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Beer and beef jerky.

The breakfast of champions.

Anyhoo, my name is Gary Houseman.

I'm a guy who's done some hard living,

and it all started with tennis.

You know, tennis, the sport of kings.

A game of beauty, power, grace,

and all that other horseshit.

I was born into a family of tennis freaks.

I was brought up to love the game,

whether it was played on grass, clay,
cement or on the table in our basement

wearing only our nut-huggers.

My dad loved tennis.

- Regular tennis...
- Out!

...table tennis, it didn't matter.

Ball nicked. Point to Dwight.

But my old man was a cheater.

- Dwight wins.
- That's bullshit.

I fucking own you, Gary.

And my brother, well, he was just a dick.

They shit on my game
every chance they had,

and I never got a taste
of that sweet, sweet winner's jerky.

I decided then and there
to go for something far sweeter.

The taste of tennis glory.

After years of climbing my way
up the tennis ladder,

I found myself grinding it out
in the Mexican semi-pro tour,

one small step away from the big leagues.

But it was hot as balls,
and the prize money sucked.

Eventually,

the pressure kind of got to me.

Sorry.

Based on some on-court issues
and a minor off-court incident,

I was booted off the tour.

But I used my newly-found free time
to meet some new people.

And also do some traveling.

When I reached Nebraska, I saw a sign.

And when my traveling companions
accidentally left me behind...

Wait!

...it was clearly another sign.

I bought everyone beef jerky.

As I stood there in that lonely road,

I realized that this was as good a place
as any for a man to reinvent himself.

As long as I kept away from tennis
and those fuzzy yellow balls,

everything would be fine.

Not only that, the home prices in Nebraska
are very reasonable.

So I became an engineer.

A custodial engineer at Lincoln West High.

- Nice shorts, little guy!
- Tennis sucks, dude.

And it's all good,

just as long as tennis
stays the hell out of my life.

What the fuck?

A little help?

Why won't Lady Tennis leave me alone?

Little help, please.

All right, backhand drill. Let's go.

Randy.

That was terrible.

Nibbins.

No. Hey, the net's this way.

Mike!

Nice one. That's a winner.
All right, here we go, Nibby.

Nibby. Watch your head.

Playing tennis? Or is that croquet?
What are you playing?

Don't forget to mark it on the ball.
That's number one.

- Let's bring it in, men!
- Okay.

Come on, Chang.

All right, 10 laps around the court
before you take off. Let's go!

Nibby, let's marshal here.

- Awful big forehand.
- Pardon?

I saw you hitting yesterday.

You don't see strokes like that very often.

Yeah. Me and tennis, we go way back.

- You want the long or the short version?
- I like them short.

Grew up in a tennis family.

My brother was headed for the pros
before he blew out his knee.

According to my dad,
I never showed the same promise.

But I was still good enough to win the top
spot on my hometown's college team.

I only played with them briefly,
due to a lack of support from my teammates.

Hey, Gary.

Take that, you cheater!

After leaving college,
I led a tennis journeyman's existence.

But my career was rear-ended
by a total misunderstanding.

What the fuck?

Let the girl go! Let her go!

Take me instead.

Good God, Gary!
That donkey will tear you up!

- I don't want to talk about tennis right now.
- Gary!

After that painful experience,
I fell on some dark times.

I'll save you.

But eventually I got my shit together.

I found this kick-ass job, and here I am.

Sounds like you've walked
a rocky road, friend.

But, hell, as the old man owl says,

"That's what puts hair on a man's balls."

That's exactly how I see it.

- I'm Lew Tuttle.
- Gary Houseman.

So how's your squad looking?

We might win one or two matches.

Team captain, he's a real scrapper.

Problem is, it's a big drop
from him to our two man.

Makes it hard to compete

against a Southpoint High slinger
like Tommy Tremble

if he doesn't have any decent competition
in practice, huh?

Yeah.

Say,

you wouldn't happen to be free to bang
a few with him around 3:15, would you?

No. I'm done with tennis.

Sure, I hit a few balls yesterday,
but that was an exception.

Maybe tennis has been good to you,
but she really did a fucking number on me.

I will never go back to tennis.

Ad-in.

Get that bitch!

Yeah! Fuck, yeah!

He got you there, Mike!

- Pretty prime strokes out there, Cappy.
- Thanks.

Couple points here and there,
and I'm on the losing end of this thing.

Great playing, men.

Where'd you learn to hit that last one?

I haven't seen a 'tweener
since Yannick Noah in the French.

It's a Zen thing.

You gotta be in the moment,
then lose your flow.

Lose your flow, huh?

Hey, if you're always free at this time,
I could sure use an assistant.

I think you'd be a hell of an asset
to this team, especially to Mike over there.

Well, I'm a little tight on time,
but I might be able to fit it into my schedule.

All right, everybody, listen up.

I'm sure most of you heard
through the grapevine

Mr. Houseman here is gonna be
our new assistant coach.

So let's all give him
a warm Cherokee welcome.

That's pathetic.

Okay, everyone, let's warm up.

Coach, I've worked out some drill patterns

that I think
could amplify your coaching style.

Son of a bitch!

Look at that little dandy.

I've told him a hundred times,

I don't want to see
that faggy two-handed forehand shit.

Nibby, one hand, God damn it!

That boy doesn't have
an ounce of self-respect.

Say, can you hold down the fort?
I gotta go take a dump.

You bet.

Sorry about that.
You can't come in on that like that.

So, are you, like, the only tennis groupie
at this school or what?

I've been around the tennis scene
a long time.

Believe me,
I've known plenty of chicks like you.

What I don't know is which one of
these cowboys you're banging.

And I need to know that
so I can coach around it.

Really?

Actually, I'm Jenny Tuttle.

I work in the training room after school

and then I come down here
to catch a ride home with my dad.

Oh, shit. I'm sorry.

You're a Tuttle, huh?
That's fucking awesome.

I didn't mean to imply that you look
like some kind of slut or something.

I guess I'm the dickhead on this one.

- I'm Gary, by the way.
- Yeah, I know.

- School's new janitor, right?
- And the new assistant coach.

I take both jobs seriously.

The school has been looking
really clean lately.

Thank you.

Gary, you are the man.

It's only taken you a few short weeks
here in Lincoln to turn your life around.

