All language subtitles for Winning.Time.The.Rise.of.the.Lakers.Dynasty.S01E07.Invisible.Man.1080p.HMAX.WEB-DL.DD5.1.H.264-NOSiViD

It was a polio year,

and I was 6 years old,

and my mother
decides to teach me

every card and board game
known to man.

Gin rummy, blackjack,
poker, bridge.

Eventually,
we landed on Monopoly.

Now, Monopoly takes strategy,

and skill,
like those other games,

but it also throws in
an element of chance.

So, no matter how good
you are at the game,

the bad breaks come,

and they knock you on your ass.

And, well, lately,
we've had a few of those.

"Banker's up your ass.

Pay three million bucks."

"Coach falls off bike.

Go back 10 spaces."

"Mother diagnosed
with metastatic cancer.

Stare into abyss."

Yeah.
So, it turns out my mother
wasn't losing her marbles.

It was cancer giving
her strokes. Anyway...

Thing about luck is,
it cuts both ways.

You hold on long enough,
and you stay in the game.

It's the law of big numbers.

Eventually...

it goes your way.

"Win NBA Championship.
Find happiness
and peace you seek."

My point is...

I'm fucking due.

("My Favorite Mutiny"
by The Coup playing

- (whistle blows

Well, that stings, Patrick.
Lakers staring down

the barrel of another loss,

now hanging on to first in
the division by a wee thread.

Momentum is wearing off.
With Jack McKinney out,

- Paul Westhead is trying to do
an awful lot all by himself.
- Hey! Psst!

Kid! Come here!

Defense!

Jesus fucking Christ.
Jack, what the fuck?

- Okay, come on!
- Hey, Coach!

Get me back in the game!

Come on, Coach.
Get me back in there!

- Get Silk outta there!
- Come on!

Get your goddamn head outta
your ass, for Christ's sake!

You suck, Westhead,
you suck!

- Ref!
- You're outta timeouts.

Riley said that
I should tell you.

Fuck! Okay.

Cooper, foul!
Take the foul!

- Well,
Michael Cooper takes

an intentional foul,
and, uh, well,

you gotta wonder
whose intent it was

because he's picked up
his sixth foul,

- and he has fouled
out of the game.
- No, no, you're staying in.

- Coach, that's six.
I'm out of the game.
- Okay, Chones!

Ankle.
He's in the locker room.

Landsberger?

- Me? Landsberger?
- Yes! Come on.

You out your
goddamn mind, man.
You out your goddamn mind.

Let's focus up, guys.

Alright, Country, look.

Go quick.
Two for one, yeah?

Y'all take off on the inbounds,
and I'll hit you on the flop.

- Word.
- Cool? Cool?
You good, Coach?

Alright, we got ya,
Coach.

You need to cut bait.

You're jumping the gun.
He's jumping the gun.

West-- Westhead's still
getting his sea legs.

Oh, fucking-- You can't
teach a pig to paint, Bill.

I mean, the boys,
th-they're out there,
treating him like

a substitute fuckin' teacher
'cause that's what he is.

Fellas are
coaching themselves.

- And we're surviving it.
- For now.

What are you even
doing here, Jerry?

Shouldn't you be
on a golf course?

Oh! Fuck it!
I may be retired, Bill,

but I ain't fuckin'
Helen Keller!

- I can see what's going on!
I give a fuck! I care!
- Okay. Okay!

You don't think Paul
can hold the fort

until McKinney is back
on his feet?

It depends. How soon is that?

Docs don't know.
Maybe the All-Star game.

See? Or maybe the Playoffs.

Then it becomes a chess match.

If we don't have
a real coach soon,

you may as well give up
on the fuckin' season.

I'm not giving up on anything.

Then Elgin Baylor's our guy.

Y... Your guy.

I just heard from him.

Rumors hit him, too,
that we may need reinforcements.

Lifetime Laker,
guys respect him.

Good story. Hell, great
fuckin' story for the fans.

Shit, I woulda hired him
the first time around

if we had the chance, but,
uh, him leaving Utah now?

Well, that's just kismet.
Lady luck.

We play his brand of
offense, he slots right in.

And if we pull
the trigger soon...

Well, he's still got time
to make some changes

and make the team his own.

I'm telling you.
It's shit

- or get off the pot.
- Alright.

We bring him in as a sub.

And what happens
when McKinney's ready?

Well, that's going
to be the problem.

No coach worth his salt is
going to come in as a temp,

so you'll have to make Elgin...

you know, a guarantee,
probably the end of the season.

You're saying cut bait
on McKinney, too.

It's a big risk,
changing horses.

It's all a fucking big risk,
Bill. I mean, shit.

Your best bet's
in the hospital,

you got Hamlet on the sideline
looking for his fuckin' dick.

All I'm saying is "interim."

It must end. It's what
the fuckin' word means.

You have to put your chips
on someone soon,

or you can kiss
the fuckin' season goodbye.

Fuck a duck.

Crisscross applesauce.

What?

Crisscross applesauce.

