[ Puffing ]

[ Automatic Pitcher Firing ] Oh, yeah, yeah! Bring that shit on!

- Oh, God. I love it. - Awesome.

Oh, God, that hurt a little, but I'm all right.

My God, son, what the hell are you doin'?

364 more days 'til next year's hockey try-outs. I gotta toughen up. Yeah!

Oh, God, that felt good. Yeah!

Come on, boy. Cut that out. You're makin' me sick.

Hey! So you're a hockey player, huh?

Yeah. You're gonna give that shit up...

and you're gonna concentrate on golf.

Who the hell are you? I'm the club pro here, Chubbs Peterson.

I'm offerin' to teach you how to play golf, personally... for free.

No! You have no idea who I am, do you?

No, I don't.

Back in 1 965, Sports Illustrated said...

I was going to be the next Arnold Palmer.

Yeah? What happened? They wouldn't let me play on the Pro Tour anymore.

Ah, I'm sorry. Because you're black?

Hell, no! Damned alligator bit my hand off!. Oh, my God!

Yeah. Tournament down in Florida.

I hooked my ball in the rough down by the lake.

Damned alligator just popped up, cut me down in my prime.

He got me, but I tore one of that bastard's eyes out, though.

Look at that. [ Chuckling ] You're pretty sick, Chubbs.

I have never seen anyone that can hit that ball half as far as you can.

You got real talent, kid. Well, that's nice of you to say,

but, uh, I been trainin' to be a hockey player my whole life.

Golf's no different from hockey. Requires talent, self-discipline.

Golf requires goofy pants and a fat ass.

You should talk to my neighbor the accountant. Probably a great golfer. Huge ass.

Hey, I bet your neighbor the accountant can't drive the ball 400 yards.

Bet your neighbor the accountant doesn't have a shot to get on the Pro Tour.

[ Can Crashes ] How would I do that?

You win the open tomorrow, you're automatically on the Pro Tour.

Then who knows? Maybe you'll win the Tour Championship one day,

get that gold jacket like I never got.

Gold jacket, green jacket-- Who gives a shit?

Yeah. Ho! Oh!

Don't worry about that. Made of wood. It's real sturdy.

Oh, boy. Sorry about that.

Look, it was good to meet ya but, uh--

Yeah. So, uh, all right, I'm out of here.

You know, this is not real smart, kid.

I thought you were pro material, primed to make the big bucks!

[ Brakes Screech ]

[ Bell Rings ]

[ Tires Screech ]

Hey, Chubbs, what kind of big bucks?