All language subtitles for The Neighbors s02e06 Sunday.eng

Can someone pass
the potatoes, please?

When you say potatoes,
I pass potatos.

Is there any salad left?

Mi ensalada es su ensalada

Bread me.

Take me to Pound Town.

Explosion in Pound Town.

A little schmutz on
your face, baby cake.

Reggie, stop.
That's weird.

Aww, that's so sweet.
He's taking care of you.

Wiping things from your
face, keeping you clean.

I'm not in hospice, mom.

Besides, you try going
on super-awkward dates

where your boyfriend
just watches you eat.

Amber, you know Zabvronians
don't eat food.

But I didn't realize our dates
were weird or awkward.

You guys go on nice dates.

Look, this Sunday,

you're going bowling
at 8:00, right?

That's nice.

Actually, we're not going
plain bowling.

We're going rock and bowling,

and we moved
the reservation to 7:30

because you know what they say.

It's hard to get a rock and bowl
reservation at 8:00.

Pound town.

7:30, huh.

Ah. There it is.

You already sent the update to
my calendar. Thank you, Reggie.

Also awkward,
this bit where my dad

knows everything I do on
dates with my boyfriend.

- That's got to stop.
- Absolutely not.

My daughter is dating, and
it's actually working for me.

I'm sleeping through the night.

I don't wake up
strangling my pillow anymore.

Debbie, please tell them.

He's strangling his pillow less.
It's true.

Weavers.

I have horrifying news.
You may want to sit down.

Thank you.

The ball and chain is out
managing her burrito joint,

earning some Benjamins Buttons
to make it rain on my family.

I said that right, yes?

Killed it.

I was home alone,

and I finally got around
to watching golf.

And to my abject horror,

I discover it is the single most
tedious activity

on this or any other planet.

How have you never
watched golf before?

Well, turns out
I had watched it.

But what I thought were people
walking somewhere to play golf

was actually
people playing golf.

It's just walking around
with a stick.

My family drive around
in golf carts.

Look at my clothes.

My entire life

is defined by a sport
I cannot stand.

I'm not gonna wear
this golf shirt a second longer.

Damn this lycra.

Damn it.

sync and corrections by bellows
www.addic7ed.com

What you doing?

Just trying to get this
fantasy trade to go through.

Rosenbaum is such a sucker.

If I can pull this off,

I'll be able to start
three running backs this week,

and it would be huge.

Wow, three running backs.
That would be...

Nope. I can't.

Marty, we need to talk
about Reggie and Amber.

Uh-huh.

If Reggie keeps
telling you everything,

you're gonna
drive Amber away from him.

Suck it, rosen-clown!

You're not listening
to a thing I'm saying, are you?

Just buy a new one, hon.

You have an extra wide receiver
and your lineup's illegal.

No, it's not.
I double-checked it twice.

Unbelievable.

Takes two parents, Marty...
Two.

All right, hon.
I'll just eat it cold.

Don't worry.

Oh, there's my brown sugarplum.

I have so much to tell you.
I watched golf.

It was awful.

We're gonna have to change
our sporting identity.

All these things happened today.
It was crazy.

I've been dying
to speak to you.

Well, I'm exhausted.
Can we talk about this tomorrow?

Oh, but we've
barely seen each other.

I thought we could snuggle
and recap our days

while my hands hydrate.

Husband, I love you.

You light up my life.

But right now,
all I really want to do

is sit alone on our comfy couch

and snuggle
with Chelsea Handler.

Oh! She's so snarky.

And I love how she pretends
that she's 38.

Such chutzpah.
Can I watch with you?

Oh.

Well, I just really
want to decompress, husband.

Maybe you can find something
to occupy yourself with

that isn't me.

You understand, don't you?

Why do I keep you so silky
when there's no one to hold?

Okay, three hours
to first game kickoff, guys.

Max, talk to me.

War room is ready.

We're logged in
to all three fantasy leagues,

and I have the streaming
real-time injury updates

coming in live.

Abby, DVR status?

ESPN stays hot all day.

We're recording
the pre-game show now.

There was a conflict
between a pre-pre-game show

and one of mommy's recordings,
but mommy ain't here, is she?

That's my girl.