Could you please not help me?

Just...

Yes, you're almost there.

You just have to ke-- keep
pulling the lace through the--

- Goddamn it!

Been working on your
shooting touch?

I got a coach around
here somewhere.

This a bad time?

No. Stay.

We need the break.

I'm sorry.

She needs a break from me.
You caught me in a mood.

Hm, you must have seen
the game last night.

They pulled it out.

Yeah,

and the guys said that
should've been an easy one.

What else
are the guys saying?

That we're being out-coached.

And this keeps up,
we're gonna blow our shot.

They've seen enough.

I need to make
a run this season, Jack.

Then bet on me.

I know I don't look like
your sure thing, but...

I'm your guy.

I'm comin' back.

- If Westhead keeps slip--
- Give him the road trip.

Indiana, Detroit.

Boston. Now, there's a test.

That's the best team
in the league.

Closest thing to playoff-
level competition.

And it's the Garden.

You know what the Garden's like.
It's a beast.

If Paul can beat them
in the Garden,

then he can mind the store
until the doctors clear me

to come back. One month.

Two months tops.

Look at you.

Boston.

You're under a microscope.

West is circling like a vulture

and already looking
to replace us.

Christ.
I'm doing my best, Jack.

I need better than that.

I came back from
the dead for this.

- For this, Paul.
- I know.

I should be gone. I'm not.

I'm here, and I'll be
back on that sideline

if it kills me again.

But not if you can't keep
this thing together for me.

I won't let you down, Jack.

I'm just glad a lifetime of this
shit is good for something.

I would, uh...

What do you...
What do you think

about if we make this
something more official?

- This thing, you and me?
- Uh...

I'm a married man.

I'm flailing out there,
Pat.

I know it.

Everybody knows it.
I need an assistant.

And not like this,
you know, ad hoc

passing notes down
from the press box.

I need somebody with me.

On the bench.

For this trip.

- But, assistant coach?
- Yeah, I mean, why not?

You're fucking
great at it.

Look, no offense
to your broadcasting career,

but Chick is not
going to miss you.

- Is he? I will.
- No.

I really will.
So, so, what do you say?

Please.

What about Jack?

What happens when
he comes back? I mean,

if I quit my job for this,

I can't go back
to wandering the beach.
I-I'll fucking croak.

We'll keep you-- He'll...

He'll keep you on.

- Yeah?
- Absolutely.

Fuck it! What? Fuck it.

- Fuck it yes?

Shit, fuck it. Yeah, I'm in.

- Yes!
- Let's kick some ass.

This is-- Let's kick--
Yeah, absolutely.

I'm gonna shake your hand,
and I'm gonna hug you.

And Johnson's putting
on a show tonight,

a tremendous athlete with
a talented team behind him.

But, man for man, Larry Bird

has got to be
the more skilled player.

This kid from
Indiana farm country,

he's not thinking about
the shot in front of him.

He's thinking about the game.

He must see the whole
court in his head.

I want to thank my family.
I want to thank Coach

for drawing up a game plan
and Indiana State for--

- They played a hell of a game.

Mm, all the fans
that done came out.

- I just wanna say thank--

Gonna torch that
smiley ass in Boston, punk.

You wish, motherfucker.

Here you go, sir. Time to take
the Magic Show on the road.

Three cities, five nights,

two in Michigan.
Gonna catch the fam,

see Cook,
then it's off to Boston.

Hey, Magic! Magic! Hey, Magic!

First shot at Larry Bird
as a pro. You excited?

Larry on this trip?
Guess I must've forgot.

I got my mind
on Detroit.

Whole team be coming by
the Johnson family house

for Christmas dinner.

We'll bring y'all doggie bag.

I know it's a big rematch.

- Any nerves?
- Nerves?

Nah, it's just
another game, man.

I'm sure you've heard
the numbers Larry put on Philly.

I mean, they're
already talking MVP.

Yeah? Hadn't heard.

Excuse me, fellas.
Got a flight to catch.

Do you think
he's Rookie of the Year?

You know, y'all keep
asking me about him.

Larry took me
too light last time.
And how that work out?

- Dude best be worryin' about me.
- That's my quote.

- So you out for blood this time?
- Will he be crying
into another towel...

- Gentlemen!
- ...after this game or what?

That's enough.
We have a flight.

No more questions, Cap.

I fucked up, didn't I?

Hey, Earvin.

There you go.
First road trip?

- Mm-hmm.
- Alright. You know,

there are gonna be
a lot of groupies out there.

You just wanna... wrap it up,

you know what I'm saying?

- We'll see.
- Alright? Trust me.

- Hey, kid.
- Hey, Chick.

I'm telling you,
Patricia, you're making

a big mistake with this
whole coaching business.

I think your true calling
is in herding cats.

- Ha, ha. Thanks, Chick.

I'm gonna miss him.

- Take this, please. Thank you.
- Please! Just listen! Pat!

- Jerry?
- You tell the Gestapo here--

This man does
not have a ticket.