Damn, beer is good.

Coach Tuttle has given you a shot
at tennis redemption.

Cherish it.

He's Simon, you're Garfunkel

and together you're about to make
sweet tennis music.

We've had a lot of fun
working with rhomboids,

but I can't spend the whole term
talking about rhomboids.

The discussion today is triangles.

So...

Who can tell me the difference
between an isosceles and an equilateral?

Yeah.

All three sides of an equilateral triangle
have the same length

and each corner has a 60-degree angle.

An isosceles triangle,
only two sides are the same length and...

What's going on?

- Mr. Tuttle's dead!
- What?

He was just explaining isosceles
and then he bent over and he just dropped.

I don't understand. Triangles?

He just dropped!

Make a path! Get out of my fucking way!
Coach down!

What the fuck!

- Hey!
- He's clear.

Give me the fucking things! You know,
the things! The fucking clappers!

- He's been gone for 20 minutes.
- Bullshit!

You medevac in a baboon's heart
right fucking now.

I'm sorry, sir. You have to step back.
He's gone.

Clear a path.

Coming through.

Come back, Coach.
Those bright lights aren't court lamps.

And, obviously, we're all stunned
at what happened the other day.

Lew was the real deal.

They broke the mold
when they made that son of a gun.

I understand Lew appointed you
to be his assistant.

- Yes, sir.
- Glad to hear it.

That'll make the transition a lot easier
on the boys.

Gary, I've appointed Steve to be head coach.

Unfortunately, Steve doesn't know
a thing about tennis,

or any other sport, for that matter.

Well, you know, actually,
badminton is very similar

in that they both use rackets,
only instead of keeping balls aloft...

But, he's the only faculty member
who volunteered,

so, he's in.

I'm sorry I couldn't promote you
to head coach, Gary.

City rules dictate that all head coaches
have to be faculty.

But you can make this a lot easier
on the boys by keeping up Lew's routines.

He ran a tight ship.

So, I want the two of you
to think of yourselves as co-head coaches.

Amy, what are you doing here?

- Sorry, Daddy, I had to leave school.
- What is it this time?

I'm pregnant,
and I need money for an abortion.

Amy, do you remember what Dr. Saxena said
about telling lies?

But I'm not lying!

And last month you had AIDS?

That prostitute made me shoot up
with a dirty needle.

I don't want my baby to have the AIDS!

That's why I need an abortion!

Honey, I'm in the middle of something here.

Why don't you wait outside with Meg
and I'll walk you back to school later, okay?

Okay.

That's right, sweetie, stay with me.

- How old is she?
- Eight.

That's a fun age.

Anyway, this isn't football,

so no one's gonna be overly concerned
about your record.

Let's just try to make tennis
something these boys can fall back on

while they deal with their coach's death.

- Well, yeah, certainly death is not an easy...
- I disagree.

Mr. Daubert's exactly right!
We can help these boys!

Tennis won't die on them.
And they need to know that!

Well, I never meant to suggest
that tennis would die on them.

I'm just saying that every life form expires,

and it's not easy for other organisms

in the vicinity of the dying party.

- Jenny, can you get the door?
- Okay, Mom.

Hi, Jenny. I'm so sorry.

- I brought your family some chocolates.
- Thanks.

- Jenny, who is it?
- The janitor.

And the new head coach.

Yes?

I like them short.

Yes?

Hi.

God damn it! Doesn't make any sense!
Prime of his life!

I'm just worried about the boys.

Coach T. Left shoes too big
for 10 men to fill,

and here my assistant and I...

Do you know Steve Pimble?

I believe our eldest
had him for Chemistry last year.

- Your eldest? Son or daughter?
- Son.

- He's a freshman at the U.
- That's great.

Will he coach tennis after college?

I don't think so. Brad's pre-med.
He's more of an intellectual than an athlete.

Yes!

Yeah!

Well, the world needs doctors, too.

Anyway, I just thought I would ask,

and please stop me
if this is inappropriate timing,

I was hoping that Coach T. Had some
instructional tools,

or anything that might help our transition.

I remember that he had a student
videotape some of the matches.

That would be great.

Jenny, grab the sun tea off the porch
and pour Gary a glass.

Down! Down! Get off!

Here you go.

Thank you.

So, Jenny,
I know how much you love tennis.

And I just want you to know

that if you ever want to hang around
at practice like you used to,

or if you need a ride home, or anything,
just let me know.

I don't love tennis.

You at least like it, though, right?

I like watching it, I guess.
But I don't really play.

Volleyball's more my sport.

- Court or sand?
- Court.

I'm more of a sand man, myself.

In fact, I was partying with the Dominican
sand team down in Cabo a few years ago,

and we were just completely
out of our minds on mescaline,

and these two little nymphos walked by

and they were like,
"Show us your cocks!" You know.

I'm sorry, Jenny, that was probably not
the most appropriate story right now.

So do you play on the volleyball team?

I played in junior high,
but I'm not good enough for varsity.

Thanks.

Are those Coach Tuttle's dogs?

Yes, they are. Were.

They're quite a handful,
always knocking me down.

They're just so big.

May I pet them?

Whether it was on the court or off the court,
Coach T. Always had time for his kids.

No matter if they were in his class,
on his team,

or just needed someone to talk to,

Coach T. Always made them a priority.

If they needed him, he was there.

He was unique, and he was an original.

I want to thank you all for being here today.

Please sign the memorial book
on your way out.

This will conclude our service.

I remember the first time that I saw Coach T.

He was on the court,
his beloved boys gathered around him.

My God, what a presence!

Next day, I met him.

He told me this was his year.

With this group of boys,
he would end the 20-year drought

and bring home the Ark of the Covenant,
the elusive Nebraska state tennis title.

Like Moses, Coach T. Will not see
the promised land with earthly eyes.

But I want him to know
that we will fight the good fight.

And with the help of his guiding spirit,

we will bring home the state trophy
to West High

where Coach always knew it belonged.

God bless you, Coach T.

We will always...

We will always...

God damn you, heaven, you son of a bitch!

We're gonna miss the shit out of you,
you old man!

He was a good man.

Maybe the best.

I love Mike.

I boss tennis.

What?

I have...

bandana.

I'm sorry to interrupt.

