Blue, 32!
Blue, 32!
Set!
Hut! Hut!
Hut! Hut!
Blue, 32! Blue, 32!
Set!
Hut! Hut!
Blue, 32!
Set!
Hut! Hut!
Right! Hut! Hut!
It's a touchdown! TSU wins|its third nationaI championship!
From champs to chumps.
The Texas State|Fighting ArmadiIIos
were the greatest coIIege team|in history; now, they're history.
The commission slapped Texas State|with a list of infractions,
including recruiting violations,|steroid abuse,
illegal payments to players|and, of course, grade tampering.
These guys' yearbook photos|could act as mug shots!
Joining us tonight is the legendary|Ed 'Straight Arrow' Gennero.
The man who sacked five players|for taking money but still won.
Thanks for joining us.|What's the Iatest on the ArmadiIIos?
The penaIties against Texas State|wiII set an exampIe.
And the pIayers?
The pIayers have been expeIIed,|and aII the coaches fired.
- WiII they get new pIayers?|- They must be reaI students.
No more schoIarships,|no more monkey business,
or eIse no more footbaII.
Mr Gennero, Carver Purcell,|President of Texas State.
l know who you are.|What can l do for you?
The commission came down hard|on us, and the heat in the press...
Now wait a minute. lf you want me|to go easy on you...
l'm offering you|head coach at Texas State.
- Nice show, Ed.|- Thank you.
- l'm finished with football.|- Total control. No pressure to win.
- Run a clean programme.|- Last time they fired me!
The boosters fired you.|We don't have them any more.
We need a man who'll bounce|a player if he takes money.
You need an image.
l'm offering you the opportunity|to show the world this can be done.
You know, your way? Think about it.
Get used to it!
This may be the biggest crowd|we draw all year!
The Cotton Bowl to the dust bowl!
l'm outta my mind letting you|talk me into this!
Building a team from an actual|student body? Mass suicide!
Good to see you, Wally.|Come on.
l thought you'd be pleased,|working together again.
Why should l be pleased?|l could coach my own team.
Coaching football|in London doesn't count.
lt was a good deal. With only|one personal hygiene class.
By the way, l understand|you're off the sauce.
Don't change the subject.|l shouldn't be second banana.
l'll give you free hand.|Stick to defence, offence is mine.
You're the big 'O',|l'm the little 'd'.
Don't start with me.
Your trouble is you bottle|things up, it's not healthy.
Something on my mind, l say it.
Sometimes it's best|to keep your mouth shut.
l suppose l should learn|to dress nice and kiss ass.
At least l'm not taking nitro pills.
- You tell Purcell about that?|- He didn't ask.
Good to be back, huh?
So what do you say?|Equal partners?
Hey...thanks.
Thanks.
This is Chuck Neiderman, the voice|of the Fighting ArmadiIIos!
This season, we need more|than your support.
If any of you can pass,|bIock or kick,
report to the gym at three o'cIock|for open footbaII try-outs!
Way to go! Come on!
- l like the cowboy.|- Have him!
You call yourselves Armadillos?|Sorry-assed civilian slime!
Screw you!
Sir. They didn't have this many|deserters in the Republican Guard!
- Are you all that you can be?|- Sir, yes, sir!
- lt's a little too much.|- Sir, yes, sir.
- Move it!|- Sir, yes, sir!
- Go!|- All right, all right!
Look at that kid.|Got the heart of a lion.
- And the legs of a chicken!|- lt's Charlie Banks.
The only player from last year|that survived the purge.
He was a walk-on.|Not a minute of playing time.
- Just one thing l like about him.|- What's that?
- He wouldn't quit.|- Just what we need.
Let's go!
Set!
Hut!
AII right, Popke,|show me the arm, son!
- Throw the ball, genius!|- Come on.
- Ready, Wyatt?|- Ready to go.
Set! Hut!
Sorry, Wyatt. l'll get there next time.|Good route, good route!
AII right, reIax and try again.
Set! Hut!
l thought you'd do one of these.
He stinks at two sports.
l can work with him. Just butt out.
lf you build an offence around|Edward Scissorhands,
we're gonna play|a hell of a lot of defence!
AII my exes Iive in Texas...
Paul Blake?
Looking for Paul Blake.
Come on, come on!
jAndaIe, pendejo!
- Guess you don't remember me.|- l remember you. Coach Riggendorf.
- Lo marcamos manana.|- Bueno, jefe.
l guess l made|a decent impression on you.
You were out here 1 6 years ago,|recruiting for Penn State.
Can we mosey over|to the bunkhouse?
How's the magic arm?
Good. Then it's rested.
As you never enrolled in college,|you can still play as a freshman.
Could've saved you|a 200-mile trip, Coach.
l know why you passed up on college.
Well, that all happened|a long time ago.
Aren't you the least bit curious|what you missed out on?
l made my peace with it.|l don't need to drag it all back.
l'm not asking you|to give up the Ponderosa.
- l'm asking you to go for the team.|- Team?
You don't have a team.
Hell, you're throwing those kids|to the wolves!
You expect me to get the shit kicked|out of me? What's that gonna prove?
Maybe you're right.
Maybe you should stay here|with your high school trophies
and wonder just how great|you might've been.
l'll tell you one thing...
...l never saw anybody|fire that football the way you did.
l can't interfere on this one.|Dean Elias calls the shots on education.
You might consider|kissing his ass a little.
l'd hate to lead him on.
l'm an old-fashioned dean, Coach.
Call me a stick-in-the-mud,
but l believe our function|is to educate and enlighten.
So do l. l couldn't agree more.
You should be congratulated|for having that team thrown out.
Well, thank you.
- l hope l won't have to do it again.|- l'm sure you won't.
Any member who doesn't make|the academic grade won't play.
