(Clearly, Brad Lidge is terrible at his job of closer. But is he completely unemployable? Let’s see how he’d fare at other occupations.)

Adult Movies

(RYAN MADSON is talking to an actress on a movie set in the San Fernando Valley.)

RYAN MADSON: So you spread your fingers like this, Destiny, and put pressure on the ball with your fingertips.

DESTINY: Don’t you mean “balls”?

MADSON: Excuse me?

DESTINY: Anyway, thanks for the tip, Ryan. I still think the knuckle curve sounds like it would be painful.

MADSON: Maybe a little bit, but in my experience, it’s important to change speeds. Say, did you see where my friend Brad Lidge went?

DESTINY: I think he’s on set with our featured actor, fluffing.

MADSON: “Fluffing”? What’s that?

DESTINY: It means he’s blowing the lead.

Real Estate

RICHARD ROMA: Look, the statute says that you can change your mind three working days from the time the deal is closed. Which, wait a second, which is not until the check is cashed. What’s the earliest the check could have been cashed?

JAMES LINGK: Today, I guess.

ROMA: So, you have three business days to … (Office manager CHARLIE MANUEL approaches ROMA, waves right hand.) You’re taking me out?

MANUEL: Brad Lidge is going to close the deal. (ROMA hands MANUEL his briefcase, walks out. BRAD LIDGE enters.)

LIDGE: You know we sold you worthless Florida swampland, right?

LINGK: Wha- what did you say? I gotta go! (LINGK runs out of the office; LIDGE fails to cover the exit.)

LIDGE: Well, time for a cup of coffee.  Coffee’s for closers, after all. (LIDGE grabs coffeepot, pours, misses his mug) I should tell you, Charlie, I robbed the office last night.

MANUEL: You mean, you took the good leads? The Glengarry leads?

LIDGE: That’s right. All the leads are all gone, because of me.

Blockbuster Video

BLOCKBUSTER ASSISTANT MANAGER: Hey Brad, did you re-shelve that DVD after you took it home last night?

BRAD LIDGE: Which DVD do you mean?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: You know, that David Fincher movie you always borrow.

BRAD LIDGE: Not ringing a bell.

ASSISTANT MANAGER: Oh, come on, Brad! It was Fincher’s followup to “Se7en”. Michael Douglas gets a mysterious gift from his wayward brother - an all-encompassing live-action entertainment that quickly consumes his life? You’ve taken it home and misplaced it twice already!

BRAD LIDGE: (sheepishly) Three times.

ASSISTANT MANAGER: You lost “The Game”? Again?!? You’re fired.

Bartender

(ALEX RODRIGUEZ is sitting on a barstool, talking to a muscular brunette. BRAD LIDGE approaches.)

BRAD LIDGE: Another appletini, sir?

A-ROD: Yes, thank you. And the lady will have a scotch and soda. (LIDGE goes to mix his drinks.)

MUSCULAR BRUNETTE: I love this bartender. He serves the drinks right down the middle, every time.

A-ROD: Well, he could mix things up a little better. The vodka is floating up to the top of the glass - it’s got no sink to it.

(LIDGE returns)

BRAD LIDGE: Here you go, sir. Shall I put it on your tab?

A-ROD: Why don’t we close out that tab? (A-ROD hands LIDGE his credit card, leans in and whispers) I think this girl wants to come home with me - but my girlfriend’s there. Can you help me out?

BRAD LIDGE: (slips A-ROD a key) Go ahead and use my apartment, Mr. Rodriguez. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling, and a Sade album in the CD player, ready to go.

CHAN HO PARK: (from across the bar) Hey, he’s got a girlfriend, Brad!

BRAD LIDGE: Stay out of it, cock blocker! How dare you try to keep the Yankees from scoring? (to A-ROD) By the way, can you give Hideki Matsui my ex-girlfriend’s number? She’s really into Japanese guys.

Lifeguarding

JUNIOR LIFEGUARD: Come quick, Mr. Lidge! Cole Hamels can’t breathe!

BRAD LIDGE: What happened?

JUNIOR LIFEGUARD: I’m not sure. He was eating hamburgers with Johnny Damon, and all of the sudden, his face started turning blue.

BRAD LIDGE: You mean … ?

JUNIOR LIFEGUARD: Yes. Cole Hamels is choking. Again.

BRAD LIDGE: Hang on, buddy! Here comes the ol’ Heimlich maneuver. (LIDGE wraps his hands around HAMELS’S throat and begins strangling him. HAMELS struggles briefly, then collapses.) No! Why, God, why? (In frustration, LIDGE throws his whistle through the air at 92 MPH, in a straight line. It bounces off Mark Teixeira’s elbow.)

JUNIOR LIFEGUARD: Mr. Lidge! Is he OK?

BRAD LIDGE: I’m afraid not. Just like the woman last week who hit her head on the diving board and died, or the kid who drowned in the baby pool yesterday, or those eleven times during the regular season, this is another blown save for Brad Lidge.

JUNIOR LIFEGUARD: Gosh, how do you still have a job?

BRAD LIDGE: There’s two years and $23 million left on my contract.