Original subtitles

(funky electronic music)

(Nat): Dream season.

After going almost entirely winless the year before,

this year, we went undefeated.

24 wins, zero losses. A perfect season.

And a NOSHO record.

Then things got even better.

We made our bid for the National Senior Tournament,

and we got it. The best hockey teams in Canada

are coming here to play for the national title

against you, in Sudbury.

Let's set the fuckin' tone!

After our perfect regular season,

it appeared the table was set.

We would win the NOSHO playoffs and then move on

to the National Senior Tournament.

But the playoffs... didn't go as planned.

("Blues Run the Game" by Laura Marling)

♪ Catch a boat to England, baby ♪

♪ Maybe to Spain ♪

♪ Wherever I have gone ♪

♪ Wherever I've been and gone ♪

♪ Wherever I have gone ♪

♪ The blues run the game ♪

♪ Send out for whiskey, baby ♪

♪ Send out for gin ♪

♪ Me and room service, honey ♪

♪ Me and room service, mama ♪

♪ Me and room service ♪

♪ We are living a life of sin ♪

♪ When I'm not sleeping, honey ♪

♪ You are on my mind ♪

♪ When I'm not sleeping, honey ♪

♪ I ain't sleeping, mama ♪

♪ When I ain't sleeping ♪

♪ You know you'll find me crying ♪

(Shoresy wails indistinctly)

Fuck's sake.

Like, it's so dumb.

(Shoresy sobbing)

What a fuckin' bunch of losers.

(footsteps thud approaching)

(freezer door slams)

What can we say boys?

Nothing worse than losing to the Yanks.

- In our own fuckin' barn. - Especially in our own barn.

(Hitch): I don't know what to say for the best, b'ys.

(speaking French)

Maybe there ain't no best to it.

But just because we lost doesn't mean there shouldn't

be a game stick.

Goody, you played through a separated shoulder.

Dolo, foot fracture.

Never seen a team so hurt as this by the Lard Jaysus.

Fish, you came back from a skate laceration

to the neck.

Shoresy. (Shoresy sobs)

You came back from a concussion in the first round.

And you played through a torn groin and a hip pointer.

What happens with a hip pointer?

Can't push when you shit.

You were the leader this team needed.

Shoresy,

game stick goes to you, my man.

(players clap)

Be proud, Shoresy.

Chin up, buddy.

Lard Jaysus, boys, we nearly had 'em!

(Shoresy wails)

- What is it, my dude? - I can't.

I brought you guys in because everybody

was acting like bitches.

And now you're all acting like bitches, too.

- Okay, that's unfair, Shoresy. - Just shut the fuck up,

Michaels. - We just lost

to the Yanks. You're all acting like you wanna eat...

each other's pussies.

Like you're opening a second bottle of wine with...

your gal pal. - My son...

I don't wanna fuckin' lift my head right now

'cause you're probably all giving each other ski poles.

Ski poles?

Come on, Shoresy, say something positive.

(Shoresy): Fuckin' Sommerfeld's dog mom

wasn't lickin' her lips at me all fuckin' night for once.

- Okay. - Fuckin' Briggsy's fat sister

isn't looking as ugly as when she tried to fuck me two years ago.

- Shoresy. - Fuckin' Michaels' ex-sweetie

flashed me her bird and I thought it as an accident,

but now I don't think it was. - Hey!

What about Phillips? He had the game of his life.

- Who? - Phillips.

- That's Phillips. - No, it isn't.

- Who do you think that is? - I don't fuckin' know.

- Shoresy, the boys are hurt. - It's fuckin' hockey!

You go 'til you can't go no more.

Fuck! (hockey sticks clatter loudly)

(Sanguinet exhales)

- Let's get drunk. - Wait, how drunk?

Like NOSHO record party drunk?

(pulsing club music)

I don't think we should get that drunk again.

It's been long enough. You should go say something.

(Nat): This is... - Unfortunate?

Pathetic?

A real cunt.

We're hosting the National Senior Tournament in a week.

We're beat up from the feet up.

Seven days rest can go a long way.

We're supposed to be there because we're the best team.

Now we're only there 'cause we're the host team.

So, the host team gets in automatically.

Look at it as good fortune. - We're the team that gets

in on a formality. - We're throw-ins.

Doesn't matter how you get to the dance,

you just gotta get there. - We're filler.

- Freeloaders. - Nat.

When they see the Sudbury guys,

you think anyone's gonna look at them and say,

"Uh-oh." Won't get any respect.