- That's settled, let's have lunch.|- One moment, please, Carver.
Let me be straight.
l've always opposed schools|squandering limited resources
on a mind-numbing sport that|encourages corruption, barbarism.
Guess l won't be putting you down|for season tickets, huh?
He's funny, Carver. l like jokes.
- Now maybe we can have lunch.|- l'm busy.
l'm on a diet...and busy.
Coach.
- Dean.|- lt'll work out just fine.
- Ready? Begin!|- One, two, three, four!
One, two, three, four!
One, two...
Hut!
Go! Hit that hole!
- All right, good hit!|- Jog it back, come on!
They're always shouting.
Dean Elias! For someone who|hates football, you watch a lot!
Eternal vigilance is the price|of integrity, Coach Gennero!
What an asshole.
- Like that move, Coach?|- Keep working, Edison.
Edison? Related to the guy|who made the light bulb?
No, bigger...as in Edison Library,|Edison Stadium, Edison Avenue.
- His old man?|- You got it.
Dean Elias?
Your office said l'd find you here.|My registration.
- You done with this?|- Yes, thank you...
Try that play again, son. Go ahead.
Did you hire an assistant coach|without telling me?
No. l got you a quarterback|without telling you.
l hope he gets younger|as he gets closer!
Give it a look, please?
Blake, tattoo somebody!
- Hey, over here!|- Move it, move it!
All right!
Good job.
- Excuse me.|- Excuse me.
- ls 209 West this way?|- Who's your kid?
l'm not looking for my kid,|l'm looking for my room.
- Whoa, a 40-year-old freshman?|- Maybe he knew Elvis.
Discipline is everything.|But everything is nothing.
Bullshit!
Wells Fargo coming through!
Come in!
Hi.
We're gonna miss it. Let's go!
Hi.
Paul Blake. Looks like|we're gonna be roommates.
Laikai Manumana.
Well, lakay-manu-mana to you, too.
No, Mr Blake, that's my name.
l'm from Samoa, the big island.|l'm called Manumana.
lt means ''Runt of the Litter''.
The other men in my family|are very large.
Well...
- Excuse me.|- Can l get you anything?
Another pillow?|A cup of Samoan tea?
Maybe something|comfortable to wear?
What's with all the attention?
Where l come from,|we're taught to respect our elders.
Well, l'm not that old, all right?
- Thank you.|- Sure.
Oh, God!
Get outta there! Get up! Come on!
Hut! Hut!
Featherstone?
Did you run the hurdles in 1 3.2?
- 1 3 flat, sir.|- Excuse me. Go long, pattern right.
Thank you.
Set!
Hut! Hut!
Come on!
- Keep your eyes on the ball, son!|- And keep your hands on the ball!
Featherstone, once again. Try again.|Come on.
Set... Hut! Hut!
Try again! Keep trying, son!|Just keep your eyes on the ball!
Damn!
Again!
- Again!|- Hut!
Good! That's better!
What the hell is it, Samurai?|You got a problem?
My master said football is not just|a game of smashing heads.
lt is a contest to control|and occupy territory.
No shit?
My master says, ''Put your money|where your mouth is.''
All right!
Set! Hut!
lt works for me.
- What's the story, Wally?|- He could've been the greatest.
l saw him pass for five touchdowns|in the high school championships.
- l had him set to go to Penn State.|- Then what happened?
His father died,|and he never thought twice.
He gave it all up|to run the family business.
He missed college.
He missed everything.
Oh, God, l'm sorry! You OK?
No. l was just hit in the head|by a racquetball.
- Could l have my ball?|- Yeah.
Thanks. 1 0 - 8.
l'm really sorry l hit you.
Oh...it's OK.
l...
Never let these kids see|you're hurting.
Yeah. They smell liniment and they're|on you like a pack of wild dogs!
A freshman called me ma'am,|l wanted to smack him.
l know what you mean.
- Well, l'm glad you're OK.|- Yeah. No, l'm...
Are you in a hurry?
Yeah, teaching four classes|tomorrow. What's your department?
Athletics.
We'll probably run into each other|at the faculty mixer.
Probably.
- OK.|- See you around.
l'll need McKenzie,|and l want the two twins.
No, not the twins.
They're the only two who like|each other without being suspect.
They have to protect your ageing|quarterback. l'll give you Granger.
- Granger?|- No, you won't.
Hello, Dean.
Jesus! Even a rattlesnake|gives you some warning.
- What's wrong with Granger?|- lncomplete summer school.
You know the rule: no pass, no play.
That shouldn't be a problem.|We'll take it to the Appeals Board...
Absolutely.|The Appeals Board meets in July.
Or is it every other July?
l'm sure you wouldn't circumvent|the rules, Mr 'Straight Arrow'.
- Sorry, you just lost Granger.|- l'm sorry, too, Wally.
- Wally, right?|- You can call me Walter.
And while we're at it...
...Florentine, Pasarelli, Prescott,|Risdon, Marks...
Wait a minute. All of them?
As of this morning.|Grade point averages too low.
- You expect us to field a team?|- l don't.
Well, that's a quick end to a season.
You don't have enough for offence.|l don't have enough for defence.
Wally?
- We do if we play both ways.|- Are you kidding?
lron Man football with these daisies?|You're taking too many pills!
You OK?
Set!
Hut! Hut!
Hold it.
- Pads?|- No pads for me.
ln Australian Rules, only the ref|and spectators wear pads. Trust me.
l'll respect your wishes,|but it's your responsibility.
Right.
Set! Hut!
Oh, McKenzie!
Check him out.
- He's still breathing.|- Some room, some room, guys.
How do you like that? He held|onto the ball. Get him some pads.
Pads could hurt his game.
Excuse me?
