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[upbeat music]

[thuds, shatters]

[narrator] Dick Van Patten,

a happy man,

good father...

[playful music]

...loving husband...

...kind to little, little animals,

upstanding citizen and all-around nice guy.

But beneath this warm exterior

-beats a heart of stone... -[laughing]

...a cold blooded reptile loyal to the one,

a man who plays

dirty tennis.

Oh, hello.

I'm Dick Van Patten.

Welcome to the wonderful world of tennis.

A game of finesse,

a game of form.

Well, I hate all that.

I mean, aren't you a little fed up

with all these little hard-hitting tennis snobs

with their top spin and their perfect form?

Tennis has nothing to do with being nice.

It's a game of winning.

It's dog-eat-dog.

It's a battlefield out there

where the strong survive

and the weak come crawling back

with the sweat dripping down from their sweatbands

on their little white sweaters.

[grunts softly] Well, anyway...

[chuckles] today...

...I'm going to show you how to have that cutting edge,

how to win,

how to be victorious.

Today I am going to show you how to play...

[comical music]

...dirty tennis.

[thuds, shatters]

Well, well, Bruce Jenner, my idol!

Oh, well, hi, Dick. Sorry I'm a little late.

Oh, no problem.

I'd wait hours to play someone in your caliber.

Actually, the directions you gave me were perfect.

It's just that, uh, I stopped by the tennis shop

to browse around.

Browse around?

Well, I just thought

I would pick up a few accoutrements.

[birds chirping]

[quietly] They may be wonderful people, but on the tennis court,

there is something else.

Now, let me tell you how you identify

the generic hotshot that we all so despise.

Tennis bag,

one dozen brand rackets,

designer sunglasses,

coordinating clothes and sweatbands,

tennis magazine,

designer water, everything,

except a new can of balls.

Now, on the other hand, I'm a hacker

and that's a name that I'm proud to wear,

because here's how I do it.

I have clothes to distract.

[typewriter clicking]

You see? [clears throat]

Bathing suit...

...black socks,

etcetera.

[birds chirping]

[in normal voice] Down a shot with me, Bruce?

[scoffs]

Uh, no, thanks, Dick.

I don't, uh, drink and play. [chuckling]

Ahh!

Ah.

[quietly] Now, you may ask,

"Why does a man like Dick Van Patten drink tequila

before he starts to play?"

This isn't really tequila.

It's just tea.

But I run no risk of being exposed

because what athlete in his right mind

would take a drink before he starts to play?

Now, the object of this

is to lead your opponent to the conclusion

that you're playing just for fun,

giving him a false sense of security.

[typewriter clicking]

[Bruce] Dick must be a real loser.

I mean, this is gonna be a piece of cake.

Way to go, Dick!

[chuckling]

Cowabunga! Huh?

Oh, by the way, Dick,

I have this swollen hamstring

and this darn Achilles tendon.

-You know? -[scoffs]

It may snap.

[both chuckle]

[laughing]

[quietly] All these hotshot opponents

always come up with injury excuses.

Don't ever let your opponent have the last injury.

[typewriter clicking]

[Bruce grunting]

[in normal voice] Oh, uh, Bruce, I just want to get one message

-before we start to play. -No problem.

[button clicks]

[Dick on voicemail] Dick, this is Dr. Goldman.

I mean... [in German accent] Dick, this is Dr. Goldman.

Whatever you do, don't be foolish enough

to get back on the court.

What's-- what's he talking about, Dick?

Oh, uh, nothing.

Ju-- just a problem with my shoulder.

[on voicemail as Goldman] That elbow could go out at any moment.

And my elbow.

[on voicemail as Goldman] And don't forget your recent transplant.

And my heart.

[playful piano music]

[thuds, shatters]

Now, you must always wear your opponent out during the warm-up.

Never give him a chance to practice his strokes.

