All language subtitles for Family Guy 19x20 - Tales of Former Sports Glory (English)

? It seems today that all you see ?

? Is violence in movies and sex on TV ?

? But where are those
good old-fashioned values ?

? On which we used to rely? ?

? Lucky there's a family guy ?

? Lucky there's a man who
positively can do ?

? All the things that make us ?

? Laugh and cry ?

? He's... a... Fam... ily... Guy! ?

- Synced and corrected by AlexandreMT -
- www.addic7ed.com -

Coming up tonight: Quahog's own
poet laureate comes to the set

and graces us with her...
Oh, God, that's tonight?

Hey, Jerome, turn on the game.

Sorry, guys, cable's out.

We're only getting local stations.

Oh, what, so now we got
to talk sports to pass the time?

Or maybe watch Gilmore Girls.

Just as, like, a goof.

You know, if you want to talk sports,

I've got quite a story to tell.

Oh! Oh! This is the one
where Lorelai's mom makes

her martini with an onion
instead of an olive.

Boy, that's a passive-aggressive move.

If you knew her mom, you'd know that's

a passive-aggressive move.

It all started when I was a young boy...

Last chance on this Gilmore Girls thing.

I was a baseball prodigy.

It was back home in the Cuban league.

I grew up working in the tobacco
fields outside of Havana.

That's where I learned to play baseball.

Our mitts were made of cigars,
some of them still going.

All right! Ha! All right, I caught it!

At night I drove a cab.

We all had to drive huge cars there.

I was just a regular young man
wearing pants

that went above my belly button.

Pull your pants up.

When I was nine, my father took me

to my first baseball game.

Fidel Castro was there
to throw out the first pitch.

He was wearing
the same outfit as always.

Later we would find out
he had a fashion disease

known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

We would write more jokes about him,

but our dumb-dumb writers
only know what he looks like.

Strike!

We all worshipped Che Guevara.

Although none of us really knew
what side he was on.

Thank you?

But we knew he'd make a great poster

in college dorm rooms someday.

Please rise
for the Cuban National Anthem.

In Cuba,
we hated America so much,

we copied everything they did.

And died trying to get there.

Castro said there were CIA

all over our island,
but I never saw any.

Yeah! Ha-ha! All right!

But from that day on,
I fell in love with baseball.

I dreamed of one day
playing in the big leagues,

so I signed up for a montage
to get better.

I was at the top of my game.

I didn't even need the full montage.

I was even recruited to play
on Cuba's national team,

the Gooding Juniors.

Tonight,
the Cuba Gooding Juniors

take on the Haiti Joel Osments!

We tried to play, but it was difficult

because hurricane season
was February through January.

Every time, a hurricane
would sweep through,

decimating the island, causing hundreds

of dollars worth of damage.

Aah!

Under Castro, every male
over the age of 18

was required to serve
two years as a band leader.

? Babaloo-oo-oo ?

? Babaloo-oo-oo ?

? Jungo ?

? Oo-oo-oo ?

? Babaloo ?

? Ta empezando lo velorio ?

? Que le hacemo a babalu. ?

I loved baseball,
but yearned to play in America.

I would look across the water
and dream about

the great time
they must be having there.

I bet it's not so great.

? If you're going my way ?

? I want to drive it all night long ?

? Oh, gimme, gimme, gimme,
gimme, yeah... ?

Dang it! I'm at the wrong country.

I knew what I had to do.

It was nothing against Cuba.

Cuba was nice.

We had a Bay of Hotties,

but also another bay
of less attractive women.

I forget what they called it.

However, tensions between
the U. S. and Cuba were high.

Castro was not happy that they had named

the most dangerously gay part
of San Francisco after him.

Defecting to the U. S. was
punishable by prison or death.

But I was determined.

Then came my chance.

The Cuba Gooding Juniors had

an away game in Barbados.

Oy, hermano we can escape
to the Cayman Islands.

Cayman, my ass. I'm going to America.