- Will the lectures cover everything?|- How should l know?
Well, aren't you the professor?
Sweetheart, that's not the prof.|That's the bloody quarterback!
Excuse me.|You don't teach athletics?
l don't think|l ever used the word 'teach'.
Fine. Have a seat, Mr...?
Blake. Paul Blake.
- Good morning, Mr Blake.|- Morning, Mr Blake.
Good morning.
Some of you may think|this is a coaster's class.
lf so, you're in the wrong room.
On the other hand, if you have|any problems, just come to me.
l'm here to help you, OK?|This is Journalism 1 01 .
Suzanne.
Suzanne?
Dr Carter, please.
Look...l didn't mean|to mislead you yesterday.
Well, yes, l did. lt's just that...
You were embarrassed. Let's get|one thing straight, Mr Blake.
Paul.
lt's admirable that a man|your age has the courage
to offer your body up|to the football gods.
l don't give special treatment,|so wear a helmet
and save a few brain cells for my class.
l guess this is a bad time|to ask you out?
- You want to see me? l have a class.|- That's why l want to see you.
Please have a seat.
lt's about you taking over|Journalism 1 01 .
Last year, the jocks nicknamed it|'Schmooze the News'.
They thought it was a pushover.
l wondered why so many guys|named Bubba signed up.
Don't worry.|l don't give free rides, Dean.
Phillip. And l don't give|free rides either.
Hold all calls.
You're a special person|here at TSU, l mean that.
Harvard, ''The Washington Post'',|yet you chose to come back to me.
l meant to say 'us'.
That's why you won't disappoint|someone who sees a future in you...
...Suzanne.
- That's very nice.|- Yes, l know.
- Sometimes l can be nice.|- l'm so late. Excuse me.
Even in these past few days...|Something of a kinship!
And l know you feel it, too.
This thing about to happen here|is really funky.
Check out a supernova.
That's an explosion that|jacks up a star's luminosity
to 1 0 to 45th power joules, and|when that happens, cop some shade!
l know what you're thinking:|''Will this help me get a job?''
No. But they made me watch|this film, so now you must.
Class over! Get out!
Next time, chapter 8 on gravitation.
Mr Paul Blake. The Armadillos' man.|l've been reading about you.
What is your interest|in Celestial Mechanics?
- lt was either this or Home Ec.|- You took the easy way out, huh?
On the farm, you spend nights|staring at the sky.
- What for? Praying for rain?|- Something like that.
There was an Andre Krimm,|played tackle, Lincoln High.
All-State. Big, ugly guy.
Bringing back some old memories.
You want the story?
l got a scholarship for football and|chemistry, but Coach didn't see it.
''l didn't want|no chemistry professor!''
''Take basket weaving|and kick some butt.''
Doesn't look like|you dropped chemistry.
BS in five semesters. Masters|in one year. l'm halfway to my PhD.
- l'm not bragging.|- Doesn't sound like it...too much.
Just a little bit!
- You've got a year of eligibility left.|- For football? Get outta town!
Stand here and tell me|you don't miss it.
l miss some parts.|Going both ways this year?
That's the plan, yeah.
Look, Andre, we really need you.
Man, it's been a long time|since l kicked some butt.
l'll see you in class.
OK, Banks. Ready? Hut!
You're supposed to be hitting|the sled, not humping a butterfly!
l want you mean, l want you nasty,|l want you to eat raw meat!
Get your ass outta here!
All right, next!
Andre does not eat raw meat,|'cause Andre is a vegetarian.
Eat whatever you want, Andre.
Hi, sports fans!
Chuck here to bring you coverage|of today's game on campus radio.
The ArmadiIIos are getting ready|to kick off their 1 0-game season.
l'm all alone,|thanks to the broadcast blackout.
The nation's press will miss out|on one hell of a game...
...or at least a noble effort.
Here come the Texas Bobcats!
Come on!
The Bobcats came|with a squad of 1 19 pIayers.
Over 1 4,000 faithfuI fans drove up in|their Winnebagos and pick-up trucks.
Go!
And now, here are aII 1 7 of your new|Texas State Fighting ArmadiIIos!
Come on, let's go!
Come on, guys. Let's go.
- Gentlemen.|- Listen up.
Give me 1 00%. Just give me 1 00%.
The last time the team took the field,
they won a national championship|but lost their self-respect.
l want you to get it back.
All right!
Way to go, guys!
- Not much of a crowd.|- We have the home field advantage.
The Alamo was the home field!
WiIkerson takes the baII|at the five, on the right side.
And he is greeted by three Bobcats.|Too bad.
He onIy had eight men Ieft to beat.
Keep it simple.|Our bread-and-butter play.
Brown right, 22 trap. Go ahead!
The Bobcats' defence is anchored|by 'Doberman' Harris,
AII-American despite missing|two games due to...rabies shots.
Hey, High School!
Oh, doggy breath!|Bad doggy, bad doggy!
Blue, 42.
Set! Hut! Hut!
BIake's Iooking to hand off.|StiII Iooking. Quarterback keeper.
- Who missed the assignment?|- Everybody did! Perfect!
Get the hell out of there!
Again, run it.
Bobcats! Bobcats!
The ArmadiIIos have 2nd down|on their own 1 6.
They run the baII again|but onIy Iost two yards.
Nice pIay, guys!
Third down coming up.
Blake's the only Armadillo alive|when the Beatles were together.
Again.|Well, they haven't run it yet!
OK, guys, quiet down.
- Brown, right, 22 trap.|- We just ran that.
They're gonna kill us.
- They're looking for that one.|- They haven't seen it!
- Let's save that for later.|- All right, just settle down.
Screw it!
Straight up pass blocking.|Fly pattern.
Square in, square in. On two, ready?
Break!
