"Sir! We're tracking something on Mr. Radar. It's moving fast. It's going right past us, and it's heading for Earth."
"What is it?"
"We don't know, sir. Radar is picking up the outlines of ... a baseball team."
"A baseball team?"
"Yes sir. It appears to be ready to crash in a desert."
"Then get down there and comb the desert. Do year hear me? COMB THE DESERT!"
"Find anything yet?"
"How 'bout you?"
"What about you guys?"
"Man, we ain't found shit!"
"I'm getting a strong feeling ... over there."
"There's something here ... in the sand! There appears to be an ugly uniform. It was camouflaged in, sir. And there's an insignia! Look - it's an SD!"
"San Diego. Oooh, I hate San Diego! Even with the good weather!"
"What shall we do, sir?"
"Ready the ship. We're leaving. This whole place has gone from suck to blow."
"Well, they did start out 9-3, sir."
"This team once won nine out of twelve games? That's ludicrous."