All language subtitles for The Great White Hype 1996

So they manifest jealousy and envy

We are halfway through the sixth round
of this heavyweight title fight,

- and unofficially I got the champ ahead.
- Why wouldn't you?

He's giving a one-way beating.
He is administrating a licking to this kid.

It's called the "sweet science", this
sport of boxing. It is a carnival of carnage.

This is the vineyard of the fistic arts

and the grapes of pugilism are being
stomped into a Châteauneuf-du-Pulp.

- Get outta the way.
- Uh... An arena ve-ver-very...

Why don't you move your fucking crew
out the way? You're fucking up my view.

And the groundlings very much aroused,
as they should be.

But this is not a boxing arena.
It's the Globe Theatre. It's the Old Vic.

These people aren't watching
a heavyweight title fight, but King Lear.

Hey, hey! Motherfucker, is you deaf?

Shit, man, I didn't pay no $1500
for both these seats...

- to see no fucking King Lear! What's wrong?
- My brother, I'm a man of peace.

- My bro...? Oh, hell, no!

I can't let no white motherfucker call me
brother. Besides, my brother is dead.

All right. Cut. New deal.

Moving on quickly. Here we go.
Proceed. Proceed quickly.

There's three of you and one of me,
and you're running like roaches.

Punch or get out.

Hit him. Hit him. Hit him.

- Go to your corner.

Three, four,

five, six,

seven, eight,

nine, ten.

He's out.

The Lord God Jehovah is a mighty God.
Am I right?

A mighty God.

Champ. Champ.

You're a beautiful human being.

Come on over, baby.
Ferdie wants to talk to you.

Was that as easy a fight as it looked?

Of course it was.
I'm the greatest fighter in the world.

- Even in China. Nobody can beat me.
- Are you mad at something?

I'm a little upset with myself, because I had
an image of him falling on a right hand,

but I hit him so hard with the left
that his jaw shattered.

When I came with the right
he was on the ground.

Glory be to God. All praises to Allah.
God bless America.

This is a great champion and a great man.

If I could have the fighter back a minute?

It makes a difference to you how he falls?
With a left or a right?

Definitely. I'm an artist out there and...

It's like I painted a picture of the Mona Lisa
and forgot to put the breast on.

The champ is an artist,
and he's the greatest showman on the planet.

And the greatest fighter. No man can beat
this man at this point in his life,

and I want you to know,
Marvin Shabazz, wherever you are,

watch the things you say, cos we hear.
There's a space on his wall for your head,

along with the other heads
he already has on his wall.

- Let me borrow...
- We're calling the taxidermist now.

Let me get the fighter back.
Did this guy hurt you?

Not at all. He hit me one time,
to wake me up, because I was bored.

- Bored?
- That's right.

It was like fighting my little sister.

OK, ladies and gentlemen of the press,
I am now proud to present to you

the undisputed and still undefeated
heavyweight champion of the world,

James "The Grim Reaper" Roper.

- This is a press conference. Sit down.
- Shut up, mofo.

Sit down. It's a press conference.

- I wanna say, "All praise to Allah. "
- Allah akbar, Champ!

Send some love out to my dear, and
a special shout-out to the Reverend Sultan,

cos without him I wouldn't even be around.

- Who do you plan to fight next?
- Uh, well...

That's the reverend's job.
He sets 'em up, I knock 'em out.

Bullshit. I'm the No. 1 contender, and
I'm tired of you motherfuckers ducking me.

We ain't ducking you, man.
You're just so black we can't find you.

Fuck you.

Marvin Shabazz, you're a great fighter.
And you will get your title shot.

Oh-oh. No, no.

See, what we want is a guarantee -
that's right -

that my man, Marvin Shabazz Flex O'Neil...
Marvin, will you?

Boy, that boy's good.
I'm saying everybody knows he's good.

We're just asking the Reverend Sultan
to give us a shot at the title. Can you just...

- Stop running like a B-I-itch.
- B-I-itch?

- It's bi-atch.
- Where the fuck you from?

Listen. Why don't you get some Ambi,
brighten your ass up,

stop looking like a oil spill?
Then we talk business.

I'll tell you what, honk. I'll stick my dick so far
up your fucking ass I impale your tonsils.

- Oh, that's a pretty picture.
- Shut up.

- All right.
- Fake-ass black man.

- Is this what you want?
- You don't deserve it.

- I'll spank you with it.
- Spank him, Champ!

- I'll spank you with it. Come here.
- Spank me. You ain't hurting.

You wanna drive a Rolls-Royce,
but you don't wanna beat the champ.

Till you beat me, I am the champ.

- Thanks.
- How's everybody?

Hey, baby. How's everything? Hey.
Everybody enjoy yourself, all right?

- How was the house, Peter?
- We gave away 4,000 seats to charity.

Fred, we keep putting up fights like this,
I'm gonna have to sell the fucking hotel.

- You get the pay-per-view pick-up?
- I understand that...

- Artemus!
- Yeah. OK.

Yes. Yeah.

- Bad news.
- How bad?

Pay-per-view was down 50 per cent
on the last heavyweight title fight.

- 75 per cent from the previous one.
- Yeah, we lost our ass.

But we got a $10 million guarantee
to pay the champ.

Well, I just un-guaranteed it. Buy him
another fucking Rolls-Royce. Buy him two.

- He's got six already.
- Well, now he's got eight.

- Here he is.
- Showtime, boys.

Who's in the house?

The heavyweight champion of the world!

- I love you.
- Not like I love you.

- No, I love you.
- I love you.

- You my brother.
- You're my nigger if your turban gets bigger.

- I love you.
- Wait a minute. That's the third "I love you".

- Am I getting jerked again?
- You my brother.

- I know that, but am I getting fucked again?
- I love you.

- Artemus, am I getting jerked?
- He's your brother.

Sol.

- He loves you.
- I love you.

- Forget this, man!
- Champ. Champ.

