Boston Public
Chapter Thirty-Nine

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Previously on Boston Public: Nothing happened, apparently.

First let me apologize for the extreme lateness of this recap. Man, I haven't been this late since I had to write one remote from Bloomington, Indiana last February. You haven't SEEN Boston Public until you've seen it projected onto the side of a cow. Just kidding. It was acted out by the farmer's kids.

A batter steps into a batting cage, and starts ripping balls into the net. The Coach grunts encouragement about quick hands, and atta boy, and the like. Dick Teachie is watching, so that someone can talk about how good the kid is doing: "What is he hitting now? .400?" The Coach says it's .430 actually, and higher with runners in scoring position. It's all very impressive and hopeful, and involves scouts. "See the ball." Good advice. Steven comes in, but not with good news, surprisingly. Turns out that the coach from the school they beat yesterday has filed a protest, accusing the players on the Winslow team of doping. "Especially this one. He's 180 now. Last year he was 150." Coach says he's sure that Tom is a good kid, and not taking steroids. He is, in fact, "as sure as [he] can be without giving him a urine test." So…not very sure, then? Dude, that's like saying, "You're guilty. I'm as sure as I can be without examining the evidence." Steven tells Coach that he has to give Tom the test. Duh. Tom keeps ripping balls, and, with rare directorial flourish, the show cuts to the opening credits on a few flash-cuts of Tom hitting balls in rhythmic sequence. Nice.

The streets of Boston by night. Ronnie Cooke walks towards her car, from a distance, so she does not see what we see, which is that somebody has smashed her window, and is rummaging around in the front seat. He bolts when she comes close. "Come on, it's brand new!" Uh…yeah, that's why this person assumed you were rich, dumb-ass. Then she notes that the culprit is still lurking down behind her trunk. She rummages in her bag for mace, or whatever, but he sprints off down the street. However, he drops his wallet. Ronnie picks it up and looks at it curiously, as if thinking, "Perhaps this will provide some clue to his identity."

Urban beats. School buses. A phat combination.

Sanctum Stevenorium. Coach is pleading his case. For some reason, he doesn't even want to give Tom a urine test at all; I'm not sure he has a choice, but here we are, arguing about it, in Steven's office. Steven repeats that the boy has put on thirty pounds of muscle, and the Coach said he just works out a lot, and I think I remember this scene from The Program. That wasn't a very good movie, was it? Anyway, Scott is here too, and asks if Coach isn't just afraid of what he might find out. "Do you test your debate team, Scott?" That's a good question, one which is prominently in the media right now, and…oh, right, that's where they get their ideas for this show. Basically, the Coach is afraid of ruining this kid's rep just because of testing him at all, and Steven says that's now the only way to remove doubt, since the complaint has been filed. Coach agrees.

Downstairs, Ronnie waylays some kid named Bobby, and orders him to remove his hat and sunglasses. "You tried to steal my car last night." He denies it, but she holds up his wallet, so he tries the old, "Actually, somebody stole that offa me and I been lookin' for it." She's not biting, though, being savvy and all. Man, he sure can't fool Ronnie Cooke. Until later. Anyhow, she asks him if he's high, on the grounds that his eyes look like glass, and pulls up his sleeve. "Fresh tracks. I'm calling the police." He turns on the sad puppy-dog eyes and says, "No. Please. Look, if this is, you know, about your window, I promise I'll get it fixed." She's all, "That's funny. I don't remember mentioning a window." Oh, nicely done, Hercule Poirot. Wait, no, Ronnie Cooke said that. I must be hallucinating. He explains that he's got two strikes, and if she turns him in, he won't go back to rehab -- he'll go to jail. She's like, "Tough." He asks to speak to her in private. They walk six feet into the Dungeon, and leave the door open. Ah, privacy. He explains, "This is a life-or-death situation. I owe money on the street, I owe $2000 to this dealer. I go away, I can't pay him. If I don't pay him, he's gonna kill my little brother. That's what he said, he's gonna kill him."

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Boston Public

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