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[upbeat music]

[thuds, shatters]

[narrator]
Dick Van Patten,

a happy man,

good father...

[playful music]

...loving husband...

...kind to
little, little animals,

upstanding citizen
and all-around nice guy.

But beneath this warm exterior

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

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

a man who plays

dirty tennis.

Oh, hello.

I'm Dick Van Patten.

Welcome to the wonderful
world of tennis.

A game of finesse,

a game of form.

Well, I hate all that.

I mean, aren't you
a little fed up

with all these little
hard-hitting tennis snobs

with their top spin
and their perfect form?

Tennis has nothing to do
with being nice.

It's a game of winning.

It's dog-eat-dog.

It's a battlefield out there

where the strong survive

and the weak come crawling back

with the sweat dripping down
from their sweatbands

on their little white sweaters.

[grunts softly] Well, anyway...

[chuckles] today...

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

how to win,

how to be victorious.

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

[comical music]

...dirty tennis.

[thuds, shatters]

Well, well,
Bruce Jenner, my idol!

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

Oh, no problem.

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

Actually, the directions
you gave me were perfect.

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

to browse around.

Browse around?

Well, I just thought

I would pick up
a few accoutrements.

[birds chirping]

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

there is something else.

Now, let me tell you
how you identify

the generic hotshot
that we all so despise.

Tennis bag,

one dozen brand rackets,

designer sunglasses,

coordinating clothes
and sweatbands,

tennis magazine,

designer water, everything,

except a new can of balls.

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

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

because here's how I do it.

I have clothes to distract.

[typewriter clicking]

You see? [clears throat]

Bathing suit...

...black socks,

etcetera.

[birds chirping]

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

[scoffs]

Uh, no, thanks, Dick.

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

Ahh!

Ah.

[quietly] Now, you may ask,

"Why does a man like
Dick Van Patten drink tequila

before he starts to play?"

This isn't really tequila.

It's just tea.

But I run no risk
of being exposed

because what athlete
in his right mind

would take a drink
before he starts to play?

Now, the object of this

is to lead your opponent
to the conclusion

that you're playing
just for fun,

giving him a false sense
of security.

[typewriter clicking]

[Bruce]
Dick must be a real loser.

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

Way to go, Dick!

[chuckling]

Cowabunga! Huh?

Oh, by the way, Dick,

I have this swollen hamstring

and this darn Achilles tendon.

-You know?
-[scoffs]

It may snap.

[both chuckle]

[laughing]

[quietly]
All these hotshot opponents

always come up
with injury excuses.

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

[typewriter clicking]

[Bruce grunting]

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

-before we start to play.
-No problem.

[button clicks]

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

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

Whatever you do,
don't be foolish enough

to get back on the court.

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

Oh, uh, nothing.

Ju-- just a problem
with my shoulder.

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

And my elbow.

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

And my heart.

[playful piano music]

[thuds, shatters]

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

Never give him a chance
to practice his strokes.

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

[typewriter clicking]

Watch. [grunts softly]

[huffs]

[comical music]

[grunting]

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

while you stay in one spot.

My personal record is
four minutes and 33 seconds.

Remember, do not,
under any circumstances,

expend any energy at this point.

If things don't go as planned,

you may need every ounce
you can muster later on.

[grunting]

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

I'll tell you what.

Just hit me some overheads
and I'll practice.

All right, Bruce.

Now, when your opponent
wants overheads,

I want you to take the ball

and I want you
to make it literally go

over his head.

[cheerful music]

[grunts]

[Bruce]
I haven't seen so many highballs

since I saw the giraffes
at the zoo.

Here we go!

[groans]

[sighs] All right, Dick!

Dick, I'll tell you what.

Just throw me some balls.

I'll practice my serve.

Thanks.

This is going to be
one long afternoon.

Yep.

Bruce, I'm sorry.

Why don't we just start?

Uh, up or down Bruce?

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

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

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

[typewriter clicking]

Up, Dick.

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

[quietly] I just
love statistics.

[in normal voice] I'll serve.

[thuds, shatters]

[Dick]
The first several games

should be played
without dirty tennis.

This will lull your opponent
into dropping his guard

and give you an opportunity
to plan your attack.

Obviously, Bruce,
the world-class athlete

will be quite a test.

Notice his form,
his power, his concentration.

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

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

[Dick]
He just oozes
of self-confidence.

But I'll soon take care of that.

On the other hand,
notice my form

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

I place my emphasis
on the mental game

rather than brute strength
and style.

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

Such as poker
and handicapping the horses.

Hotshots referred
to me as a hacker

because I hit lousy shots

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

with these unpredictable,

distracting, lousy shots.

My casual style leads
the hotshot to believe

that I am simply out
for an afternoon of fun.

But look closely and you'll see

that each move
has been calculated precisely

for its ability to distract

while being energy efficient.

[birds chirping]

[thuds, shatters]

[Dick]
The hotshot is ahead
by three games.

It's now time
to use dirty tennis.

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

b-- be-- before you serve,

d-- do you breathe in or out?

