L.A. has a lot to offer Toronto in trade

With baseball’s trade deadline rapidly approaching, here’s what we’re prepared to offer:

Quentin Tarantino, Angelina Jolie and eight unaired episodes of that sitcom “Joey,” which had its moments, just not enough of them (wait till you see the one where Joey learns to read).

Tarantino, meanwhile, would be a perfect fit in many clubhouses -- a darker, more-violent Carlos Zambrano. As for Jolie, you probably wouldn’t expect her to be trade bait. To be honest, we’ve had our fill of her, that exquisite face and all that humanitarian work. Yacks left, bats right. If she wants the Nobel Prize, why doesn’t she just say so? In the meantime, she makes women here feel inferior and our men seem not quite up to the task, so please take her off our hands.

All we ask in return is a steely starting pitcher with the nerves of a vampire.

Not enough? You’re killing us here. We’re not made of movie stars, you know.

OK, how about we throw in that Beckham fella too, whose act is getting a little stale. He’s not even the best player on the Galaxy, so how much do we really care? The guy may be considered great looking in other parts of the world, but out here he’s just another wanna-be wiping down tables. Take him, he’s yours (we’ll keep that Posh, though; she completes us).

You want more? More than Jolie and Beckham? Go ahead, make us an offer.

See, here in the City of Sequins, we think this really is the Dodgers’ year. They are as close to perfect as any team in baseball, yet we’d like to have a little more pitching. Pitching is like hair -- you can never have too much.

What we’re missing right now is an animal, someone you can hand the ball to in the playoffs, someone with foam around the fangs. So tell us what you want, Toronto: Money? Yoga lessons? How about your own show, “CSI: Saskatchewan”?

We know people who know people, and it’s not impossible that we can get you two points on the back end of the next J.K. Rowling flick: “Harry Potter Beats the Red Sox in Five.”

Look, we’re tired of being outspent by a team from New York’s skankiest borough. We’re tired of spending Halloween at home.

To sweeten any deal, we’re willing to pony up Santa Anita Race Track, the old Pickford estate, and the young hurler out of Hollywood, Lindsay Lohan. Sensational kid, good energy. Just keep her away from the Gatorade.

Now, we’ll confess that in offering these trades, we’re not exactly sure of all the rules. Baseball is notorious for having one trade deadline, and before you know it, along comes another trade deadline. When is a deadline not a deadline? When it’s a Major League Baseball deadline.

There’s the non-waiver deadline, then there’s the waiver deadline. After that, there’s some other way to acquire players -- I think involving witchcraft. Former Dodgers GM Dan Evans, who has sculpted many deals in his time, tried to explain it all at the ballpark the other evening.

“OK, after July 31, they have to clear waivers, then what?” I remember asking, then swallowing my tongue.

All I know is the Dodgers need some pitching and we mean business. We’ve got Emmys. We’ve got Oscars. If it’s leadership you’re looking for, we’ll offer up our governor, whose steroid issues are mostly behind him.

As a gesture of good faith, we’d like to throw in 12 copies of our new treatise, “How to Argue With Umpires in Three Languages at Once (It Really Messes With Their Heads).”

We realize it’s a long title, but it’s a very short book. Like the Bible itself, it is full of one-syllable words of enormous consequence. It was inspired by my buddy Paul who, during the World Cup of Softball, became enamored of watching the Italian coach argue with the Australian umpire, both in (sort of) English. Which reminded us very much of our own Larry Bowa.

Anyway, that’s our offer, please mull it over. No rush, though note that you’re not the only organization we’re talking with. We might also work out a trade with AC Milan for a goalkeeper and 17 yards of top-grade Italian silk.

That poor Jamie McCourt has to wear something.

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chris.erskine@latimes.com