No, Reverend. This is the payday.
This is the day we've been waiting for.

- You're my brother.
- I got your brother hanging low.

I had 38 fights for you and won 'em all.
What I got to show for it?

- Six Rolls-Royces?
- Wait. You got eight.

No, I got a guaranteed contract
for $10 million.

- Have you read it?
- I don't need to read it. I'll sue your ass.

- Sue his ass, Champ.
- For everything.

- Sue me.
- Sue him.

- I love you.
- This is bullshit, man. Stop saying that!

- All right? Yo, Irv!
- I'll be back.

What up, kid?

Ooh!

- Wardell.
- Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Excuse me. Excuse me.

Let me help you up.

Let me fix your hat. All right.

Can you forgive me as I forgive you?

- What am I forgiving you for now, man?
- For being human.

For being flawed.

I hurt. I bleed.

No, Rev. I hurt. I bleed.

And I want my goddamn money.

Now!

Sweetheart, could you...

Sit.

There better be some money
under this couch.

All right, everybody, you heard him.

- The champ wants his money.
- That's what he said.

Artemus. We will pay the champ
what we're obligated to pay him.

Sell my house, sell my cars, sell these rings,

disband my company, fire the employees,

and file Chapter 11, and we'll settle
with the champ for - what?

15 cents on the dollar?

Do it.

Champ.

You would let this man, the only father figure
you've ever had, destroy himself for you?

- You bet your yarmulke.
- Well, consider it done.

No. No, Fred, please.
Now, you're just a little upset.

Of course I'm upset.
I'm upset, because I know what's wrong.

Peter.

- You know what's wrong?
- No.

- Artemus?
- No.

- Sol?
- No.

- How about you, Champ?
- I don't know nothing any more.

There's a reason everyone has lost interest in
the heavyweight championship of the world.

And it's very simple.

People are tired of paying good money

to watch niggers beat up niggers.

I need a white heavyweight contender
worse than white America needs one.

Come on. White? Heavyweight?
Man, the two words don't even go together.

That's like saying "black unity".

Hey, look, man, cut the bullshit.
I want Shabazz.

Shut up, boy! You work for me.

And if you do shut up,
and you do work for me,

you'll make more money
than you've ever dreamed of.

You'll make $40 million.

If I'm making 40,
look how much you're gonna make.

- I am.
- Hey, look, Rev.

Nobody gonna buy the idea
of a white contender.

It ain't about race. It's about boxing.

- Sit down.
- I just stood up.

What's the highest-grossing fight
in the history of boxing?

- Uh, Tyson-Gibbons.
- Ali-Frazier.

- Hagler-Leonard.
- No, Hagler-Hearns.

No, no, no, no, no,

no, no, no, no!

The highest-grossing fight
in the history of boxing...

Is Cooney versus Holmes.

- Can you tell me why, James?
- Yeah. Cos Cooney was a white boy.

And his jab couldn't break wind.

If there ain't a white guy out there for you,

I'm gonna create you one.

Fred Sultan.

You and I are gonna take a close look
at this boxing promoter,

this exploiter, embezzler,

charlatan and demagogue.

By the time our journey is over,
I'm gonna expose him for what he really is:

The devil incarnate.

The real story begins in 1953 in Atlanta,

when a young man
by the name of Fred Johnson,

who had been a child evangelist

and who'd been caught running
a pyramid scam on his parishioners,

was arrested and convicted for assault. He
nearly stomped a man to death, very brutally.

What army is this? All right, all right.
Enough. Not again. Not again.

- Get this on camera.
- Don't you touch him again.

- Yes. Rolling.
- I've got here Marvin Shabazz,

the man next in line to fight James Roper.

Well, that's how it should be.
But I got a bad feeling about this one.

And if Sultan doesn't give us a shot at the title
and he tries to duck us, we will sue him.

That's right.
And I will support these men, honorable...

I'll take it, baby.
These are honorable men, very... uh, yes.

We are honorable men,
but I've worked too hard for this.

I am the No. 1 contender.
I'm tired of James the poodle -

"Grim Reaper", whatever
he calls himself - ducking me.

I'm tired of him driving around
in eight Rolls-Royces. He's fought nobody.

- I'm still in a Brougham.
- Exactly.

- A what?
- Uh, a Brougham.

He drives a Brougham.

- What's a Brougham?
- It's maroon.

Well, actually it's not maroon. What it is...

It's merlot. And it's a Brougham.

Cut.

- Have we cut?
- Yeah.

- What's a merlot Brougham?
- It's an old car, right?

You guys don't know
what a merlot Brougham is?

I thought it was a breakfast cereal, myself.

- It's a Cadillac.
- Oh.

- A Braham?
- A Brougham.

- A Brougham. I got it.
- Not Braham. A Brougham.

- Rolling. Let's pick up.
- And again.

Action. The merlot Brougham.
It's a fine car, but nothing like a Rolls-Royce.

And you guys are plenty peeved.

Yeah. I don't care about the cars.
I just wanna fight.

That's all. Like my daddy say -
you out there, James?

The poodle, pussy, whatever your name is?
"If you a man, be a man. "

Step up. Fight me. You ain't fought nobody.

Your daddy said...

What? Is he talking about the poodle...?

No, no, no, no, no. It's just a fact.
You growing up in the 'hood.

You become a man. You wanna start
acting like a man, you be a man.

Just like my father had told me
that when the green grass starts growing

on the other side,
somebody gotta cut the lawn.

You know, my father said once,
"When you... when you, uh...

laugh, and the whole world laughs with you,

cry, and I'll give you something
to cry about, you bastard. "

And you know what that's done to me?

Uh-uh, I'm, uh... I'm not sure.

- You're a little camera-shy, aren't you?
- Sometimes, but I'm getting the hang of it.

Yeah.

This the guy
at the top of your list, Julio?

He's at the top of my punching bag list.
Look at this shit.

Fuck.

- Oh!
- There he goes.

That's my assistant.
I could introduce you.