Sometimes you have to demand it.

Yo, last year we wanted to win one game.

This year, we won them all. Now we have a chance to win

the whole country. Cash in.

We've got a week to get these guys over this loss

and refocused for the National Senior Tournament.

We've gotta get 'em healed.

Thank fuck there won't be much fighting.

I dunno. There may be a national title on the line,

but it's still senior whale shit hockey.

Seriously. Nat, at least go check on Shoresy.

Yeah, ask him when he's gonna start chipping in

on the scoresheet. - He always finds

a way to contribute. (Miig): He can't handle losing.

Show me someone who can handle losing

and I'll show you a loser.

Let's get these guys drunk.

Wait... how drunk?

Yeah. NOSHO record party drunk?

(pulsing club music)

I don't think they should get that drunk again.

(downtempo lounge music)

(SOO Hunt players whooping)

Let's go boys! Fill 'er up, barmaid! Come on!

You boys wanna give it a hoist?

Something to remind you of the good old days?

Goody couldn't if he wanted to.

All right, that's enough.

Won't let ya drink out of it,

but why don't ya come give it a kiss?

- Drink your beer. - I'll go get the bouncers.

- They don't need them. - Come on over, boys.

Give it a kiss. - Let's keep it classy.

Can't wait to rip a snooter off this thing.

Come on! Kiss it!

Fuckin' pussies. (Delaney): The runner-ups!

(SOO Hunt players cheer)

What's that you were saying about respect again, Miig?

- Sometimes you have to... - It's pathetic.

What's wrong with them?

(Shoresy): I'm fuckin' hurt! Oh, I'm fuckin' real hurt.

- Your head? - No.

- Your hand? - No.

My heart. - Are you hurt,

or are you injured? - We're the fuckin'

Teenage Mutant Injured Turtles.

You gotta leave it behind you, my guy.

Game seven. In our barn.

Refocus.

We're going to the National Senior Tournament.

Yeah, as fuckin' honorable mentions.

(Big Sexy): Tit fucker. - As runner-ups.

- Runners-up. - As the guys who didn't

earn it. It's embarrassing.

(Hitch): Ya needs a break, me son.

After that hit you took in the first round,

you should be out four to six weeks, old man.

Four to six?

Just 'cause I can't push when I shit,

you think it's four to six? (Goody): Settle down.

- What are you even doing? - Lookin' at girls

on the internet. (Sanguinet): Why?

- Had a sec. - Goody's hurt worse than me.

Goody's not hurt so bad as what you are.

- He's got his arm in a sling. - It's a holster.

- Goody's four to six. - Just 'cause I have my arm

in this, you think it's four to six?

Dolo's hurt worse than Goody is.

Takes ya 20 minutes to get from the crapper

to the couch, old man.

Doesn't matter. We're all fuckin' losers anyway.

(Hitch): Never see a team with so many injuries as this,

b'ys, by the Lard Jaysus.

We're the tag alongs of the tournament.

(door slams, Big Sexy squawks) Oh, nice work, Sanguinet.

Now you've upset Big Sexy.

You wanna find out who's the most hurt?

- Go easy, Big Sex. - Come where we're to.

We has a walking competition. - A walking competition?

You says you're not hurt so bad as what he is.

- Get control of your bird. - He says he's not hurt

so bad as what you is. - You talk like

a fuckin' idiot, eh?

And you're hurt more bad...

So, come on over where we're to.

We has a walking competition

and we finds out who's the most hurt.

Don't walk out on me, old man!

(Shoresy): I'm takin' care of my bird!

(Nat): Who do you think is the most hurt?

Shoresy really got his bell rung in the first round.

He was a fuckin' ghost the second round.

- He got trucked. - Maybe it'll make him

less stubborn. - Won't make him less stupid.

We ready? - We're ready.

Let's get started.

(Shoresy): Well, can I premise it by saying

something first? - Premise?

- Huh? - What do you mean, premise?

Well, I wanna...

Nutella's junk, eh?

Preface.

If you wanna ruin a good piece of toast.

Fer... how do you...

Well, you wants to say something before you walks, right?

I was gonna say a few words, yeah.

Okay, well ya wants to preface it.

So... I meant to say preface but I said premise?

- That's what ya did, b'y. - Oh, my God.

What an idiot, eh?

- Good thing no chick saw that. - Settle down.

- I dies at ya, b'y. - Well, I guess

I'm going to preface my walk

by saying, and I'm sure you've all noticed this before,

I have one leg shorter than the other.