- Jerry, what are you--
- Jerry West. Right on there.

Thank you very
much for your help.

- God, Jesus fuckin' Christ.
- What is this? What's going on?

Well, it's
a last-minute thing.

I'm doing a little,
uh, consulting,

working on a, uh,
scouting problem for Buss.

Well, the office didn't tell me
you were coming. I...

Well, it must be right there.
It's a little, you know,

mum's the word.
Don't wanna
ruffle any feathers.

So, which seat am I in, Pat?
Sort this out, okay?

- Don't leave me hanging.
Thank you for your help.
- Uh...

- Next to Chick here?
- Uh,

well, no, you can
have my seat.

- Yeah? Where's that?
- That's, uh,
right by the toilet.

- Over there. Coach.
- Down here in
the clown section, huh?

Hey, uh, Paul?

Any clue why West is here?
He says he's on a scout.

Are we making any
moves on personnel?

I mean, if we drop this one
to Indiana, we might have to.

Well, you weren't wrong
about your mother.

She's one hell of an accountant.
Even her mistakes are good.

- How's that, Claire?
- Three words.

Depreciation of assets.

We're gonna need
some more words.

Okay. It's like this.

Every team pays
their players as employees,

but, according to the IRS,
they're also assets.

Which means we should be able
to deduct their total value

in depreciation over time.

- Yeah, their salaries.
- No, we already write off
their salaries.

That's just what they earn.

The total value,
that's more murky.

That's what they're worth.
Without these players,

we don't have a team.
So, in that sense,

their total value
to the business

must be the total value
of the business.

Everything you paid for it.

- No.
- No fucking way. Impossible.

Yet strangely legal,

and maybe just enough
to save your ass.

If we can keep winning
and make a playoff run,

which, I guess you know,
is a pretty big if.

Lakers here in Indiana

on the first of a three-game
holiday season road trip

against a struggling
Pacers team.

This should be as sure
a thing as a candy cane

in your stocking
Christmas morning.

Yeah, they got us there, gang.

But we gonna get
'em the next one.

We headin' to D-Town,
and we ain't losing in D-Town.

You feel me? Go home,

get me some of my
mama's home cooking.

- And we gonna be a'ight.

Hey! Magic Man! Sign these?

- Larry's gonna eat your lunch.

Hey, put the tits away.

We'll see.
You tune in and find out.

So, should we be nagging Coach
to give you some more minutes?

Man, what I say? Huh?
Maybe if the coach put me in

outside of garbage time,
gave me a real run,

they wouldn't be gettin' beat
in the paint. That's for sure.

- But that ain't on me.

You can ask the
Nutty Professor though.

Shit.

You fuckin' kidding me?

Listen to me.

That crossed
a fucking line, alright?

He's been pushing you.
Alright?

The other guys see you
walk away from this,

- you're gonna be
a substitute forever.
- It's my fault.

I heard something
a few weeks ago.

I overreacted.
I benched him.

it spiraled,
and now it's public.

- But it's my fault.
- Alright, so?

Talk to him.

Tell him. Tell Spencer.

- Just apologize.
- That's your...

That's your grand advice?

They already treat me
like a pushover.

These aren't fucking
college kids.

Paul, these are men. Okay?

They will respect you
if you treat them with respect.

- Let him through,
let him through.

I appreciate the insight, Pat.

Shit.

Well...

Oh-for-one on the road trip.

Are you still sure you wanna
bet it all on beating Boston?

- How's your mother?
- She's pretending to be asleep.

Landed on my best hotel
and conked right out.

A Monopoly man, huh?

Yeah. You play?

I used to when
the kids were young.

And then, they decided
to stop playing with me

because I guess I can be
a little competitive.

- Mine started ganging up

together with their mother
to beat me.

I'd be out making
business deals all week.

They'd be plotting how
to keep me off of Boardwalk.

You know, I probably should've
let 'em win more often.

Maybe we'd still be playing.

You always think
there's gonna be a point

where it's gonna
slow down, don't you?

Now, we got two in college,
two more about to be in college.

- And here's your vacation.

Wanna play a game?

If you think you can handle it.

You don't strike me as
somebody who likes to lose.

Oh, the top hat never loses.

Not until he gets his ass
kicked by the shoe.

Really?

Clear off the Jell-O, hotshot.

You're about to taste
the wrath of the top hat.

Local Lansing hero
Earvin "Magic" Johnson

is back in Michigan tonight,
and not just on your TVs,

advertising shoes.

Of course, with all

the fancy shit our boy's
been up to in LA,

the question on everybody's
mind, will Magic bother

looking twice at his old
homegirl Cookie Kelly?

Or did he only send
her tickets to the game

to rub her nose in it
that he's moved on,

and she's a head case for
still carrying the torch?

- Tune in--

Girl, when you are married,

you buying me a big old
diamond ring to match

- for introducing you.
A finder's fee.

Honestly,
I don't even think
I'm interested.

So, you ain't worried?

Mm-mmm!

Boy always had a wandering eye.

