You're pretty happy, aren't you?
Got to go to Florida next week to cover the PGA.
Might have to play a few rounds myself.
What is not to be happy about?
Oh, how about my growing resentment?
Well, you have your hobby, and I have mine.
No!
Ahhh!
Sweetheart.
I know you're up there.
Come down here.
Come down now!
Come on, come on. No.
This isn't going to happen. No smiling.
Get on the couch. Get on the couch. We have to talk.
You understand? We're gonna have a long talk here.
Get over here. Up on the couch.
This can't happen. This can't happen. No, over here.
Hey, hey, you! On the couch.
No, don't laugh.
Listen. Turn around. No.
It's not funny.
Do, do you know that that's daddy's golf bag?
- Yeah. - Yeah, you do.
Well, do you know what titanium is?
- Yeah. - Yeah.
Do you know how hard daddy works?
- Yeah. - Yeah.
Don't you know golf is all daddy has?
- Yeah. - Yeah.
Yeah, smile.
It's gonna be funny when we send you a postcard
from Disneyland, isn't it?
Yeah.
Then how funny...
Cut the cute crap. It ain't gonna work.
Resentment going down?
A little, yeah.
Did you do that yourself?
They're coming!
Okay, right down here, boys.
Okay. Well, don't push, Ray.
You gave me the heavy end.
- Hold on. Hold on. - You got it?
Ma, why do you need all this fabric?
I got it real cheap, and I'm gonna make
beautiful curtains for your apartment.
Great, ma. Is it flame retardant?
- Of course. - Just my luck.
Alright, come on, ma. Where do you want it?
Okay, open up that pingpong table and lay it out
and be very careful.
Make sure you wipe off the table
before you put it down.
Yep.
'What was that?'
Nothing, ma! Robert just fell!
'On the fabric?'
- No! - 'Alright.'
Well, there it is.
- Oh, God. - What's the problem?
I'm just thinking about my childhood...
...and dad playing us in pingpong.
Oh, yeah. With the taunting?
Yeah, and the rhyming of the scores.
"10 serving 3. You can't compete with me."
"14 serving 1.
You're really not my son."
How about, how about this move every time he'd score a point?
Yeah, and then he'd do that voodoo.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Yeah, hey, get away. I know.
He made you cry.
- He... I didn't cry. - You cried.
- The ball hit me in the eye. - Then you cried.
Yeah. My body was reacting.
To the desire to cry.
Come on. Let's pick it up.
Who was it who finally beat dad, huh?
Yeah.
- Yeah, who was that? - Of course.
The first of the many Raymond glories.
Got him with my Rayman spin ball. Foom!
Yeah. Dad was so crushed, so sad.
Yeah. That was great.
I didn't have to play pingpong with him ever again.
You talking about playing pingpong with your father?
I always hated that.
- He made my Raymond cry. - Ah!
- I didn't cry. - Oh, honey.
Your big brown eyes getting watery
the little sniffles.
You were so precious.
- I was not. - Ah, Raymond.
Ah, I'm glad he finally let you win that time.
What?
Now, how would you and Debra
like a bedspread made out of this?
No, no, ma, ma. I beat dad, okay?
I beat him. Don't you remember?
When I was in eighth grade. it was in March
and I came home, and I put my sneakers on
and I had a fluffernutter. I remember. I remember.
I remember the fluffernutter because I thought
it would help me beat him, but after I won
I realized it had nothing to do with the fluffernutter.
- Ma? - Whatever you say, dear.
So dad let you win.
- Interesting. Okay. - No, he didn't.
He did... It was me, pal.
- I was on. I was on that day. - Yeah.
Dad?
- Sorry, ma. - What? Where are you going?
Can't miss this!
Hey, dad, I want to ask you something.
- I'm watching here. - Hey, dad.
The last time you played pingpong
did you let Ray beat you?
- Yeah. Quiet. - Ah!
- You-you did not, dad! - Hey, give me that!
Dad, I beat you. Don't you remember the Rayman spin ball?
Ray, I learned to play in Korea
from Koreans.
You think some punk kid's gonna actually beat me?
No, dad. You were trying to win. You were sweating and panting.
I'm a damn fine actor.
I saw your face when I won.
You mean this face?
