Original subtitles

Hello, Dad! Hi, Chip.

Hi, Dad!

Robbie did it again, Dad.

Oh?

Tramp, Tramp, heel. Now stop it.

Will you heel?

That'll be the day, wouldn't it?

What did Robbie do this time?

He threw my whole rock collection in the backyard.

Oh... You going to talk to Robbie, Dad?

Yeah, I'll talk to him.

Will you look at this?!

What is it? It used to be a shirt.

Oh. That Robbie's the toughest kid on clothes

I've ever seen in my life.

This thing's only a month old.

Now that will give you a little idea

of what a friendly little game

of touch football will do.

There's not enough left of this thing

to a make a collar for a fox terrier.

Now, are you going to talk to him about it?

Yeah, I'll talk to him about it.

Well, if it was me, I'd do more than talk to him about it,

I'll tell you that.

Talk, talk, talk and no action.

That's the trouble around here... Talk, talk, talk.

Nothing every happens. Just talk.

Okay, Tramp, it's your turn next.

What's your complaint against Robbie?

I was only kidding.

I was just kidding, Tramp, I didn't mean it.

Quiet...

Chip, Chip, take him out, will you, please?

Okay, Dad. Come on, Tramp.

What a stupe. What a mixed-up blockhead.

Hello, Mike. What's he done now?

Oh, what hasn't he done?

But this is the worst ever.

I wish we could get rid of that creep once and for all.

Now, Mike, I think that sounds just a little drastic.

Why don't you relax and tell me what he's done wrong,

and I'll add it to the list.

And I'll talk to him about it.

Oh... Loos is the one who should talk to him.

Loos? Who's Loos?

Mr. Loos... facility advisor to the Bryant Bugle! Oh.

Hi, Dad. Oh, Rob, I want to talk to you.

Well, gee, Dad, Chip keeps putting

his clunky old rocks on my bed...

Now wait a minute.

I'm not talking about Chip's clunky old rocks this time.

I want to know how you could possibly get in trouble

with the Bryant Bugle.

What do you mean, Bryant Bugle?

Well, Mike says... Oh, not Robbie, Dad.

I'm not talking about Robbie.

Well, then who are you talking about?

Stu Walters!

Oh.

Who's Stu Walters?

Yeah... yeah, who's Stu Walters?

He's supposed to be the sports editor,

but a lot he knows about sports.

The only team he was ever on is the debating team.

Here, read that.

"Mike Douglas looks promising in the 440."

What's wrong with that?

Well, that's all it says.

It doesn't even tell how I clipped it off

in 51 flat in practice.

And look who wrote it.

Agnes Finley.

Is that a stroke of genius?

He has her cover the track meet and then assigns me

to cover the girl" swimming team.

And all he ever does is sit there in his swivel chair

and play merry-go-round.

So you see, Mr. Loos, I'll be away four days.

The debate team leaves on a Tuesday

and won't be back until... Friday afternoon.

Well, Stu, if you're faced with a debate,

you'd better forget the paper for a week.

I'll appoint a substitute editor.

Okay.

And if we find the right man,

I don't mind giving him the job permanently.

I'm pretty busy for the rest of the year.

Here's my stuff for next week, Stu.

It's not too good, but I want to get it in early

so I have have a little free time.

And the typing's a little sloppy, too, but I guess it'll do.

Just a minute, Russ.

How would you like to be substitute editor for a week?

No, thanks. Bye.

Hold it a second, will you.

Look, Stu, I got too much to do as it is already.

My grades aren't what they should be.

My folks have been after me all the time.

I'm doing everything I can just to keep going.

Came down with the flu twice this winter, too.

It set me back an awful lot.

Still got this bad cough... headache...

I had to get off the tennis team because of it.

Okay, okay, okay, forget it!

See you later.

Boy, every time Russ faces responsibility,

he breaks out in a rash.

Have you considered Mike Douglas?

Oh, I don't know.

How about you, Agnes?

I don't think so, Mr. Loos.

Giving up my creative position

in exchange for an administrative one

would stifle certain basic aesthetic needs which I...

Yeah. Besides, who ever heard of a girl sports editor?

True.

But it might be an innovation our page needs.

Mike Douglas... How about Frank Gordon?