Hi, Larry.
What's with the Jersey?

Oh, uh, long expositional story.
Do you have 30 seconds?

Mm. I was lying in bed last
night covered in hand lotion.

I mean, I was just
slathered in it.

20 seconds, Larry.

My wife told me
to find something

to occupy myself with
which isn't her.

So, I'm going to transition
from golf fanatic

to football fanatic.

Please, will you
teach me football?

What do you think?

New guy gets the crap seat.

Oh! Ohh.

Mm-hmm. You'll be stuck there
for a while.

Anyone interested in brunch?

No? Oh, that's right.
It's Sunday. I'm alone.

Frittata for one, I guess.

Hey, guys. What's up?

Short expositional story.
Do you have 20 seconds?

- I do. - So, after a 20-hour shift,
I passed out in front of the tv.

I wake up this morning
facedown on the couch.

And the last thing I remember

is Chelsea Handler making fun
of that hispanic dwarf,

in ways that sounded vicious...

But were actually quite charming.

Go on.

So, I wake up
to find Reggie Jackson

in a nearly apoplectic state.

Reggie Jackson, explain.

I love Amber and want her
to have a proper human date

where I don't make things
awkward, but I don't know how.

Oh.
Talk to me, Debbie Weaver.

Help me put some "love"
in my "actually."

Oh, Reggie.

"Love actually"
doesn't exist in this house

between September
and super bowl Sunday.

There is no love.
There is only Lovie Smith.

Lovie Smith was the head coach
of the Chicago Bears,

and there's no surgery
that can make me un-know this.

The only thing that I do know

is one day, you're a love-struck
16-year-old girl

who's boyfriend calls you
every other night

at exactly 8:00 P.M.

The next thing you know,
it's 20 years later,

and your marriage
has taken a backseat

to all things New York Giants.

In the next three months,

he'll have less
of a dialogue with you

than Adam Rosenbaum
and the rest of the members

of the Tim-Teblows
division

of greater New Jersey
fantasy-football league.

I'm sorry.
What was your question?

Reggie Jackson,
please remind me and your father

to stop apologizing
for long expositional stories.

Amen.

Oh, Reggie, you're a sweet kid,

but I can't help you
get into my daughter's pants.

Why on earth would
I want to wear her pants?

Well, that helps.
Debbie, please.

I want to make Amber happy,

but I also crave
Marty's approval.

You know what?

You don't have to
tell Marty anything.

At least
one of the Weaver women

can spend the day with her man.

I'm gonna help you romance
the crap out of my daughter.

Why on earth would I want to...

It's just an expression,
Reggie.

Okay, Reggie,
let's do dinner at your house

so you and Amber
can have some privacy.

Ooh, let's do a cheese course.

Oh, do we really need
a nappetizer... a nap...

An appetizer?

What? Sleepy.

Listen, I have not
shared a meal with my husband

on a football Sunday
in a solid 15 years.

It happened
to my mother before me.

It's the curse
of the women in my family,

and you are gonna help me
break that curse.

My daughter is gonna have
Sunday dinner with her man.

Do you have one of these?

Yes. It's a hat.

It is not.

I have some Facebook photos
I should probably delete.

Hmm.
Hello, nerds.

Oh, hello.
You must be my wife.

I'm sorry. I didn't know
who you were for a minute.

I've been so wildly engaged
in my new favorite sport...

Football.

Pass chips, Reggie.

Yeah! Ha!

I've never felt so human.

Mm! Nice hat.

No.

Second and 4
on the 41 and...

Why do I get the crap seat?

'Cause you joined last.
That makes you a rookie, rookie.

Yeah! Sports!

- Yes!
- Oh, field goal!

No, that's a first down, Larry.

I got this, dad.
Pay attention, Birdman.

Those fat guys wrestle,
wrestle, wrestle.

Then the handsome one

throws the ball
as hard as he can.

And then one of the jumpy guys
tries to catch it.

If you're lucky, someone pretty
sings in the middle.

Is this sports
or a Broadway musical?

Either way, yes, please.

Okay, let's start
with the main course.

It needs to show effort.

Oh, here's a recipe for
cr?pes au saumon sauce mornay.

Every word of that

sounds like something
Amber would hate.