- By how much? - By about two inches.

Two inches?

Inch and a half, two inches, yeah.

No, b'y. Never knew that, old man.

Well, I try not to make a big deal of it.

Try not to let it get in my way. Get me down.

But if you notice something in my walk, it's probably that.

I don't have to talk while I'm doing it or anything, right?

- No, b'y. - Go.

You want me to rush you when you're walking?

Let's have a little etiquette in here, boys.

A little sportsmanship here, now.

(Shoresy sniffs)

(Hitch): K, now come back where we're to.

See, it's just a little slower than ordinary.

But that's probably the leg, which we've established.

Otherwise, there's really nothing out of the ordinary.

Yeah, so... - Four to six.

Just 'cause I can't push when I shit?

You walk like you had your shit pushed.

B'y, I knew you'd be lookin' four to six but...

Who's... up next?

I didn't think you'd be lookin' that four to six.

Could we just keep this moving, please?

(Miig): Yes. Teams for this year's

National Senior Tournament are set.

- Dynamite. - Against all odds,

we'll have teams from all over Turtle Island

representing western Canada, eastern Canada,

Quebec, northern Ontario, southern Ontario, and us.

Six whole teams.

Why aren't the other provinces sending teams?

Because it's senior whale shit hockey.

Up first, representing western Canada,

from the province of Alberta, home of Treaties 6, 7, and 8,

the Brooks Barrelmen.

From the heart of cowmen country Canada,

for these guys, it's hockey all winter, rodeo all summer.

They're tie-down ropers, steer wrestlers,

and of course, bull and bronco riders.

You've gotta be certifiable for that sport.

Stupid tough.

According to the scouting report, they kinda are.

- Tough? - Stupid.

- How stupid? - Time will tell.

If we're talking notable players,

we're talking the Friesen twins, AKA the Freezer Twins.

- Why Freezer? - Because they're built

like large appliances.

(Miig): These guys played

Team Canada rugby for four years.

So, needless to say, they like to hit.

(crowd jeers)

Keep your head up around these guys

or you know what'll happen.

(Shoresy): Four to six!

I'll be the judge of that, me son. Dolo, you're up.

Hold on. You ready?

Little sportsmanship in here, eh?

- Sorry, b'y. - Let's let Dolo get focused

for his walk here, boys. A little quiet in here now.

(Dolo inhales deeply)

(chill hip-hop music playing)

(Dolo exhales deeply)

Well, who's lookin' four to six now?

He's lookin' pretty four to six.

(Shoresy): Mm-hmm.

You can't really walk at all, bro.

Hard to believe he's been doing it his whole life.

What's good. - He's more four to six

than Shoresy. - B'ys, we still don't really

know who's the four to sixiest.

(Nat): Okay, who's next?

Representing eastern Canada,

from Prince Edward Island, the Charlottetown Reds.

PEI, Mi'kmaq territory.

Not unlike folks from Newfoundland,

Prince Edward Islanders have some unique speech.

- Example? - Ever seen the Prince Edward

Island Encyclopedia on YouTube? - What's goin' on?

I'll fuckin' flatten ya, young buck.

I'm gonna come to your house and slam your fuckin' cupboards.

- Nice kit bag there, big nuts. - I'll beat you like you're

on a fishin' trip with your father.

Easy there, George Clooney.

Where'd the cows die? Who the fuck are you?

(speaking gibberish)

- Noted. - Most of these guys

are commercial fishermen.

Out on the Atlantic for days on end

fishing for herring, mackerel, crab.

They know hard work.

But a handful of them are owners-operators

of what many call the best seafood shack

on Prince Edward Island.

Serving up fresh shucked oysters, seafood chowder,

and their signature lobster rolls.

(Nat): I'm hungry.

So, who are we watching for?

(Ziig): These guys play as a unit. No one-man shows.

Beware, they're pedal to the rug for a full sixty.

Hard fuckin' workers.

But a standout in another sense

would be the gorgeous Gord Gallant.

This guy makes panty soup.

(Miig): Ew. (Ziig): He soaks Uggs.

(Nat): Entering a dink phase, eh, Ziig?

If you can resist him, you're doing well.

- Up to the task? - Probably just another

Instagram doll and real-life donkey.

When was the last time you dated a hockey player?

You don't date sluts. You just take 'em down.

- Anything else? - Aside from all of that,

the word on these guys is that they're just really... nice.

Nice?

Nice.