We call this the old "hot body, cold strokes" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

Watch. [grunts softly]

[huffs]

[comical music]

[grunting]

[Dick] The trick here is to see how long you can keep him running

while you stay in one spot.

My personal record is four minutes and 33 seconds.

Remember, do not, under any circumstances,

expend any energy at this point.

If things don't go as planned,

you may need every ounce you can muster later on.

[grunting]

A-- all right, Dick. Wait, wait, wait. All right.

I'll tell you what.

Just hit me some overheads and I'll practice.

All right, Bruce.

Now, when your opponent wants overheads,

I want you to take the ball

and I want you to make it literally go

over his head.

[cheerful music]

[grunts]

[Bruce] I haven't seen so many highballs

since I saw the giraffes at the zoo.

Here we go!

[groans]

[sighs] All right, Dick!

Dick, I'll tell you what.

Just throw me some balls.

I'll practice my serve.

Thanks.

This is going to be one long afternoon.

Yep.

Bruce, I'm sorry.

Why don't we just start?

Uh, up or down Bruce?

[quietly] Now, when it comes time to spin the racket,

you must sneak a peek and make sure that it lands down.

Statistics prove that 90% of the players will say up.

[typewriter clicking]

Up, Dick.

[in normal voice] Sorry, Bruce. It's down.

[quietly] I just love statistics.

[in normal voice] I'll serve.

[thuds, shatters]

[Dick] The first several games

should be played without dirty tennis.

This will lull your opponent into dropping his guard

and give you an opportunity to plan your attack.

Obviously, Bruce, the world-class athlete

will be quite a test.

Notice his form, his power, his concentration.

-Aah! Ah! Ah! -[Dick] And don't forget,

-he is a bit younger. -It's showtime.

[Dick] He just oozes of self-confidence.

But I'll soon take care of that.

On the other hand, notice my form

or, more to the point, my lack of form.

I place my emphasis on the mental game

rather than brute strength and style.

And I keep in shape with long hours of mental gymnastics.

Such as poker and handicapping the horses.

Hotshots referred to me as a hacker

because I hit lousy shots

and now I'm going to show you how to win

with these unpredictable,

distracting, lousy shots.

My casual style leads the hotshot to believe

that I am simply out for an afternoon of fun.

But look closely and you'll see

that each move has been calculated precisely

for its ability to distract

while being energy efficient.

[birds chirping]

[thuds, shatters]

[Dick] The hotshot is ahead by three games.

It's now time to use dirty tennis.

-Let's start with the old "in or out" trick. -Oh, Bruce,

b-- be-- before you serve,

d-- do you breathe in or out?

[typewriter clicking]

[comical music]

[Bruce chuckles] What does he mean,

"Do I breathe in or do I breathe out on my serve?"

-What a ridiculous question! -[exhales sharply]

Bruce...

...which way? In or out?

[sighs]

Breathing in, out!

-[coughs] -[Dick] Fault!

[Bruce] Maybe I should be throwing while breathing out

or hitting while breathing in.

I don't know if I breathe in or out.

Maybe I'll hold my breath.

I really don't care.

Okay?

Okay.

Love-fifteen!

-[Bruce] In, out! -[grunts]

-Damn it! -Fault.

-[Bruce] Out, in! -[grunts]

[Dick] Extreme double fault.

[Bruce] seven thousand bucks in tennis lessons,

and I don't know whether I breathe in or out.

[quietly] Coming in close to receive his serve,

makes the hotshot opponent think

that you think he's going to dink.

A dink is a very soft shot.

So to prove that he's macho,

he's going to serve the ball as hard as he can.

Thus increasing his chances of making a mistake.

We call this the old

"he's thinking I'm thinking he's dinking" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

[Bruce] He's thinking I'm dinking.

I'll show him.

[grunts]

Fault!

[Bruce] All right, Bruce, dink it in nice and easy until you're warmed up.

He can't hurt you anyway.

[quietly] Now, right about this time,

the hotshot will start playing our game and dink.

When he starts playing our game,

we start playing his game.