I'm Gary, the new tennis coach.

May I borrow Mike for a few minutes?

Yes. Mike...

Yes.

Yes.

- She's really hot.
- Yeah.

- What's her name?
- Miss Sanchez. She's from Argentina.

- You banging her?
- No.

So I've been watching some of your
junior year work against Southpoint.

Watch this and tell me what's wrong.

Get your damn head in the game!

Yeah, Mike. Pull your damn head
out of your ass!

- My approach shot was down the middle?
- No, that's fine.

And forget that bullshit about
always approaching to the backhand.

Down the middle takes away passing angles.

- My approach shot was too soft?
- That's not it.

I should've sliced my approach
to keep it low.

Forget the fucking approach shot!
Look at your footwork.

You run to the net like a maniac.
You can't cut off his angles.

Do you know what a split-step is?

- I'm not sure.
- I'll show you.

Okay, I start off to the net,

and just as my opponent hits the ball,
I stop. Just for a second.

Now, I can volley in any direction.

And if the cocksucker decides to get tricky
and throws up a lob,

my momentum is already stopped

and I can just back-pedal into
a Jimmy Connors sky-hook overhand.

End of story.

Okay. Yeah, I'll work on that.

Good, because
if we're gonna beat Southpoint,

you've got to take out
that swinging dick Tommy Tremble.

By the way, was that your dad
yelling on the tape?

Yeah. He's pretty competitive.

- And the boy?
- That's my little brother, Ronny.

I've been there, man.

You were at that match?

No, I mean I had a dad with a cob up his ass
and a brother with a fresh mouth.

Anyways...

Now, Miss Sanchez. Portuguese.

Thank you for waiting.
Can I take your order, please?

Yeah, give me two cheeseburgers,
two fish sandwiches,

three large fries
and a large strawberry shake.

- Would you like a hot apple pie with that?
- Yeah, okay.

Here we go, Gary.
Your first day as head coach.

I feel awesome.
Like I'm walking on sunshine.

And this food is so damn tasty.

And you better believe this meal's
gonna feel twice as good coming out

as it did going in.

Come on, guys. Bring it in, men.
Let's go, boys, bring it in.

In my hand I hold every match score sheet
and tournament draw sheet

this team has played in
over the past 20 years.

Seven years ago, you qualified for state
and finished in 11th place.

Rad. That's your one and only
highlight, gentlemen.

Anyone want to go through your lowlights?
I didn't think so.

Nibby! What is all this?

Our records?

- How about it, Chang?
- Crap.

Well, I guess that's true.

Cappy, what the hell is all this crap?

- The past.
- That's right! It's the past.

Yes, it's shit. But it's past shit.

Does anyone wanna know what I think
about all these shit showings?

Raise your hand if you want to know
what I think about all this shit!

- What do you think about that, Cappy?
- I'm not sure.

A purging! That's what we need!
A fucking purging!

We've got a little Cherokee spirit
jumping out here!

- Come on, you feel that, Nibby?
- Yeah, yeah. I think so.

That's what I'm talking about!
Come on! It feels good!

A fucking fresh start, Chang!

- Fuck, yeah!
- Fuck, yeah! Fuck, yeah!

- Coach Tuttle would have understood.
- Heck, yeah.

Sometimes we need to mold beauty
out of the clay of ugliness.

That said, I still should have immediately
cleaned the vomit off those courts.

No problem at all. You know
I've always got time to talk football.

I'm glad you've got confidence
in your offensive line, Jeffrey.

That'll help me sleep at night.

Hey, and tell your old man
he still owes me a sixer.

It's been 20 years
and he still hasn't paid up.

- All right, I'll tell him, Mr. D.
- Thanks.

Is this an emergency, Steve?

No, not an emergency, necessarily,
but it is about Gary.

- He vomited.
- Good! Let's talk later.

Mr. Daubert's office.

He's a pretty busy guy.

I liked your energy out there today, guys,

but energy and motivation
are only half the game.

A lot of you boys are weak. Physically.

Especially in those little chopsticks
you like to call legs.

Can't do anything in tennis
if you don't have the legs for it.

Coach P. Is going to jump on my back.

Come on, Coach, go ahead.

Get up.

Okay, guys, pair up!

Fifty Popeyes each. One, two, three.

- Feel that burn, Cappy?
- Yes, Coach, I do.

Actually, Steve,
can you get off my back, please?

Steve! Can you get off my back?

What the...

You guys keep going.

It's gonna be a tough season, men.

You're gonna have to dig deep
to make Coach T. 's dream a reality.

Wipe that goddamn smile
off your face, Paul!

I'm not talking about muff diving here.
I'm talking about digging for the state title!

Come on, Chang!
Let's start off the season with a win!

- God damn it!
- God damn it.

Oh, boy.

This team really sucks.

Cappy, move your legs.
That's where the power comes from.

Nibby, what are you doing?
What are you choking up for?

Move your hand down the shaft.
You know how that feels, right?

Right foot forward. All right.
Bring your arm up.

Yeah. You know what?
Just go take a seat. It's okay.

Jenny sure looks down.

But, Gary, sometimes
you got to give people their space.

And right now, you need to focus
on your second match.

Yeah!

Close means squat. You've got to teach
these boys to go for the damn jugular!

- That's the win.
- Yeah, Paul!

- Yeah!
- Yeah.

It always feels good
to take one from behind.

But I think we may be a player short
for making a real run at state.

It might be time for Plan
Foreign Exchange Student.

But you've got to admit, Gary,
the team's coming together.

And it sure is nice to see
Jenny coming back around.

Excuse me, Jenny. God damn this cold.

You won't be late for dinner
if I run in here real quick, will you?

No, I'm fine.

Great. I'll just be a minute.

So, Mike, how's your
lame-ass tennis team doing?

We're two and three now.

Right.

- Hello, is Mike Jenson there?
- Mike.

- Hello?
- Hey, Cappy.

You're not gonna believe this.

Here we got fucking Southpoint on Friday
and I got a head cold in spades,

but I was calling to tell you the news.

You remember that foreign exchange
student I thought I could bring in?

The 20-year-old Swede?

No, no, no. That fell through. The other one.
The Filipino.

- I thought you said you were misled.
- More of a misunderstanding.