Okay, when we land in America,

we all have to stop saying "Cooba."

The sea was choppy,
and the sharks were relentless.

- Who is it?
- Uh, not a shark?

- Don't open it!
- No, it's just people.

- Yeah, people.
- And sharks.

Shh! No sharks. Just people.

After a week at sea,

we saw the glittering lights of Miami.

It was beautiful.

Then we decided to go to Quahog instead,

which took eight more months.

Eventually, I signed a large deal

with the Toronto Blue Jays.

But because I was
from a warm-weather climate,

it didn't work out.

I still remember
my first major-league game.

It was four hours and 25 minutes long.

I was like, "What the (BLEEP)?"

Wow, Cleveland. I had no idea
you played baseball.

Too bad you couldn't hit a home run

with The Cleveland Show.

Well, it certainly wasn't a whiff.

More of a foul out.

It was a double.

You know, you're not the only one

who got a taste of sports glory.

I had a pretty good run, myself.

Scrawny little guy like you, Quagmire?

What did you play?

I was a competitive tennis player.

Some might say too competitive.

But I was the breath of fresh air

that the stuffy tennis world needed.

I was born into a real tennis family.

On my first birthday,
my mother gave me a little Head.

I wanted to be the first
male cheerleader for tennis.

I cheer on two occasions: day and night!

Ooh, tennis!

And when that was weird,
I decided to just play tennis.

But it was understood I'd
grow up to be a tennis player

like my father and his father before him

and his father before him.

We came from a long line
of tennis dicks.

I had six brothers,

but they'd all sliced off their hands

opening a tennis ball can,

possibly the most dangerous
object known to mankind.

Hey, guys. Anyone want to play tennis?

Llewellyn, no!

But I would
do everything I could

to make my now-female father happy.

Practices were intense.

I feel like you skipped over

a very big story point right there.

My father
was a World War II vet,

so he used to make me
reenact the D-Day landing

with tennis ball machines.

But the work paid off.

I got invited to the first U. S. Open,

which, at the time,
was called the U. S. Now Open.

There, I met the player
who would become my archrival:

Sweden's Hedd Banssen.

He'd bring his personal chef
to every match,

which was very distracting.

Aah! What the hell?

Hergy bergy meatball throwy!

Come on, this can't be legal.
What are you, blind?

Serve ball!

I was the bad boy of tennis,

and my unconventional style
of play changed the game.

Before I came along, tennis was so safe,

it was customary
to hit a six-handed backhand.

I pioneered the one-handed backhand

and, eventually, the no-handed backhand.

Quagmire, I love your backhand.

That sounds
like a backhanded compliment.

I also flouted tennis etiquette

by wearing the longest, baggiest shorts

the game had ever seen.

People criticized my style of play

because I argued with umpires

and was taught
to bounce the ball 40 times

before my serve.

Let, first service.

I'd won the U. S. Open,

but I wouldn't settle for just that.

My goal was the coveted Grand Slam:

pancakes, eggs, sausage
and bacon at Denny's.

One day, Glenn. One day.

Maybe your birthday.

I made it to Wimbledon

and got to play in front of the queen...

Freddie Mercury.

I altered my 40-bounce routine
just for him.

It was an honor playing
for Freddie on grass that day.

He later died.
The doctor said it was asphalt.

It was the era before AIDS,
but a lot of tennis players

had to deal with the scourge
of Penis Gerulaitis.

Despite my on-court temper tantrums,

I was on top of the world.

And that's when I saw her:
Tatum O'Seventies.

The hottest actress of the era.

She was fresh off her success
playing an 11-year-old

in a Little League movie,
which, for some reason,

made her the biggest sex symbol
in Hollywood.

- Thought you might need this.
- Thanks. I'm Glenn.

I know. I watched you smash your
racket and scream at a baby.

You know, if you're free after this,

we could go back to my place

and try to fit some balls in your can.

I practiced tantrum sex,

something I'd learned from Sting
but probably misheard.