Bet by now,
they fell right out his head,

Then why he calling me then?

Every night, out there in Cali.

Why'd he send
the last girl's daddy

just so I would
show my face?

Girl, I don't need no ring.

I got that man wrapped
around my little finger.

Okay, Cookie.

- Over here!
- Yeah, it's good to be back.

- Real good. Yeah. There you go.

Yeah, no problem.
What's your name? Shawn?

My name is Shawn.
It's nice to meet you!

Hey, Shawn.

Man, I got you.
Here you go.

Thanks, man!

Well, isn't he
the center of attention?

Yeah yeah, he sure is.

- You gonna be as good
as me one day.
- Thank you so much!

- So cool.
- You're the best, Magic!

I'm sorry, y'all.
I gotta go. Cook!

Mm-mmm!

You believe this?
Since we rode in.

- Thought Stevie Wonder
must be in town, but no!

It's all for me.

It's... something else.

Ain't it?

Hey, Rhonda.

Hey.

I missed you.

Mm, stop.

You stop lookin'
so good.

Earleatha, darling,
you look ravishing!

Dr. Day.

Man from Buick
is here to see you.

Oh, can it wait?

Gonna see Pop
later on tonight,

he was wanting
to talk it over.

Best not. Bad idea to
keep these corporations waiting.

Look-it, you want to get
the old man on the phone?

Nah. Nah. You think
it's the real deal,

- let's do it.
- Okay. Wise man.

Excuse us for a minute, angels.

I'll be right back, Cook.
- Mm-hm.

I heard he picks some girls
out of the stands at every game.

You should've worn
a brighter color.

You could've wore
a disco ball, bitch.

Come on, Cookie.

Coach Riley.
Coach Riley.

I'm Coach Riley.

How you doin'? Ahem.

What the fuck's this
motherfucker up to?

Oh, wow. Hi. Hey, Jerry.

- This Detroit?
- Yes, it is, Jerry. Hi.

How's the scout coming?

Uh-huh. Yeah, it's...
coming. Just, uh,

just making sure we got
the personnel we need
to make a run.

We're, uh...

we're turning it around.

Just you watch.

Mm-hmm.

Mm. Hey, Jer.

Eating my leftovers?

- I'll leave you boys to it.
- Alright.

Lay off the fuckin'
French fries.

I like french fries.

Don't sweat it, alright?
Come on. He's a busybody.

Don't sweat it.
Anyway...

God's smiling. Hm?

Detroit's the pits
of the league.

We got these suckers.

Well, folks, the Lakers are
looking to redeem themselves

and move from
Santa's naughty list

to something nicer
with a win tonight

against the last place
Detroit Pistons.

Shouldn't take
a Christmas miracle

to mark this one a W.

Sent the bus to Lansing.

I told them you
had family in town.

I'm certainly glad I don't.

It's one game. Hm?

Who watches basketball
on Christmas?

Shake it off
and function forward.

Forward where?

You said yourself
we're in the fucking pits.

We just got blown out by the
worst team in the league, so...

Well, not anymore.

They beat us.

Alright, we're sitting
on a pile of coal.

We put on our big boy pants,

we put our heads together,
and we press out
a diamond in Boston.

What's gonna change?

Huh? Me?

Pat...

I'm not supposed to be here.

It's Jack's team.
You're Jack's guy.

And Jack's coming back,
right?

Few more weeks.

It's the dramatist in me.
You're right.

Hey. You got plans
for Christmas? Huh?

No.

Yes, you do.

Bringing in Chinese,

we're drinking a six-pack,

and we're figuring out how we're
going to ruin Boston's New Year.

Huh?

Yeah. Yeah. Alright.

Fuck Boston.

What that game was
is a lesson in humility.

Showboating, fancy passes.

No wonder you had
all those turnovers.

Ma, you wasn't even there.

I know my son.

She was listening on the radio.

Every game.
And you better believe it.

So, I might tune in on occasion.

- Let me talk to you.

We gotta talk about
that Buick deal.

Been doing some research.

Not sure you wanna put
your name on them cars, son.

Boys on the line been saying
quality is falling off.

Look, Pop, uh, thing is...

I actually already
signed the deal today.

Dr. Day got it worked out
real good though.

He did, huh?

Told you he was
helping me, didn't I?

- Yeah, you mentioned that.
- There's
the man of the hour.

And... the man's old man.

How you doin' there,
brother Earvin?

You still
workin' the line?

Honest pay
for an honest day.

How's your daughter
doing though?

- Hm?
- Oh.

- She be blessed
and highly favored.
- Pop...

- Blessed on her knees.
- Hey, Pop, Pop, Pop.

Why don't you let us
talk some business?

I thought that's
what we do together.

Dr. Day been doing right by me!

We building
Magic Johnson Enterprises.

It's not Magic Johnson
on my mind.

You got a lot of people
in your ear, son.

Ain't many of them family.
You hear me?

Yeah.

Yeah.

Hm?

I hear you, Pop.