Turns out he's the fricking junior
Ping-Pong champ of the Philippines.

He never played tennis, but he must have
out-of-this-world hand-eye.

He's on an overnight layover in the tropics,
but he'll be here in time for Southpoint.

I just need a damn host family.
Think he can crash at your pad?

- I don't think so.
- Why not?

My dad doesn't like foreigners.

All right. See you, Cappy.

- Who the hell was that?
- Oh, it was just Coach Houseman.

The janitor?

Sorry about the extended pit stop.

- What's in the bag?
- NyQuil and some beef jerky.

Hey, hey! Let me have that!
My germs are all over it.

Why did you buy condoms?

Well... Jenny,
did Coach ever talk to you about...

- Have you taken Health class yet?
- You don't think I know about sex?

No. Yeah. It's...

- Please don't open that.
- Who are you going to hump?

Nobody in particular. I just realized I'm out.

Gross! Why does it have ruffles?

Those are called ribs, Jenny,
and they're for extra pleasure.

- These are for pervs.
- No. A lot of people enjoy...

You know what? This is awkward, okay?

You really shouldn't be touching that
at your age.

And it smells funny.

- Thanks for the ride.
- No problem.

Yeah, I'll see you later!

I shouldn't even be looking.

Fifteen will get you 20.

Know what I mean?

Yeah.

So when is your dad getting back?

When his research is going well, sometimes
he stays on campus past midnight.

- Where's your mom?
- Visiting her sister.

- In China?
- Omaha.

My grandpa used to play tennis in Hanoi.

Okay.

- What the fuck you doing?
- Your flag dropped. Good game.

Jesus H., Chang! You're not gonna win
on a technicality, are you?

God damn it!

He looks like a goat!

He really does, doesn't he?

- I'll spot you five minutes.
- You're too kind.

- Checkmate.
- That's a crock.

You fucked me up
with all that timer horseshit!

- What the fuck is he laughing at?
- He just likes to laugh.

Look, Chongers.

Now, I pulled some strings with Congo Air

to get this Filipino kid here
in time for Friday's match.

But I need a goddamn host family.

- So, is your dad gonna step up or what?
- I don't know, Coach.

It's kind of last minute,
and my dad's not big on surprises.

Well, shit, ask your grandpa, then.

Grandpa...

Gary wants to know...

if his friend can stay with us for a few days?

Where I grew up we had eight
families living in one room...

Now we have too many rooms...

Gary, your friend can stay here!

He says okay.

Thank you.

Man, I'm sick of being sick.

But at least on the tennis front
things are looking up.

That Filipino ringer you wrangled
is finally on his way.

So just be Zen, Gary.

Drink up your patented Houseman
health shake

and let life's juices flow.

For the love of Christ, Jones and Nibbins,

don't fucking shy away
from the goddamn ball!

God damn it!

Jones! Nibbins!

Hey, Gary! What are you doing?

Why the fuck are you two
so scared of a little yellow ball?

- We're not.
- I've been sitting in my house

watching you two shy away from every
goddamn ball for the last 10 minutes!

Tell me you haven't! Say it!

- We haven't.
- Really?

- Gary...
- Not now, Coach.

That hurt?

Hey, hey. Hey, stop crying.

- Nibbins, look at me. Are you hurt?
- No.

- Jonesy, you hurt?
- No.

You see? There's nothing to be scared of.

It's just a little yellow ball.

- Stings though, don't it?
- Yeah.

Listen, when you're at the net

and some jokester is taking target practice
at you, guess what?

He can't hurt you.

And if you stay on top of the goddamn net,
you can take away all his angles!

You can see that tennis
is a game of angles, can't you?

- Yeah.
- Okay, then.

Sorry about that, Coach.

Except for Jones and Nibbins, it looks like
you got practice running pretty smoothly.

Thanks.

Don't look so worried. My fever broke.

Attention, students.

- Hey, how you doing?
- The harvest dance is this Friday night.

Hey, Mr. Daubert, do you have a minute?
I need to talk to you about the tennis team.

- Is there a problem?
- No.

- Well, yes, sort of.
- Hey, how you doing?

There just seems to be
some wrong things happening.

Been some wrong things with the tennis
team for quite some time, Steve.

As a matter of fact, they've pretty much
sucked for the last 20 years.

- Get that History grade up, Jeffrey.
- Yes, sir, I will, Mr. D.

- Well, that's not what I mean.
- What is it, Steve?

Well, it's Gary. There was an incident
in front of the cross-country team.

He was only wearing an athletic supporter

and he was hitting the boys
with tennis balls...

Not the blind boy.

No, no. He was hitting our boys. You know.
And I just thought you should know.

I see.

Hey, listen, if you happen
to talk to Gary about this,

would it possible to not discuss
where you got this information?

No problem, Steve.

I mean, I got budget cuts up the ass,
half the football team is failing History,

and my daughter subscribes
to Leather & Bondage magazine.

But don't worry, Steve,
I'll just drop everything and deal with this.

Jesus, I never had you pegged
as an informer.

Hey, how you doing?

Okay.

Look out, Johnny,
I hear this little fatherfucker

can suck the skin off a potato.

- I gotta go to class.
- All right, butt-monkey. Go to class.

But don't let me catch you
eye-balling my Johnson again.

Nibby, what the fuck?

You just open wide
when they feed you shit?

- Tit for fucking tat!
- He'll beat me up!

Fucking A, Nibbins!
Don't shy away from this, too!

- I can't.
- God damn it, Nibby!

You don't do something right now,

I'm gonna fucking yank you from the team,
you hear me?

I got no fucking time for pansies!

Dick!

Hey! What the fuck is going on?

That kid just knocked my shit on the floor.

Why you grabbing his ass, quarterback?

You like little boys' tight assholes?
Is that it?

Man, I know some mean muchachos

who wouldn't think twice about putting
a dent in your little boy-loving skull

and shoving a fucking shiv
down your dickhole.

Hey, QB, good luck
against Creighton Prep Saturday.

Pitch the ball every once in a while
when you run the option.

You do know you have the option
to pitch the ball on that play?

That's why it's called an option.

Hello, señor Houseman. How are you today?

Hello.

How are you?

Very well.

So, señor Houseman,
where did you learn to speak Spanish?

Lived in México for a few years.