Third down and Iong situation.|Let's see what the 'DiIIos do here.
PauI BIake comes to the Iine.|He takes the snap.
He's back fast!
- He goes deep! He's got a cannon!|- What the hell's that?
Featherstone has a step!|He's aII aIone!
He's got...|Oh! In and out of his hands!
Damn!
Oh, no, no, no!
- He was wide open. We'll get it.|- Blake, sit down.
Popke! You're going in for Blake!
l called a running play, not a pass.
McKenzie to punt for the ArmadiIIos.
Not much of a hang time.|They got a piece of that one!
- Send in your defence.|- Samurai?
The ArmadiIIos send in their|defence, Eric 'Samurai' Hansen.
They're pIaying Iron Man footbaII,|pIaying both offence and defence.
The Bobcats, however,|have a fresh squad on the fieId.
Double wing! Double wing!
- Double wing! Double wing!|- Motion left! Motion left!
- Hey, that's my man!|- l got him! l got him!
The ArmadiIIos are giving StiIIman|quadrupIe coverage to the right.
Moses is wide open!
It's a touchdown!
Move, 45!
Set!
Hut! Hut!
Popke's in for BIake,|with a distinctive throwing styIe.
Blow the whistle! Blow the whistle!
lt'll be a long day|but a good one, right?
Boo!
PauI BIake has not come back|into the game. I'm sure...
Just tell Dean Elias l called.|Thank you.
l'd appreciate it. Yes, please.
l'll be here. Thank you.
- How are you?|- Got a second?
Of course, of course.
- l think we ought to talk.|- My door's open to my players.
- lncluding the ones you bench?|- Even the ones l threw off my team.
Sit down, Blake.
- l'll give you everything l got...|- lt's not enough.
You've ten other guys with you.|l need what they've got, too.
Their leader can't leave them behind.
l just want to play, Coach.|You want me to hand-off, l'll do it.
- lt's your team.|- No, no, it has to be your team.
You want me to hang out|with them? Be their pal?
l can't tell you how to do that.
You'll have to work that out|for yourself.
''The crowd seemed taken with|the bull-dogging skills of favourite,''
''handsome Wyatt Beaudry|of Comanche Gap,''
''who finished eighth|in the steer-wrestling event.''
l suppose that qualifies|as a lead for a story, Wyatt.
You've got all five 'Ws': what, when,|where, why and especially who.
As in ''Who gives a shit?''
lf we could move along...|the next one is by Mr Blake.
''Gennero's return to the Texas State|Fighting Armadillos was marred''
''by a 65-0 shellacking|by the Southwest Texas Bobcats''
''at TSU Stadium on Saturday.''
That's a solid opening.
Sure. He had a great view|from the bench!
''This contest wasn't|about one football game.''
''lt was a test of one man's ideals.|The Armadillos did that man proud.''
''Ed Gennero...|he won because they played.''
Dean EIias here, Coach.|Tough outing Saturday.
- Thought you had them!|- It was a Iearning experience.
- They need a IittIe conditioning.|- Took the words out of my mouth.
I can heIp. How about a scrimmage|with a state institution?
- Thank you, Dean.|- PIease, Coach. I'm a giver!
Cheerio!
- l got a funny feeling about this.|- Don't worry, Wally.
Dean Elias assured me that|we're dealing with real sportsmen.
How do you do?
As loyal fans, we're pleased|to help you in your time of need.
We look forward|to a spirited workout.
Gentlemen, this is your home field|so please take the ball.
Right, 'Dillos, let's get it on!|Yeah!
l'm gonna cripple that pinhead!
Blue, 32!
l want you to know something.|l believe you're all innocent.
l mean that. l feel a lot of love|on this field today.
Come on, you're offside!
You know, l usually play tennis|instead of football.
- What are you in for?|- Computer fraud.
l don't feel so good.|l think l swallowed a finger.
Yeah!
Wally, come on. Get up.|People are watching!
lf this wasn't frigging Astro Turf,|l'd dig my grave!
Blakeman pitches to Sarge.|Sarge bumps into his own man!
lt's a fumble. Fumbalaya!
Sargie 'Fumbalina' Wilkerson|fumbles the ball!
Watch the ball.|Concentrate, McKenzie!
Looks Iike the ArmadiIIos|may not break the jinx today!
They won't break|into that 'W' coIumn.
It's sad that in every game|there has to be a Ioser.
Bring it up more!
The ArmadiIIos are Iooking for|anything to keep their spirits up.
Come on, lron Men! Don't give up!
Come on, keep kicking!
Move it, l said! Get it on!
Get it on! Move it!
They drop their seventh|heartbreaker of the season.
A squeaker, 35 - 1 2.
Damn!
Shit!
The ArmadiIIos are 0 - 8,|with two games Ieft in the season.
Wyatt, you dumb cowboy asshole!
lf you opened a hole for once,|you'd know who to block!
- Blame me.|- Right!
You couldn't catch a cold in Alaska!
Why don't you bang a kangaroo?!
Enough! Cool it!
Cut it out! Cut it out!
You got energy, considering we lost!
- You don't have to play both ways!|- No shit!
We're sick of reading about you.|''Blake, Arm of the Armadillos''!
lt's not his fault.|The whole team sucks.
- Hey, bitch!|- Hey, hey!
What's wrong with y'all?|Forget about football.
- We need to get crazy. Amen.|- Amen!
- We need to get wild!|- Yeah!
- We need to 'partay'!|- Yeah!
Party! Party! Party!
- Blake, come to Billy Bob's tonight.|- l've been.
lt wouldn't hurt for the guys|to see you hanging out tonight.
Buy them a round, would you?
Yee-haw! WeIcome to BiIIy Bob's!
The bar with its own|indoor buII-riding arena!