- Julio, come on.
- Looks like two moons over Miami.

Come on. Let's go.

I like this guy. Squeaky-clean, shit-don't-
stink, Mouseketeer-looking motherfucker.

- Yeah. Pat Boone in boxing gloves.
- You know, John Wayne is his uncle.

- Watch him get Mouseketeer ears.
- Don't look like John Wayne now.

- Next.
- Come on. Get the next one on.

- This guy's hair!
- Tarzan.

- He's part of the space programme.
- This guy's good. Swarthy, mysterious,

strong-jawed, sexy... Women might like it.

- They'll eat it up.
- He's a Suave Bola guy.

- Try to towel off.
- Next.

- There in South Africa, the...
- South Africa, Julio? South Africa?

- Good for you.
- Oh, I felt that.

- Dolph Lundgren.
- I like this guy.

- I was at this fight. Two months ago.
- Yeah? What happened?

- Watch.
- Rocky VI.

Oh!

- Oh, my God.
- That guy had to have his jaw rewired.

Thank you very much.
Thank you very much.

My God. It's a shame political power in this
country's not determined in a boxing ring.

If it was, we'd learn how to fight.

- See? I told you...
- You told me shit, Julio!

Ahem.

- I have an idea.
- Hey. Shut the fuck up and run the tapes.

Oh, you're gonna clown me?
You can run this shit yourself.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

He apologizes.

Speak, please. Come on.

I was simply trying to say...

The champ.
He's never lost as a professional. Right?

- Yeah. Newsflash.
- What gave it away? His record?

But... he's lost as an amateur. Right?

- So what?
- Yeah, so what? BFD.

- So, who beat him?
- Who cares? He was an amateur.

- Amateurs don't count, honey.
- Are you high? Are you on something?

Hey, hey, hey, hey. Shut the fuck up.
Don't you realize what she's saying?

Ten years ago,
who beat Roper as an amateur?

His mother.

Who?

Terry Conklin.

Sweetheart, you are smarter
than all these clowns put together.

- Terry who?
- You work for me now.

- Hey, wait a minute. She works for me.
- Julio, she works for me.

OK. Fine. You got her.

- Welcome, sweetheart.
- Check the "sweetheart" shit at the door.

- Ooh.
- She works for you now.

Excuse me, Ms Bambi.

And you get a 10 per cent raise.

- Now, where were we?
- Terry Conklin.

Terry Conklin. From Cleveland.
Golden Gloves champion.

Good left hook, great overhand right.
Undefeated as an amateur.

Discovered God, or drugs, or pussy.
Some such thing...

Man.
Look at how they live. Let's get down.

...Marciano for inner fucking peace.
- Jeez, what a dumb fuck he was.

- Unbelievable.
- You wanna find his Brady-Bunch ass?

I'll call Bert Sugar.

You ain't fucking me no more.

Disperse, bitches, will you?

Marvin.

Marvin, chill.

See, this is what happens
when you're living lavish, sipping wine,

then we come in Nino-Brown-style.
Yeah, yeah. That's what it's about.

Then the next thing you know, we got guns
on you, and what you got? What you got?

You got a... a whole, uh...

whole bunch of guns w-w-with lasers on 'em,
and we don't have any of those.

But, I mean, you know,
does violence really solve anything?

We came over because
you hadn't answered our calls,

and we thought
maybe something was wrong.

We just wanted to let you know
we got your back.

And, uh... you know,
you haven't offered us a shot at the title,

and it's just a rumor, but people talk
about you trying to duck my man...

Marvin, I'm giving you the title shot.

As a matter of fact,
we were just discussing the details.

Yeah. There's some legal... Hello.

There's some legal shit we have to
work out before we make you an offer.

We're just trying to get
all of our ducks in a row.

Yeah. It's a duck thing.

Oh, oh. OK. Duck thing.

- So you are giving us a shot at the title.
- You have my word.

Excuse me, but your word don't mean shit.

Yeah, I mean, your word is rather doo-doo.

Uh... we're looking for something tangible.

Fuck tangible. Give me something real.
I want something real. That's what I want.

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.
Just, you know... calm down, will you?

We're gonna get everything together.
We come in peace, man.

You know, we're small-time.
We just want a shot. That's all we asking for.

Whoo!

I'd like to give you a sign of good faith.
While I get my ducks in a row.

- Fuck is all this duck shit, you...
- Chill with all these dots.

We're trying to, you know, negotiate.
Let me do business.

Are you still driving that, um...
maroon Brougham?

Yeah.

I don't mean to correct you
in front of your people, but it's merlot.

- Oh, sorry. Merlot.
- Yeah.

I'd like to give you a brand-new
merlot Brougham. As a sign of good faith.

Cos you're my brother, and I love you.

Cool. Cool. That's...
that sounds, you know...

- No, I'm tired of merlot.
- Yeah, he's right. I can't stand another merlot.

Well, baby, you know,
there's this sweet, gold...

- Oh, kind of a muscatel.
- Go on, sister.

All right. Yeah. Hey, that's fine. Muscatel.

- Artemus?
- Yeah.

Order a brand-new,
muscatel Royale Brougham,

fully loaded, with, uh...

a petite syrah interior.

- Have it delivered to Mr. Shabazz at once.
- Got it.

Thanks, man. I... You know, that's...
you know, that really means a lot.

I would take it that
a fully loaded muscatel Brougham,

with a syrah-serials and petite
and everything like that,

is a good-faith down payment on a title fight.

My brothers.

Hey, I'm glad we could, you know,
straighten this out. Is this rayon?

This is nice.
Whole thing got my blood pressure up, bro.

Thank you. All right, man.
Come on. Hug him, man.

- Thank you.
- Mm-hm.

We're about to be champs, baby!

My daddy said, "Don't pull your shit out
if you ain't ready to use it. "

- Shut up!
- Bitch.

I gotta change.

Sultan, I got him.