[typewriter clicking]

[comical music]

[Bruce chuckles]
What does he mean,

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

-What a ridiculous question!
-[exhales sharply]

Bruce...

...which way? In or out?

[sighs]

Breathing in, out!

-[coughs]
-[Dick] Fault!

[Bruce]
Maybe I should be throwing
while breathing out

or hitting while breathing in.

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

Maybe I'll hold my breath.

I really don't care.

Okay?

Okay.

Love-fifteen!

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

-Damn it!
-Fault.

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

[Dick]
Extreme double fault.

[Bruce]
seven thousand bucks
in tennis lessons,

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

[quietly] Coming in close
to receive his serve,

makes the hotshot opponent think

that you think
he's going to dink.

A dink is a very soft shot.

So to prove that he's macho,

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

Thus increasing his chances
of making a mistake.

We call this the old

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

[typewriter clicking]

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

I'll show him.

[grunts]

Fault!

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

He can't hurt you anyway.

[quietly] Now,
right about this time,

the hotshot will start
playing our game and dink.

When he starts playing our game,

we start playing his game.

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

[typewriter clicking]

[grunts]

[Dick]
Game!

[sensual music]

Oh, Nicolette!

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

Bruce Jenner. [chuckles softly]

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

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

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

take full advantage of it.

Have your sons invite their
most beautiful girlfriends over

and give them full access to it.

Of course, if you're
playing a woman,

you must adjust accordingly,

perhaps by having
one of your sons mow the lawn

in a Speedo bathing suit.

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

[typewriter clicking]

I'd like to tell you something.

I loved the movie
The Sure Thing.

I mean, with you lying there
on that beach

with that dark tan

and that golden hair
blowing in the wind

and that skimpy bikini!

Oh, boy!

And then slowly rubbing

that hot oil

into that luscious skin.

And then, sensually turning
to the camera...

...with those pouting lips

and seductive eyes.

[exclaims]

[Nicollette]
Thank you. Thank you, Bruce.

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

Let's go!

[sensual music]

[Bruce]
Did I sound like a jerk?

I hope she notices
my sexy new tennis outfit.

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

[Nicollete grunting]

Fifteen-love.

[Bruce]
Okay, Mr. Jenner,

strut your stuff.

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

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

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

Shoot. She didn't see me.

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

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

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

Let's go!

[Bruce moans in thought]

[telephone ringing]

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

for the die-hard
dirty tennis player.

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

[typewriter clicking]

[telephone continues ringing]

Are you gonna
answer that phone, Dick?

Whoops.

No.

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

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

Later, we'll touch
on another variation.

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

Two to three.

[birds chirping]

Since I'm older than Bruce,

I'm going to need
a little time to rest

before he starts bashing
those serves at me again.

I call this the old
"shoe business" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

[comical music]

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

Let's go, Dick! [snaps fingers]

Get that ball over there.

[Dick]
I'm still not completely rested.

[typewriter clicking]

Now, let me show you
how that was done,

in slow motion.

[comical music in slow motion]

[telephone ringing]

[telephone continues ringing]

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

It's been ringing a long time.

It must be important.

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

A perfect chance
to catch your breath.

Besides, Bruce was
about to win the point.

[typewriter clicking]

[panting]

Hello!

Hi there!

No, no, not at all.

No, this is a good time.

You're not interrupting
anything.

Well, well, well...

...tell me...

...how's the wife and kids?

Oh!

That's great.

Well...

...tell me...

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

[Bruce angrily]
Hey, Dick!

[quietly] This is guaranteed

to throw the hotshots rhythm
completely off

and make him cranky
at the same time.

Come on, Dick, let's go.

Now, lest it appear
that the dirty tennis player

has no use for sportsmanship,

he must develop the fine art

of speaking and understanding
the language of tennis.

[typewriter clicking]

Come on, Dick. Let's go!

[comical music]

[Dick panting]

[in normal voice]
Take two, Bruce.

Sorry about the distraction.

Ahh!

Nice shot!

Fifteen, uh, love.

[grunts]

Just missed.

[exhales]

[grunts]

Too good for me.

Thirty-love.

[grunts]

Oh, wow.

You really put something
on that one.

Uh... forty-love.

Now I'm going
to teach you the art

of calling a bad ball good.

After all,

the hotshot is
serving very well,

the score is forty-love,

he's going to win
this game anyway.

What better time than
to look like the great sport?

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

it'll be harder
for him to believe.

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

[typewriter clicking]

[birds chirping]

[grunts]

Oh! Good serve!

-Are you sure?
-Oh, absolutely.

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

[comical music]

[Bruce chuckles] Geez.

Who can't beat
a guy who cheats himself?

Uh, you, Dick,
are playing great.

[chuckles softly]

[chuckling]
You still got it, Jenner.

Oh!

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

Yeah, she definitely winked.
[chuckles]

I knew that haircut
would pay off.

Oh.

What a goddess!

Smooth as silk.

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

hold it there, big fella.

You've got a game to play.

Just concentrate on the game.

[Dick]
Perfect timing.

The skilled dirty tennis player
always knows

where an old bald ball is.