"I'm so sad and weak and old.
There's no way I could have returned Ray's spinny ball."
You let me win?
Morning, sunshine.
Now can I watch TV?
- You never let me win. - You never cried.
- I didn't cry. - You cried.
I want a rematch.
I'd be all for it if there was any chance
of making a man out of you
but that horse has long since left the barn.
Yeah.
Yeah, well, that-that horse is going to kick your butt.
Come on, come on, if you let me win back then
you should have no problem beating me now, right?
Unless...
What're you saying?
It's what I'm not saying.
Okay, tough guy. You're on.
Good.
You got the balls?
Yeah, don't worry about me, pal, okay?
Oh, yeah. We got to buy some balls.
Tomorrow then.
Tomorrow.
Can I play winner?
Ray, come on.
You're still up?
No. Now I'm up.
You know, you know what would be louder?
If you hit the ball directly against my head.
Come on, come on. Come to bed.
Sorry. No sex before a game.
Yeah, that's not a problem. Come on.
- I need to practice. - I need to sleep, honey.
I got to take the kids to the doctor in the morning
and then I need to see a lawyer about divorcing you.
No, no, no. You know what, this is good.
You can help me here.
The key to my father's whole game is trash talk
alright, so just start mouthing off.
- Just call me Nancy. - Ray.
No, no. Nancy, or Sally.
Or Pansy. Pansy's always good.
Listen, this shouldn't be that big of a deal.
Your father has always given you a hard time.
You should be used to it by now.
I am.
Look, the thing is this.
I beat him, okay, and I always had that on him.
If I didn't really win that game...
If I didn't beat him, then, I don't know
I'm just 12 years old crying in the basement.
I thought a ball hit you in the eye.
- You wanna talk about it? - No!
No, I would like you to support me on this.
Oh, nothing I do is important, right?
I-I'm just here to support you.
"Oh, Ray, you got to stick up for me with your parents.
"Ray, your parents are bothering me.
Ray, your parents, they're in my face!" Yeah, okay.
- But t-the minute I need you-- - You're pathetic.
- Alright, forget it. Forget it. - No, come on, come on.
Alright. You're pathetic, Nancy.
Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Yeah, look at you. You're soft. You're weak.
- Yeah, this is good. - Yeah. Oh, you're a crybaby.
- Easy. - Sorry.
Raymond, I just want you to know
that your father is a very sore loser.
But when he wins, he's a gloating moron.
Here. I brought you some lasagna for strength.
Thanks, mom. Maybe after the game though.
I just had a fluffernutter sandwich.
Hey, I want you to know, Ray, I'm rooting for you too.
- Oh, thanks, Robert. - Don't get all choked up.
It's more of an antidad thing than proyou.
Hear ye, hear ye.
Will all women and children please retreat
to a safe distance...
...except for my little girl Raymond.
One butt shellacking coming up.
Go get him, dad.
- What the hell's that? - I got caught up in the hype.
Marie, get a mop, 'cause after I play Ray
the floor's going to be soaked with tears.
Yeah, but they're going to be your tears
'cause it's going to be your funeral.
If it's my funeral, how could I be crying?
Nice try.
I thought it was good, Raymond.
Ooh, look, Ray's got a cheerleader.
Warn me when you're going to do a split.
Alright, here's the ball.
Let's keep it clean. No biting.
Volley for serve?
No, go ahead. You take it, dad.
Oh, thank you.
Zero serving zero.
Ray can kiss my rearo.
Come on.
- The voodoo. - Yeah, okay.
- That does... - Point, dad.
Maybe you should take a bite of the lasagna.
I'm fine. I'm fine.
Then take a bite out of this. One serving zip.
I see a quivering lower lip.
Point, dad.
I haven't danced this much since my prom.
Yeah, yeah. It's like vaudeville.
Just hit the damn ball.
Two serving nada.
I'm ashamed to be his fadda.
Ow!
Point, dad!
You did that on purpose.
No, I did not. Shut up, Robert.
Don't tell your brother to shut up.
- Just serve, dad. - Alright.
Point, dad.
Hee hee hee. That time, I didn't even rhyme.
Yeah, alright. Come on, just play.
That doesn't exactly sound like a winner, does it, Robert?