I got this though.

You gonna have the window
office right next to mine.

Go get some of Mama's pie
or something, man.

Stop talking
so much business.

I didn't make the world.
I'm just saying the way it is,

and Boston? Look, that...

That fuckin' place
is worse than anywhere.

Bill Russell won
the motherfuckers...

11 rings!

Comes home to his abode
to find the door open.

They didn't even
have the decency

to burn a cross
on this man's lawn.

Just shit in his bed.
Not dog shit neither.

Man shit.

Yeah...

different kinda
white people over there.

See, Boston Garden,

brothers walk into that place
and you can feel it

like a cold wind.

You find yourself
running down the court,

tripping over thin air.
Go to dribble,

ball don't bounce.
Just sticks there.

Like a mud puddle.

No logical explanation
to it neither. But then,

you hear something.

- Like a little giggle.

Take that, nigga!

And it ain't ghosts.

It's a leprechaun.

I believe it.
I definitely believe it.

Look at this
Buick contract here.

See your name.
That's number one.

- Mm-hmm.
- Your likeness?

- Mm-hmm.
- Let's go right here.
See that right there?

- Mm-hmm!
- Television. Commercial.

United States and Europe.

- International, boy.

- You international.
That's international, boy!
- Yeah!

Hold on, wait a minute.

- Whoo! Yeah.
- We didn't get to
the best part yet.

Ain't nobody makin'

one more second...

- that kinda money.
- Whoo!

Big fella,

let me know if you want seconds.

These are thirds.

What I need now is a recipe

- before I eat you
out of house and home.
- Please.

The great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar?

More than welcome to it.

Still smile to think of
my own son passing the ball

to the greatest center
ever played the game.

- No need for that.
- Hey. Truth is truth.

He's not so bad himself.

- No...
- What up!

I guess he ain't.

Can I ask you a question,
Mr. Johnson?

- Merry Christmas!
- Oh, yeah, here he is!

Y'all enjoyin'
y'all selves?

You can if you can cut
that Mr. Johnson crap

and just call me Earvin.

Your son.
Has he always been so...

happy?

Mm! Mm! Hey!

Junior?

Only since his first breath.

Doctor slapped his ass,

he turned around
and smiled back.

Hey! You heard?

- I can imagine.
- Yeah.

Something on your chest,
Mr. Jabbar?

Kareem.

Kareem.

I just can't say
I'm accustomed to it.

Most men I know,
Black men,

we laugh,

enjoy our lives.
But, America does...

things to
a man's mind and soul

that aren't happy.

Pardon my saying it,
but your son...

- seems unaffected by all that.
- Mm.

'Cause he is.

- How?
- Wish I knew.

I'm from Mississippi.

Down there, we're gator bait.

Wasn't a week went by when
I was young ain't seen some...

- Then you know.
- Too well. But he don't.

Not like that.

And it

feels like we ain't speaking
the same tongue sometimes but...

then I think, hey,
maybe that's a blessing, too.

When it don't scare me shitless.

I'll whoop his ass
if he gets out of line.

Yeah, no kidding, though...

I want you to do just that.

Pull out some of
that karate shit.

Got too many people
barking up his tree right now.

He helping build
Magic Johnson Enterprises!

You'd actually be
doing me a favor.

Count on it.

My man!

Hey, Rhonda!

- Yo girl! What's up?
- Hey.

How you doing?
Where Cookie at?

You all was both
at the game, right?

Guess she has
someplace else to be.

Great game, though.

- It was fun seeing you.
- Yeah.

You, too.

See you around, Rhonda.

Remember what I said
about the Garden.

Right? You're not just playing
the guys on the floor.

- You're playing the arena.

Playing the whole goddamn city.

- Mm-hmm.
- You know. And the refs,
too, right?

Because they're gonna give
the home team every call,

and the crowd's
gonna go so nuts,

it's going to seem
like they deserve it.

So, you just gotta
stay on top of 'em.

Huh?
Right from the tip.

- Right, Paul?

- Right?

- Right?
- Hm? Right.

I heard you. Yeah.

Work the tip.

Work the refs!
Work the refs!

I didn't say blow 'em!

Hey, we got a chance here.

Okay? Can win with this.

- But not if they
get every foul call

and spend the whole night
shooting free throws.

You're the sixth man
on the floor.
Remember that.

- Yup.
I have a call for Mr. West

- from an Elgin Baylor.
- No, Mr. West is in another...

Uh...

- Actually, put it
through, please.
- Connecting.

What you say there,
Tweety Bird?

Waiting on the red-eye,
but my flight's delayed.

Elg. It's Pat.

- What's up, man?
You got the wrong room.
- Riles!

- What's happening?
- You know, just, uh,

packing up for Boston.
What's up?

Yeah. Zeke said you come down
to the bench to fill the void.

Shouldn't be too long now.

Be seeing Buss tomorrow,
get you back on the mic

with Chick where you belong.

You mind telling Zeke
I'm running late?

I'm all outta dimes!

Uh, yeah.

