Original subtitles

How many times must we go over this?

You cannot get the refrigerator door

all the way open before the light comes on.

So that's why you called us here, Al?

No, I signed us up

for the Northside Kickball Classic this weekend.

And Xela is sponsoring our team.

What's Shayla?

Uh, Xela's my store. Duh.

Uh, no, not, "duh."

X-E-L-A spells Shayla?

I didn't know you could pronounce your store's name.

I thought it was a four-letter Celtic symbol for "failure."

Stop. Come on. Guys, it'll be fun.

Plus it's great advertising. I mean, a couple years ago,

that bakery for dogs sponsored a team,

and it really helped their business.

Until the recession, and they realized it's a bakery for dogs.

Wait, they closed All Dogs Go To Evan's Bakery?

Well, we have a really busy weekend, Al.

I'm getting my hair done,

and my book club is doing a brunch crawl.

I will be observing the live birth of a baby calf.

I know it might sound stupid, but I started going to church.

Guys, this could be our last chance

to do something like this all together.

I mean, next year, Brad and Jane could have a baby.

Aw... No.

Dave's truck could go out of business.

Who knows if he'll even stay in Chicago?

Why would I leave Chicago? Max could be dead

or presumed missing. Or presumed dead.

And Penny'll probably be going through a divorce.

Thank you. You bet.

So come on, please! Please.

Oh, I'm getting a call. Sorry.

Hello? It's pretty please.

Damn it. Let me talk to her.

What? Let me talk to her.

Hello!

Hey, pretty please. No, you're cute.

Girl, what you up to?

Still asking people to play kickball? Okay.

Guys, this bitch is like a dog with a bone.

I think we gotta play. Okay.

Let's just, for one time, let the little blondie have it.

Let's play. Yeah? I'm so excited.

All right. If you guys want me to be

the lovable but gruff player-manager.

Nobody wants you to be that. We're gonna have to talk salary.

Now I am willing to work for, at minimum, league maximum,

'cause there is no way you are getting Max for the minimum.

There'll be warm beer in the dugout.

Okay, you throw in a lifetime of memories

I can cherish for now and always,

and you got yourself a manager.

Guys, look what I found for the big game:

My old eye black. Take that, sun.

I've got nature's eye black right hear.

Melanin, baby. That's what makes me brown.

Dave, I gotta talk to you for a second.

As the team's self-appointed player-manager,

I gotta let you know, I'm dropping you down to six-hole, champ.

I'm kicking sixth?

That's last. I should be kicking cleanup.

Have you forgotten that my enormous right foot

is a half-size bigger than my left?

Size 8, bitches.

No one is questioning your freakish deer feet, Dave.

It's just... You haven't been the same since the incident.

You went 0 for 33 after that.

Something happened up here,

and you haven't been able to kick since.

You got a bad case of the yips, homey.

Like when Chuck Knoblauch couldn't throw the ball,

or like when Wang Chung tried to have fun the following night.

Yips don't lie, homey. You got hell of yips.

I'm over that. That was a long time ago, "howmies."

Wow. Whoa. Dave. Dave. Racist.

Face it. You're prone to the yips.

Remember when you forgot the words to "Gangsta's Paradise"?

To this day, you still can't perform a eulogy.

You shouldn't be worrying about me.

You should worry about you. All you do is bunt.

You're damn right I do. I love a big bunt, all right?

I play kick-money-ball, and I get on base every time.

It's all about numbers, baby,

and the numbers say I'm kicking 1000.

People call me "Bunt Cake." No one calls you that.

Nobody calls me "the guy who defuses tense situations

with unexpected compliments,"

but that doesn't mean it's not true.

By the way, Dave, have your fingers lost weight?

Thank you for noticing.

Yeah, man, they're lean and mean.

Especially for a guy with the yips.

All right, you know what?

It's ridiculous. That is ridiculous.

You can't get the yips in kickball.

Oh, yeah? David, then kick this.

What? Wait. Max!

That's a bowling ball!

♪ Y-yips ♪

♪ Y-y-y-yips ♪

I'm actually getting pumped for kickball.

It is a great place to meet guys.

Last year, my friend Corey collided at home plate

with this really cute catcher.

She still can't see colors, and he has a titanium knee.

But they're getting married.