(Shoresy): Well, that's fuckin' nice.

- Holy! - Agreed.

- So dumb. - You can walk more good

than Dolo, but he's playin' better.

Well, you gotta find a way to contribute.

Sanger, sit down. Shut the fuck up.

- What're you guys doin'? - Walking competition.

- Walking competition? - To find out who's hurt

more bad than who. Now, you're up, old man.

(chill hip-hop music playing)

(Shoresy): Oh, fuck. Think he'd be that good?

- At walking? - Yep.

(Hitch): No. - Me neither.

(Shoresy): Me neither.

Now come back where we're to, me son.

Yep. Yep, he's good.

He walks good.

I ain't never seen anybody walk so good as that.

No, me neither. (Shoresy): I know. I know.

- Sanguinet? - No, no, no.

He doesn't get to just waltz in here and say

who walks good.

That's good walking, Goody. Congratulations.

You're the least four to six.

Well, Dolo, Hitch, we're runner-ups again.

- Runners-up. - Yep.

Lost the NOSHO Cup. Now we lost the walking competition.

May as well be eatin' solo paninis.

- Why? - We're fuckin' losers.

Never seen a team with so many injuries

as this, b'ys, by the Lard Jaysus.

Think anyone's gonna see the Bulldogs and say "Uh-oh"?

No fuckin' way. (door slams)

(Big Sexy squawks) Want me to come over

to your house, slam your fuckin' doors?

(energetic rock music)

Anik Archambault here, welcoming you back to another

edition of Questionable Call brought to you

by BROdude Energy. With me, as always,

are panelists Jay Onrait, Tessa Bonhomme,

and the man they call RA.

Mesdames and messieurs, as you are well aware,

BROdude Energy has been granted

the exclusive broadcasting rights

of the National Senior Hockey Tournament

in Sudbury, Ontario.

Can only imagine the cutthroat competition

for that contract, Anik. - Bet it was eye popping.

Remember when we used to cover real hockey?

Today we continue the breakdown

of the participating teams

starting with my home province. - La belle province.

Representing Quebec at this year's tournament

is Les Rapides de Rawdon.

Quebec is home to the toughest league in hockey,

and make no mistake, Les Rapides are the toughest.

Pierre-Luc Leblond, Danick Paquette,

and Steve Bossé. (Tessa): Leblond fought

the toughest guys in the show

when goons were still in the game.

(Jay): Paquette's face looks like it was carved out of wood.

If you think you recognize Bossé from the YouTube

knockout videos, you probably recognize him

from the UFC as well. He's 12-2-0.

Someone else fans may recognize is the team owner,

Quebec pop icon, Marie-Mai.

The multi-platinum artist and Queb darling

is also a hockey fan.

One of the things worth mentioning to fans,

she was one engaged to JJ Frankie JJ.

With the Sudbury Blueberry Bulldogs

serving as the host team and the SOO Hunt

representing northern Ontario...

- SOO, Michigan, baby. - We're left with one

final entry. Representing southern Ontario,

coming from the city with the most

Italian Canadians per capita in the country,

the Vaughan Canadesi. - Cannoli imagine

there are a few Italians on the team, Anik.

Actually, Jay, every single one.

Ferrari, Ferrara, Ferraro,

Barbieri, Barberio, Barbara,

DiBenidetti, Deodato, DiDomenico.

You get the idea.

These guys play the game hard, fast, and emotional.

(Tessa): So, who we looking for, Anik?

(Anik): Number 98, Marco Sylvestri.

(RA): Sly Sylvestri? (Tessa): What, you know him?

(RA): He used to be in Boston's system for a while.

(Tessa): And? (RA): He could pick the prosciutto

outta your teeth with a stick.

(Jay): More of a pancetta guy.

(Tessa): So, he loves the lumber.

(Anik): Oh, he'll be the dirtiest player

in the tournament. - Good matchup for Shoresy.

I'm hearing Shoresy's hurt.

The man doesn't like to be outdone.

But does anyone really care?

We'll find out soon as the best teams in Canada

descend on Sudbury today.

(Liam): The best teams in Canada and the Sudbury Mango Malamutes.

Oh, you're fuckin' hilarious, Liam.

If things get rough, just throw one of your

Band-Aids at 'em. - You too, Cory.

You're so fuckin' funny. - Squirt 'em with

some Polysporin. - Like the funniest guys

who ever lived. - Why aren't you laughing?

Don't worry, Liam, I don't laugh

at your mom's jokes either and every time,

she's like, "What? I'm funny!"