Is he still on the staff?

Why don't you give Frank a try?

He's... well, he's great on organization.

He's got a nose for news.

A fine sense of humor.

Call Mike's house.

Frank's usually there at dinnertime.

How do you know?

Larson 0-6719.

Hello.

Oh. Frank Gordon?

No, he isn't.

Hold on a second. I'll ask Mike.

And another thing this stupid Stu Walters does

is try and get funny in his column.

Hey, hey, Mike... - Wait a minute,

Listen to this, Dad,

"And then there was the girl who thought a foul ball

was a lousy party."

Ha, ha, ha, very funny.

This guy thinks he's an editor.

Does sound a little corny. No organization, no balance,

no sense of news value.

Nothing but a big soft seat in a swivel chair.

Hey, Mike, do you know where Frank Gordon is?

Not there?

No.

You know... it suddenly occurs to me,

Agnes might just be right.

Mike would make a darn fine editor.

Mike's pretty busy on the track team.

Yeah, but he's... he's great on organization.

He's got a nose for news

and a fine sense of humor.

I never saw Mike quite that way.

Still, if you think he deserves it...

It's exactly what he deserves.

Yes, sir. Good-bye.

Whoopee!

Bub, you're now looking at the new sports editor

of the Bryant High Bugle!

Mr. Loos finally got around

to recognizing some of my talent!

What talent? Ha, ha!

You'll see in the next issue.

Hey, what...? Dad! Dad!

I'm right there.

Oh, we made it, Dad, we made it.

Now we'll show him, won't me?

We sure will.

Who are we going to show what to who?

Hey, Jean.

Jean, are you there?

What's wrong, Mike?

Well, it's finally happened.

After all this time slaving away as a reporter,

I am the sports editor of the next issue.

Gee, that's wonderful.

But won't it be too much work for you?

No work at all.

I'll be the boss, see?

All I do is hand out the assignments.

My staff does all the work.

And this way I can make certain that Agnes Finley

doesn't write the track meet story.

The deadline for the paper is right after the track meet.

And that's the night of the spring mixer.

Don't worry, I ought to be through by half past 8:00 easy.

Robbie, I'm talking.

Yeah, well, I'm practicing.

Well, that's the best dance of the year.

We don't want to miss it.

Big deal. Big senior deal. Mike...

Not a chance. All I do is edit the paper.

On Friday, after I finish the 440,

I dash over to school and make sure my staff is on the beam,

then I dash home, get dressed, dash over to your place,

pick you up and we dash to the dance.

Jean, there are too many children around

to carry on an intelligent conversation.

I'll talk to you later, okay?

Okay, Mike. Good luck.

You know doubt realize that I'm the new sports editor.

Mike, is this obsidian?

No, that's tar.

Hey, don't you realize

that I'm breaking the way

so that you guys can follow in my footsteps?

The lion heeds not the yapping of the jackals.

Come and see me some time in my swivel chair.

What's more, our sports page

is going to have life, zip and novelty.

I don't mean this as any criticism to my predecessor,

but in the past we have been forced to suppress our creative instincts.

But in the issue, you're going to have a chance

to express yourselves.

Really express yourselves.

So right now, let's start having

some of those good original ideas.

That's a fine suggestion, Mike.

That's right.

This issue has to be unique.

I want something absolutely compelling.

Now come on, staff, think.

On the baseball field the mighty batter stood...

What's that?

I-I was just thinking that poetry might be compelling.

You mean the classic stuff like "Casey at the Bat"?

Oh, no, no.

I mean original poetry.

Some I'd write.

Mm-hmm.

Russ, what are your ideas?

Yes?

Come on, think, Russ.

Gee, I don't know, Mike.

I have so many other things on my mind these days,

I just don't have time to think.

I suppose if I do do poetry

then that'll leave you without a story on the track meet.

Oh, the track meet.

Well, you know,

that poetry deal might not be so bad after all.

Yeah, it's original... creative...

Yeah, why don't you give poetry a try this week.

Thank you, Mike.

That's all right. Now, Russ...

Ratter tood... catter, catter...

Catter dood... Matter? Matter would...

Of course, we can't go completely arty.

We'll need some straight reporting, too.