Oh, cute. So cute.

Jane, what's wrong with your car?

Oh, routine maintenance,

boring car stuff, intake manifold, whatnot.

Hey, Jane. First game's at 10:00 tomorrow.

Here's your jersey.

Good on you for hyphenating.

Wait, you're playing kickball for their team?

I'm sorry. I signed up with them months ago.

And when I commit to something, I stay committed.

What about that Guatemalan kid

you stopped sponsoring after a month?

When I send $25, I expect a letter, Adolfo.

Okay, come on. Quit them. Join us.

It'll be fun.

Oh, no, no, no.

No, no, no.

You see, I like to win,

so I'm taking my talents

to South Side Kaz's Auto Body Shop.

That is cold-blooded, Leblonde Jane.

This is typical ruthless Jane.

Just like when we were kids.

And you stole my spot

on "Babu the Green Monkey Funky Hour."

And the last little poacher

to get to join us for the Babu Boogie...

Alex Kerkovich!

Oh, Jane, I wish we both could have won.

Yeah, me too. Oh, well.

Come on up here, Alex.

Here I am. It's me, Alex.

Let's boogie!

I remember that,

when you took your prize trip to Wave World

and you contracted that flesh-eating strep bacteria.

That should have been my flesh-eating strep bacteria,

but you know what? It's all good, Jane.

You play for your auto body team,

but Team Xela is gonna gave fun,

and we're gonna win.

Oh, silly Alex.

Wins are for winners.

So are you in a bad mood now, or can we still go try on wigs?

I'm not great.

Play ball!

Hello, Chicago, and welcome to the first day

of the annual Northside Kickball Classic.

I am Duckie Blenkinship.

Fun fact: Two teenagers locked me

in that Porta-Potty last year.

I've seen it all, folks. Duckie has seen it all.

All right, everybody. This is what we're gonna do.

We're gonna start off with some light stretching.

That will be followed by some heavy losing,

which will then be followed by some even heavier drinking.

Come on, I think we could win this whole damn thing.

Al, I got my right fielder in six-inch heels.

My kickball shoes make me look like a lesbian.

I got this guy, I can't tell if he's practicing his kicking

or gently nudging that thing to make sure it's still alive.

My third baseman's priorities are out of whack.

Which eye black should I choose, Ebony Heat or Midnight Storm?

Face it. Jane was the only good player on this team,

and she crap-damn bailed on us.

Look at that traitor.

I hate her,

with those long, lithe legs

just sticking out those teeny, tiny shorts she got on,

just teasing.

I'm gonna hate her, like, five times tonight.

Guys, I'm talking about sex. Got it.

Well, at least we got Scotty.

Hey, guys. Sorry I'm late.

I was getting juiced up, mango and orange.

Also doing steroids.

For my thyroid condition.

And for strength, because of my weak spine,

because I did too many steroids.

Ooh. Sunflower seeds.

These are good roughage. Ew.

Swallowed a plastic bag I'm trying to pass.

Bottom of the fifth and team, uh...

I don't know how to say this, folks.

Excel-a? Is two outs away

from being knocked out in the first round.

Much like I got knocked out by that teenage girl

when I politely asked her

if her dog could quit biting my hands.

Here we go.

Here's the pitch.

Strike two! Time out.

Oh! Another swing and a miss, and that is strike two!

What's going on, Dave?

You're 0 for 4. You've left seven men on base.

This pitcher's got my number, man.

What did we talk about, huh? Visualization.

You see the ball. You kick the ball.

You see the ball. You kick the ball.

See the ball. Kick the ball.

Rose steps back in after a pep talk.

The pitch.

And Dave Rose

is down on strikes.

Grab some bench!

And team Cee-Lo

is down to their final out.

Well, we had a good run.

Actually, we had no runs. Where are we getting pizza?

Amici's. I overheard in the men's room

that's where everyone's going.

That was me in the men's room. I love Amici's.

Guys, stop it!

We still have a chance. Max, you're the manager.

You're supposed to inspire.

I got nothing left! Figure it out!

And, Brad, I still haven't heard anyone chant "Bunt Cake" yet.

No one chants that. But they could.

Penny, you came here to meet guys.

I don't see no ring on that finger.

Dave, you can still get over your yips.