Terry Conklin is still living in Cleveland.
He's in a band called Massive Head Wound.

Uh-huh. Yeah. For the kids.
Yeah, I'm booking the flight now.

- This guy's a putz.
- No, he's got something.

- You like him, Bambi?
- I think he's gorgeous.

- Say what?
- For a white boy.

- Right.
- I think we found our man.

Terry.

Terry, this is Suzette.

Wonderful music, Terry. Wonderful.

I feel that you're my brother.

- I'm your anti-brother.
- My anti-brother!

- I like that.
- You know, actually, you're a poet.

Well, an anti-poet.

Terry?

All right. Come on, hit the bricks. Get out.

You know, it... it feels like...

- ooh, like anti-music.
- Terry.

This is Angel.

Cool.

I worship you.

Worship... is a Judaeo-Christian concept.

- I'm a Buddhist.
- No shit.

Sol, heads up.

Terry. May I call you Terry?

What you call me is of no concern to me.

Good. Cos I'm gonna call your ass
"the great white hope".

Excuse me. Terry, I'm trying to make you
a business proposition here.

- I give my money to the homeless.
- Good.

Then if you take me up on my proposition
and return to the ring,

I guarantee that you will personally
wipe out homelessness in America.

- What did you say?
- I want you to return to the ring.

- I don't fight any more.
- But you're the only man

to ever beat the heavyweight champion.

A very long time ago.

You can still kick his ass.
He's still susceptible to an overhand right.

I did cold-cock that sucker, didn't I?

Oh, you nailed him! You rocked his ass.

Think about it.
This could be the fight of the century.

- The fight of the century.
- Hundred years. You.

Mm-hm. Yeah. Right, right, right.
Until the next fight of the century. Right?

- Get the fuck outta my chair.
- You're a shrewd man.

Well, if not for yourself, Terry,
do it for the tired, the poor,

the teeming masses yearning to breathe free.

- How much do I get?
- $10 million.

And I hire you the best managers
and trainers in the business.

$10 million?

- You really think I could take him?
- He's scared shitless of you.

And think of the homeless.

Julio.

Well. You found Terry Conklin, huh?

- Yup.
- Congratulations.

Well, now I want the WBI to rank him
in the top ten so I can give him a title shot.

Reverend, over the years I have bent
and greased and stretched the rules for you.

- I consider myself an artist in this regard.
- You are an artist, Julio.

Yes, but even I cannot rank a fighter
who has never had a professional fight!

What'll it take for you to make this happen?

- I can't do it.
- Money? Sex?

Drugs? Power?

Yeah. Power.

That's what. Yeah. Power.

- Yeah.
- You're fired.

OK. Money, sex and drugs.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I am proud to announce

that 60 days from today,

on March 17, St Patrick's Day,

James "The Grim Reaper" Roper

will defend his heavyweight title

against the No. 8- Ranked
heavyweight contender,

according to
the newly released WBI ranking -

"Irish" Terry Conklin.

- I'm not Irish.
- It's boxing. It just means you're white. Open.

- There he is. There he is.
- "Irish" Terry Conklin.

It's a goddamn disgrace. This kid can't fight.
You've sullied the great name of boxing.

Oh, ye of little faith.

This man has been catapulted
into the rankings

by the honorable, estimable, incorruptible
president of World Boxing International,

Mr. Julio Escobar.

And for very good reason.

Name one.

- You forget he was an undefeated amateur...
- That's right.

...who knocked out Roper
in the Golden Gloves Championship.

- Knocked him through the ropes.
- I was 17, man. I'd kill Howdy Doody now.

Nigger, sit your motherfucking ass down.
I'm trying to...

I think Terry has a few words
he wants to say. Terry, come on.

I would like to start off
by saying thank you to the champ

for giving me this chance to...

Wow, man. Wow.

You're... you're a great champ.

And after I'm done
kicking the champ's butt,

I'm gonna donate all of my moneys
to eradicating the homelessness situations,

and also the poverty situations
will be eradicated,

in America, and as well as
the United States, forever.

- Thank you very much and God bless you all.

Got my vote
for Sportsman of the Year already.

- Who is this Irish duper?
- Who bought this? Who bought this?

Who is that? Who is this?

- Who do you think will see this debacle?
- It'll be the biggest payday in sports history.

- Sultan, the kid's not even a professional.
- Bert, the kid's not even 100 per cent Irish.

But how many of you gave Foreman a chance
against Moore? Or Douglas against Tyson?

Julio Escobar's a whore on your payroll.

- What did you say?
- Keep it legal.

- Did you hear that?
- That's a libelous and racist statement,

- just because Escobar's of Latin descent.
- That's right.

Are you saying something about
brown-skinned people?

Do you hate Jews and Negroes as well?

- I am a Jew.
- Then you're an Uncle Tom!

Jews can't be Uncle Toms.

- Sure we can.
- It's a sign of self-loathing.

- But you're still my brother.
- I'm not your brother.

Peace.

- Son of a bitch.
- Let's keep it that way.

Johnny.

Terry?

This is the legendary Johnny Windsor.
He's managed many, many of the greats.

- Very pleased to meet you.
- Terry.

Eight weeks with me, and you're not only
gonna be a lean, mean killing machine,

you're gonna be ready for a commission
in the Waffen-SS.

Hate, son, hate! The great motivator. Hate.

You're gonna hate Roper, you'll hate me,
you're gonna hate the fucking world.

I hate no man.

Well, do it for the homeless, Terry.

Get changed. We'll start.

Good luck, kid.

Look. All you gotta do is make him credible.

I can make him credible...
till he gets in the ring.

- When the bell rings, he's dog meat.
- Dog meat.

Time and Newsweek say I should be arrested.

Sports Illustrated says the fight's a joke.

Ring Magazine says the fight is a fraud!

Why are they saying these things?

- Cos it's the truth.
- The truth needs to be shaped and framed.

Your fucking job!

I cannot make caviar out of fish eggs!