We call this the "monkey see, monkey do" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

[grunts]

[Dick] Game!

[sensual music]

Oh, Nicolette!

Bruce Jenner, I, I want you to meet, uh, Nicolette Sheridan.

Bruce Jenner. [chuckles softly]

Wow, you're actually trim and good-looking in person.

Thanks. Well, you know how the camera puts on ten pounds.

If you're lucky enough to have a sunning spot at courtside,

take full advantage of it.

Have your sons invite their most beautiful girlfriends over

and give them full access to it.

Of course, if you're playing a woman,

you must adjust accordingly,

perhaps by having one of your sons mow the lawn

in a Speedo bathing suit.

We call this the old "keep your eye on the birdie" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

I'd like to tell you something.

I loved the movie The Sure Thing.

I mean, with you lying there on that beach

with that dark tan

and that golden hair blowing in the wind

and that skimpy bikini!

Oh, boy!

And then slowly rubbing

that hot oil

into that luscious skin.

And then, sensually turning to the camera...

...with those pouting lips

and seductive eyes.

[exclaims]

[Nicollette] Thank you. Thank you, Bruce.

[Dick] Come on, Bruce, we're playing a game here.

Let's go!

[sensual music]

[Bruce] Did I sound like a jerk?

I hope she notices my sexy new tennis outfit.

[chuckles nervously] I, I hope I'm not sweating.

[Nicollete grunting]

Fifteen-love.

[Bruce] Okay, Mr. Jenner,

strut your stuff.

She sure is a cool one, pretending not to notice me.

I'll have to try one of these old "under the leg" shots.

-[grunting] -Good thing I've been practicing.

Shoot. She didn't see me.

I'll just have to do it again. Ouch!

Gee, the pain. [groans] Don't let her know it hurts.

Come on, Bruce, we're playing a game here.

Let's go!

[Bruce moans in thought]

[telephone ringing]

[Dick] A telephone on the court is a must-have

for the die-hard dirty tennis player.

The old "ring-a-ling-a-ding" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

[telephone continues ringing]

Are you gonna answer that phone, Dick?

Whoops.

No.

[Dick] Now, this is only one of several versions

of the ring-a-ling-a-ding trick.

Later, we'll touch on another variation.

But be creative. Come up with some of your own.

Two to three.

[birds chirping]

Since I'm older than Bruce,

I'm going to need a little time to rest

before he starts bashing those serves at me again.

I call this the old "shoe business" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

[comical music]

[Bruce] Come on. I can't take much more.

Let's go, Dick! [snaps fingers]

Get that ball over there.

[Dick] I'm still not completely rested.

[typewriter clicking]

Now, let me show you how that was done,

in slow motion.

[comical music in slow motion]

[telephone ringing]

[telephone continues ringing]

-[Bruce exclaims] -I'd better answer that.

It's been ringing a long time.

It must be important.

What did I tell you? Ring-a-ling-a-ding variation number one.

A perfect chance to catch your breath.

Besides, Bruce was about to win the point.

[typewriter clicking]

[panting]

Hello!

Hi there!

No, no, not at all.

No, this is a good time.

You're not interrupting anything.

Well, well, well...

...tell me...

...how's the wife and kids?

Oh!

That's great.

Well...

...tell me...

...what did you have for dinner last night?

[Bruce angrily] Hey, Dick!

[quietly] This is guaranteed

to throw the hotshots rhythm completely off

and make him cranky at the same time.

Come on, Dick, let's go.

Now, lest it appear that the dirty tennis player

has no use for sportsmanship,

he must develop the fine art

of speaking and understanding the language of tennis.

[typewriter clicking]

Come on, Dick. Let's go!

[comical music]

[Dick panting]

[in normal voice] Take two, Bruce.

Sorry about the distraction.

Ahh!

Nice shot!

Fifteen, uh, love.

[grunts]

Just missed.

[exhales]

[grunts]

Too good for me.