Now, you can distinguish
an old ball

by its brown color and no hair.

It is lighter than a new ball

and bounces a lot higher
and faster.

That's two-four!

[birds chirping]

What the hell?

Fifteen-love.

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

[grunts]

Whoa!

What was that? Halley's comet?

I want to see that ball.

[comical music]

Thirty-love.

-[Nicolette] Come on!
-[groans]

[grunts]

Come on, you stupid bottle.

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

I got it.

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

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

...I do do a lot of stretching.

Bruce, Come on.

We're playing a game!

Forty-love.

Let's go!

Sorry, Dick.

[Nicolette gasps]

Aah!

Oh, I drank it too quickly.

[burps]

[exhales]

You let that ball
go right by you!

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

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

[panting] Dirty tennis
never fails.

I'm now going to use

the "oldies but goodies" trick.

[typewriter clicking]

[button clicks]

[lively music plays on radio]

Dick!

I can't play with the music on.

Oh, no! But please, Bruce,

this is my favorite new song.

All right. You ready?

All set.

[music continues playing]

Fault!

Double fault!

Love-fifteen.

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

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

Come on, please, Bruce.

This is the song
that was playing

on the night that I was married.

Also on the night
that my first son was born.

[music starts playing again]

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

Look happy, Bruce.

I got to get her number.

I, I need a pen,

a crayon,

highlighter, anything.

Bye!

Wait!

Oh, I mean...

...goodbye.

Bye.

[Bruce] Aah!

[exhales]

[groans]

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

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

[typewriter clicking]

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

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

[light tense music]

[grunts]

[groans] Oh, G-- God!

Aah!

I can't see.

I can't see!

Oh, God!

Oh, God.

Now, which glasses were
for afternoon glare?

[stutters] Never mind!

Look confident!

[exhales thoroughly]

Love-fifteen.

[grunts]

Yeah!

[dog barks, growls]

Your dog did it on purpose.

On purpose?

That's ridiculous.

No dog of his
could be that smart.

Sorry, Dick.

No problem.

It happens.

[birds chirping]

[grunts]

[Dick]
Ow!

Out?

I didn't say, "Out."

I said, "Ow!"

My tennis elbow.

Ow! Ow! It hurts.

Jeepers creepers, Bruce.

All right.

That's it.

[grunts]

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

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

I brought you guys
some lemonade.

Hello, Mrs. Van Patten.

[chuckles]

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

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

Oh, yes, yes.

I mean, I heard him say that.

Well, keep on playing.

I don't want
to interrupt your fun.

Oh, you haven't.

Believe me, you haven't.

[giggling]

Bye!

[Bruce]
He's cheating.

He must be cheating!

What if he's not?

Then it's these rackets,

these strings,

these stupid strings.

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

[thuds, shatters]

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

It is time to push him
over the edge.

Besides, now the sun
is in my court.

[fanfare music]

Vincent Van Pattern, actor,

recently retired world-ranked
tennis professional,

now working in cahoots
with his father.

Aah!

The sun! It's so hot!

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

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

[fast-paced jaunty music]

Ahh, hyah!

[leaf blower running]

Ah-- [groaning]

[telephone ringing]

Why can't I see the ball?

[telephone continues ringing]

[leaf blower continues running]

[dog barks]

[Dick]
James Van Patten,

actor, dark-haired
black sheep of the family,

hates tennis and is sick
of the public confusion

that he too is a tennis player.

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

[dog barking]

[panting]

[breathless] Love-thirty.

[exhales sharply]

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

I've got him talking to himself.

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

there's no need
for dirty tennis.

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

And I don't need this crap!

So they took my face off
the Wheaties box?

I don't care!

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

so there, world.

And Mark Spitz,

and his seven gold medals...

[imitates vomiting]

[grunts] Love-forty.

[grunting]

[gun cocks]

-[gunshot]
-Aah! Aah!

Hit the dirt!

[screaming]

[Dick]
Bruce. Bruce.

[gentle music]

[groaning]

Oh! [crying]

Thanks for
a very nice set, Bruce.

Lemonade?

[birds chirping]

Come back soon, Bruce.

Thanks again, Dick.

I'm quitting tennis.

[engine running]

Bye-bye.

Bye-bye, Bruce.

[comical music]

You know, sometimes
I do feel a little guilty.

I mean, perhaps there is
a little more to tennis

than just winning.

Dickie!

Dickie!

Ivan Lendl is on the phone.

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

-Oh, wow! Ivan Lendl?
-Yeah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He won't know what hit him.

He probably thinks
we're this all-American,

squeaky-clean type of family...

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

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

Button it up, Vincent,
the camera is rolling.

The Osmonds, The Brady Bunch,
The Partridge Family,

I love that show.
I love the kid.

What do you think, Nicolette?

Sure, why not?

Beats looking at family photos.

I don't know, though.

After what I just did to Bruce,

I had him down on the ground.

I mean, I turned him into a...

...quivering mass of Jell-O.

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

Oh, what the heck?

Send him over.

[laughing]

[playful music]

Wait. Not so fast.

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