Hey, Wyatt, nice riding!|You must be hungry.
l ain't eating nothing|l might've rode in here!
Charlie, Manu...
- How you doing?|- How you doing?
Andre, look who's here. Flat-top.
Guys, see who's here?
Texas State, they're the pussies|that ain't won a game yet!
Well, if it isn't the By God|Number One Texas Colts.
- Wow!|- You say something, Sugar?
- You OK?|- Yeah...Paul.
He's all talk.
Party's over, guys.
We're on probation, you know that.|And you know that, too.
What are you thinking about?
lf l wanted a big brother,|l wouldn't have killed mine!
You don't want to mess with us.|We're nobodies.
You guys are undefeated, 8 - 0.
We'll just take our party|somewhere else.
OK...OK.
Tell you what l'm going to do...
...l'll buy you a beer, and we can|forget this incident. lt's on me.
Now it's on you.
Guess you wanted a light beer.
Maybe you better buy me a keg.|Or put a spigot in that fat Buddha!
Easy.
We were getting along so good,|and now you insult my centre.
My centre!
This is my throwing hand here.
Shit!
He bought you a beer!
- You all right?|- Great until a chair hit me.
Sheriff?|Yeah, it's Billy Bob's again.
You finally threw something|that connected!
Next time we invite you out,|keep your white butt at home!
l thought you said|you wanted to 'partay'.
What took you so long, Dean?
l'm Dean Elias,|l heard about the brawl on my beeper.
So...where's the brawl?
- Brawl? There ain't no brawl.|- ''There isn't any brawl.''
- There ain't no brawl?|- You hard of hearing?
Buy the sheriff a coffee,|l'll take care of this, huh?
That's a good idea.
Don't get yourself in 'no' trouble,|you hear?
Let's go.
'Any' trouble.
Hurts when they poke you|in the chest like that, doesn't it?
l don't think|you get the idea, Elias.
lf our boys get caught in a brawl,|that means the Colts get caught.
You don't get elected sheriff|by embarrassing the pride of Texas.
For a quarter, you can jump in.
Another game, another time,|Coach Gennero.
Blake!
Let's talk.
Put this away for me.
l'll be seeing you on the field.
l'm really looking forward to it.|See you around, Flat-top.
Come on, boys, let's get out of here.
We're just blowing off steam.
You can't afford to act like normal|students. You can't blow off steam.
Dean Elias is looking|for any excuse to bury us.
Coach, l'm sorry.
You'll never win unless|you control your team.
- l'm just trying to...|- Just answer one thing for me.
Who threw the first punch?
All right.
Get that thing looked at.
- Hi.|- What are you doing here?
l'm kind of bleeding in your doorway.
- Can l come in?|- Yeah, come in.
Didn't l tell you to wear a helmet?
l went because l thought|that's what he wanted.
l'm trying to read this man's mind.|Should l protect him? Drink with him?
Thanks.
l just can't seem to win.
Tell you what, l'm too old for this.|He's treating me like a kid!
You've got to talk to the man.
He's a coach, l'm a football player.|He can't talk to me like l was human.
Have you tried?
l tried with you.
- lt's hard to get...|- ...respect as a female teacher.
l know.
You ought to try getting respect|as a football player some time!
OK, let's clear the board|and start again. Square one.
- Truth?|- Truth.
OK.
Paul Blake. Freshman quarterback.
Suzanne Carter.|Cheerleader, Hollokan High.
- What?|- 4 7-6, State Finals, 1 975.
Oh, shit!
You know, we thought|we had a real chance!
You threw for five touchdowns,|420 yards in the air.
You decimated us.|You decimated my boyfriend.
You have no idea|what you did to me!
Wait a second.|ls this all about a grudge?
A grudge?
No! l cut your picture out|of the sports page.
l made my friends|drive past your farm.
l used to call and hang up.|l was nuts about you.
Can we take a walk?
We play the Jayhawks Saturday|and we have no kicker.
- We'll find a kicker.|- Where?
We'll find a kicker, l guarantee it!
- Wally, this way.|- No, let's get some air.
Walk off that pasta|you're always shovelling down.
- Did you look at that play?|- lt'll never work.
Sorry. l forgot, you're a genius!|That's why you have a bigger whistle.
Now he's got whistle envy!
- Hell of a kick, huh?|- Yeah, 40-50 yards, they can...
No! Wrong gender!
There's nothing to say|a woman can't play football!
Wally!
Hey, Rig! ls that what you wanted?
Look at that!|A bloody sheila on the team!
- We'll be a laughing stock.|- What do you think we are now?
l'm ready. Let's try one.
Hut!
Manu! Snap me the ball!
Snap the ball, dammit!
Hello, Manu! Hike me the ball!
Hut!
Relax, big guy,|you've already got the job.
Hut!
- Nice kick.|- lt was a little off.
Take it back ten yards!
- You kidding me?|- That's the pressure of TV.
Like with wrestling,|women take over the sport!
Take it back ten yards!
Wow!
- She can kick!|- Yeah!
Man, that was 40 yards.|40 yards!
Can you believe that?
l don't even drive that far!
- She's got some foot!|- Keeps getting better on the way up!
Hey!
Lucy...this is Manu.
Nice to meet you, Manu.
l've got a feeling about tonight's|game. Maybe we've got a shot.
An amazing game!
The ArmadiIIos have put|on a tremendous defence,
not aIIowing a touchdown|in three quarters.
AIso, we have word|from University HospitaI
that the homecoming queen|runner-up is in satisfactory condition,
foIIowing that freak Iightning|strike at haIf time, so...
With Iess than a minute to pIay,|we traiI the Jayhawks 3 - 0.
But in a typhoon,|it's anybody's game.
All right, guys! Come on!