Yeah, sure, Elg.
Bye.

I'll see you in Boston!

Elgin Baylor.

Says he's flying out
to meet Buss.

When did you know they were
looking for replacements?

- Spit that shit out of
your mouth and answer me!
- Okay...

I thought we had more time.

- You know they
were talking to him?
- Somebody.

- When you told me
to quit my job for this?
- I-I didn't...

- I didn't think
that it was gonna--
- You--

- You know they weren't
keeping Jack.
- No!

- You knew it.
- No.

Jack told me that Buss
was giving us a shot,

- and that if we could
pull things out in Boston--
- Now what?

- I go back to wandering
the fucking beach?!
- I needed you!

Jack begged me.

He's fighting for
his fucking life,

and they're going to
take it away because of me!

Because I cannot hack it
by myself! I can't!

- But you...
- You fuckin' lied to me.

Would you be here
if you knew that they were

fucking sharpening
their knives?!

No. You'd be staring
at Chick's fist!

And what for, Pat?

You are not an announcer.

You are a coach!

You're my coach.

No, I'm your fucking nanny.

You wanna coach?

- Please don't--
- You wanna fucking coach?

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!

- You wanna be a coach?!
- It's fucking cold!

Huh? You wanna be a coach?

- Yes, please...
- Good! Do something about it!

- Turn off the fucking water!
- Stand up!

Stand up for your fucking team!
You hear me? Stand up!

- You wanna keep
this fucking job?
- Yes...

- Do you wanna keep it?
- Yes.

Then you fucking yell!
Yell it!

Yes!

There's your fucking
wakeup call!

Now answer it!

Fuck...

Hey, I'm coming.

Oh...

What you doing here, Cook?

You disappointed?

You a little late.

Yeah. I'm sorry
about last night.

Didn't miss much anyway.

Wish I coulda skipped
that game myself.

Who said I did?

Bought me a cheap seat.

You ...

You crazy, girl! Wha...

Got you in first class
and everything!

I woulda hit a couple
shots for you.
Instead, I be breaking 'em.

Don't put that on me now.

Just sayin'.

Been missing you.

Nah, don't start.

You out there on another planet.
The world on a string.

Just... What you need me for?

Just to say you can?

- Ain't like that, Cook.
- Then, what is it?

Because last night,
I was watching.

Not the game. You.

The way the world
moves around you.

Big people, little people,

just circling you like the Sun.

And for you, it's...

it's as natural
as breathing.

And I just...

don't know where
I fit in all that.

Right here, Cook.

With me.

Until the bus leaves.
Then what?

What am I to you?

'Cause, honest to God, Earvin,
I don't have the first idea.

- I'm tired--
- Cook!

My girl.

You family, Cook.

I know.
That bus is waiting.

Call you from Boston?

- Once you whoop that
white boy's butt. Yeah.
- Mm.

Okay. I'm gonna go.

Mm-mmm.
You ain't going nowhere.

- I gotta go.
- Alright, alright.

Who was that?

Uh... Teammate.

- Oh.
- Yeah.

They waitin'.

Have a nice day.
Go fuck yourself.

Lakers suck!

You fuckin' suck, Magic!

Don't even have a coach.

Westhead sucks.
Get outta here!

Kareem, you are
fucked as shit.

Welcome to Boston.

Larry is gonna kill you guys.

Bunch of pricks.

Paul Revere shoulda slept in.

Let the British burn

this fuck-hole
to the ground.

When does Elgin
need an answer?

Tonight.
He's sitting on another offer.

Yeah. The fact is,
we waited long enough.

- Sooner we cut--
- We? Who's we, Jerry?

Okay, okay, fine. Your team.

Jack McKinney beat me
at Monopoly.

- It's a kid's game.
- It's a game of strategy.

He kicked my ass.

Guy can't tie
his fucking shoe...

Nobody beats me at Monopoly.

Okay...

Except my mother.

- She's the only fucking one.
- Okay, look, Doc,

I fucking-- I get it, okay?
I understand

this is the shit
part of the gig.

Working the guillotine.

Do you know why
we lost to Boston

all those years?
My team, my team.

Because we lost the first one.

Had a better squad,
more talent.

But, we let it get away from us.

Once.
And that shit stays with you

like a stink inside
a fuckin' jersey.

You let that happen here,

you can't wash it out.

Ah. Home, sweet home.

Well, thanks for
the pep talk, Jerry.

I'm staying in
the fucking car.

I reckoned.

Oh my god, is that blood?

- What the fuck is that?!

Told you, motherfucker.

Leprechaun.

'Cause he's comin' for you!

Fuck this, man.

Yo, what's up, Larry?

Let's get this shit over.

Larry! Larry! Larry, over here!

- Still mad, I see.
- Larry!

Larry! Question!

- What'd you eat before the game?
- Food.

- Larry, who's gonna guard you?
- Who cares?

- Larry, what's your prediction?
- We're gonna win.

Larry, what do you wanna
say about the game?

