All language subtitles for Winning.Time.The.Rise.of.the.Lakers.Dynasty.S01E07.WEBRip.x264-XEN0N.Hi

♪ ♪

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.

Frank Mariani:
"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."

(ding)

My point is...

I'm fucking due.

("My Favorite Mutiny"
by The Coup playing

♪ ♪

♪ There it is ♪

♪ ♪

♪ Check it out ♪

♪ Move, if you got the nerve ♪

♪ Lash out for your
just desserts ♪

♪ It's not just the worth ♪

♪ Some of y'all heads
up in the clouds ♪

♪ I'ma bring y'all
back to earth ♪

♪ It's Black back to burn ♪

♪ Bullshit y'all talkin' 'bout ♪

♪ Out ya mouth ♪

♪ I'm not concerned ♪

♪ 'Cause y'all got to learn ♪

♪ It's y'all turn
like Detroit Red ♪

♪ When his head
had a Ultra Perm ♪

♪ The long walk'll
burn your bare heels ♪

♪ So throw on your boots ♪

♪ The game camouflaged
like army suits ♪

♪ But I can see it more clear ♪

♪ 'Cause I came with
The Coup in here ♪

♪ Ring the alarm and
form the troops ♪

♪ Send 'em out into the
world Go to war in a fluke ♪

♪ Eye to eye with the
enemy you sworn to shoot ♪

♪ Now comin' at ya
neck sick o' hearin' ♪

♪ Something wrong with me ♪

♪ Motherfucker somethin'
wrong with you ♪

♪ When the chief just way
too smart to question ♪

♪ The enemy the brothers
of a dark complexion ♪

♪ The governments of the
world is shark infested ♪

♪ They heavy on weaponry
like Charlton Heston ♪

♪ Man, yeah, it gets low here ♪

♪ Real low Know what
I'm talkin' 'bout? ♪

(vocalizing)

♪ Yeah, yo, it gets low... ♪

♪ ♪

- (static)
- (siren wailing)

- (whistle blows.
- (crowd cheering)

- (grunt)
- (crowd gasps)

Chick Hearn: 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 West head is trying to do an awful lot all by himself.
Pat Riley: 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!

Fan: You suck, West
head, you suck!

- Ref!
- You're outta timeouts.

Riley said that I
should tell you.

Fuck! Okay.

♪ ♪

Cooper, foul! Take the foul!

(whistle blows) - Hearn:
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.

(crowd jeering)

Let's focus up, guys.

Norman Nixon: 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.

Jerry West: You
need to cut bait.

Bill Sharman: You're jumping
the gun. He's jumping the gun.

West... West head'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!
- Jerry Buss: 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 would a 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.

West: 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.

(scoffs)

Fuck a duck.

(ambulance siren wails)

(quiet hospital chatter)

(sighs)

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!
- (shoes clatter)

Been working on your
shooting touch? (Laughs)

I got a coach around
here somewhere.

This a bad time?

No. Stay. (Laughs)

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 West head 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. (Quiet laugh)

Boston.

Jack McKinney (on phone):
You're under a microscope.

West is circling like a vulture

and already looking
to replace us.

Christ. I'm doing my best, Jack.

McKinney: 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.

Paul West head: I won't
let you down, Jack.

(hangs up)

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. (Laughs)

I'm flailing out
there, Pat. (Laughs)

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.

(sighs)

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.

(sighs, laughs)

♪ ♪

Fuck it! What? Fuck it.

- Fuck it yes?
- (Pat laughs)

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.

Dick Enberg (on TV): 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.

- (scoffs)
- (tape fast forwarding)

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

for drawing up a game
plan and Indiana State for

(shutters snapping) They
played a hell of a game.

Mm, all the fans
that done came out.

- I just wanna say thank...
- (TV static)

Gonna torch that smiley
ass in Boston, punk.

You wish, motherfucker.

♪ ♪

(inaudible)

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.

Reporters: 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?

(airplane idling)

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?

- (laughs) 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.

- (laughing)
- Ha, ha. Thanks, Chick.

I'm gonna miss him.

- Take this, please. Thank you.
- West: 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.
- West: 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.

(airplane roaring)

(knocking, door opens)

Well, you weren't wrong
about your mother.

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

- How's that, Claire?
- Claire Rothman: 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.

- (laughs) 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.

(upbeat music playing)

Announcer: 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.

(buzzer)

Earvin Johnson: 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.
- (fans clamoring)

Hey! Magic Man! Sign these?

- (laughter)
- Larry's gonna eat your lunch.

