Bad News Bears Page #3

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Oh, this is my friend Paradise.

Hi, nice to meet you.

Hey, Buttermaker, you gotta get

your uniform orders in.

- Uniforms?

- Yeah.

All the good colors are taken:

Black and white, red and white,

blue and white, white and blue,

white and black,

white and red. They're all gone.

What uniforms?

"Mchte ich nicht" sweet and sour,

okay? No sweet and sour.

Just Cointreau, Patr?n,

lime juice and superfine salt.

- Yes, ma'am.

- Listen, Whitewood, what's the deal

- with the uniforms?

- What about them?

I didn't... What's-her-name said

that I gotta have uniforms.

Hey, buddy, give me a beer

and a C&C.

Buttermaker, you don't actually buy

them. You just need a sponsor.

You're the coach, it's your job.

Okay, so not only do I have to

coach the bronze medalists

for the Special Olympics, but I gotta be

an Amway salesman too, is that it?

Buttermaker, don't turn this

into high drama.

Do what other coaches do:

Restaurants, sporting goods stores,

you know.

You know, I got a job.

I got houses to spray.

It's ant season, you know?

What is it about being a man

that makes everything so hard?

I own my own law firm.

I'm a single mother, and I still

have time for extension courses,

Pilates, the flower-seed business,

pottery...

You know what, I'm busy too, okay?

I got important sh*t to do.

I got sh*t stacked up

all over the place.

Important man sh*t, okay?

Come on, Buttermaker, let's go.

Mr. Buttermaker?

- Yeah.

- Where are we going?

I already told you,

to the batting cages.

You guys swing like Helen Keller

at a piata party.

I'm gonna do something about it.

- Tell us about the majors, coach.

- You were in the majors?

Yeah, for a little while.

Hey, Lupus, don't lean against

that door, bud, all right?

Yes, I was recently perusing

baseballstats. org

and it said Mr. Buttermaker played

pitcher for the Seattle Mariners

for two-thirds of an inning in 1984.

Two-thirds, that's it?

Well, it was the end of the season,

you know, September call-ups.

Yes, his lifetime ERA was 36.

That's lame.

Yeah, well I closed

the inning out, okay.

There's only a few thousand guys ever

set foot on a major-league mound,

and I'm one of them. What have

you done with your life, smart-ass?

Why didn't you stay?

Well, I was gonna come back,

but I had a little incident.

I punched an ump.

Really just a b*tch-slap.

How the hell was I supposed to know

he was a bleeder?

Fourteen stitches.

Like that means something.

They used to stitch everything up,

goddamn it. It was like the Dark Ages.

I got stitches on my foot.

Oh, yeah?

Well, I'm in a damn wheelchair.

Anyway, after that,

I blew off a few offers,

you know, Japan, sh*t like that.

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