Russ, you'll cover the track meet on Friday.

Oh, gee, I... Satter...

And there's plenty of time until then,

so why don't you interview a couple of the track stars,

you know, for the personality column.

That means a lot of interviewing,

and I just don't have the time for that.

Well, you can get in a little practice

by interviewing me, as sort of a dry run.

And that takes care of the page.

Just remember that everything is due in

Thursday night after school.

Except, of course, for the story on Friday's track meet.

Any questions?

Oh, gee, I... Meeting adjourned.

Blatter tood... platter could...

Ratter dood...

Of course, I'm not too sure about Agnes and her poetry.

But, uh, don't you think that was a pretty diplomatic way

to keep her from writing any more stories

about the track team?

Well, Mike, uh,

Stu Walters used a different kind of diplomacy.

Oh?

He had Agnes writing stories about the track team

to keep her from writing poetry.

See you later, Mike.

Gym... gym... gymnasium...

hypertusium... acadasium...

My eyes are burning...

spots on my tongue... shaky knees...

Oh, I... Oh, yeah?

Then you better sit down for awhile.

I got to get out to the field.

I missed practice twice already this week.

And be sure to interview Stiffy Brothers.

He's great in the shot put.

Stiffy doesn't like me because Harriet Baker does.

Look, Russ, remember the power of the press.

Just tell him you're going to write about him,

and you won't be able to shut him up.

Oh, hi, Stiffy. Hi, Mike.

36 feet tonight.

Not bad, huh?

You better get some towels.

Hi, Stiffy. How's it going?

Hear you're taking Harriet to the dance Friday.

Yeah. Say, mind a few questions?

About what?

Writing a story about you for the Bugle.

Yeah?

Well, what if I don't want to be written about?

All I want is a few facts.

You know, like what kind of stuff you eat,

what time you go to bed...

Are you insinuating I've been breaking training?

No. No, look, all I want to do is find out something

about your personal life.

You leave my personal life out of this.

This was Mike's idea.

Don't go blaming Douglas now.

Gee, do you have to yell?

Don't tell me to shut up.

This is pretty stupid...

Who are you calling stupid?

Look, I got this splitting headache!

Yeah? Well, I don't like a guy that snoops around.

And I don't like a guy that pries.

And I don't like a guy that steals another guy's girl.

And I don't like to be called stupid by any guy

that's so stupid he thinks he can get away

with telling me to shut up.

The deadline for the dummy is tomorrow night,

and the paper's out on Monday.

I've got Russ' story right here,

and he'll cover the track meet tomorrow. No problems.

I finished the feature column, Mike. Good.

Do you want to hear them?

I got one on football and baseball and swimming...

That's funny.

And golf and tennis and track.

And what's wrong?

There's nothing here

but the practice interview with me.

Oh, well, I've got plenty for both columns.

I wonder if he could have forgotten it.

Here, let me read you this one on track.

I better call him.

See the sprinter on the track, cinder track.

Oh, what a world of weariness to win a wooden plaque.

Yeah. Russ?

This is Mike. Say, listen,

what happened to the personality column?

Did you forget to put it in the envelope?

I gave you everything I wrote.

Well, didn't you even interview Stiffy Brothers?

Yes, I interviewed Stiffy Brothers.

As a result, I've gone into temporary retirement.

What do you mean?

I mean I've got a black eye.

Nobody's gonna see me with it till it gets better.

But who's gonna cover the track meet?

If you don't write this story, who will?

Well, you're gonna be there, aren't you?

The shrieking and the squeaking

of the yells!

On the first turn, Mike Douglas led by five strides.

He swept into the backstretch six strides ahead.

Four strides. Uh, three.

Mike Douglas, crack quarter-miler,

was leading at the halfway mark.

Going into the final turn, he was ahead by...

Mike Douglas, favored to win the 440 event,

came down the stretch toward the tape neck-and-neck with...

er, a stride behind...

two... three strides.

Where's he going?

Despite his loss, Mike Douglas ran a good race.

Despite his loss...

Mike Douglas ran a good race.

Hello, Mr. Loos.

Well, Jean, all set for the big evening?

I'm set for the last half.

Have you seen Mike?

Oh.

Oh, Jean.

