The beginning of a play?

So I posted a scene and a monologue I wrote for my theatre class and I kinda like where it is going. A part of my new years resolution is to write as much as I can, whether is daily journaling or even writing an entire play. So I decided to continue the build on the character I introduced a few posts ago. So here it goes... (F.Y.I the writing below is all from the top of my head...just pure spontaneous writing...)
to follow this scene, refer to the posts: Creative Works in Progress and Creative Works in Progress Continued. Suggestions are welcome!

The Dugout Act 1 Scene 1

Coach: You're going to stay in this dugout forever unless you don't protect your head. I'm not sending you out there unless your keep a better eye on the ball and you put your darn helmet on! You're lucky you just got a little bump on your head last inning, you could of came back to the dugout as a looney. So from now on you watch that head of yours, ya hear?!

Boy: Yes coach. How soon until I can play?

Coach: Not till the next game.

Boy:Aww, man, please!!

Coach: No I think we will just keep ya here...

Boy: For how much longer?

Crowd cheers as Boy's teammate hits a homerun and wins the game.
coach runs out of dugout to congratulate the kids. Boy sits in dugout, puzzled. Boy collects his gear and heads out of dugout to meet his parents. Parents notice the boy's disappointment.

Mother: Sorry, honey, about not getting to play. (hugs him, pause) Are you crazy or something?! Where was your helmet?! Do you know how much that stupid piece of plastic cost me?! (pause) There will be other baseball games, how about you phone up some of the other boys, maybe you all can play this weekend...just for fun.

Father: Yeah phone up the others, because you won't be playing for while...

Boy: What?! What do you mean?!

Father: You didn't tell him?

Mother: No, I thought you told him.

Father: Well, I obviously didn't. (notices the concern on his son's face) Great. He's going to cry.

Boy: Daddy, what are you talking about?

Mother: We're moving in a week son.

Boy: What?! No!! Thats when the last game of the season is!

Father: Too bad, we're leaving whether you like it or not.

Boy: You guys lied to me. There won't be another game! I hate you!

Father: Woah, watch your words buddy. We're just trying to help you. I mean you don't have the best hand-eye coordination out there, we are just trying to protect you. You've been hit so many times in the head and we wouldn't want you to become a looney.

Boy: I'm not a looney! (screams) Now I'm never going to be a professional baseball player, like Babe Ruth! I hate you both! (storms offstage)

Father: Whatever, we hate you too, you idiot!

Mother: Hey don't talk to him like that!

Father: What? He's not the brightest star in the galaxy and he should know. You wouldn't want the boy to live his life thinkin' he's the next best professional athlete when he's really just the next village idiot.

Mother: But do you really have to say in to his face?

Father: Yes, or else I'd be lying to the poor fellow.

Mother: Ugh, this family...is just so...

Father: Fucked up?

Mother: Excuse you!

Father: Well Its the truth.

Mother: You're fucked up!

Father: Right back at cha sweetheart! (opens a bottle of beer)

Mother: I can't stand you! I can't stand the boy! I can't stand this house, this town! ahHHH!

Father: Well, thats life for you...

Mother: Life is a piece of shit. (smokes a cigarette outside)

Father: Sometimes I wish I could be knocked on the head like that dumb boy.

Mother: (after finishing one cigarette, realizes there aren't anymore) Dammit!! Where are the cigs?! Have you been taking my cigs!?

Father: No, you dumb whore.

Mother: Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit.

(father storms off)

Boy: Mom, whats for dinner? I'm hungry.

Mother: I don't know! I don't care! Go make yourself your own damn dinner you piece of shit!

Boy (tears up and scurries off to side)

Mother: I hate this house! I hate him! I hate them! Fuck dinners! throws plates at the walls, fuck laundry! Fuck!!!!

Blackout on Mother. Spotlight on boy.

Boy: I hate my life. Maybe the dugout isn't such a bad place afterall. I mean its cozy and its the closest thing I'll ever get to the field.

Blackout.