All language subtitles for The.X-Files.S06E19.The.Unnatural.1080p.WEB-DL.DD5.1.AAC2.0.H.264

Play ball!

Ball four!

Take your base!

That's it, Moose!
You're getting close now!

Bring it, son!

Moose couldn't find the plate
if you nailed it to his ass.

Shut your pie hole, Piney.

Kid's got to learn.

Come straight over
the top, Moose.

Straight over the top.

Come on!

Ah, damn.

Exley's up.

Back up!

Exley's up! Back up!

You sure your boy
got the right prescription

in those spectacles?

Ah, don't worry, Ex.

See, I told him
to throw it right at

your big, nappy,
home-run-hitting head.

So you can bet
a hundred clams that ball's

going anywhere but there.

Foul! Foul ball! Foul!

Foul ball!

Ball!

Moose!

Straight over the top.

- Over the top.
- Over the top!

Hey, Ex, I heard the Yankees
have been calling you.

I'm fine playing here
in the Cactus League.

It's nice and quiet.

Ball!

Leave the cactus alone, son!

Gee, I don't know, Ex.

Yanks could use
those 60 home runs a year.

Well, now that, uh, Jackie
Robinson's up there in the bigs,

people are saying
you're going to be next.

The first black Negro
man of color

in the American League.

Shoot, Ex,
you'll be famous, man.

I don't want to be
no famous man.

Just want to be a man.

Over the top! Over the top!

Over the top!

Fair ball!

Home run! Home run!

Sixty-one.

I told you he could do it.

I told you he could do it.

Sixty-one!

What do you boys want?

We're just playing
a baseball game here.

We got no beef with you, sir.

It's that black Babe Ruth
hiding behind you.

Josh Exley.

That's all we come for.

Well, you can't have him.

We heard the Yankees want
to let a nigger play ball,

so we just figure we're
going to play with him

a little bit some first.

Now, all you niggers
and nigger-lovers,

you can go home!

It's Ex we want.

That's what I'm talking about,
Moose... straight over the top.

Come on, straight
over the top with it.

Here, baby, come on now,
right over the top.

Come on, get the guns.
Get the guns.

You boys ain't so tough without
your shotguns, are you, fellas?

You ain't nothing but a coward.

Hiding behind
your mama's bedsheet.

Let's see your face.

Holy mother of...

It's a gorgeous day for baseball

here in the City of Angels,

and I'm told it's a gorgeous day

all over our republic today...

from Bangor to Bellflower,
from Amarillo to Anchorage.

The sun is shining, and it's a
perfect day to play baseball...

Morning.

Eddie Perez will start it off.

Right-hand batter...

Mulder, it is such a
gorgeous day outside.

Have you ever
entertained the idea

of trying to find
life on this planet?

I have seen the life
on this planet, Scully,

and that is exactly why
I'm looking elsewhere.

Did you bring
enough ice cream to share

with the rest of the class?

It's not ice cream.

It's a nonfat tofutti
rice dreamsicle.

Ugh. Bet the air in my mouth
tastes better than that.

You sure know
how to live it up, Scully.

Oh, you're Mr. Live-It-Up.

Mulder, you're really

Mr. "Squeeze every last drop out
of this sweet life," aren't you?

On this precious Saturday,

you've got us
grabbing life by the testes,

stealing reference books
from the FBI library

in order to go through New
Mexico newspaper obituaries

for the years 1940 to 1949.

And for what joyful purpose?

Looking for anomalies, Scully.

Do you know how many
so-called "flying disc" reports

there were in New Mexico
in the 1940s?

I don't care.

Mulder, this is a
needle in a haystack.

These poor souls have
been dead for 50 years.

Let them rest in peace.
Let sleeping dogs lie.

Well, I won't sit idly by
as you hurl cliches at me.

Preparation is
the father of inspiration.

Necessity is the
mother of invention.

The road of excess
leads to the palace of wisdom.

Eat, drink and be merry,
for tomorrow we may die.