What?! Are
you crazy? That was in!

We became New York's "It" couple
of the '70s.

We hung out at Studio 55.

There was no one there.

We could hear a lot of noise
coming from next door.

I got to meet the greatest
athletes of my generation.

Glenn, how would you like
to meet Bobby Orr?

- Or who?
- Bobby Orr.

Yeah, Bobby or who?
What's the other choice?

- It's Bobby Orr!
- You told me Bobby's the first choice!

- What's the alternative?
- All right, forget that.

Do you want to meet Rick Monday?

Well, sure, I could do Monday,
but who is it?

By the 1980s,
things were starting to unravel.

Aw, damn it!

My temper on the court
was increasingly an issue.

Out.

Are you serious?! You cannot be serious!

I had a hard time
telling if people were serious.

I spilled spot remover on my dog,

and now he's gone.

Are you serious?!

I became famous for smashing rackets

when things didn't go my way.

Of course, back then,
we didn't have multiple rackets,

so I was forced to play with it.

Ultimately, my career ended
when I developed the yips.

And in 2001, at the U. S. Open,
my first serve hit a plane,

causing it to go tragically
off course and hit a building.

Everyone blamed the Muslims.

My second serve was no better.

You guys talking sports stories?

You know, I won a bronze medal
in the '84 Olympics.

Are you serious?!

Track and field.
It's a pretty good story.

It's a series of coincidences
that if someone wrote,

no one would believe.

Oh, my God,
why is there only half a medal?

Hoo! How much time you got?

We got about seven minutes,
and I haven't gone yet.

Rocky.

Like most, my day began
with block letters of my name

floating past the screen.

I grew up on the mean streets
of Philadelphia,

the City of Brotherly Love.

Or, as I called it, America's
Northernmost Hillbillies.

I was an Italian guy from the South Side

who never had a chance in life.

But I had a dream: to one day
be the heavyweight champ.

Yo, Petey!

Yo, fella!

Yo, Petey!

Yo, Delayheehoo!

It was a tough time in Philadelphia.

We were losing dozens of men every day

to singing over open trash can fires.

Yo, Petey!

Yo, Flaming Guy!

Aah! Aah!

I was a two-bit knuckle breaker
for the mob.

But it was a flash mob.

You owe us two grand.

Don't make me come back.

You better pay or we'll funk you up.

I said we will funk you up.

Like most fighters, I fell in love

with the local autistic girl
who worked at the pet shop.

I was one of her pet shop boys.

Yo, hey, turtles. How you doin'?

How come they're not moving?

You sat on them yesterday. They're dead.

- What happened to your eye?
- I got beat up again in a fight.

Yo, Lois, the San Gennaro
festival was last weekend.

You know, I was wondering if, uh,

maybe you might
want to go to it with me.

- When is it?
- Last weekend.

Well, then I don't think
that's possible, Peter. No.

I could see she was gonna
play hard to get.

All right, okay, well, uh,
want to maybe go to the park

and feed the pigeons yesterday?

Peter, I already did
yesterday stuff. Sorry.

Well, then how about we
just get coffee this morning

- before you got to be at work?
- It's 4:00 in the afternoon.

I'm afraid
that's not gonna work, either.

Okay, well, I'll circle back last week

and see what your schedule looks like.

I was not the smartest guy,
but I wasn't gonna give up.

I lived in the Little Italy
section of Philly.

My apartment was tiny.

I didn't have much stuff,
but, still, it felt cramped.

I really needed a bigger place.

I wanted to work the speed bag,

but my gym was so cheap
it didn't have one.

So I had to do the noises.

Dug-a-duh, dug-a-duh, dug-a-duh,
dug-a-duh, dug-a-duh.

Harder hit!

I fought my way up
through the amateur ranks.

Most fights, my greatest
challenge was entering the ring

without getting completely
tangled in the ropes.

Little help? Is my butt out?

My butt's out, isn't it?

Sorry you got to see that
back there, ma'am.