Not only handsome, but a man of the world.

A rare combination
in this part of the country.

Yes. To like coffee...

So, I saw that we're both signed up
to chaperone that harvest dance tonight.

- Si. Si. Yes, I...
- Yeah.

You know, it's like...
Maybe you and I, we could...

You know what I mean?

I gotta Ping-Pong airport later.

You know?

It's all coming together, Gary.

The seeds of romance have been planted.

Now we'll see if that Filipino
Ping-Pong popper pans out.

At least there's something to be said
for being sick and having loose stools.

That's it, Gary. Get it all out of your system.

That was just a little psych-ops mission.

I don't know what they told you about us
in the Philippines,

but America isn't all cream cakes
and crates of Pepsi, Maricar.

I'm sorry you had to watch me drop a heavy
on your first night here.

Number one singles for Southpoint,
I've got Tommy Tremble.

Number one singles for West,
Mr. Mike Jenson!

You shouldn't have shit on our courts.

- What?
- Don't listen to them.

Players, the match begins now.

This is not Ping-Pong, Maricar!
Hit over the net.

It's over.

- A lot of tennis to be played.
- Different year, same shit.

Come on, Ronny.

Damn it, Paul!

If you're gonna be the team videographer,
I need some decent shots!

Come on, man! Tennis Filming 101!
High angles!

What a beautiful day.

It was so kind of you to stop by
and get me out of the house.

My pleasure.

- What's Nibbins' score?
- He just went down a set.

I've got to change the MO.

The kid's foot-faulting!

- Who?
- Who?

Tommy Tremble, bro!
He's been doing it all goddamn day.

Coach, you're out of line.

If you have a complaint against Tommy,
I'll watch, and I'll see it.

No wonder Southpoint never loses.
The fucking ump's on the payroll!

That's enough, Coach.
You have five minutes to leave the match.

Fine! I'm already gone!

- What happened?
- The old-timer tossed me out.

Said I have five minutes
to vacate the premises.

Bring them home, Coach.
See you at the dance later.

Where you going, Gary?

I'm still having some issues
with the scoring system!

Oh, God.

Oh, no!

Life's nothing
unless you take some risks, Gary.

That's why tonight
you need to let it all hang out

and sweep Miss Sanchez
off her little Portuguese ta-ta's.

Punch.

So, you win big matches?

From what I saw
it wasn't looking too good, Miss Sanchez.

I'm sorry to hear that.

You can call me Norma, señor Houseman.

So... Hey, you want to go out there and...

Yes?

Thanks for the punch.

Hello, Miss Sanchez.
You look muy bonita this evening.

So, maybe I could start stopping by
after school for some one-on-one tutoring.

No. I don't like waste time.

So, what was the final damage with
that little dingleberry Tommy Tremble?

4-6, 5-7.

Hey, not bad. It's not a win, but not bad.

Jesus, Cappy, why aren't you out in your car

getting your dinky stinky
in some tight little cheerleader?

What is that? Punch?

I'm a little thirsty.
I'm gonna get myself a coffee.

Ask someone to dance! Jesus!
It's not that hard to say, "Hey, Norma,

"would you like to dance with me?"

Or, you know, Sally, or Betsy.
It don't matter.

Hey, what about her?

- Yeah, right.
- Come on! Give it a shot. You never know.

- But I don't know any moves.
- Moves?

This isn't Soul Train, man.
Just get out there and explore your vibe.

Watch. I'll show you.

So, Jenny, I thought you were having
a great time dancing,

but then I look over, and poof,
you're off by yourself, all sad.

Things have just gotten really heavy,
ever since my dad died.

- It's hard to explain.
- I get it.

I mean, I've never lost a parent,
but I feel like I never really had a dad.

But that's a whole other kettle of fish.

Jenny.

Hey.

It's natural to want... You know?

I mean, losing your dad, and I'm older...

I know I'm sexy.

It's just been really hard without him,
you know?

Oh, hell.

There you go.

Jenny, I don't think
we should be doing this.

It's really not a good idea.

I'm sorry.

Breathe into the pain, Jenny.

Breathe into the pain.

Jesus!

Fucking guy.

Coach Tuttle's Rottweilers! Knock it off!
Hey, Amy. Mr. D! How you doing?

- May I have a word, Gary?
- Sure.

I was just informed you were caught

dry-humping Jenny Tuttle
at the school dance.

Who told you that damn lie?

It was an anonymous phone call, Gary.
Do you deny it?

Of course not!

If you say you got an anonymous
phone call, then I believe you.

No, I mean do you deny
dry-humping Jenny Tuttle at the dance?

God, yes!

- I'm suspending you from the team.
- Because of an anonymous phone call?

Look, Gary, I like you. You've got cojones.

- Fish?
- No. Balls. Big ones.

But the shit keeps rolling downhill.

My ex-wife, these budget cuts,
and this damn fall Sports meeting...

But, we just got to win one out of the next
three matches and we qualify for state.

Then we make Coach Tuttle's dream
a reality.

I just can't be dealing
with a loose cannon now, Gary.

I'm sorry.

Maricar! Inside! Inside!

Damn it, Gary, this is exactly
what I'm talking about!

I thought he was staying with the Changs.

So did I! His grandpa was on board.
But his dad is not a team player.

Let's go, Amy! Stop playing with the dogs!

Who got dry-humped, Daddy?

So it's really not a big deal.

Actually, I wanted to focus more
on my custodial duties,

so the timing of this thing is pretty good.

- Pretty good.
- But why were you suspended, Coach?

Hey, I've got some weekend
hallway buffing to do.

Let's go. Come on.

Come on, let's go.

Well, you guys should probably pair up
and do some volleys or something.

If you have to know, Nibbins,
I got caught in the girls' bathroom

finger-blasting Mike's Spanish teacher
at your oh-so-precious harvest dance!

Is that what you wanted to hear, Nibbins?

Sorry.

You guys will be fine without me.

Cappy?

You could've been a champion.

- One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...
- One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...

Fore!

Move it!

- Sit the fuck down!
- Out of the way, jerk!

Fuck the Huskers! Fuck football!
Fuck all you fuckers!

- You big fucker!
- Not the face! Ear!

Maricar? What are you doing here?
Is Gary here?

Gary? Are you in there?