Man: Hey, put the tits away.

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

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

Spencer Haywood: 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.

- (shutters snapping)
- But that ain't on me.

You can ask the Nutty
Professor though.

(quietly): 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.

- Man: Let him through, let him through.
- (fans cheering)

I appreciate the insight, Pat.

- (dripping)
- (tapping)

(dripping continues)

(dripping echoing)

(dripping)

Shit.

(whistle blows)

(Jell-o jiggling)

Jerry Buss: 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.

- (laughs)
- 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.

(sighs)

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.
- (laughs)

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.

♪ Hey! Santa Claus! ♪

♪ Uh! Shoot, got soul ♪

♪ He's coming with his love ♪

Anchorman (on TV): 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
home girl 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?

- (drops lipstick)
- Tune in...

Girl, when you are married,

you buying me a big old
diamond ring to match

- for introducing you. A finder's fee.
- (Cookie scoffs)

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.

("Xmas Commercial
Blues" playing)

♪ ♪

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

- Real good. Yeah. There you go.
- (shutters snapping)

(chatter continues,
holiday music playing)

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

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

Johnson: Hey, Shawn.

Man, I got you. Here you go.

Shawn: 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!
- (laughs)

It's all for me.

(laughs)

It's... something else.

Ain't it?

Hey, Rhonda.

Hey.

I missed you.

Mm, stop.

You stop lookin' so good.

Earl eat ha, 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.

(inhales) Best not. Bad idea to
keep these corporations waiting.

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

(holiday music continues)

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

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

Excuse us for a minute, angels.

- Johnson: 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. (Laughs)

You could've wore a
disco ball, bitch.

Come on, Cookie.

(country music playing)

- (diner chatter)
- (cutlery clinking)

Coach Riley. (clears
throat) Coach Riley.

I'm Coach Riley.

(clicks tongue)

(toilet flushes)

How you doin'? Ahem.

Jerry West: 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.

♪ ♪

♪ From a little grass shack
on a tropical isle... ♪

We're, uh

we're turning it around.

Just you watch.

Mm-hmm.

♪ With his bright
shiny nose... ♪

Mm. Hey, Jer.

Eating my leftovers?

(laughs)

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

West: Lay off the
fuckin' French fries.

Landsberger: 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.

Announcer: 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.

(buzzer)

(reporters clamoring)

("Mr. Santa Claus" (Santa Claus
Helping Hand) by Richard Marks playing)

♪ ♪

(knocking)

Riley: 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?

(sighs) 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.

(party chatter, laughter)

(holiday music playing)

(indistinct,
overlapping chatter)

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.

Christine Johnson:
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.
- (laughter)

Earvin Johnson Sr.: 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.
- Dr. Day: 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?
- Dr. Day: Oh.

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

- Blessed on her knees.
- Johnson: 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.

Johnson Sr.: 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.
- (echoing giggle)

(high-pitched):
Take that, nigga!

(all laughing)

And it ain't ghosts.

It's a leprechaun.

I believe it. I
definitely believe it.

Dr. Day: Look at this
Buick contract here.

See your name.
That's number one.

- Johnson: Mm-hmm.
- Your likeness?

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

- Mm-hmm!
- Television. Commercial.

United States and Europe.

- (laughs)
- International, boy.

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

Dr. Day: Hold on, wait a minute.

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

Dr. Day: 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.
- Earvin Sr.: 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!

(laughs) Junior?

Only since his first breath.

Doctor slapped his ass,

he turned around
and smiled back.

Hey! You heard?

- I can imagine.
- Earvin Sr.: 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...

♪ Strange fruit ♪

♪ Hanging from the poplar tree ♪

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

(inaudible laugh)

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 shit less.

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!

♪ ♪

Johnson: 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.

(water sputters)

Remember what I said
about the Garden.

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

- You're playing the arena.
- (runs water)

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? (Clears throat)
Right from the tip.

- Right, Paul?
- (runs water)

- (snaps towel)
- 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.

(phone ringing) - 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.

(ringing)

- Yup.
- Operator (on phone): I have a call for Mr. West

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

Uh... (sniffs)

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

Elgin Baylor (on phone): What
you say there, Tweety Bird?

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

(dinging)

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.
(clears throat) Bye.

Baylor: I'll see you in Boston!

(hangs up phone)

(inhales, exhales)

(brushing teeth)

(muffled)

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!
- (spits) 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
wake up call!

Now answer it!

(shower continues running)

Fuck...

(shuts off shower,
water draining)

(knocking)

(shower running)

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 could a skipped
that game myself.