- We're gonna play the game.
- Larry, you gonna win tonight?

- Yep.
- Aw, come on. Any jitters?

- Nope.
- Magic! Magic!

What do you think about Larry?

- You thinkin' about
the strategy, Larry?
- Just another game.

Gonna be a good one though.

Two great teams. Great rivals.

That don't get you goin',
you ain't got a pulse.

I'm gonna rip your
fucking ass a new hole.

One more! Larry! Lar!

Dude don't say two words.

Don't smile.

Don't even try.

And they love him anyway.

Like I ain't even there.

The Invisible Man.

Just like the movie.

There's a book, too.

Point remains.
Hard for them to see you

- when they're blinded
by the white.
- But that's the thing!

I'm the dude that they did see!

Bused me to an all-white school.
I ain't wanna go!

But I ain't about to
let that stop me neither!

So I made me somebody they see.

You have a knack for that.

Cap, I'm...

Look, I know you ain't about it.

I know you all
think I'm fake.

And I don't know, Cap, may--

Maybe you right.
Maybe you all are right.

I should just stick
to playing ball.

- Maybe.
- Yep.

Or...

you could go out there
and beat his ass.

What?

They gonna love me then?

Fuck. No.

They'll double down
on his greatness.

And they'll whisper yours.

If they say anything at all.

Thing is...

that silence?

That's not invisibility.

It's power.

Cap, we need straight-up
fundamental defense in the post.

You are not gonna have
help on the weak side.

And here's why. This is key.

Every time Bird
touches the ball,

- we want an instant trap.
- Don't let him get a shot off.

- Get the fuck outta here.

What? What's so funny?

- Is there a problem, guys?
- Bird.

Yeah, I know. That's why
we're gonna double.

Nah, man. Problem is y'all
act like he's God's gift.

Cracker can't even jump.
Slow as snail shit.

Potsie over there
can lock his ass down.

I don't know, man.
I think Bird's the real deal.

Aw, man, shut your ass up.

Me and Country gonna
switch off, pick-to-pick,

- split him between us.
- Mm-mmm. Not tonight.

- He mine.
- Hey, listen up to
your coach. Come on.

Listen, that is the--
the can-do attitude
that we need.

It is.

But, it is not the game plan.

Fuck the game plan.

I got him, Coach!

Everybody's scared
of goddamn Larry Bird!

- I beat him before,
I'll beat him again!

Yo, we need to focus up!
Everyone needs to focus up
right now.

Well...

Nice seats.

Red knows how
to treat a guest.

Mr. Auerbach can't make
it up to see youse guys.

He sent you this
with his regards.

Is it gonna explode?

Red wouldn't blow up anything
he'd have to pay for.

Alright, I'll bite.

It's a vegetable.

Like your coach.

Welcome to the Garden.

- Very funny.

This is Chick Hearn
for the LA Lakers

coming to you live
from beautiful Beantown,

the city of Boston.

Johnny Most at
the Garden here,

where your pride of Boston
is rarin' to wipe the floor

with everybody's favorite
LA softies.

- Team!
- Let's go!

- Hey, fuck you!
- Yeah!

Suck my dick, Magic!

Alright, fellas, let's go!

Gonna wipe that smile
off your face.

- What's up, Larry?
- Let's go! Let's go!

- Welcome to Boston.
- Gonna make this is my house.

- Fucker.

Yes!

Lakers draw first blood

but here comes Larry Bird.

Trap, trap, trap!

And he walks
right into a trap.

Magic with the steal.

To Cooper.
Slam dunk!

And the Lakers
come out swinging,

but the boys from Boston
will make this one a contest.

If that's the Lakers'
best shot, good riddance.

- D up!
- Come on, let's go!

Okay, fuckers, y'all can't
stop me, so I'll tell you
what I'm about to do.

Fake left, drive right,
jumper from 12. No rim.

- Fuck.

Shit, think that was 13.

- That leprechaun's for real.
- You're looking at him.

Get ready,
you Hollywood pansies,

- Fuck!
- ...here comes...

Fuckin' had enough
of this fuckin' shit.

Just fucking breathe,
Jerry, breathe...

- Good!
- Wicked shooter, huh?

Oh! F... Fucking motherfucking

- son of a fucking bitch!

I shoulda fucking known!
Somebody fucking
settin' me up here!

Abdul-Jabbar
on the fast break.

Team one for Chaney.

I tell you, these refs
must be blind.

Another good no-call
by the officials! Ha!

Motherfucker!
What is you doing?

- Use the goddamn whistle!
- Please, ref. Please!

Fuckin' fuckin' fuck!

And this is just
an abomination.

Jamaal taking
a football blow.

Somehow,
no whistle from the refs.

Absolutely despicable.

...not letting the Lakers
get away with dirty tricks.

Nixon tripped
and takes a header.

Not a whistle to be heard.

Boy, if I didn't
know any better,

I'd say these refs
were on the Boston payroll.

Call it,
call the fuckin'--

This is the best officiated
game in years!