Gary?

So you're just gonna run away?

I told your dad
that I'd bring home his state title.

Now I've lost my team,

and broken my promise to the only man
who ever gave me a helping hand.

My dad's gone
and now you're leaving me, too.

You're a damn quitter, Gary, and I hate you.

Awful big forehand.

Hey, if you're always free at this time,
I could sure use an assistant.

I think you'd be a hell of an asset
to this team.

I like them short.

I just wanted one!

One goddamn stick of winner's jerky.

I'm so sleepy.

Dig deep, Gary.

Come on, Coach.

- It's time to change the mold.
- Fuck me.

It's beautiful, isn't it?

I love you.

Daddy?

It doesn't take a Ph.D. in dreamology
to know what that was all about, Gary.

You got to get back on the team

if they're going to have a chance
at tennis glory.

It's also clear you need Jenny and Maricar
to help make it happen.

I just don't see where...

Wait. Found it!

It feels a lot worse than it looks.

- So have you talked to Gary lately?
- No. Have you?

I kind of got mad at him yesterday.
I feel bad. He was really down, but...

Well, he hasn't said a word to me
since Coach Pimble took over.

- How's it going with Pimble?
- Sucks.

I mean, we were all pumped
about being one win from making state,

and now we're all bummed out
about being one win from making state.

So I saw you dance with Molly Sharpe
the other night.

Is it nice and tight, or all loose and floppy?

I don't...

Floppy?

You know, I didn't...

Molly and I are just friends, and...

Your shoe. You should keep it
nice and tight to avoid blisters.

Right.

Nice. Nice call.

Well, I should get back to practice.

Hey, by the way,
you were looking pretty prime at the dance.

Prime, huh?

So, boys, I know we've had
a couple of really tough losses,

but I don't think
you're hitting the balls hard enough.

So I think we should do some push-ups,
you know? Get stronger.

Coach Houseman said
tennis players should never do push-ups.

Why not?

Is there any chance Coach Houseman
will come back?

I think we should just focus
on the push-ups.

Everybody down.

Maricar, everybody.

Hey. Hey, buddy? Lower to the ground,
there, and you're gonna push up...

God damn it.

Coach P. Should know better
than to make them do push-ups.

The last thing a tennis player needs
are man-tits obstructing his strokes.

I feel better than I can ever remember.

Coach Tuttle may well be
skin-walking in my body.

Miss Sanchez! I'm really glad to see you.

- I wanted to ask you for a favor.
- I hear rumor, señor Houseman.

I hear the kids whisper
that you lose your whistle because of me.

They say we play the sexy fingers at dance.

- Kids!
- Did you say this?

No!

Yes. I'm sorry.

I made up that stupid story as an excuse
for getting suspended from the team.

Well, this very stupid. It's no nice for me

and my reputation
as good teacher and good coach.

You're definitely right. I'm really sorry.

And it's interesting
that you're bringing up coaching,

because I wanted to ask you a favor
regarding your volleyball team.

You know Jenny Tuttle, right?

Yes, I know Jenny Tootle.
She quit my volleyball tryout last year.

Would you ask her to try out
for this year's team?

She's had a rough year, and it would mean
a lot to her, and her father.

Okay, señor Houseman. Maybe I do this.

- But no more stories, okay?
- Done. Thank you.

I like the sexy fingers.

What's happening here?

Jenny.

- Gary?
- Yeah.

- What are you doing in here?
- Replenishing the tampon dispenser.

- Would you like one?
- No, thanks.

On the house.

I'm sorry about last night.
I understand if you hate me.

I don't hate you, Gary.
I like you, that's why I was upset.

That's good to hear,
because I need to ask for a favor.

You said that Mr. Daubert
and your mom are friendly, right?

Yeah.

Do you think you could get your mom
to talk to him about reinstating me?

Yeah, I'll ask her to.

- I'm glad you're no quitter, Gary.
- Me, too.

Yes, I believe her when she says
Gary didn't make a move on her.

But that's not the point, Phyllis.
Gary's a loose cannon.

If he screws up,
it's my cojones on the chopping block.

I know in my heart
it's what Lew would have wanted.

Can you feel it?

Yes, I think I can.

Look, the point is, the tennis team
is obviously causing problems.

Look, the point is, the tennis team
is obviously causing problems.

So, why don't we just cancel
the rest of their season

and funnel their budget
into the football team's sideline mist system

that we supposedly can't afford?

- Yeah!
- Yeah! I don't like tennis! Or golf.

All right, people, settle down.
Settle down. Look...

Okay, Maricar. Again.

I rob Couch Houseman.

"I love Coach Houseman"!

I lub Hooch Cooseman.

Do we have any tennis boosters here
who care to make a comment?

Okay. Steve, want to add something here?

Well, you know, I don't think
we've been doing that badly.

We've actually won quite a few matches,

and the boys seem to be learning
a lot about sportsmanship.

And as far as Gary's suspension goes,

well, the boys actually seem to miss him.
I think they looked up to him quite a bit.

He's prone to outbursts,
but his heart is in the right place.

Come to think of it,

I think we made a pretty damn good
coaching duo.

Let's watch the language, Steve.

"I love Coach Houseman."

I rob House Couchman.

- "I...
- I...

- "...love...
...love...

- "...Coach...
...Coach...

- "...Houseman."
...House-cinnamon.

So I suggest we give them
one final chance to perform

by reinstating Gary as assistant.

If they fail to qualify for state,

we'll cut the team
and give the money to football.

- Any objections?
- Why are we still talking about tennis?

Good Lord! Can we move on to football?

Now, you've scheduled
an away game at Scottsbluff.

Now, that's seven hours away...

I rub Crotch Horseman!

I think we're actually gonna do it!
I think we're gonna make state!

Play it cool, Steve.
Making state's not that big of a deal.

You got to learn to start
setting higher goals.

Yeah! We're going to state, baby!

Oh, my hammy.

Jesus, Nibby! I set you up perfectly!

Why the hell didn't you accept
a groin-muscle rub

from a sexy girl like Jenny Tuttle?

I don't know. I just didn't.

Were those jocks right?

- Are you some kind of fag?
- No.

Hey, if you are, you are.
It's not the end of the world.

But you're in the ninth grade.