Hut! Hut!
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Edison is down at the 37,|though he hydropIaned to the 19.
First down, 'DiIIos. But time|is running out, down to 20 seconds.
Shut up!
All right! First down!
Quarterback throw on two. Ready?
- All right?|- Follow me.
- Come on!|- Here we go.
Set! Hut! Hut!
BIake's going aII the way!
- Come on, Paul!|- Hit the big guy!
He breaks a tackIe, he sIips,|the baII's Ioose...
It's a fumbIe!|They're aII piIing on.
Who's got it?
Fumble! Blue ball!
Sit down, you jerk!
Tough break!|BIake couId've scored.
The ref is digging through now.|Let's see who comes up with it.
McKenzie comes up with it!|The AustraIian rugger!
Lucy, get your ass in here!|Lucy!
- She did well in practice.|- She might get hurt.
- Coach, l can do it!|- No pass, we got to kick!
All right. Watch yourself!
Go, baby!
Lucy Draper is the first woman pIayer|in ArmadiIIo history.
All right?
- Field goal. On the snap. Ready?|- Break!
BIake wiII spot for a 34-yard try.
All right, Miss, let's go!
Hey, sugar! Don't get nervous!
- That the only way you can score?|- Shut up or you'll anger me!
CIock's stopped|with just three seconds Ieft.
There's time for just one Iast pIay.
It's good! ArmadiIIos tie!
Welcome to football!
You will die!
Welcome to foot...ball!
- She can take care of herself.|- Man, we tied!
All right! All right!
Come here, guys!
No speeches, l'm proud of you!|Now out of the monsoon!
Yeah!
ArmadiIIos tie!|What an incredibIe upset!
The rain stops, and so does|the ArmadiIIos' Iosing streak!
A reaI confidence booster!
The Iast game of the season|on Saturday night.
Can you believe that? One man|between me and a touchdown!
- l blew it!|- Paul, you tied.
We could've won!
lt's the best the team|has played all season.
- Are you trying to cheer me up?|- Yeah.
God! Suzanne, how could you?|l'm shocked!
You're a highly regarded faculty|member and l'm disappointed.
Phillip, it's none of your concern.
Excuse us,|we're having a conversation.
Conversations have words,|not tongues.
Let me handle this.
- Will you jeopardise your career?|- We're consenting adults.
So were Bonnie and Clyde!
- Mind your own business. Tell him.|- Don't pressure me.
- This is bullshit.|- Get a beer, butterfingers!
- Get lost!|- Would you stay out of this!
Why don't you just tell him?
Fine.
Paul...
l was... All right!
That was easy.
Out! Everybody out!|Get out of the shower!
Lucy's got to shower, man! Get out!
Come on, Lucy's got to shower!|Have some respect!
Have some respect!|l can't believe you guys!
This is silly. l'm not going|across campus for a shower.
l'm an Armadillo, like the others.
You're an Armadillo,|but not like the others.
You're OK, Manu.
Would you do me the honour|of escorting you to Edison's party?
All right,|but don't try to carry me in.
OK.
Moet, sir?
- What's Moet?|- lt means, ''Want some more?''
Hell, yeah!
Excuse me, can everyone|quiet down, please?
My father would like|to say a few words.
Boys, you played a hell of a game|against a major college tonight!
Those jackets look great. Just|a token of the alumni's appreciation.
So wear them with pride.|Keep up the good work.
Stand up, let's see those jackets.|1 00% cashmere!
What's going on here?|Take the jackets off, party's over.
This team will not accept gifts.
That's how it starts,|but not this team!
Leave the goddamn jackets.
This is a private party.|Let's talk...
Dad, can you do me a favour?
Can you just|butt out of this one, OK?
- We'll talk about this later.|- Yeah.
- Guys, let's go.|- Take it easy, they're just kids.
l know that, Blake.|l expect more from you. Come on.
lt's not about me.
lt's not about them, though it should|be. They've been killing themselves.
No, it's about you trying to prove|something to the world.
- Relax and let them feel good!|- l can't and neither can you.
Get it through your head,|high school is over.
You want to be a leader? Grow up!
- Tonight doesn't change the rules.|- Rules?
- You and your fucking rules!|- Knock it off!
Nobody's going to get hurt here.|Go home.
That's a hell of a good idea, Coach.|ln fact, l quit.
Guys, let's go. Pack it up.
- Let's go, guys.|- Guys, let's get out.
You slap that righteous brush around.
- l did what l had to do.|- lt's my team, too.
You de-ball them in front|of everyone. You are wrong!
- How about a lift?|- Where you headed?
Anywhere but here. Let's go.
Suit yourself.|You're on your own getting back.
l hate that station. My dad owns it.
l never want to see another building|with his name on it.
- Too bad you got mid-terms.|- No, l don't.
What'll my dad do|when someone flunks me?
What? You've been keeping up OK.
Two cheerleaders do my homework,|but l got to take the test.
When he finds out l didn't pass,|he'll buy me a grade.
You know what that could do|to the team.
lf you're sick of him covering,|that's fine. Work harder, that's all!
You can't just walk away.
Well, you did.
How'd l wind up with Jiminy Cricket?
Hey, Paul, what are you doing?|l can't go back there.
Relax. Maybe we'll both|learn something.
l've never passed anything|on my own before.
lt's about time you saw|the inside of the library!
- Meet your new tutor.|- Andre?
Relax, l have programmes|to accelerate your learning,
by linking mnemonic memory aids|with visual cues.
- l don't know what to say.|- Say goodbye to the daylight!
Just keep thinking,|''The ball is my friend.''
Edison's studying with Andre.|We'll have to practise without him.
- Not worried about Saturday?|- lf he doesn't pass, he's out.
The rest of the team|will back him up.