(Cory laughs) I don't laugh at your mom's

jokes either, Cory, and every time she's like,

"Be nice to me!"

Regular season league record only to blow it in playoffs.

Must sting. - Little bit, Cor.

- Any regrets? - My only regret

is not serving my country. - Oh yeah?

Yeah, and I think about it every time

I go to war on your mom's ass.

- You're fuckin' awful, Shoresy. - Fuck you.

- Fuck you, Shoresy. - Fuck you, Liam.

Better tell your mom to go get checked out.

I saw Cory's mom last night. Now my dick feels

like it ate a pack of Halls. - Clean it up.

Yeah, tell that to your mom, Cor.

She climbed over my gearshift last night

to hop on my wiener and that thing still

smells like shrimp scampi. - Fuck you, Shoresy.

Fuck you, Liam. Every time I hit your mom

from the back it sounds like someone running in flip-flops.

(Cory and Liam): Fuck you! - Cory, I got your mom

on speed dial and Liam's mom blocked.

I don't know which one should be more embarrassed.

(rhythmic rock music)

(music decrescendos)

(music resumes)

(music decrescendos)

- Fuckin' what? - Captain's meeting.

Yeah, well you shoulda come to us.

It's fuckin' freezing out there. - You've got the National

Senior Tournament in two days. (Goody): Hope I'm warm by then.

The other teams have already started to show up.

(overlapping chatter) - We've got a problem.

We've got a problem.

Yeah? What's the problem, Sanguinet?

You've lost your identity as hockey players.

After that loss, you've forgotten

what makes you unique as athletes of the sport.

Well, Lard Jaysus, I never see a team

with so many injuries as this, b'y.

No excuses.

- But... - Hockey players don't

make excuses.

You play for the logo on the front,

not the name on the back.

You play for your city and for your teammates.

You win for them. No excuses.

He can barely walk. I can barely lift my arm.

Never let them know you're hurt.

You're the leaders of this team and look at you.

One's in a sling, one's limping around.

You're crying about being cold.

Give your balls a tug. You're hockey players.

Never let them know you're hurt.

Shoresy,

you're the captain of this team. Why did we lose to the Yanks?

- No excuses. - You hurt?

Go 'til you can't go no more.

Then why you all like... (whimpers)

- We didn't earn it. - Doesn't matter how you get

to the dance, you just gotta get there.

Yeah, and then what, Sanguinet?

- Then... - Huh?

Find that "fuck you" attitude.

You went down to the Yanks.

Took 'em seven games, but you lost.

You're right.

Maybe you shouldn't be here.

But you can't look at the rearview

and the road at the same time.

You're the best team in the history of the NOSHO.

You're record holders.

24 wins, zero losses. A perfect season.

So, you've got two options.

You could sit around, cry about losing to the Yanks

in the playoffs,

or find that "fuck you" attitude and beat them

on the national stage.

Shoresy, think you can find it?

(door opens)

Is that the runner-ups section?

We'll sit over here then.

(Palmer): Pretty quiet over there for once, Shoresy.

(Schnurr): All right. - Havin' a cry?

I get it, bud. Life's tough. Wanna talk?

(Schnurr): Easy, fellas. - Where's the fuckin' barmaid?

Yeah, send the barmaid over to the winners section

when she's done with the runner-ups.

(rhythmic rock music playing softly)

Runners-up.

- What? - Runners-up!

- What's he sayin'? - It's runners-up.

Not runner-ups. Dumb fuckin' cunts.

Call it what you want, bud. You're toss-ins.

You're fuckin' extras. - Ton o' hockey left, boys.

Ton o' hockey left. - Fuck you.

- Fuck you. - Found it.

Shut the fuck up, Delaney, ya fuckin' coke head.

- What're you gonna do? - You've done too many

speedballs, bud. - Piece of shit.

Fuck you, man.

What's that you were saying about respect again, Miig?

Sometimes you have to demand it.

What're you gonna do? You're in a sling, Goody.

- Come here and find out. - What are you gonna do?

You're not gonna fuckin' do anything.

Won't see much fighting in this tournament, eh, Nat?

Let's fucking see it.

Think we have a chance of winning this thing?

- They look ready to me. - Less talk. Let's go.

- Yeah, fucking dick. - Are you gonna do something?

(overlapping arguments) - Bulldog hockey, baby.

- Is that the Sudbury guys? - Yeah?

Uh-oh.

(hip-hop music)

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