There is something familiar about this. A sinister protagonist, rolling a cigar around in his mouth, holds a baseball bat and takes a couple short strokes, not ferociously but ominously, calculatedly, nodding his head as if engaged in secret thought. “Let’s see if all that trash talking starts when it’s zero-zero,” he says. Another short swing. It’s all totally gangster. “That’s the sign of a good man … (The words come out cigar-muffled) If you can talk s--- when it’s even score, or talk s--- when you’re behind …” More short swings that seem like brandishings. Deliberate head nods.