Uh, excuse me, Fred. Uh, listen, we...
Hi, Sol. Tough day for you, huh?

We need to get these contracts to Conklin
before he gets a lawyer.

I'll hire Conklin's lawyer.
How are the contracts?

I had 'em reviewed by my staff.
Nobody understands anything.

Good.

Any interpretation
would lead to endless litigation.

They're vague, indecipherable
and, best of all, they're written in stone.

- I love you.
- Don't you start that.

Excuse me. I opened this on accident.
It's yours.

- But you might wanna take a look at it.
- What is this?

Where'd it come from?

Mitchell Kane.
He says he has a lot more of them.

A lot more?

What does he want?

He says he wants a private meeting.
No cameras, no third parties,

just, uh, "mano a mano" is how he put it.

"Mano a mano"?

- My dick wants to laugh.
- What is it?

Pictures of nothing, Sol.

You know what? I don't need this shit.

I'll be at the pool.

I'll finish up these, uh...
these contracts for you.

Arrange a private meeting with Mr. Kane.

Yes, sir.

Action. Although our cameras aren't allowed
inside the offices of Rev Fred Sultan,

let them record, in the happenchance
that I don't come out alive,

that this envelope contains
enough evidence to destroy this man forever.

When I return, if I return,

the spotlight of truth
will have peered into the depths of evil -

into the soul, if one exists,

of one Fred Sultan.

Kill the camera.

He's ready to see you.

Wish me well.

Cut.

I'll be OK. It's OK.

- I'm really proud of you.
- I'm proud of you.

We'll be here.

Mr. Kane.

Rev Sultan. Here we are.

Yes. Mano a mano.

That's right. Uh, I got a lot of pictures.

Uh...

- Uh, Wardell?
- What?

Oh. Um...

I've made many copies of these.

So what do you want?

I want to destroy you.

I want an exclusive interview,

where you'll have to finally answer some of
the tough questions. You're a bad guy, man.

You're... you're bad. Even Wardell's
disgusted. But I'm not gonna kiss your feet.

You're a fake, a bully.
I don't like what you do to Girl Scouts.

- That was pretty funny, huh?
- I like you. You have a goal.

And you have the balls to reach that goal.
You have a blind, stupid belief in yourself.

- Flattery is not gonna work. My course is...
- Oh, no, no, no. I wanna offer you a job.

I heard they're gonna do Cops: The Musical.
That could be unreal.

Well, they did it with the...

Well?

- You OK, boss?
- Never more lucid. Turn on the camera.

Thank you. Thank you, Artie.

Some said that this upcoming title fight
is built around racism.

But is it racism that electrifies people
across the globe?

Or is it a pride in your tribe?

The dimly remembered throb
of drums in the night,

or the white hoarfrost of an early morn

against the gleaming,
sinuous muscle of the jungle night.

You can't do this to me.
I've been Sultan's publicist for 20 years.

Boss says you're gone, you're outta here.

I'll sue you so fast,
you won't know what hit you.

Man, shut up.

Hey.

I got you guys this job!

He's right.

You better watch your back!

Mitchell, have you sold out?

I'm taking the road less traveled by.

And what happened to,
um, "crusading for the truth"?

What is the truth, after all?
History, they say, is written by the winners.

Fuck you, you whore. I quit.

Oh... Vivian.

We can win a Pulitzer.

- Will you come on?
- Watch this.

One, please.

Sultan sucks!

Happy birthday, Mrs. Ned Ashton.

From me. The other Mrs. Ned Ashton.

- What?
- Ooh, snap.

Damn.

Yo, Grim, man.

Hey, check this out, G.
Yo. This is a gift from Sultan.

From Sultan, bro. Damn.

- It's your fault, man.
- Well, I'm sorry, man.

- You all right, Champ?
- Let me see the ring.

- Damn!
- Damn!

You done came up, Champ.

- Wow, that's bigger than the last one, bro.
- No question.

Oh, damn.

I done got this.

That was a good try, though.
You know I got that one!

I was mad quick, right?

- That was bigger than the last one.
- Yo, bro. Let me see that.

- All right, man.
- Kick it in.

Shut up, Irv. Damn. Here you go, bro.

- That look nice on you.
- It look all right?

It look nice on you.
You done came up like 7 Up, baby.

Yeah, it look nice on you, man.

Real nice on the champ.

Man.

- I didn't want it anyway.
- You know you wanted it.

Shut up.

You gotta stop eating this stuff...
and do some roadwork.

Man, I could beat Conklin
and my meat at the same time.

- But you got to be in some kinda shape.
- Oh, I'm in shape. I'm round.

Mike Tyson was round when he fought Buster
Douglas. Buster KO'd him. You know why?

- Cos Tyson wasn't ready to fight.
- Don't worry. When the bell ring, I'm in there.

Hey, Mr. Chump. I mean, Mr. Champ.

I'd like to reintroduce you to an old friend.

Mr. Overhand Right.

Say, Mr. Roper. When you wake up
in the hospital, realize your belt's gone,

come over to my house.
I'll let you try it on sometime, fat boy.

I like this kid.

Hey, Conklin. Ooh! There it is.

The Nevada Boxing and Gaming Commission
is pleased to announce

the results of the encephalograms performed
on the two contestants in this proposed bout.

James Roper's encephalogram
shows no cortical lesions whatsoever.

And Mr. Conklin's also shows no, uh...
no significant brain damage.

This bout can proceed as scheduled.

- What's "no significant brain damage"?
- We've not seen Roper in weeks. Why?

- He ain't here because he's ducking me.
- He'll be knocked naked from the waist down.

He wants to continue fighting punks like this.

It's fixed. If he fights him
he's gonna be crippled and crazy.

Tell him about the deal, will you?

Why don't you piss off, you fuckin' monkey?

Hey, Mr. French. I will bust a cap in your ass.

You? You stunted little dwarf.
Let me fucking get you...