I don't believe so, dad.
- Aah! - Point, dad.
- Alright, alright. - No, no, no, no. Fight back.
Talk dirty to your father.
- What? - Say "ass."
'Ma, come on.'
Come on, Ray, you gonna talk some more trash to me?
No, I don't know. I'm distracted by the shine off your scalp.
That's a good one, Raymond.
'Cause you're bald.
Take all the skin off my head
it still wouldn't cover Ray's nose.
- Ooh. - Ooh!
Yeah, well, I wish you would 'cause then I wouldn't have
to smell your head without the skin on it.
- What's that supposed to mean? - It means shut up, Robert.
- That's what it means. - I don't like that, Raymond.
- No? You too. - Ooh.
Sorry. Sorry!
I actually liked you on the other side better
because the tilt of the basement was working in my favor.
- Your serve, Nancy. - Yeah? Oh!
Nancy. Too bad I trained for Nancy.
- Point, dad. - Damn it!
If you have a point in you, you better break it out
'cause you lose this one, seven nothing, game over.
Skunkity skunk skunk skunk.
Ray, are you crying?
Yeah. I'm not crying.
I see moisture, crybaby.
It's sweat, alright? Just leave me alone. Ball.
Zero serving six.
You're fat, and you smell.
'Point, match, dad.'
You know, I got to hand it to you, Ray.
That's the best I've ever seen you play.
I almost had to use my good hand.
Lemonade, Marie.
Yeah, well, now you know what it feels like.
Now you know what it feels like when someone lets you win.
- What're you saying? - Nothing. I let you win.
No, you didn't.
I could tell you were trying to win.
Yeah. Okay, alright.
Y-yeah, I know people.
I know how they act. You were not acting.
Oh, what do you oh, yeah? You mean this? You mean this?
"Damn it!"
"Ahhh!"
Like that?
That's it.
- We're going again right now. - 'No, no!'
Come on. Serve.
Oh, boy, that doesn't sound like a winner, does it, Robert?
I don't know what I'm supposed to do here.
You admit that I beat you, right now.
- I would if it was true. - Come on. Serve the damn ball!
- No! - Do what I say!
No, I'm not!
There you go. Not bad, huh?
- Raymond, that was terrible. - What?
You can't take a man's dignity away like that.
Dignity? Dad?
Come on. The man mows his lawn in his underwear.
And he cleans his ear with his pen.
He rhymed "zero" with "rearo."
So, ma, quick game?
You know, I want to say one thing.
Anytime we've ever played pingpong
or played anything, you've always been...
...better?
A jerk.
A jerk?
I'm not a jerk.
I'm a survivor!
No, jerk I think works.
Let me tell you something.
When I came back from Korea, I had no money and no skills.
Sure, I was good with a bayonet
but you can't put that on a resume.
It puts people off!
I had nothing!
You had mom.
Sorry.
I worked in a restaurant, a meatpacking plant
a bowling alley
and they all ended the same way
with the same lameass excuse.
"Broke too many dishes."
"Too slow with the giblets."
"I'm sorry, you've been replaced
by a machine that rolls the ball back."
You were an accountant.
Yeah, by the time you came along
I was an accountant.
Not even an accountant. Bookkeeper.
So? So what? That's a good career.
That's a job!
You think I liked it? Sitting there all day?
Then t-the traffic, t-the idiots.
That is life!
And you've got to be tough!
I tried to show you that.
With pingpong?
I was good at pingpong.
I never lost a game.
So this is all for my own good
the taunting, the trash talk, the dancing.
- All that is to help me? - You're welcome.
So if you were trying to help me back then
then why did we stop playing?
Because you beat me.
- I did? - Yeah.
- You didn't let me win? - No.
Well, look, if it makes you feel any better
you just beat me.
- You're just saying that. - No, I'm not. It's true.
I was trying my best down there, and you skunked me.
I knew it!
- Oh, come on. - I'm still number one.
Alright, dad, what about the tough life
and you trying to make me better?
Meant every word.
Okay, so, ah, another lesson, right?
Watch and learn.
Alright, here we go, cubby.
- Trash talk allowed, right? - Bring it on.
Alright. Zero serving zero.
You experimented in camp.
Those were rumors.