I scream, you scream,
we all scream

for nonfat tofutti
rice dreamsicles.

No...!

Mulder...

Mulder!

You cheat!

I can't believe
that you've been reading

about baseball this whole time.

I'm reading
the box scores, Scully.

You'd like it. It's like the
Pythagorean theorem for jocks.

It distills
all the chaos and action

of any game in the history
of all baseball games

into one tiny, perfect,
rectangular sequence of numbers.

I can look at this box,

and I can recreate
exactly what happened

on some sunny summer day
back in 1947.

It's like the numbers talk
to me, they comfort me.

They tell me that even though
lots of things can change,

some things do
remain the same. It's...

Boring.

Mulder, can I ask you
a personal question?

Of course not.

Did your mother ever tell you
to go outside and play?

Is that Arthur Dales?

Mulder?

You just defaced property
of the U.S. Government.

...it is gone!

You rebel.

What in hell took you so long?

I'm-I'm sorry, sir.

I'm-I'm looking for
Arthur Dales.

I'm Arthur Dales.

No, you're not.

Don't be a wiseass, son.

No, I-I'm sorry, sir,
I know Arthur Dales,

and you're not Arthur Dales.

Arthur Dales is my brother.

My name also happens
to be Arthur Dales.

It's the same name,
different guy.

The other Arthur,
he moved to Florida,

the lucky bastard.

Our parents weren't exactly big

in the imagination department
when it came to names.

If it would help you
wrapping your little head

around this stupefying
mystery, Agent Mulder,

we had a sister
named Arthur, too,

and a goldfish.

How do you know my name?

My brother told me
all about you.

He said you were
the biggest jackass

in the Bureau since he retired.

Yeah, we're big fans.

Sometimes we'd stay awake
hours at night

just talking about you.

Just fascinating.

Now, unless you're hiding
some Chinese food,

let's call it a day.

Mr. Dales, I have a, uh...

I have a photo here
of your brother.

M-Maybe it's you.

It's from many years ago,

and you're standing
in Roswell, New Mexico.

Roswell.
That's me.

I was a cop once in Roswell.

Okay, and you're standing with
Negro League legend Josh Exley,

who disappeared without a trace

during a season
in which he reportedly

hit 60 home runs.

Sixty-one.

61 home runs in 1948.

Forty-seven.

'47, whatever.

I don't really care about
the baseball so much, sir.

What I care about is this man
in the picture with you

I believe to be
an alien bounty hunter.

Of course you don't care
about the baseball, Mr. Mulder.

You only bothered my brother
about the important things,

like government conspiracies
and alien bounty hunters

and the truth
with a capital "T."

Wait a minute.
I like baseball.

- You like baseball, huh?
- Yeah.

How many home runs
did Mickey Mantle hit?

A hundred and sixty-three.

Righty. 373 lefty.
536 total.

What you fail to understand

in your joyless myopia

is that baseball
is the key to life...

the Rosetta stone, if you will.

If you just understood
baseball better,

all your other questions,
your-your...

the, uh...
the aliens, the conspiracies...

they would all, in their way,

be answered
by the baseball gods.

Yes, sir, that may be true.

I'm thinking that
your experience in Roswell

could be germane to a conspiracy
between men in our government

and these shape-shifting
alien beings.

Oh, don't bore me, son.

My brother Arthur
started the X Files

with the Federal Bureau
of Obfuscation

before you were born.

He was working for the FBI
hunting for aliens

when you were watching
My Best Friend's Martians.

You say
"shape-shifting."

Agent Mulder,

do you believe that love
can make a man shape-shift?

I guess... women change men
all the time.

I'm not talking about women.

I'm talking about love, passion.

Like the passion you have
for proving

extraterrestrial life.

Do you believe that that passion

can change your very nature?

Can make you shape-shift
from a man into something

other than a man?

What exactly has your brother
told you about me?

Mr. Dales, if you
and your brother

have really known
about this bounty hunter

and plans for colonization
for the last 50 years,

why the hell wouldn't you
have told anybody?

