENLEE FIELD - THE NEXT DAY
From the dugout, Crawford PLAYERS watch with amused approval as Gus Greenlee—resplendent in a white silk suit and tie—rides into the stadium standing in the back of a gleaming red Packard convertible.
CRAWS PLAYER
(eyeing the car)
Ooo-wee! Now that's a breezer!
Five thousand FANS CHEER and CLAP inside the intimate ballpark. Greenlee beams and waves, soaking it in.
In the dugout, Satchel Paige and Oscar Charleston watch—less dazzled.
CHARLESTON
(eyeing Greenlee's suit)
Now there's a get-up.
PAIGE
Big Red oughta run for mayor.
The Packard circles the field perimeter, finally stopping behind home plate, where three white COUNTY COMMISSIONERS—led by Senator James Coyne—wait expectantly.
CHARLESTON
Politics do make strange bedfellows, don't they?
Greenlee steps down, polished black-and-white bucks hitting the dirt as REPORTERS crowd in, SNAPSHOTS popping amid handshakes and backslaps.
PAIGE
Yeah. Green's one color they all see the same.
Cameras pivot toward the mound.
Waiting there is BLANCHE CALLOWAY, 30—radiant, jazz royalty—poised to throw out the ceremonial first pitch.
Behind the plate, Josh waits calmly, mask off, mitt ready.
At Greenlee's signal, Blanche tosses the ball—a soft bounce rolling up the grass.
Josh scoops it cleanly, jogs out to the mound, and places the ball gently back in her hand.
They smile for the FLASH BULBS as the crowd applauds.
EXT. HILL DISTRICT - GREENLEE FIELD - LATER
A PACKED HOUSE rises as Josh Gibson steps to the plate, bases loaded. His sleeves are rolled to the shoulders, thick arms exposed as he locks in on the opposing PITCHER.
Behind the Crawfords' dugout, Gus Greenlee and Woogie Harris sit back, cigars lit, savoring both the moment—and the stadium they built.
The pitch comes.
Josh unloads—a ferocious swing sends the ball screaming over the centerfield wall.
The crowd ERUPTS.
Greenlee grins wide. Harris exhales smoke, pleased.
EXT. OAKLAND NEIGHBORHOOD/PITTSBURGH - FORBES FIELD - SAME
Cum Posey sits alone in the vast stands, watching an anonymous GRAYS lineup take the field.
Sparse fans dot the forty-thousand-seat stadium.
A BATTER connects—a home run.
A few half-hearted BOOS drift through the emptiness.
Posey scans the hollow rows of seats, jaw tight. He exhales, disgusted.
EXT. HILL DISTRICT - GREENLEE FIELD - CONTINUOUS
The scoreboard now shows the Crawfords up by four.
On the mound, Satchel Paige loosens his arm, easy and loose.
Greenlee and Harris take in the roaring crowd—the contrast undeniable.
Behind the plate, Josh pulls on his mask, then walks out to the mound to meet Paige as the noise swells around them.
Now that you’ve read the selected scenes from the completed screenplay, would you buy a ticket to see FASTBALL ON THE OUTSIDE CORNER: The Josh Gibson Story if it were made into a feature film?
If your answer is yes, click below to show your support.
INDUSTRY / PRODUCTION INQUIRIES
FASTBALL ON THE OUTSIDE CORNER: The Josh Gibson Story is a completed feature screenplay.
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