We pull together,|Saturday'll take care of itself.
Take them out. lt's your team, son.
Go for it.
Excuse me!
Finished grading|the exams already. Good!
- Let me look them over.|- What for?
l don't question your judgement,|it's your integrity.
What are you talking about?
Decide how serious|your commitment to academics is.
Your emotions may allow you to give|the players grades they didn't earn.
l'll regrade them objectively, and|when l'm finished, they're finished!
Fine, Phillip. Take the exams.
lf you change even one grade,|you can face an academic review!
Don't cross me, Suzanne.
Up yours, Phil!
She called me Phil.
So? What did you get?
- l got a 'C'.|- Hey, you passed!
- All right!|- Yeah!
Hey, guys!
Basic losing...is over!
- Good job, bro.|- Way to go. You did it.
Yes, l did. Yes, l did!
l'll get my jacket.|See you at practice.
Ed, what is it? You OK? What?
Your timing's perfect.|l don't feel so good.
l never lost a game in high school.
Not one.
lt was a great feeling.
l miss it.
l still dream about it.
l'd love to give those guys|that feeling just once.
They work so hard,|they don't deserve to go out losers.
You remember what you wrote|about that game,
how Gennero won|'cause his team played.
You've built something great|with these kids. They'd die for you.
l don't want them to die.
l want them to win.
Excuse me, Dr Miller?
Ed, it's me...
- ...Wally Riggendorf.|- l know. l'm not in a coma.
- l brought these for you.|- Thank you, they're lovely.
Just put them here.
l had to charge them to your room.|l'm short this week.
l understand.|Sit down, l want to talk to you.
- l'm here, Ed.|- Don't talk like l'm dying.
They're just running some tests.
That's wonderful news!
- l want you to have this, Wally.|- Your play book...
l don't know what to say.|l'll treasure it. Always.
l'm not bequeathing it to you,|l'm just loaning it to you.
- You're coaching the team tonight.|- Me? No, l'm just defence.
You've been ready for 20 years,|l just haven't told you.
To the kids, you're the team.|l just kick ass.
They respect you. You can't|bullshit kids, they see through it.
They know you're the real thing|and so do l.
You can do it. Just be yourself.
The big whistle.
- What's the time?|- No idea.
- What's up, man?|- The coach hasn't shown up!
Oh, shit!
- Nice suit!|- l've got some bad news. Sit down.
Down! Everybody down!
Coach Gennero'll not be with us|tonight. He's had a heart attack.
ls he all right?
All l can tell you is that|he's in the hospital.
But don't worry...l'm head coach now,
and l've got Gennero's play book.
And l've got his whistle.
l know we're playing|the number one team in Texas,
and l don't want to put any|undue pressure on you guys.
But Gennero's last words were,
''Win...or l'll die!''
Who cares they're first place?|Look at them.
Well, look who it is.
l've been waiting for you.
- Visiting captain, your call.|- Let him call it.
Home captain, your call.
Heads.
lt's tails. Visiting team win|the call. What'll you do?
- We'll receive.|- Receive.
Home team,|which end will you defend?
Let's shake hands|and have a good clean game.
The ArmadiIIos are on a roII|after Iast week's non-Ioss.
The fans are taIking upset here.
There's bad bIood between these|teams. You can feeI the excitement.
To accommodate aII the fans,
the troughs in the men's rooms|have been enIarged.
All right!|Don't let anybody get outside!
Good luck, Coach.|You're looking good in a suit.
Thank you, President Purcell.
Hawkins takes it on the six.|He's got a Iane.
- Come on!|- He's across the fieId.
- Where's the flag?|- He's going. One man Ieft to beat.
He's in the end zone.|I'm waiting for a fIag.
There's no fIag. There shouId be.|That puts the CoIts ahead 7 - 0.
A 96-yard touchdown couId give|them a faIse sense of confidence
going into the second minute of pIay.
Front left! Front left!
- Hit somebody there!|- l'm gonna rip your head off... !
Blue, 32!
Blue, 32!
Set!
Hut! Hut!
- That's a blitz! Watch it!|- There you go, Flat-top, yeah!
Number 55! Throw a block at him!
- l'll run over your ass, fat boy!|- Three, 25! Set!
That's the fourth sack on BIake,|and the CoIt fans are eating it up!
Sit down. Keep a lid on it!
l'm gonna kill you! You're mine!
Set!
Hut! Hut!
Flat-top's making this|a personal grudge against Blake.
- We got him next time.|- No sweat. On the next one.
Oh, God!
How about a flag on that?
- Was it Flat-top again?|- Yeah.
We ought to block him|some time tonight, huh?
- Where are you going?|- None of your business.
Back to the seats!
You've made a serious|career mistake, my friend!
Oh, what a disappointment!|Third touchdown for the CoIts.
That makes it 2 1 - 0.
The ArmadiIIos are traiIing|by onIy three touchdowns.
ln the half-time extravaganza,|the marching band plays a tribute
to gun racks and open beverages,|legal only in Texas.
All right, guys, gather round.
So...we're losing 21 - 0.
But l think we got a shot|at beating this team.
lf, like Coach Gennero said,
we develop a cohesive|offensive strategy.
Popke, my notes.
- What's the coverage?|- A double-double.
Double-double...it doesn't matter.|McKenzie?
You're cutting off your outside|route. Cut inside for the dump-off.
And linemen, come on!
You've got to give Blake four seconds|to throw the goddamned ball!
Now, let's analyse|what's been working for us.
Not a goddamned thing's been|working for us! Like this suit!
And this stinking tie!|lt doesn't work for me!
You know how to play|winning football?
You play like Ed Gennero played!|He gave his life for this team!
He was a 1 40-pound halfback|and played like a wild man!