Nobody'd believe me.

Well, I would have believed you.

You weren't... ripe.

Not ripe?

Let me tell you something:
I have been ripe for years.

I am way past ripe.

I'm so ripe I'm rotten.

This cuts to the very heart
of the mystery

of what I've been doing with
my life for the past ten years.

Oh, the heart of the mystery,
the heart of the mystery.

Ah, there you are.

Mr. Mulder,

maybe you'd better start
paying a little less attention

to the heart of the mystery

and a little more attention
to the mystery of the heart.

You got a dime?

What is this?

This little fellow goes
by the name of Pete Rosebud.

If you keep pumping
coffee money into him,

he'll tell you a story
about baseball and aliens

and bounty hunters.

You're making me
feel like a child.

Perfect.

That's exactly the right place
to start from then, isn't it?

Now, the first thing you got to
know about baseball is...

it keeps you forever young.

Mr. Exley?

Mr. Exley,
my name's Arthur Dales.

I'm an employee of
the Roswell Police Department.

Have I broken a law, sir?

You stole.

Second base in the third inning.

I'm a witness.

Officer, I seen Ex steal...

at least 50 bases this year.

No, sir, you haven't
broken any laws,

not that I'm aware of.

Um, I've been assigned
by my superiors

to protect you
against certain parties.

I'm the one need protection
from certain parties.

Ex here... he in bed
by 8:00 every night.

I appreciate your concern, sir,

but I can protect myself.

Mr. Exley, I'm not a big
sports hero like yourself, sir,

and I really don't have
an opinion on Negroes,

or Jews or Communists

or even Canadians and
vegetarians, for that matter,

but I cannot stomach
the murder of a man

of any persuasion or any color

being flaunted and solicited
in my town... not on my watch.

So you can be safe with me
in a cell down at the precinct,

or you can be safe with me
here on the bus.

Seeing as how this is
still America,

you're free to choose, sir.

Vous etes sans coeur.

Vous etes sans coeur,
mademoiselle.

Vous etes sans
coeur... coeur...

Hey, Officer Dales,

you're a decent man, ain't you?

I try to be.

Well, the fellas feel like
the umps would treat us better

if you got us eight more
uniforms like these to play in.

Yeah.

You could change your name
from the Roswell Grays

to the Roswell Black and Blues.

What's the matter, Arthur?

You look like you ain't
never seen a black man before.

I've got to give it
to you, Arthur.

Calling a Negro League team
from Roswell the Grays

is pretty clever.

E.T. steal home.
E.T. steal home.

I didn't make that up.

You seriously want me to
believe that Josh Exley,

maybe one of the
greatest ballplayers

of all times, was an alien?

They're all aliens,
Agent Mulder...

all the great ones.

Babe Ruth was an alien?

Yeah.

Joe DiMaggio?

Sure.

Willie Mays?

Well, obviously.

Mantle? Koufax? Gibson?

Bob or Kirk?

See, none of
the great ones fit in...

not in this world,
not in any other world.

They're all aliens, Mulder,

till they step between
the white chalk lines...

till they step on
the outfield grass.

Like clockwork.

Poorboy with my medicine.

Give the kid a tip, will ya?

So I assume
you're speaking metaphorically?

Speaking metaphorically,

is for young men like you,
Agent MacGyver.

I don't have time for that.

I only have time
to speak the truth.

You're a regular Rockefeller,
ain't you?

If Ex hits a couple of
dingers, that'll be 60.

That ties the Babe.

Aw, that ball's worth nothing.

Ex ain't a major leaguer,
so the record don't count.

Does, too.

Does not.

- Does, too.
- Does not.

Does, too.

Does not.

- Does.
- Not.

Perfect day for a ball game.

There, uh... there
was a bee on you.

Must have been a real big one.

Could have ripped your head off.

Hey, Arthur.

Thanks.

Officer Arthur Dales,

making the world safe
for baseball and Negroes.