- What do you wanna do? Come on.
- Sit your fat Pavarotti ass out the way.

Not me. Him, you silly bastard.

- Terry.
- What's the problem?

I ain't got no problem. You do.
I'm gonna whup your white...

- You'll have to wait in line for that.
- Fuck waiting in line.

- What's up?
- I'm not gonna scare off.

Tranquillize yourself, will you?

Look at you. You're scared.
You don't want no part of this, do you?

Go back where you came from
before I rip your fuckin' heart out.

What you got, Rev? Shit.

Supposed to have a fighter here.
You got no one. You got nothing.

Oh, Jesus. Oh.

You ain't shaking, baby.
You're still in. You're in it.

I'm coming back
and I'm gonna get rid of everybody.

"One Punch" Terry Conklin, folks.
"One Punch" Terry.

- Fast hands for a white boy.
- We just sold 50,000 tickets.

Now, that's entertainment.

Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize

for the behavior of Marvin Shabazz
and his manager.

But if Mr. Shabazz just shows a little patience,

I'm sure Rev Sultan will give him
a title shot at the appropriate time.

Oh, absolutely.

We're here to talk about
Roper and Terry Conklin.

Thank you. Thank you. That's right. May I?

We have here 100,000 cards and letters,

all for Terry Conklin.

Let's pick one out here, can we?
Let's get one of these. Any one at all.

Let's take this one here.
Here I've got, uh... Let's, uh...

Let's see what we got here.

This one is from...

Gosh. It's from a boy named Joey
who's in a wheelchair.

Hm. Wheelchair.

He says... he says,
"If you become champ, Terry,

I'll believe anything is possible,
even walking again. Love, Joey. "

I'll tell you, in the cynical age
that we live in, it's, uh...

it's rare indeed when someone or something
becomes so transcendent,

as... as Terry and this fight have become.

Kane.

Kane.

What are you doing?
What are you hiding for?

Enjoying your job?

Don't...

I'm sorr...

I don't know how to tell you this,
but you, um...

You smell. You stink a little bit.

Well, they took away my suite.
After 20 years, like that.

- You gotta protect yourself.
- Uh-huh. You know, I'm not...

Listen, please. Listen.

The Sultan is ripe for a fall.
Do you understand?

Everybody in the organization
is fed up with him. It's not just me.

We've been waiting
for a new leader to emerge. It's you.

I see. So I'm the, uh...

You take over his organization
and you get me my job back.

God sent you.

Are you OK? Where are you going?

Going to take a sponge bath.

- Take it... take it easy.
- I will.

Hey, Siegfried. Who's that behind... Who?

Come on. That isn't funny.

I'm not Irish. I'm not Irish.

You're a stallion.
You're a fucking stallion.

Terry Conklin.

Stay down, boy.

Told you to stay down.

- How do you like Las Vegas, Terry?
- What's that?

How does it compare to Cleveland?

Cleveland's a real city full of real people
not concerned with bourgeois attitudes,

concerted sexism, racism, religiousism
or any of the other -isms that Vegas is about.

Las Vegas is one of the most
exploitive places I've seen in my life.

Particularly towards women. I've never
been to a city more exploitive to women.

It makes me sick and I can't wait to go home.

But wasn't that you
on the cover of Playboy magazine?

What's that?

Yeah, that was me, but let me say two things.

One - I hated it.
And two - that's not what I'm about.

- How's Champ looking?
- Good. Did you see him out there?

- Uh, no. We can't get in to...
- Was a great workout.

You should've seen the workout today.
He's looking excellent.

So, um... what about all
these reports of all this room service?

Ten gallons of ice cream, a carton of
gummy bears, all the pork skins in Vegas?

Champ has an entourage.
He feeds 'em.

He's not eating any of this stuff?

Even if he were not in perfect
condition, he's still a professional fighter.

He's got savvy.
He knows how to breathe in a ring.

Is racism driving this fight?
I don't think so.

$2 on "Irish" Terry.

Are we exploiting a history of divisive racial
struggle in this country? I don't think so.

Two bucks on the clean-cut white boy.

Please. Thank you.

To play the piano, you need the black keys...

And the white keys.

Doing a rock opera for homeless
about the situation in Cleveland.

I think it's applicable universally
to the homeless

in this situation
in any major American market.

For example, South Dakota
there's a homelessness situation.

Conklin's been getting a lot of publicity
about his donations to the homeless.

- That's his thing.
- You're not known for your acts of charity.

Ain't nobody's business
what I do with my money.

We've found that you've given large
donations of money to a number of places.

AIDS organizations, multiple sclerosis.
You visit children's hospitals in every town.

I'm about to donate to the "Remove My Foot
From Your Ass" Foundation.

I tell you,
I don't want to talk about this. It's over.

You're quite a rock'n'roller.

I still am quite a rock'n'roller.
Thanks for that.

Without further objections,

I would like to sing my song,
that I've just been working on, to Mr. Roper.

- Would that be all right?
- Yeah.

It's called "Mr. Roper, Mr. Roper".

"Mr. Roper, Mr. Roper".

You just wanna blow this fight, don't you?

Just chill. My blackness'll beat that kid.

Mr. Roper.

- He looks good. He looks good.
- Yeah. Looks is what counts, isn't it?

Hey, hey. Now... you know,
if he wins, have you thought about...

Wins?

Oh, man. Yeah.

If he wins, what are your plans after that?
Have you thought about that?

Like, are you happy
with your deal with Sultan?

Happy?

I'd sooner be turked by a syphilitic bear.

T... Tur...

Turked? What is turked?

Rectally relieved.

Oh, jeez.

So, what? After... after this fight you'd
consider signing with another promoter or...?

Or a smart younger man such as yourself?

I don't like to toot my own horn, but...

- Is that what you're saying?
- Well...

Terry.

Terry! Get over here.

- What's up, Johnny?
- We may have found a great white hope.

- He wants to promote you.
- Who? You?

Yeah, maybe so.