Who said I did? (Laughs)

Bought me a cheap seat.

You (laughs)...

You crazy, girl! Wha...

Got you in first
class and everything!

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

Don't put that on me now.

(laughs) 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.

(sighs) 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.

("And If I Had" by
Teddy Pendergrass)

♪ Hoo... ♪

You family, Cook.

(sighs)

♪ Hoo... ♪

♪ Oh... ♪

♪ Ho... ♪

(heavy breathing)

♪ And if I had ♪

♪ Someone to love me ♪

(bus horn honking)

(sighs)

♪ And if I had... ♪

I know. That bus is waiting.

♪ Someone to really care ♪

Call you from Boston?

♪ I would be... ♪

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

♪ The best lover ♪

Okay. I'm gonna go.

Mm-mmm. You ain't going nowhere.

- I gotta go.
- (laughs) Alright, alright.

♪ I need somebody ♪

♪ To love me ♪

♪ Love me, yeah ♪

- (shower stops)
- (shuts door)

♪ Yes, I do ♪

Who was that?

Uh... Teammate.

- Oh.
- Yeah.

They waitin'.

("Something Special To Do"
by The Rondels playing)

(plane roaring)

♪ When the summer has gone ♪

♪ And the weather gets cool ♪

Boston Fan 1: Have a nice
day. Go fuck yourself.

Boston Fan 2: Lakers suck!

Boston Fan 3: You
fuckin' suck, Magic!

Boston Fan 4: Don't
even have a coach.

Boston Fan 5: West head
sucks. Get outta here!

Boston Fan 6: Kareem,
you are fucked as shit.

Welcome to Boston.

Boston Fan 7: Larry is
gonna kill you guys.

Bunch of pricks.

Paul Revere should a slept in.

Let the British burn

this fuck-hole to the ground.

When does Elgin need an answer?

Tonight. (Clears throat) 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...

(scoffs)

Nobody beats me at Monopoly.

Okay...

Buss: Except my mother.

- She's the only fucking one.
- West: 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.

Buss: Well, thanks for
the pep talk, Jerry.

(opens door)

I'm staying in the fucking car.

I reckoned.

- (water dripping)
- (lights buzzing)

Oh my god, is that blood?

- (squeaking)
- What the fuck is that?!

Told you, motherfucker.

Leprechaun.

'Cause he's comin' for you!

Fuck this, man.

(echoing giggles)

("Satan Is Real" by
The Louvin Brothers)

♪ Satan is real ♪

♪ Working in spirit ♪

♪ You can see him ♪

♪ And hear him in this world ♪

♪ Every day ♪

♪ Satan is real ♪

♪ Working with power ♪

♪ He can tempt you ♪

♪ And lead you... ♪

Yo, what's up, Larry?

(spits)

Let's get this shit over.

Reporters: Larry!
Larry! Larry, over here!

- Still mad, I see.
- Reporters: Larry!

Larry! Question!

- What'd you eat before the game?
- Larry Bird: 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?

- Bird: 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.

- (shutters snapping)
- (reporters chattering)

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

(reporters shouting)

(spits)

One more! Larry! Lar!

- (all clamoring)
- (shutters snapping)

Johnson: 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.

(scoffs) 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.

(quiet laugh)

West head: 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.

- (players laugh)
- 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.
- Johnson: 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!

(players chattering) - I beat
him before, I'll beat him again!

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

(upbeat jazz music playing)

♪ ♪

Well... (clears throat)

Nice seats.

Red knows how to treat a guest.

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

He sent you this
with his regards.

Is it gonna explode?

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

Buss: Alright, I'll bite.

Usher: It's a vegetable.

Like your coach.

Welcome to the Garden.

- (puts down box)
- Very funny.

- (whistle blows)
- (coughs)

(buzzer)

♪ ♪

(laughs)

Chick Hearn: This is Chick
Hearn for the LA Lakers

coming to you live from
beautiful Be an town,

the city of Boston.

Johnny Most: Johnny
Most at the Garden here,

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

with everybody's
favorite LA softies.

- All: Team!
- Let's go!

(applause, cheering)

- Hey, fuck you!
- Yeah!

Suck my dick, Magic!

Alright, fellas, let's go!

♪ ♪

Gonna wipe that
smile off your face.

♪ ♪

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

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

- (crowd jeering)
- Fucker.

Yes!

Hearn: Lakers draw first blood

but here comes Larry Bird.

Trap, trap, trap!

Hearn: 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.

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

(crowd jeering)

- D up!
- Johnson: 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.