You were supposed to meet me at the dance.

What are you doing in your track suit?

Well, I didn't have time.

My clothes are right down in the locker room.

And as soon as I get this page put together...

How long?!

Well, not long at all.

Now that this is all in place,

all I do is glue it tight, proofread the page,

write a small story for there,

and then paste in the personality column.

I thought you said you only had to edit the paper?

That your staff did all the work.

Well, how did I know

half my staff was gonna run out on me?

You go get dressed.

Who cares if the paper's a few days late?

You... You promised to take me

to the Spring Hop weeks ago.

Listen, one of our favorite songs.

Look, Jean, I've been five hours putting that together.

Now if you'll just be patient

for another 30 minutes.

All right.

And I'll use that 30 minutes finding a partner.

Wait a minute!

There must be a few stags in the gym.

Oh, Russ, have...

you seen Jean Pearson within the last hour?

It's all I can do to see Harriet.

Oh, gee, Mr. Loos, I've been in there listening to the music,

and I got the most wonderful inspiration

for a sport poem.

That's a nice experience.

The title of the one I'm thinking about is

"After the Dance Was Over, the Dance Was Over."

And it starts out,

"Oh, athletes at the dance, prance, cha-cha, cha-cha!"

Do you like it?

I-I said, do you like it?

I thought that was part of the poem.

Hi, Agnes.

I thought you were going into hiding

till you healed?

I was. But I had a date.

If you can come to the dance,

I don't see why Mike had to cover the track meet!

There.

You know, without your help,

I don't think I would have made it.

Now what do we do?

Well, first I paste everything down,

then I send it to the printers, and I am through forever.

Gosh, Mike, I'm sorry.

Well, that's it.

I'm licked.

I couldn't get it to the printers tonight.

We might as well go home.

And not have it come out on Monday?

Mike, you can't.

Look, Jean, I've ruined your evening enough.

You have not ruined my evening.

It's been fun working with you.

Besides, there are three of us now.

These stories are all numbered.

We'll all have them put together again quicker than you can say

"iambic pentameter."

There's still time, and Mr. Loos will be up later.

All right, once more.

Jean?

Could I, uh... have the last dance?

On one condition.

What's that?

You take off those spikes.

The dance is a dance...

is a dance is a dance.

Not where, not why, not even who,

but only when, a dance is a dance.

Well, there it is, Dad.

I made the deadline.

What do you think of it?

Well, "Mike Douglas in sensational upset."

You made that up pretty big.

Well, just because I was editor...

No, I understand.

You had to print the facts no matter how unpleasant.

Oh, here's one here.

"What Mike Douglas eats for breakfast."

That's interesting.

Yeah, but that was the only story

Russ Burton turned in.

Oh, I see.

Uh, who wrote this one here about Mike Douglas

taking over as guest editor for a week?

Well, I needed a little filler for that spot.

And besides, it is a unique story.

Hmm. Something that won't happen again, hmm?

That's right, never again.

I mean, it was good experience and all that,

but I'm sure glad it's over with.

Here's a poem on the sport page. That's different.

And what do you know, it's about Mike Douglas.

That was one of Agnes Findley's wild ideas.

I had to humor her. Oh.

Hello.

Oh, yes, Mr. Loos.

What'd you think of the sports page?

"I tried in vain to search and find

"some words to rhyme with 'Douglas'

"The only words that come to mind

are 'wouglas, youglas, zouglas.'"

But, Mr. Loos...

"How sad it is to bear the name

"the rhymeless name of Douglas,

"No poet can lift that name to fame

with wouglas, youglas, zouglas."

Thanks, Mr. Loos.

Yeah, bye.

That darn Stu Walters!

Boy, talk about your plum deals!

What did he do?

Oh, he says he's too busy to be the sports editor,

so Mr. Loos just gave me the job permanently.

Congratulations, Mike.

You know, there ought to be some word

that rhymes with "Douglas."

Luckless.

Luckless? Douglas?

That doesn't rhyme very well.

No, but it sure makes sense.

Of course, it'd be all right if we changed our name.

Luckless Duckless.

Sounds kind of silly, though, doesn't it... Steve Duckless?

Come home from a lot of hunting trips that way, I tell you.

Duckless and gooseless.