- What about Mr. Sultan?
- Uh...

Mr. Sultan. You know...
Not so good for you guys.

He's... he's...
He'll get what he needs.

Let me ask you a question.
Do you covet racism?

- Do I covet racism? How do you mean?
- Are you a racist person?

- No, I'm not.
- I am fed up with the racism in this business.

- Johnny?
- Too much of it.

No, really, I believe that.

Wow.

Wow. Gosh.

Could I have a hug?

Sure. Sure.

Whoa!

Introducing...

the most popular heavyweight
since Muhammad Ali...

"Irish" Terry Conklin.

The challenger... The challenger weighs in
at official 202¼ pounds.

- I would just like to say that I love you all.
- We love you, man!

I truly do. And tomorrow marks
the beginning of my personal quest

for the eradication of
the homelessness situation in America.

I am a fighter of destiny
and I'm going to shock the world.

God bless America!

Terry! Terry! Terry!

- You hear that?
- That shit don't faze me.

And now...

introducing the undefeated, undisputed
heavyweight champion of the world...

James "The Grim Reaper" Roper.

He looks like shit.

Roper looks at least 220.
He's been eating chitlins.

The champion weighs an official...

238 pounds.

Hold it. Hold it. Hold it.

The champ... The champ has a few words
he wants to say to y'all.

Yeah. I just want to say that after 38 fights,

38 wins by knockout,

this is all the love you show me?

Well, the rest of you can kiss my big,
black, bloated, Rolls-Royce-driving ass.

Gimme my robe.

I wanna thank you all
for coming out here today,

and I want you to ask yourself the question -

is it hope? Or is it hype?

We'll find out the answer tomorrow night.

See you at the MGM Grand. Thank you.

I love this outfit. Is that a unitard?

Mitchell. Great news.

The gate went over 110 million today.
By fight time tomorrow, it should be 125.

Ooh. I bow to you. I sit at your feet.

This has been a brilliant partnership.

I hope it's the beginning
of a beautiful friendship.

The beginning...

- Hey, baby, you feeling all right?
- Oh. Baby, listen, I'm, uh...

I'm concerned that the champ is maybe
too far gone to beat this Conklin kid.

No fucking way the champ loses this fight.
He's gonna kill this kid.

- He's got that tummy.
- You're starting to believe your own bullshit.

Relax. Fight's a lock.

You would know.
You're the paisley Pooh-Bah.

Look.

Champ and I have our little disagreements.
Hell, my whole organization does.

Bottom line: He loves me, they love me,

and I love him, and I love them.

You know what else?

What's that?

I love you.

Very clever. Gotta get one of those.

You're my brother.

From the brother of brothers.

There is no excitement like
a much-anticipated heavyweight title fight.

And the fervor charts go off the wall
when the challenger is...

- White. There, I've said it. White.
- I'm glad you said it, Stu.

Roper is a jungle animal. He wants to do
unspeakable things to your mother and sister.

Johnny. You do not have to whip me
into a racist frenzy to beat this man.

- We all know you're a racist bastard.
- Me, a racist?

- You're a pig.
- I'm not a racist. I'm an Englishman.

The fairest people on the planet.
If I was a racist, I wouldn't be training you.

You stupid muck-shoveling Mick.
Now, what we got here, then, Paddy? Eh?

White gloves.

- You disgust me.
- Mm.

No, Terry, no. That's a good idea.

You should do it. Nice touch.

Wait a second.

- Let... let me tell you something.
- Come on, boys, out now.

You think this is all just a big joke, right?
Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.

You think the public's just fallen in love
with me because of the color of my skin?

Huh. Yeah...

Because I'm fresh and good-looking?

Shame on you.

I am more than hope.
And I'm a hell of a lot more than hype.

I'm a young man in fantastic shape

with a devastating overhand right

that is going to shock the world.

Don't you forget, I never lost a fight.

Attaboy, Terry! You kick his black ass.

It is the ass of a human being, man!

A human being.

That is the ass that I'm gonna kick tonight.

- I love you, Terry.
- I love you, too.

Is that a circus entrance?
A fighter coming in, or a clown?

- The guy thinks this is a rock concert.
- Maybe we're in the wrong place and it is.

None of the experts give this kid
a chance. Yet can 100 million fans be wrong?

If Conklin had started earlier in his career,
would he be the champion?

If Roper had fought somebody as good as
Conklin, would he be the champion today?

As we watch
the challenger dance in the ring,

it's obvious the champion
is delaying his entrance to the arena.

I'm just thinking. Is he trying psychologically
to toy with the mind of the challenger?

Will y'all back off?
I'm trying to watch the show.

- You're under arrest.
- You gonna have to take me!

Cut that junk off and get rid of that cigarette.
You got a fight out there.

Man, this is Dolemite.
My inspiration tape, OK?

I'm trying to tell you, this is
the No. 1 contender here. Recognize, will you?

I'm saying we up in here
and he needs to be in the ring.

- Hey, hey, Shabazz. How are you doing?
- You gonna talk to me like you know me?

You disrespect me cos you threw
a sucker punch? I'll show your white ass.

Why don't you go home
and learn to speak English, you bastard?

El, man, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you.

Come here. No, no. Look at me.
I'm right here. Look this way. Come on.

- Come on, man. You got work to do.
- Wait till after the love scene.

The champion has still not come in.
Conklin seems bewildered.

He just keeps circling around. He could get
tired. Stu, could there be anything wrong?

I'll tell you what it is, Johnny.
The boy is scared of me. He's scared of me.

That's a possibility.
But, just in case, don't get him mad, eh?

I'm telling you what. He's scared of me.

Roper?

Hey, Roper, you scared of me?

Huh, boy? Roper.

Oh, yeah, he's scared of me.

I said, Roper's scared of me!
He's scared of me.

Come on, now. Come on, Roper.

Come and kick some butt with me.
Come and catch the bumblebee.