Thirty-love.

[grunts]

Oh, wow.

You really put something on that one.

Uh... forty-love.

Now I'm going to teach you the art

of calling a bad ball good.

After all,

the hotshot is serving very well,

the score is forty-love,

he's going to win this game anyway.

What better time than to look like the great sport?

Besides, if he thinks I'm doing something tricky later,

it'll be harder for him to believe.

We call this the old "give 'em a gift" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

[birds chirping]

[grunts]

Oh! Good serve!

-Are you sure? -Oh, absolutely.

You win the game. That was right in the box.

[comical music]

[Bruce chuckles] Geez.

Who can't beat a guy who cheats himself?

Uh, you, Dick, are playing great.

[chuckles softly]

[chuckling] You still got it, Jenner.

Oh!

Did she wink, or is there just water in her eyes?

Yeah, she definitely winked. [chuckles]

I knew that haircut would pay off.

Oh.

What a goddess!

Smooth as silk.

Br-- Bruce, B-- Br-- Bruce,

hold it there, big fella.

You've got a game to play.

Just concentrate on the game.

[Dick] Perfect timing.

The skilled dirty tennis player always knows

where an old bald ball is.

Now, you can distinguish an old ball

by its brown color and no hair.

It is lighter than a new ball

and bounces a lot higher and faster.

That's two-four!

[birds chirping]

What the hell?

Fifteen-love.

[Bruce] I barely touched it. What's going on here?

[grunts]

Whoa!

What was that? Halley's comet?

I want to see that ball.

[comical music]

Thirty-love.

-[Nicolette] Come on! -[groans]

[grunts]

Come on, you stupid bottle.

Hey, Nicolette, let me see if I can do that for you.

I got it.

Oh, those muscles are good for something, aren't they?

[chuckles] Well, actually, I'm not all that muscular, but...

...I do do a lot of stretching.

Bruce, Come on.

We're playing a game!

Forty-love.

Let's go!

Sorry, Dick.

[Nicolette gasps]

Aah!

Oh, I drank it too quickly.

[burps]

[exhales]

You let that ball go right by you!

Oh, that's so sweet of you to give Dick points. Tsk.

I mean, I, I don't want to win every point.

[panting] Dirty tennis never fails.

I'm now going to use

the "oldies but goodies" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

[button clicks]

[lively music plays on radio]

Dick!

I can't play with the music on.

Oh, no! But please, Bruce,

this is my favorite new song.

All right. You ready?

All set.

[music continues playing]

Fault!

Double fault!

Love-fifteen.

Your song is over with. I'm turning it off.

I got to turn it off. I can't play with the music on. I'm sorry.

Come on, please, Bruce.

This is the song that was playing

on the night that I was married.

Also on the night that my first son was born.

[music starts playing again]

[Bruce] Oh, shucks. She's leaving.

Look happy, Bruce.

I got to get her number.

I, I need a pen,

a crayon,

highlighter, anything.

Bye!

Wait!

Oh, I mean...

...goodbye.

Bye.

[Bruce] Aah!

[exhales]

[groans]

[quietly] Now, when the sun gets bad, use it.

I call this the old "blind 'em and beat 'em" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

[Bruce] I just won't throw the ball so high.

I don't need to serve hard to this bozo anyway.

[light tense music]

[grunts]

[groans] Oh, G-- God!

Aah!

I can't see.

I can't see!

Oh, God!

Oh, God.

Now, which glasses were for afternoon glare?

[stutters] Never mind!

Look confident!

[exhales thoroughly]

Love-fifteen.

[grunts]

Yeah!

[dog barks, growls]

Your dog did it on purpose.

On purpose?

That's ridiculous.

No dog of his could be that smart.

Sorry, Dick.

No problem.

It happens.

[birds chirping]

[grunts]

[Dick] Ow!

Out?

I didn't say, "Out."

I said, "Ow!"

My tennis elbow.

Ow! Ow! It hurts.