You've got plenty of time
in the future for gay sex.

If you want to come out of the closet, great.
If not, that's fine, too.

Play it cool, man. Just do your own thing.

When you get to college,
then have your cock-fest.

But I don't think that I'm gay.

Hell, you can still have sex
while you're in high school.

Just spin her over and pretend
you're pumping some dude.

- But I...
- Come on. We're on.

- Go, Cherokees, go! Go, Cherokees, go!
- Go, Cherokees, go! Go, Cherokees, go!

And this makes five years in a row

that our football warriors
have qualified for state.

What's up?

Let's give them one more Cherokee cheer!

I almost forgot.
Our tennis team qualified for state as well,

so let's give them a round of applause,
shall we?

I'll take it from here.

Allow me to introduce to you

public enemy number one,

Southpoint High's Tommy Tremble.

And now meet the team
who's gonna take him down.

Your Cherokee Tennis starting lineup!

And let's not forget
the man behind the scenes,

Coach Steve "The Bunsen Burner" Pimble.

And I'm Coach Gary Houseman,
the guy who's guaranteeing everyone here

that you've just been introduced to the next
Nebraska state tennis champions!

And tomorrow I expect
each and every one of you

to call in sick and come support our squad!

Bitch!

The pep rally was a total success.
Total success.

My only concern is where Mike's head is at.
Is he ready to win?

Ready to be a champion? Be a man?

Maybe Coach P. And I
should have a word with him.

Coach, I don't think
we should be giving alcohol to a minor.

- Why not? You an informer?
- No! No way!

Actually, I probably shouldn't be drinking
a beer the night before state.

You two need to fucking relax.
It's just a beer.

This is exactly why I called you here, Cappy.

- To drink a beer?
- To be a man.

- By drinking a beer?
- Yes, by drinking a fucking beer!

By understanding
that you're not going to be intimidated

by that little piece of shit Tommy Tremble.

Well, I don't think I've been intimidated.

Well, you haven't beaten him yet, have you?
He's just a kid. And you're a man.

And that's why you gotta drink a fucking
beer. Because you are a fucking man.

Hey, Gary, I thought you said it was
going to be just us three here tonight.

- We got to hide this stuff.
- It's all good, Coach.

Hi.

- Hello, boys. I'm Steffi Nash.
- No, it's "Graf"!

Whatever.

You gotta take that thing off.
We got ourselves a first-timer here.

Okay.

Tunes.

No, this is who you need to focus on.

Okay. Gary, I think I'm just gonna head out.

No way. Just stay for one song and a beer.

Don't set a puss example for Cappy.

We're trying to make a man of him,
for Christ's sake.

Feels awesome, doesn't it?

Yeah.

I'll change the tape.

Hey, Coach? I think I got to get going.

- We have her for another 20 minutes.
- I'll see you tomorrow.

Proud of you, Cappy!

Why don't you take those pants off?

I left my comb in my car.

Sweet dreams, Coach.

All right, Steffi Nash. Buckle up
that strap-on and let's get weird.

Okay, sweetie.

Okay! I'm definitely bleeding!
Oh, God, I've got puncture wounds! Gary!

State. It's a two-day tournament, gentlemen.

You can't win it on the first day,
but you can sure as hell lose it.

We've got to start strong
and finish even stronger.

Okay, when we get out of the van,
nobody goes to the bathroom, nobody talks.

We go straight into our pattern. Got it?

Let these babies fly during our pattern.

When you all get out, leave the doors open.
Let's see if this baby rocks.

Damn it, Coach P! Get them up! Up!

Attaboy, Coach.

That's what I'm talking about.

Up top, Cappy!

How long before you do
one of my boys' rackets?

Got this one, plus two more I'm doing
for Tommy Tremble,

so I'd say about an hour.

These don't have any broken strings.

For big tournaments,
Tommy likes fresh strings each morning.

- Fucking prima donna.
- Mom's kind of hot.

Yes!

Great day today, guys.

Good match, Chongers.
I'll see you at home, Maricar.

Nice job, Paul.

Hey, Cappy, hold up a minute.
We surprised a lot of people today.

But it's day two that counts.

You beat Tommy, and tomorrow
we make Coach T.'s dream a reality.

Hey, Coach? Why do you respect
Coach Tuttle so much?

I mean, I think he was a nice guy
and everything,

but you seem to really look up to him.

Cappy, if God didn't exist,

would you invent him?

I'm not sure. Why?

Never mind. Doesn't matter. God does exist.

And Coach Tuttle really was a good man.
Maybe the best.

You're gonna do great tomorrow.

Coach, will you run them through
warm-ups? I gotta use the head.

Yeah, okay.

Okay, boys. Don't forget your tennis rackets.

Or your balls. Tennis balls.

- Hey, old timer, how you doing?
- Pretty good.

Good.

Well, looks like you got your hands full
with Tommy's rackets already.

Yeah.

We're warming up next to Southpoint.
If you want, I can drop it off for you.

- Sure. Saves me a trip.
- Good.

Hey, so the guys are outside warming up.
They seem pretty confident.

I got to tell you, Mike is really...

Hey, are those Tommy's rackets?

I need you to guard the door
for two minutes,

don't let anybody in.

- What's going on?
- Jesus, Steve! Listen!

- Watch the fucking door!
- What are you doing with those rackets?

Forget about the fucking rackets,

and for once this season, step up
and make a tangible fucking contribution!

Can you do that?

Tangible contribution?

Gary, what's happening here?

Brian saw you in the locker room
shaving my strings, Gary!

You're a fucking cheater, man!

I didn't shave your strings!

Okay, so I shaved a few strings.

- Fucking cheater, man!
- Fucking cheater, man!

- The hell were you doing in there, man?
- Nothing.

- But Tommy's rackets...
- Hey.

Relax. I didn't do anything to the rackets.

I just needed to clear my head.

I couldn't find Tommy anywhere.

Yeah, I figured.
He was in here looking for his rackets.

You must have just missed him.

Well, I'll just leave his sticks here, then.
Sorry about that.

Nice young man.

I can't believe Nibby and Jones.
They didn't shy away once!

Good luck today, Mike!

Gracias.

Okay. Get your mind off of
señorita Tight-ass and stay focused.

- I am focused.
- Good.