This cornbread
motherfucker--

Cooper trips over his feet.

These Lakers are looking
awfully clumsy tonight.

Officials are swallowing
their whistles once again.

Shut down the fuckin' act,
you motherfucker!

Johnson looking desperate
under the rim.

Open your fuckin' eyes!

He's on his arm!

And Johnson hits the deck,

making a show of it
for the officials

but they're not buying
what he's selling.

Fuckin' call it!

Goddamn it.

This fiddle-faddle officiating
may cost the Lakers the game.

But the refs call it
like they see it

and what they see is good,
clean fun from Boston.

Another--

It's just a fuckin' game, Jerry.

Nothing but net!

Boston boy is on fire tonight!

Go home, you fuckin' pussies!

- God fuck.
- ...for a commanding lead.

If substitute coach
Paul Westhead

wants to prove
he's not just wearing diapers,

now's his chance
to put on big-boy pants

and raise his hand.

You gotta make a sub.
Make a sub.

Wood.

After an onslaught of
egregious uncalled fouls

for the boys in green,
Spencer Haywood
has had enough.

He's gonna
clean it up himself, folks.

Johnson passes to Haywood.

Haywood with
a hand-off to Nixon.

Nixon, jumper. It's good!

Bird hooks by Coop
with an elbow.

No call. Oh!
He ran into a brick wall
in Spencer Haywood.

- Boom!
- The dropped shoulder
laid Bird on his back!

Bird looks like he's had
just about enough of this.

...Bird chucks the ball at
Spencer, throwing a tantrum.

Punches are being thrown.

The Celtics
are throwing punches.

We've got fisticuffs, folks.
The benches are clear.

The Celtics are absolutely
out of control.

The Lakers are acting
like hoodlums, hoodlums!

- And here's a late
whistle from the officials.

Technical foul
on Spencer Haywood.

It's a technical
on Spencer Haywood.

Well, I cannot
believe my eyes.

No! That was 33!
Come on, ref!

You gotta get in there!
Hey! Hey, Earl!

You blind fuck!
Now, you see us,
do you, huh?

Now--
Halle-fucking-lujah!

- It's a miracle.
- Welcome back, Pat.

- Enjoy your first tech.

Bravo! At least
he fucking earned it!

That's your first
honest call of the night!

Watch it, Coach!
I'm about to throw you
out of this game.

You've been
screwing us all night!

- What did you say?
- Paul. That's enough!

I said I was screwing
your wife last night!

- Shit!

You're outta here!

It's okay. It's okay.

You're up, Coach.

Hey, Riley!
Eat a bag of dicks, ya bitch!

- Fuck Boston!

Bring it in!
Calm down!

Shh. Take a breath.

Repeat after me. Fuck Boston.

- Fuck Boston. Fuck Boston!
- Fuck Boston! Fuck Boston!

- Fuck Boston! Fuck Boston!
- Fuck Boston! Fuck Boston!

We're not gonna lose
this fucking game!

- Get out there
and kick their ass!
- Whoo!

The Lakers are fed up,
fired up,

and they're fighting mad.

- Yes!

And a tone-shift has
happened for the Lakers here.

They have reclaimed
the momentum,

and Westhead
is looking commanding
on the sidelines.

One blown call after another
and the officials have let

the Lakers make a game of it!

Alright, out of the time-out,
Lakers take the floor.

Let's see what Professor
Westhead's come up with.

Come on, Larry,
eat 'em up!

Eat his stinkin' shit,
Lakers!

Keeping it inbound,
right side.

Referee hands him the ball,
looking for a place to go.

He finds Magic top of the team.
Magic at the three-point line,

dribbling up and down
like a yo-yo.

Magic surveying the floor.
There's nowhere to go with it.

The clock is winding down.
Ten seconds.

Coop, set the pick!

Magic makes a move,
loses Bird.

No-look to Cooper. Hit hard.

Throws up a prayer...

Off the iron...

Holy shit!

- Gets a bounce
and goes in!

Unbelievable!
Right at the buzzer.

- Michael Cooper with
a game-winning--

- Coop!
- Yes!

here on the parquet floor
in Boston.

The Lakers have
beaten biased referees,

- a heated crowd...
- Fuck!

They stole it from Boston!

Absolutely stole it!

Boy, oh, boy
is this crowd silent.

Aw, fuck!

Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

Magic Johnson is smiling
like the sun.

We may be looking at
Rookie of the Year here,
folks.

- Larry!
- Leave me the fuck alone.

Larry, any comment
on the game?

He mad, y'all.

Ha, ha. Unbelievable.

Wherever Jack McKinney is
watching, I hope he's proud

of his team and proud
of Paul Westhead right now.

Signs of life last night
for the Lakers

as they managed
to defeat the Celtics

on their turf in Boston.

Big win.

Barely.

If I wait for you,

and you don't make it back...

then I'm stuck with Westhead.

And I'm not gonna win
a title with him, am I?

No.

That's what I thought.

We're not done
playing yet, Jack.

Fuck Boston.