(rock music playing)

- Fuck.
- (crowd cheering)

Shit, think that was 13.

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

Most: Get ready, you
Hollywood pansies,

- Fuck!
- Here comes...

West: Fuckin' had enough
of this fuckin' shit.

(sighs) Just fucking
breathe, Jerry, breathe

(window lowers)
- (driver laughing)

- Most: Good!
- Wicked shooter, huh?

Oh! F... Fucking motherfucking

- son of a fucking bitch!
- (window rises)

I should a fucking known! Somebody
fucking settin' me up here!

Most: Abdul-Jabbar
on the fast break.

Team one for Chaney.

Hearn: 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!

Hearn: 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.

♪ ♪

Hearn: 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'...

Most: This is the best
officiated game in years!

This cornbread motherfucker...

Most: Cooper trips
over his feet.

These Lakers are looking
awfully clumsy tonight.

Hearn: Officials are swallowing
their whistles once again.

West: Shut down the fuckin'
act, you motherfucker!

Most: Johnson looking
desperate under the rim.

Open your fuckin' eyes!

He's on his arm!

Most: 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.

Most: But the refs call
it like they see it

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

(crowd cheering)

Most: Another...

It's just a fuckin' game, Jerry.

Most: Nothing but net!

Boston boy is on fire tonight!

Celtics fan: Go home,
you fuckin' pussies!

Most: Third quarter,
and the Celtics...

- God fuck.
- For a commanding lead.

If substitute coach
Paul West head

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.

Hearn: 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!
- Most: The dropped shoulder laid Bird on his back!

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

Hearn: 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.

(players shouting)

The Lakers are acting
like hoodlums, hoodlums!

(whistle blows) - Hearn: 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.
- Earl: Welcome back, Pat.

- Enjoy your first tech.
- (blows whistle)

(crowd cheering)

(Pat continues, indistinct)

♪ ♪

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!

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

I said I was screwing
your wife last night!

- (blows whistle)
- Shit!

You're outta here!

It's okay. It's okay.

You're up, Coach.

Celtics fan: Hey, Riley! Eat
a bag of dicks, ya bitch!

(whistle blows)

- (crowd cheering)
- Riley: Fuck Boston!

Bring it in! Calm down!

Shh. Take a breath.

(inhales, exhales)

Repeat after me. Fuck Boston.

- Team: Fuck Boston. Fuck Boston!
- Fuck Boston! Fuck Boston!

- Fuck Boston! Fuck Boston!
- All: Fuck Boston! Fuck Boston!

We're not gonna lose
this fucking game!

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

Hearn: The Lakers
are fed up, fired up,

and they're fighting mad.

- Yes!
- (crowd jeering)

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

They have reclaimed
the momentum,

and West head is looking
commanding on the sidelines.

One blown call after another
and the officials have let

the Lakers make a game of it!

(buzzer)

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

Let's see what Professor
West head's come up with.

Celtics Fan 1: Come
on, Larry, eat 'em up!

Celtics Fan 2: Eat his
stinkin' shit, Lakers!

Hearn: 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!

Hearn: Magic makes
a move, loses Bird.

No-look to Cooper. Hit hard.

Throws up a prayer...

Off the iron...

Holy shit!

(buzzer) - Hearn: Gets
a bounce and goes in!

Unbelievable! Right
at the buzzer.

Michael Cooper with a
game-winning... (laughing)

(players cheering)

- Johnson: Coop!
- Yes!

Hearn: Lakers win a
hard-fought victory

here on the parquet
floor in Boston.

The Lakers have beaten
biased referees,

- a heated crowd...
- Fuck!

Most: They stole it from Boston!

Absolutely stole it!

Boy, oh, boy is
this crowd silent.

(crowd chattering)

Celtics fan: Aw, fuck!

(crowd jeering)

♪ ♪

Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

Hearn: Magic Johnson is
smiling like the sun.

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

- Larry!
- Leave me the fuck alone.

Reporter: Larry, any
comment on the game?

He mad, y'all.

Hearn: Ha, ha. Unbelievable.

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

of his team and proud of
Paul West head right now.

Reporter: Signs of life
last night for the Lakers

as they managed to
defeat the Celtics

on their turf in Boston.

- (indistinct TV chatter)
- (knocking)

Big win.

Barely.

- (click)
- (turns off TV)

(sighs)

If I wait for you,

and you don't make it back

then I'm stuck with West head.

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

No.

That's what I thought.

(Jerry sighs)

We're not done
playing yet, Jack.

Fuck Boston.

('70s rock music playing)

♪ ♪