Yeah, I couldn't wipe.
I had my gloves on already.

Stop taking pictures, please.

My least favorite part of boxing
was the weigh-ins.

Hey, Keenan, Damon, Marlon.

Good luck, Peter.

Moo!

Oh, ha, ha.

And I was the only guy who wouldn't

get naked in the locker room.

I don't got a problem getting naked,

I-I just don't have to change right now.

I became known as an up-and-comer

with a mean left hook,

who farted every time
he got punched in the stomach.

By the second round, the
entire front row had pink eye.

I ran with a towel around my neck

tucked into my sweat suit,
'cause I always wanted

to look like a rich guy in a bathrobe.

Then I promised Lois
I'd see the Mark Rothko exhibit

at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

But when I got there, it was closed.

Meanwhile, Lois and I
were getting serious,

so I popped the question.

Hey, listen, Lois, I was wondering,

if you're not too busy,
what would you think

about spending the previous part
of your life with me?

I'm afraid that's not possible, Peter.

But I was rising through the ranks

and fighting
bigger and better opponents.

I fought Butterbean,

then I fought Can't Believe
It's Not Butterbean.

I could barely tell the difference.

I fought Sugar Ray Leonard Nimoy,

who put a Vulcan nerve pinch on me.

The fight was deemed highly illogical.

I defeated Lennox Lewis and the News,

Evander Sallyfield

and Roberto Duran Duran.

I was supposed to fight George Foreman,

but I only got George ThreeMenAndaBaby.

There's a lot more puns,
but this episode's only got

a few minutes left.

So finally, I got my shot at the title,

against a world champion...

Marvelous Marvin Mrs. Maisel.

Lois, no one's ever gone the distance

with Marvelous Marvin
Mrs. Maisel before.

But if I can just
get in that ring yesterday...

Tomorrow.

And hear that bell ring, still standing,

I'll know I'm not just
a bum from the streets.

I believe in you, Peter.
Now go drink your eggs.

Aah! Our dinnerware hutch!

Sorry.

Sorry!

Oh, they're mad.

I was outmatched. A no-name punk

fighting the world champion.

I fought my heart out.
I dug deep and had

a kick-ass song on my side,
but we couldn't afford

the song from the movie,
so we used the sound effects

from Nintendo Punch-Out!!

Body blow.

Body blow. Body blow. Uppercut.

Uppercut. Body blow. Uppercut.

The swollen eyes weren't from the fight.

There was a cat in the arena

and I was highly allergic.-

But I'd done it.

The only fighter ever to go the distance

with the champ.

But in that moment,

there was only one thing
I could think about.

Peter, the Rothko exhibit
at the museum is reopened!

Are you busy last week?

She had nailed me.

I was, in fact, free last week.

I was the pride of Philadelphia.

Eventually, I became the champ.

I also changed my inspirational music

to keep me motivated.

? Baby shark,
doo, doo, doo-doo, doo-doo ?

? Baby shark, doo, doo,
doo-doo, doo-doo ?

? Baby shark,
doo, doo, doo-doo, doo-doo ?

- ? Baby shark... ?
- Yeah!

Tragically, I died in training.

I fell into a vat
of Philadelphia Cream Cheese

and suffocated.

I guess it was a little taste of heaven.

Let's just say, at my funeral,
there was quite a spread.

Some of this
story ain't holding up for me.

I was cremated.

I don't think any of this is true.

My ashes were
spread over an everything bagel.

Hey, Joe, what about you?
You're a pretty athletic guy.

- You got any sports stories?
- Funny you should ask.

Actually, back in 1988,

I took part in the Crystal Light
Aerobics Competition.

Representing
Valley Health and Racket in Orlando,

Mona Hartnett, Debbie Harvey
and Maressa MacEachin.

Representing Shofer's
Athletic Club in San Jose,

Diane Terese,
Deborah McGee and Debbie Pardue.

There I am!

That guy on the left's dead.

Asphalt.