No! Like a goddamned|rampaging beast!
So you go out and tear their fucking|heads off and shit down their necks!
Let us pray!
The ArmadiIIos are moving|the baII this haIf. 4th down, punt.
McKenzie is deep to kick the baII.
Set!
A fake punt! BIake throws a bIock,|setting Edison free.
He's got a waII of bIockers now!
- He's going aII the way!|- Go, go, go!
Touchdown!
He's in for six!
All right!
l don't know what Coach said,|but this team is fired up!
Way to go!|Lucy? Get in there, kick that ball.
The press booth is going nuts|as Lucy kicks the extra point.
We're within three touchdowns|of taking the Iead...
What is it, Doc? ls it bad?
Hiatal hernia.
A rupture in the diaphragm|puts pressure on the pulmonary cavity,
causing angina.
- ls it fatal?|- lndigestion? Only in Mexico.
A passing situation for the CoIts.
Big sack by Manumana the SIender,
who does his ''I'm gonna get|some poi'' ceIebration dance!
The 'DiIIos get the baII with|four minutes Ieft in the third quarter.
- Brown right...|- Wait, they've seen the game films.
They know you'll never go to me,|and l'm wide open. l'll catch it.
- Big play! Let's go!|- Make it work! Make it work!
The ball is my friend.|The ball is my friend.
- Featherstone's off to the races!|- Not to Stonehands!
He's wide open,|but that's nothing new!
Can he catch the baII?
He caught it! Oh, my God!
Featherstone caught the baII!|It's a touchdown!
It's 2 1 - 1 3.
Firstly, l want all the security|guards here fired.
l've regraded the exams.|l was strict but fair.
Time ticking down.|The ArmadiIIos have the baII again.
Here we go. Split right,|28 sweep on two. Ready?
This university is made for us,|not these guys.
Set!
Hut! Hut!
lt's for men like you and me...|Hiya, boys.
By the way, you're fired.
Break!
This is you, baby! This is you!
You must show us some respect.
It's a battIe,|neither offence can move.
CoIts driving with the baII.|ArmadiIIos better stop them.
How couId the ref caII that?|It was a cIean kick!
The guy's going apeshit!
Attababy!
lllegal contact, Number 51 !
Zenkutsu elbow thrust|to the halfback.
Oi-mawashi roundhouse kick|to the quarterback.
Tegatana sword block to...|Shit, never mind.
Late in the fourth quarter,|still 21 - 1 4. The Colts drive deep.
Gotta have that ball!|Come on, gang! Come on, gang!
- Wally?|- Not now!
- Wally? Wally!|- Ed! Oh, it's Ed.
- You're alive! lt's a miracle!|- No, it was indigestion.
- They're killing us.|- Try the El Paso stunt.
- lt'll open up Andre.|- lndigestion! Son of a bitch!
- Popke, send it in!|- Try it.
Just 1 minute 28 remaining.|GoaI Iine time for the 'DiIIos.
Boy, me and you gonna 'partay'!
Hut!
Andre breaks into the back. The baII|pops out. FumbIe! FumbaIaya!
FumbaIrooski!|ArmadiIIos have got the baII!
They've got it!
They do have it!|HoIy CoIumbus Ohio!
Manumana gets the fumbIe|after Andre hammered it Ioose.
The turnover gives|the 'DiIIos new Iife.
The 'DiIIos are on the 6-yard Iine.|Time's a factor, 1 minute remaining.
Featherstone breaks Ioose!|He couId go aII the way!
- TackIed from behind at the 1 2th.|- Make those blocks!
First and ten at the CoIts'|1 2-yard Iine.
That rotten play.|Don't run that again!
l'm coming after you.|You'll eat that ball.
It's second down.
BIake, back to pass.
IncompIete pass, stopping the cIock|with just 19 seconds Ieft!
Third down,|BIake passes the baII to Sargie.
lncomplete pass, stopping the clock|with 1 4 seconds left!
The 'Dillos are so close,|but exhaustion taking its toll.
- They're not gonna do it.|- Time to try your play.
Quarterback option?|lt's a gimmick, it won't work.
Blake isn't through.|He's got juice left.
Popke, send it in!
- l'll be damned.|- How many timeouts?
- Three.|- Can we take them all now?
Listen up. You're hurt,|you're tired, you're bleeding.
l'm gonna make you a promise.
ln that end zone,|you won't feel pain. You hear?
- All right.|- Oh, yeah.
Here we go.|Split right, fake 28 sweep.
Rig's play. All right, let's do it.
On two. Ready?
It's fourth down,|this is the Iast pIay of the game.
Blue, 32! Blue, 32!
Set!
Hut! Hut!
BIake to Edison.|He's Iooking to pass.
He's got a man|down the Ieft sideIine! It's BIake!
It's a miracIe!|Touchdown, ArmadiIIos!
They can tie the score by kicking|or they can win with a conversion!
Let's see what they do.
- The tie or the win?|- Your call, Wally.
Coach, we got some people hurt.
Lucy, Banks, Popke, get over here!
The ArmadiIIos send in|the kicking team, Banks and Popke.
Now's not the time to make sure|everyone's pIayed. I haven't pIayed!
They're going for the tie.
What a moraI victory it wouId be|to tie the number one CoIts!
- l've never tried to block before.|- Popke...
...l don't care how, spit in his ear,|keep him off my ass!
Mr Blake. They'll never touch you.
The CoIts wiII come with everything|they've got to bIock this kick.
Block that kick! Block that kick!|Block that kick!
BIake takes the snap,|tips the baII. No! It's a fake!
I can't beIieve it!|They're going for the win!
Featherstone's doubIe-covered.
BIake can't find anyone to throw to.
There's an open man|in the end zone. It's CharIie Banks!
Set! Hut!