Which reminds me,

doesn't Amber
only eat fast food?

I know you think
I'm overreacting, guys,

but you haven't
been through football.

Marty answers
everything I say with,

"buy a new one, babe."

Time is precious, Jackie,
and we never get enough of it,

especially with the people we
want to spend it with the most.

So, what do you say, pal, huh?

Will you let me teach you
how to make

my dream Sunday dinner
for my daughter?

Let's go.

Okay. Let me see you
crack an egg, Reggie.

I am so sorry.

Oh, are you serious?

Come on. Put some muscle
into it, babe.

Here we go.
All right, two more.

Come on.

- Be a big boy. Come on.
- I can't.

Come on. Score before the half!
I need the points!

Win one for the tipper Gore.

Husband.

Mm-hmm? Yes, muffin?
What?

Well, I just wanted to talk
to you for a moment, I guess.

What, with me working so much

and you so interested
in this football,

I-I don't know... I'm...suddenly
feeling a little insecure,

and I needed to see my boo,
you know?

Mm-hmm. Sounds great.
Hmm.

Go ahead.
Buy a new one.

So, to make cheese,

you steal the baby cow's milk
then add bacteria.

Okay, don't ruin cheese
for me, Reggie.

Debbie Weaver,
you weren't overreacting.

You were
under-reacting.

This isn't about football.

This is about reminding
our husbands

of the shared experience of
being on this planet together.

Mother, please.

There's more than enough cheese
in this room already.

What?

Okay, that's halftime.

Now what?

Well, now, we won't see it,

but the coach gets to give
a great speech

like Al Pacino
in "Any given Sunday."

Pacin-who?

Ah. I'll show you.

Thing is...

Life is all about inches.

Football is, too.

I mean, man, in both games,
the margin for error is tiny.

We cannot fail.

We cannot falter.

Because we are not
just fighting for a dinner.

We are fighting
for a way of life.

You jump too late or too early,

you're too slow or too fast,
and you're out of luck.

This is a battle
of the forces of good

against the forces of evil.

This is a battle for Sunday.

On this team,
we fight for those inches.

Hell, yeah!
Hoo-ah!

In this family,
we fight for each other.

Whee!

I will not go quietly.

I will not lose Sundays
with my family.

Because those inches
all added together,

that's what makes us
winners or losers!

Dude, you got almost
all the words wrong.

That's football, guys.

That's all it is.

Then what happens?

Well, then
there's a couple of commercials

and the game comes back on.

We did it, Jackie.

We created the Sunday dinner
to end all Sunday dinners.

End them?

But I thought that we were
trying to...

- No, it's an expression, Jackie.
- Excuse me.

I don't want to complain,
but it's starting to feel

like I'm not involved
in my own date.

Stay out of this.
Oh, mind your own business, Reggie.

It's perfect.
Go invite her.

Don't text her an invitation.
Do it like a man.

Siri, tell my woman

to bring her fine behind
down here for dinner.

What is wrong with you?

There it is.

Marty, I am
really enjoying this,

but I do have one question.

The ball is shaped like an egg

and they rarely touch it
with their feet.

Why isn't the game
called "handegg"?

Can someone
get him out of here?

Oh, hey. Hey, hey.

You're a little dressed up
for rock and bowling, no?

Change of plans.
Not going rock and bowling.

Change of plans?
Wait a minute.

No, no, no.

My calendar still says
"rock and bowling."

Why wasn't my calendar updated?

What's going on?

Sounds like my son
is trying to...

- Score!
- Score!

Yeah!
Touchdown!

Sports.

I search for the words.

Welcome to your not weird
or awkward romantic date.

Mommies,
will you be joining us?

Is someone playing
"Voices carry" on the accordion?

Does he know any other songs?

Your mom said this was the most
romantic song of all time.

Is it not?

Well, it's about 30 years old

and features a guy telling
his girlfriend to shut up,

so, not really.

What's going on, Reggie?
Why wasn't this on the calendar?

Um...

Because the calendar
is stupid, Marty.

I was trying to tell you that,

but you weren't
listening to me.

So... so, you went
behind my back?

Everything happens behind
your back this time of year.

Marty, what are you doing?
The game's still on.