Jeepers creepers, Bruce.

All right.

That's it.

[grunts]

-Y-- you know what you are? -It's my point.

-You're an-- -[Pat] Hi, Bruce.

I brought you guys some lemonade.

Hello, Mrs. Van Patten.

[chuckles]

Gee, Dickie and I were so happy you could come over today.

D-- did you know you're Dick's idol?

Oh, yes, yes.

I mean, I heard him say that.

Well, keep on playing.

I don't want to interrupt your fun.

Oh, you haven't.

Believe me, you haven't.

[giggling]

Bye!

[Bruce] He's cheating.

He must be cheating!

What if he's not?

Then it's these rackets,

these strings,

these stupid strings.

I told 'em not to string 'em too tight!

[thuds, shatters]

[Dick] Well, I have toyed with him long enough.

It is time to push him over the edge.

Besides, now the sun is in my court.

[fanfare music]

Vincent Van Pattern, actor,

recently retired world-ranked tennis professional,

now working in cahoots with his father.

Aah!

The sun! It's so hot!

[Dick] Nels Van Patten, actor, world-ranked paddle tennis professional,

-now working in cahoots with his father. -Thirty-love.

[fast-paced jaunty music]

Ahh, hyah!

[leaf blower running]

Ah-- [groaning]

[telephone ringing]

Why can't I see the ball?

[telephone continues ringing]

[leaf blower continues running]

[dog barks]

[Dick] James Van Patten,

actor, dark-haired black sheep of the family,

hates tennis and is sick of the public confusion

that he too is a tennis player.

[groans] Just because I'm stupid doesn't mean I'm a jock.

[dog barking]

[panting]

[breathless] Love-thirty.

[exhales sharply]

-The next set... [continues mumbling] -Well,

I've got him talking to himself.

-[Bruce grunting] -Once you've completely broken the hotshot,

there's no need for dirty tennis.

I'm a great athlete, and the world knows it!

And I don't need this crap!

So they took my face off the Wheaties box?

I don't care!

It was a four-year deal and it was up,

so there, world.

And Mark Spitz,

and his seven gold medals...

[imitates vomiting]

[grunts] Love-forty.

[grunting]

[gun cocks]

-[gunshot] -Aah! Aah!

Hit the dirt!

[screaming]

[Dick] Bruce. Bruce.

[gentle music]

[groaning]

Oh! [crying]

Thanks for a very nice set, Bruce.

Lemonade?

[birds chirping]

Come back soon, Bruce.

Thanks again, Dick.

I'm quitting tennis.

[engine running]

Bye-bye.

Bye-bye, Bruce.

[comical music]

You know, sometimes I do feel a little guilty.

I mean, perhaps there is a little more to tennis

than just winning.

Dickie!

Dickie!

Ivan Lendl is on the phone.

He wants to know if he can come over and practice.

-Oh, wow! Ivan Lendl? -Yeah.

Dad, you've got no chance. He's gonna kill you.

I can't believe it! My own son turning on me.

Dad, like I was saying, I lost my head. I'm sorry.

You'll kill him. He's got no chance.

You'll get great press, you'll make front page in National Enquirer.

Father, let's do it. Let's get him.

He won't know what hit him.

He probably thinks we're this all-American,

squeaky-clean type of family...

-[laughs] -...like, like the Father Knows Best.

Leave It to Beaver, The Nelsons, The Waltons, Mister Ed.

Button it up, Vincent, the camera is rolling.

The Osmonds, The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family,

I love that show. I love the kid.

What do you think, Nicolette?

Sure, why not?

Beats looking at family photos.

I don't know, though.

After what I just did to Bruce,

I had him down on the ground.

I mean, I turned him into a...

...quivering mass of Jell-O.

And you wondered why I turned out the way I did.

Oh, what the heck?

Send him over.

[laughing]

[playful music]

Wait. Not so fast.

[Dick] And he is wishing you a lot of love on your court.