- I bet she's got puffy nipples.
- What's that?

- Nothing.
- Coach?

- Do you think I can win?
- Of course I do.

No, I mean do you really think it?
It's just... I don't know.

Look at me, Cappy.

Don't you fucking worry about what I think,

or your dad thinks,
or Tommy little-peckerwood Tremble thinks.

Worry about how deep you're gonna dig.

Worry about not leaving that goddamn court

until you've donated a pint
of AB fucking Negative

to the green fucking pavement out there!

Whether you can win or not.

Worry about that when it's over.

- Got it?
- Yeah. Thanks, Coach.

He's never gonna win.

Gentlemen. Two out of three sets.

If you split the first two, you'll receive
a 15-minute break before the final set.

This match will determine
which team takes home the state title.

- Any questions?
- No.

Okay. Begin!

Let's go, Tommy!

Settle down.

Take it to him, Mike!

Deuce.

- Sweet!
- Yeah!

- Out!
- What? It was on the line!

The call stands.
Too close to overrule. Advantage Tremble.

Jesus Christ, Ump!

Whose dick do we have to suck
to get some fucking calls around here?

That's a warning, Coach.
Next rule violation will be a point penalty.

Easy, big fellow. Easy.

Quiet down, please.
Quiet, please. Thank you.

That's it, Cappy! No free points!
Not today! No free points!

Game Tremble.

The score for first set tie-breaker
is now five serving five.

Shit! What the fuck?

Have some respect for the game, please!

Warning, Southpoint.
Next violation will be a point penalty.

Cappy!

Stand inside the service box for the return.

His serve will hit my feet!
No way. It's set point.

Am I the fucking coach of this team or not?
Do it!

Go for it, Tommy!

Five serving six. Set point, West.

Out!

Damn it, Tommy! Don't kill it! Just get it in!

Second service.

Yes!

First set goes to Lincoln West.

Game Tremble.
Southpoint leads four games to one.

Come on, keep that leg loose, Cappy!

Set point, Southpoint.

Second set goes to Tremble.

Players, you've got 15 minutes
before the final set.

Hey!

What the hell happened out there?

- His leg's cramping.
- Looks more like menstrual cramps!

Let's stay positive!
Mike's gonna get this bastard in the third.

You actually think he can beat Tommy

after shitting all over the court
the whole second set?

Nobody's shitting on anybody's courts!

I don't know what match you were watching,

- but from where I was standing, it sure...
- Hey!

I'm about to play the biggest set of tennis
of my whole fucking life.

Is that okay with you, Dad?

Or would you like me to run away
like you do when things get tough?

Pretty impressive back there, Cappy.

I don't think I could have said that
to my dad.

- Thanks, Coach.
- It's no good. Your legs are burning up.

We've got to get your core body temp down.

- Take your clothes off.
- What?

Come on! Hurry! We only have
a few minutes. You need a cold shower.

- No, no, I don't...
- No time to argue.

- Okay! Okay, I'll do it.
- Hurry!

You get back out there, you get to the net
every point. Chip and charge.

You don't have the legs
to work the baseline.

- Okay.
- Constant pressure.

Come in tight and cut off his angles.
Make him play our game.

Show him how the big boys play hardball.

Okay.

Cappy, you pull this off,

I'll pay Steffi Nash to let you do her
up the poo.

That's enough. We're late.

- Cappy!
- Jesus, Coach!

You can't put those sweaty clothes back on.
They're weighing you down.

- Wear mine.
- Oh, no. No, no, Coach!

- Please, don't make me do that.
- Don't make it weird, Cappy.

This is state, God damn it!
You need fresh clothes! Put them on!

- Those aren't fresh!
- They're fine! Let's go!

Put them on.

Oh, God.

Game, West.

Game, Southpoint.

Shit! Jenny, we need a trainer!

- How long for an injury time-out?
- Three minutes.

If your player cannot continue, it's a default.

- Is he still locked up?
- Yeah, he is.

Shit!

God damn it! We got a man down out there

and you guys are just sitting around
tossing each other's salads?

- What should we do?
- Well, Jesus H., Chang!

You're so ever-loving smart, figure it out!

Grow a pair and do something!

Come here, come here. Come here.

Damn it, Cappy. This is it. Get up, man!

- Come on, Mike!
- You can do it, Mike!

- Let's go, Son!
- You can do it, Bro!

Mikey... Get back up!

Mike! Mike!

Mike, you bitch! Get up
and rip this motherfucker's butt open!

And make him lick his own shit
off your huge fucking cock!

She really misses her mother.

It's time to Cherokee it up, God damn it.

Come on, Mike.

Jesus, man! Put that thing in its holster!
Concentrate!

Sorry, Coach. She's got great hands.

Time. Resume play.

It's almost over. You got him, buddy.

Find me, Mike.

I'm in the now.

Be here. Lose your flow.

Thirty all. Quiet, please. Quiet.

Thirty serving 40.

Cappy!

Not like that. Not on match point. Back it up.

Out.

Second service. Match point, West.

Get there, bitch.

Game, set, match, West High!

Holy shit!

Yeah!

He did it!

- Nice match. Way to dig deep.
- Thanks, Tommy.

Mike did it!

We're the winning team!
I'm part of a winning team!

Hey, Coach.

- Why the long face, Gary?
- I don't know.

I've just been so focused
on turning these boys into champions.

Now that I have, where do I go from here?

I can't tell you where to go, Gary.

But I can tell you one thing.
Those boys will never forget this day.

Days of youth fondly remembered,

those are worth something.

Those are worth a hell of a lot.

- You're a good coach, Gary.
- Really?

Maybe the best.

We rub Crotch Horseman!

No! No, Maricar! No! The lid! The lid!

Life is just so crazy, Gary.

You came to Nebraska
to get away from tennis.

Yet here you are,
basking in the greatness of tennis triumphs.

You big beautiful old lug.

Mrs. Tuttle was so lucky to have you.

Gary, never forget
what Coach T. Taught you...

that life is short,
and you need to find balance.

Tennis, while it is the sport of kings,
can never take the place of a good queen.

Gary, after you marry Norma Sanchez,
you should get a teaching degree.

I bet you'd turn some dead-end dipshit
into a future president.

Damn, it's fucking bright out here!

I love you guys.

THE END