We've got one out left,

and we are gonna win this because we're a team.

You didn't do me. Shut up!

I'm gonna go out there and start a rally!

Come on!

Alex Kerkovich at the plate. The pitch.

Cuts deep to left!

It's out of here! Say goodbye!

Unbelievable, folks!

A gigantic home run from a child-sized woman!

Very impressive for a chubby!

Dave Rose.

He's terrible! And Penny Hartz.

And Team "Zazu" wins!

Wow, what a comeback!

Yeah! We did it! Yes, yes, yes!

Yeah!

We might not suck!

Left foot, right, left, left!

Come on!

Yes!

And Team "Zazu" wins

and they're just one win away from the championship game.

That was so amazing today!

Yep, I managed a hell of a game out there.

Okay, game ball time. Here we go. Bring it in.

And the game ball goes to Max

for managing a hell of a game out there today.

Oh, lookie, lookie. It's Jane-a-dict Arnold.

Hello, Jane. Hello, Newman.

I don't know if you heard, but we got game.

Kickball game!

Looks like we're meeting Kaz's Auto Body in semifinals.

The kickball semifinal.

Classic battle. Good versus evil.

Bulls versus Pistons.

My Aunt Michelle versus Hepatitis B.

And we got moves you don't even know about.

I know your one moves. You bunt.

They call me Bunt Cake.

Come on, man. No one calls you that.

Anyway, you're only as good

as your weakest link.

I'm talking about yipsy-ki-yay mother failure over there.

See the ball Kick the ball

See the kick Kick the Penny

No, David!

Oh! Good luck with that. Yeah.

Don't worry about my team, Jane, all right?

'Cause we're a team! Yeah.

We stick together! Yeah!

It's called loyalty! Yeah.

You don't know nothing about that. Nothing!

We gotta cut that sad mother failure.

You're damn right, we do. But you've got to do it.

He's used to hearing crap like that from you.

Yo, yo, teammates!

You ready to throw another W up on the board today?

Next stop, championship. All aboard!

M-slice!

B-rad! Big A!

Weird S. P-dog!

And Lance Briggs.

That's the name on my state I.D.

I don't drive. It's too dangerous.

What's Chicago Bears linebacker, Lance Briggs doing here?

Listen, Dave. D-town.

Dave, Lance works out at Brad's Pilates gym.

That's how I keep the core tight.

Heard that. No, you didn't.

Anyway, we asked him to join the team, bud.

Yeah, so that means we're gonna have to replace somebody, buddy.

Ouch. That's some harsh barley.

But what's good for the gander is good for the geese, so...

Sorry, Scotty. You're pretty weird, anyway.

Oh, it's not me, Doug. Dave.

Well, if it's not Scotty, then who...?

Oh. It's me, isn't it?

Dave, we just can't get eliminated now.

Bunt Cake's gotten addicted to people calling him Bunt Cake.

No one calls you that. Bunt they will.

Look, I'm sorry, Dave. I mean, it's not gonna be me.

You know, I haven't hooked up yet, and...

I'm mad horny, son.

Oh, I'll do stuff to you. Please no.

Look, guys. Have I been in a slump? Yes.

Is Lance Briggs a superior athlete? Doy.

Does he have the body of a Greek god? Amen!

But the point is, Lance...

Would it be weird if I asked you for your autograph right now?

I usually only give these to sick kids, but..

You look like you're in pretty bad shape.

Well, here we are!

The score is 5-4, Kaz's Auto Body in the lead!

Down to their final out of the tournament,

Team "Zula's" last hopes rest on Alex Kerkovich.

Who will be facing off against Jane Kerkovich-Williams!

Wow, they're sisters. I just found that out.

Hash tag: "who knew they were sisters?"

Babu.

That should be my T-shirt.

Featuring Alex Kerkovich!

Ruthless. Just worthless.

Wait. That's a fair ball!

You're out! Game over!

Somehow she didn't see that pitch coming?

And that's the ball game, folks!

Kaz's Auto Body is going to the championship game.

And I got to see female belly for the first time

since my wife moved into the second bedroom!

Ooh. Babu the Monkey. I loved that show.

Hey, Lance Briggs. Shut up!

Come on, guys. Even though it's over,

I don't wanna see any long faces.

We're Team Xela.