I tried to pause it,
but Abby threatened to bite me.

Husband, are you here
to join us for dinner?

Join you for dinner? Oh, no.
I'm way too busy for that.

The only thing I want to join
is Marty's fantasy league.

The good one...
The one with the funny Jews.

I'm starting to get worried
that this is getting awkward.

- Come with me, Romeo.
- Okay.

Husband, stay for dinner.

I want to cuddle and connect
emotionally with you.

Oh, now you do.

You didn't care about cuddling and
emotional connection last night

when you left me
for that vodka-soaked trollop.

I was exhausted
from working all...

You know what?
I give up.

You and football
can have each other.

What's going on, babe?

I'm sick of football, Marty.

And I don't want to be
the type of wife

that says this kind of thing,

but I'm sick of you disappearing
every Sunday.

I am way more interesting
than football, Marty.

Ask anyone.

Are you talking playoff football
or regular season?

Larry, would you excuse us
for a minute?

Uh, yes, I have, uh,
some things to attend to.

Tom Brady and referees.

Sports.

I am so sorry that our
not weird or awkward date

ended up being
even more weird and awkward

than any of our other dates.

Are you kidding?

Reggie, as bat-poop crazy
as tonight was,

look at where we are.

I mean, we snuck out,

I'm here with you
and my favorite meal.

There are stars.

This is the most romantic date
I've ever been on.

This is a good date?

Yes. It's a normal
teenage date.

It's perfect.

There was one thing
that I planned on my own

that our mothers
didn't know about.

Okay.

I was gonna eat
for the first time.

Not just because

you don't like me
sitting there staring at you,

but because I thought
it would bring us closer.

Reggie.

If you're gonna eat
for the first time,

you might as well do it with the
most delicious food on earth.

Chocolate milkshake.

Hmm.

Mm.

What was that?

Okay, we're just gonna...

It's okay.

I didn't, uh...
I didn't realize

that me watching football
bothered you so much.

I thought it was our schtick.

"He watches football too much,
she goes to flea markets.

They hate each other's things,"
you know?

Yeah. No.

No?

Do you remember
when we first started dating

in high school
how I used to call you?

8:00 every other night.
That's right.

Do you realize
how hard it was for me

not to call you every night?

It drove me nuts.

Things have changed
a lot since high school.

No, they haven't.
No, not at all.

I'm... I'm sorry, Deb.

I guess after all these years,
I still...

I find it hard to believe

that you would rather spend
more time with me than less.

Oh, Marty.

The game's still on.

You can go watch
the end if you want.

No. No.

The only tight end
I want to watch is yours.

Will you dance with me?

Maestro.

What are you doing here?

Oh.

I dramatically
stormed out of my own home

and then realized
I had nowhere to go.

You really would rather
watch football than be with me?

Yes.

No. I was putting on
a bit of a show.

It's kind of a stupid game,
to be honest.

And, um, I've done
a brilliant job of hiding it,

but I don't think
I understand it.

I don't like you...

working all the time, wife.

I don't like that the only way

that you can decompress
is by doing it alone.

Oh, I shouldn't have said that.

This stupid game's

shown me the other side
of things, and...

I didn't like it very much.

So, even if I am tired,

I'd much rather
be tired with you.

You've always been my favorite
form of decompression, L.B.

Good.

Well, spending time with you

has always been
my favorite sport.

Now, settle down, husband.

There's no need
for a cheese course.

I beg your pardon?

It's an inside joke...
I think.

I don't know.
I'm exhausted.

And it's been a long day
full of monologues.

Hmm.

Oh! Good. Giants won.
Marty will be so pleased.

I think football's not
such a bad game after all.

What a night, America.
What a game.

On a beautiful fall night
in New Jersey,

two opposing teams
gave it all they had,

scratching and clawing
for every yard.

There were twists and turns,
ups and downs,

five lead changes,
but in the end,

the close game ended the way
close games usually end.

The home team came out on top.

Okay, so golf is out,
football is out.

I present horse racing.
It's very silky.

Ahh. Comfy.

I can really move in this one.

This one makes me suspect

you three are just
having a laugh at me.

That's it.

We're going back to golf.

Boring as hell,
but at least we look amazing.

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