Kiss the donkey, son. Kiss the mule.
I'm gonna make him kiss the donkey, ref.

He gonna kiss the donkey.
He gonna smooch with the donkey.

I'm gonna bust him up. Bust him up.

Time for the comeuppance, yes.
Time for the comeuppance, yeah!

You rat-soup-eating honky motherfucker!

OK.

Now I'm mad.

Irv!

May the Lord bless you.
May the Spirit guide you.

And may the heavens rain down
their bounty upon you. May the...

Nigger, grow up.

All right, baby. Big payday. Go for it.

Let's see your glove, Champ.
Looks good to me.

Hey, Bambi.
Don't distract the champ with that.

Vincent, how are you doing, baby?
You seen Jules? How's everything?

Good to see you.
Mitch, Mitch, Mitch. Sit here.

Julio, get up, get up.
Come on, come on, come on. Sit.

- Best seat in the house right here.
- There we go.

As Roper finally enters the ring,
you know, it's hard to imagine

how a popular champion could become
so unpopular in such a short time.

The other story is the 20 pounds
this guy's carrying. How can he come in?

Look at the belly hanging over his trunks.
That's a disgrace.

The guy never met a meal he didn't like.

This is where the action is. Seeing
as how these are the last few moments

of the Sultanic era of boxing.

What the fuck are you talking about?

The new heavyweight champ of the world,

Terry Conklin, has signed with me.

- We'll see about that shit.
- Yes, we will.

All right, guys. I gave you instructions
in the dressing room. Is there any questions?

- Yes, sir. I have one question.
- What?

Well, I was just, uh...
I was just wondering up there to Mr. Roper.

What do you think it's gonna feel like
to lose to an amateur, chump?

Shut up and let your fists do the talking.
Shake hands and good luck.

Good luck, fat boy.

- Am I that fat?
- Nah. Just a whole lot of man.

Terry, listen to me. Do this for the white race.
You may be Irish, but they're almost white.

Johnny, I'm ignoring your racism.
This one's for the homeless.

All right. Now, use your head.
Have a good fight.

The tension is building, and it feels
like we're going to have a meltdown.

And here we go for the heavyweight
championship of the world.

Time.

Here we go. Here we go. Do the work, Champ.

Do it.

No holding.

Watch your head.
Watch your head. Punch and get out.

- Get outta there. Punch him.
- I'm playing with him.

- Turn him loose and fight.
- I've got him right where I want him.

Come on, fat boy.

Watch that overhand right.

Champ's pissed off now.

- Look out.
- Look at this. Look at this.

Oh, yes! Yes!

You nailed him.

Terry, get up!

He's out.

And it's over. It is over.
27 seconds into the first round, it's all over.

Man, this wasn't a fight,
this was an execution.

That's it? What the hell
is this microwave-fight bullshit?

That's what we talking about.

All right!

- Congratulations.
- Thank you.

- We reap what we sow.
- We reap what we sow. Yes, Mitch. Yes.

Yes, we do.

"We reap what we sow. "

Guess that's kinda like,
"Close cover before striking. "

Sit down, mate. Sit down.
It's fine. It's fine.

- How are you doing?
- Where's my mintage?

He's on Queer Street. Listen.

If anybody talks to you
or starts talking rematch...

No rematch. No rematch. I'm going back
to Cleveland, gonna play rock'n'roll, man.

That's right. Listen, the best thing to do
with this crowd is just to walk away.

See you around. Good.

Now, take it easy. Come on. Take it easy.

You know what you need in rock'n'roll?

Management.

I just had a... just had a...

You're woozy. You're woozy. Um...

I wanted to put a bee in your bonnet.
We'll talk later.

- Getting up.
- All right, man.

- Hey. You knocked him cold. I love it!
- Way to kick that ass!

- Get Champ some peanut-butter ice cream.
- Spread it all over the girls.

- Champion-rolla!
- Who are you?

Peter Prince.

- I own the place.
- I know who you are, man.

Oh, my bad.

How'd we do?

Pay-per-view, through the roof. $132 million
gate. That's a lot of fucking money.

- We haven't even counted the gate here yet.
- Wait till we box up the videos.

- We weren't gonna pay Conklin.
- That's what I'm saying.

Hold up, Sultan. We need to talk.
We had a deal. You need to respect that.

And what's up with that outfit?
You Ali Baba Jackson?

- Oh, not this nigger.
- Eh, eh, eh, eh. Easy, frosty man.

Ruk'n, I'm tired of you and the grinch
that stole blackness stealing my glory.

Nobody's stealing your glory.
You're a disgrace.

He look like a half-sucked Milk Dud, I swear.
Boy, you're sorry. What you wanna do?

Isaac Hayes said he want his head back.
What's up?

- It's good publicity for the next fight.
- No, Rev. Every time I have a moment,

- they come to ruin it.
- Stop talking and step to me.

- You've fought nobody. Step to me.
- This shit stop now.

- Come over here. What do you want?
- You.

- I'm $132 million strong.
- Why you act like you wanna do something?

Didn't I tell you you're gonna get the shot?
Didn't I tell you that?

Man, hey, look, nobody's putting your...
You ain't my daddy. Are you?

My nerves is bad anyway.
If I can get this motherfucker out...

It's a gun. He's got a gun. He's got a gun.

That's what I'm saying.
I'll do a walk-by up in here.

- Who the champ now?
- You the champ. I'm running with you.

My nerves is bad, I've been on medication,
and I just want some respect. Will you?

I've never seen a championship fight
after a championship fight. Incredible.

- There's a second fight going on right now.
- God! Don't give away what we can sell.

Damn.

You all right, Champ?

That's all you got for me? Huh?
Who's the champ? Who's the champ?

I am. Next time I'll break
my foot off in your ass.

You have just seen a preview
of the marvelous fight to come

between "Malevolent" Marvin Shabazz
and James "The Grim Reaper" Roper.

This is the beauty of America.

May the best man win. I love it!

And I love you.