We gotta pick our chins up.

Max, are you crying? Yeah.

Turns out, there is crying in kickball.

God, I hate losing. I hate it so much! It sucks!

And I hate being humiliated by Jane.

Unless it's on my terms. With a safe word.

And I screwed over Dave.

I mean, what did Lance Briggs even do for us?

Well, you know, Robbie Gould, the Bears' kicker,

also goes to my gym. What?

We should have asked him, huh? Yeah.

No. No, no, no. No, no, no. This is on me.

It was supposed to be about fun, and I got drunk on winning.

And I forgot what was important, and now it's all over.

It's not over. What?

You guys are playing Ivanov in the championship.

Kaz's Auto Body got disqualified

for corking their sneakers with steel.

If you can't trust an auto body shop, who can you trust?

I turned them in to the league. Really?

You said you wanted to, quote, "taste sweet nectar of victory"

"because you were pretty sure it'd taste like blood."

"Human blood." Unquote.

Oh, it so does.

I wanna be ruthless with you, not against you.

Aw. Yay! Team Xela is back together.

Yay! I said Xela right.

Look, Dave, I feel terrible about this Lance Briggs thing.

So I made you apology soup.

Is it the same recipe as

"I'm sorry you saw my mom naked" soup?

Yep. Corn chowder. I get it.

You guys wanted to win.

Yeah, but I realized that it's not about winning.

It's about having fun with your friends.

So I want you to come back tomorrow and play.

I can't do that. You're that mad?

Look, I don't have time to break out the slow cooker

and make apology pork loin with a side of sorry glaze.

I don't have that time. I'm not mad.

Kickball is about friendship, and I want my friends to win.

So I'm gonna let Scotty play for me tomorrow.

But I will be there supporting my team

like a total badass.

Really? High five.

Oh, let's try it again.

I got a piece of it.

Yikes.

It is the fifth and final inning, folks.

Ivanov Nail Salon leads 3 to nothing.

We're one out away from finishing

this year's championship.

Shammy has Kerkovich on 2nd, Hartz on 1 st.

And that brings up Brad Williams.

Bunt Cake! Bunt Cake!

Bunt Cake!

I'm here! Yeah! Bunt Cake! Bunt Cake!

All right, guys. Come on. I gotta concentrate.

He is.

Nauseous at this point.

Oh, in a page from the bambino.

He is calling a home run... No, wait!

In a page from no one, he is calling a bunt.

In my 36 hours of covering kickball, folks,

I've never seen anything so confusing.

Here's the pitch!

Oh, my God. He didn't bunt.

He kicked a single.

Oh, my God! It's the same result as a bunt!

But it feels so much better!

Thank you! Bases loaded.

All right, Scotty, you got this. Go bring them home.

You got the right guy, Max. I despise Soviets.

You know why? Because they rendered

every single one of my old globes obsolete.

Okay, go get them. Oh, my weak spine!

Oh! My weak knees!

I need steroids!

Time out! Jee-Ia, who you got?

Hey! What?

Can you do this for me, D-town?

Yeah. No. No. Yeah.

No, I can't.

Dave! Listen.

Stop blaming yourself for hitting me. It was an accident.

It'd be hard not to hit me. Look at this melon.

Even Tim Russert would be like, "Damn, girl.

"Your head's all swole up!" It's so big.

All right. All right. That's enough.

Look, just stop putting so much pressure on yourself, okay?

Kick it. Don't kick it. Just have fun!

Yeah. Thanks, guys.

Let's do this.

Dave Rose?

But he's terrible!

Look alive, baby! Big kick!

The tension here is high.

All right. Here's the pitch.

Oh!

We won! It is over!

Ivanov wins the Northside Kickball Classic!

They lost. Why are they celebrating?

An inexplicable celebration from Team Xela.

Sorry, folks. I must be drunk. I said their name wrong.

Perhaps it's moral victory.

Why?

Why?

Yeah!

Do you ever see stuff in the stars?

Sure do.

See right there under Ursa Minor?

A wide receiver running a slant as we drop into cover two.

Oh, yeah. Uh-hmm.

What about up there?

Oh, right there just above Orion's belt,

I see an H-back in spread formation.

He's about to run a check down.

What do you see? I see a puppy.

We are so in sync.

Agreed.