Play ball!

Time! Time!

Do you know your name, son?

Josh, do you know where you are?

Josh, man, wake up.

Do you know where you're from?

Macon...

Macon, Georgia.

Macon Police Department.

Can I help you?

Yeah, my name is Arthur Dales.

I'm with the Roswell
Police Department.

I'm doing a background check
on a gentleman

I believe is from your area.

His name is Josh Exley.

You want information
on a Josh Exley?

Yeah, name rings a bell.

Yeah, I got a Josh Exley.

A six-year-old colored boy
disappeared,

oh, maybe five years ago.

Now, do you got a read

on this Josh Exley's
whereabouts?

Six years old?

You wanted to see me about

running some chemical
tests, Arthur?

Yeah. Hold on.

That would make him 11 now?

No, that can't...
can't be the one.

I love my job.

And is that all you have?

Are you certain?

Certain as the sunrise.

I'm sorry, son.

Did you say where
you were calling from?

Roswell... Roswell, New Mexico.

Roswell.

Hey. Morning, Poorboy.

Morning, Ex.
How's the melon?

My melon's fine.

That boy throws like a lady.

I hear the Yankee scouts
are here today.

Going to hit numero 60?

Ain't no scouts here today.

Sure there are. Look.

Right over there.

I'll be damned.

Hey, kids.

So how's it going?

Ex is stinking up the diamond.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah.

Well, anybody can have
a bad day.

Yeah, but the Yankee scouts

are in attendance today.

I don't think
they'll relish the idea

of him being in the majors

after such a piss-poor outing
as this.

Strike two!

Two balls, two strikes now.

Ex...

why did you tank
that game today?

I won that game today.

You tanked the game today.

You want me to tell you why?

Because your name's
not Josh Exley.

Josh Exley is a
six-year-old kid

who disappeared
from Macon, Georgia,

about the same time that
you showed up in Roswell.

I ain't never been to Macon.

When you got beaned, you
said you were from Macon.

Well, I also spoke tongues
like I did

when I was a little boy
in church.

I was joking, Arthur. Relax.

I'm relaxed.

You're hiding something.

That's why you don't dare
get into the major leagues,

'cause the sports
writers and everybody

would be digging around,

and they'd find out
what it is, right?

So you tanked the game
in front of those scouts today.

Disappointing those kids...
disappointing your teammates...

disappointing your race...

Look here, don't go
talking about my race.

You don't know nothing
about my race.

I know that liars
come in all colors.

You got a secret.

Famous or not, I'm going to
find out what it is.

While you're out
chasing secrets,

you make sure you're
chasing the right ones.

Ex?

Oh, thank you.

Oh!

This is ridiculous.

You're supposed to be
a big, bad policeman.

Now, hold up, Arthur.

Now, before you go
fainting again, listen to me.

It's me, Arthur.

It's Ex.

This is an interesting dream.

Wake up.

Come on, Artie.

Man, you ain't dreaming.

This is what I really look like.

This is the real me.

Ex?

It's really you under there, Ex?

Ow!

I ain't "under"
anything, Arthur,

and I'm trying not
to be insulted

by your reaction
to my true face.

Look, would it be easier
if I looked like this?

Would this be easier
for you to handle?

No. Somehow, that's
even weirder.

Bus leaves
in five... Ooh.

So why did you, uh,

leave your family
in, uh... in Georgia?

My people guard
their privacy zealously.

I can understand that.

They don't...
they don't like for us

to intermingle with your people.

Their philosophy is

we stick to ourselves;
you stick to yourselves...

everybody's happy.

So what happened?

Well, you know what happened.

You fell in love
with an Earth woman.

No.

I saw a baseball game.

- Oh.
- See, there's something

you got to understand
about my race.

We don't have a word
for laughter.

We don't laugh.

I don't know if you noticed

in between all that fainting
you was doing,

but we have very tiny mouths,
so no smiling even.

I tell you, when I saw
that baseball game being played,

this laughter just...

it just rose up out of me.

You know, the sound
the ball makes

when it hits the bat?

Yeah.

It was like music to me.

You know, the smell
of the grass, leather mitt...

first unnecessary thing
I ever done in my life,

and I fell in love.

I didn't know the unnecessary
could feel so good.

You know, the game
was meaningless,

but it seemed to mean
everything to me.

It was useless, but perfect.

Yeah, like, uh...
like a rose.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, like a rose.

See? You get it, Arthur.

- You're a fan.
- Uh-huh.

I tell you, from that moment on,

I just couldn't fix myself
to go home.

Come on up here, Ex.

Let's hear that beautiful voice

you got on you.

Gray Bus Lines.
You can go home again.

Let me get this straight...

a free-spirited alien
fell in love with baseball

and ran away from
the other non-fun-having aliens

and made himself black,
because that would prevent him

from getting to the majors
where his unspeakable secret

might be discovered by
an intrusive press and public,

and you're also implying that...

You certainly have a knack

for turning chicken salad
into chicken spit.

You're also implying
that this baseball-playing alien

has something to do with
the famous Roswell UFO crash

of July '47, aren't you?

You're just dying
to connect the dots,

aren't you, son?

Look, I give you some wood,

I ask you for a cabinet.

You build me a cathedral.

I don't want a cathedral.

I like where I live.

I just want a place
to put my TV.

Understand my drift?

Drift it is, sir.

Trust the tale, Agent MacGyver,

not the teller.

That which fascinates us

is by definition true.

Speaking metaphorically,
of course.

Okay, so was Ex a man
who was metaphorically an alien

or an alien who was
metaphorically a man

or a something in between

that was literally
an alien-human hybrid?

It's official.

I am a horse's ass.

What is it to be a human, Fox?

Is it to have
the chemistry of a man?

In the universal scheme
of things,

a dog's chemistry is nearly
identical to that of a man.

But is a dog like a man?

I have noticed that
over the course of time,

a man and his dog will start
to look like one another.

To be a man is to have
the heart of a man.

Integrity, decency, sympathy...

these are the things
that make a man a man,

and Ex had them all...

had them all,
more than you or I.

Dales.

Ted?

Calm down. What is it?

This goo on the glove
you gave me... is this a joke?

Why?

It's not like

any chemical compound
I've ever seen.

It's from a life-form which
doesn't seem to be carbon-based,

which, by the way,
is impossible.

This is way out of my league.

I called to the FBI

and the Communicable Disease
Center in Washington...

Washington?
Oh, no, Ted, you didn't.

Nobody was supposed to know
about this.

Can you... can you get
the glove back to me?

Sure, soon as I finish up here.

I didn't mean to startle you.

I'm Josh.

Oh, I know who you are.

Only the best damn ballplayer
west of the Bronx.

Oh, thank you, sir.

Arthur sent me down here
to explain this substance.

That's my mitt

it ruined.

Where is this stuff from?

Where did you get it?

Mars.

Actually, just
to the left of Mars.

What do you think you're doing?!

Ex?

Ex, there's this fella
down at the precinct

who's willing to
swear on his life

that you killed a man
this afternoon.

Now, I'm not sure what's...

what's going on here,

but I... I do know that
you're no murderer.

You're going to have
to get out of town, Ex.

Life ain't like baseball, is it?

No.

No, it's not.

I had a talk with my relative.

A good talk.

He made me understand
reason, Arthur.

Family's more important
than a game.

So... I got to go home.

You still consider them
to be your family?

Of course I do.

Who you think my family is?

I don't know.

Your team?

Don't get cornball on me, man.

Next thing,
you're going to be telling me

is I owe it to all
the little kids to break

the home-run record,
or I owe it to the black folks,

who think I'm one of them,
to make it to the majors,

or I should just keep playing

out of some meaningless human
concept of pride or loyalty.

I don't know, Ex.

We don't think like that, man.

We may be able to look like
y'all, but we ain't y'all.

You know the big thing
that separates us from you?

What's that?

We got rhythm.

I better go.

Yeah.

Hey, you do me a favor?

Will you tell people
what I did on the field?

Will you tell your kids
how I played the game?

You know I will, Ex.

Hey, man, uh...

one more thing.

What?

You got a pretty good arm
on you, boy.

You may think you know
the man, Dales,

but believe me,
you do not know the man.

You don't know what I know,

and you don't know
what I don't know.

This is no minor-league,
Mexico cowboy cop crap.

If I told you
what was really going on,

you'd just stare at me
in wild-eyed wonder

and pee your pants like a baby.

Now, tell me
what I want to know.

Where's Exley?

I told you, he told me
he was going home.

Play ball!

You sure your boy got

the right prescription
in those spectacles?

Home run!

I got a witness puts him
at the murder scene.

Now, I know they have
a tendency to look alike,

but unless he's got a guy

running around town
looks identical to him,

he is a murderer,
you could be an accomplice,

and the two of you fast sliding
down a giant razor blade

into a big old glass
of lemonade.

But you hand him over...

you can wear your big hat

and that pretty badge
as long as you want.

Are we finished?

No, Mr. Dales...

you're finished.

"Home."

God!

Come on.

It's over.

I know.

I warned you.
You didn't listen.

Now you die.

It's the right thing to do.

What do you know
of the right thing to do?

You, who would risk exposing
the entire project for a game.

A game.

I hit a home run tonight.

A home run?

Number 61.

I set a record.

Show me your true face
so you can die with dignity.

As your executioner,

I show you my true face
before I kill you.

Show me your true face,

or you will die without honor.

This is my true face.

So be it.

No! Stop!

Ex!

No, let me be.

Let me be!

Get off me.

Our blood is like
acid to you people.

Arthur, get away.

Don't touch it.

It's just blood, Ex. Look.

It's just blood.

Wow.

So, uh...

I get this message
marked "urgent"

on my answering service
from one Fox Mantle,

telling me to come
down to the park

for a very special,

very early or very late
birthday present.

And, Mulder...

I don't see any nicely wrapped
presents lying around,

so what gives?

You've never hit a baseball,
have you, Scully?

No, I guess I have, uh...

found more necessary things
to do with my time

than... slap a piece
of horsehide with a stick.

Get over here, Scully.

This my birthday present,
Mulder?

You shouldn't have.

This ain't cheap.

I'm paying that kid
ten bucks an hour

to shag balls.

Hey, it's not a bad
piece of ash, huh?

The bat... talking
about the bat.

Now, don't strangle it.

You just want to
shake hands with it.

"Hello, Mr. Bat. It's a pleasure
to make your acquaintance."

"Oh, no, no, Ms. Scully.

The pleasure's all mine."

Okay, now, we want to...

we want to go hips
before hands, okay?

We want to stride
forward and turn.

That's all we're thinking about.

So, we go hips...
before hands, all right?

Okay. Hips...

One more time.

Hips... before
hands, all right?

- Yeah.
- What is it?

Hips before hands.

Right. We're going
to wait on the pitch.

We're going to keep
our eye on the ball.

- Okay.
- Then we're just going to make contact.

We're not going to think.

We're just going to let
it fly, Scully, okay?

Mm-hmm.

Ready?

I'm in the middle.

All right, fire away, Poorboy.

Ooh! That's good.

All right, what you may find

is you concentrate on
hitting that little ball...

the rest of the world
just fades away...

all your everyday,
nagging concerns.

The ticking of your
biological clock.

How you probably couldn't afford

that nice new suede coat
on a G-woman's salary.

How you threw away a promising
career in medicine...

to hunt aliens with a crackpot,
albeit brilliant, partner.

Getting into the heart

of a global conspiracy.

Your obscenely overdue
triple-X bill.

Oh, I-I'm sorry, Scully.

Those last two problems
are mine, not yours.

Shut up, Mulder.

I'm playing baseball.

Ooh!

I made this!