GO AHEAD, RUIN MY DAY
Frasier's condo. Marty is in his recliner with a can of beer in one hand, TV remote in the other, Eddie in his lap. Eddie wears a mini Stetson. The door opens, and Frasier and Niles walk into the living room.
MARTY: (Lifting the beer can) Oh, hi, boys!
FRASIER: Hello, Dad. Anything good on TV?
Frasier walks to the counter where he keeps his sherry decanter.
MARTY: You bet. This is TV classic—Rawhide! You remember the show, don't you, Fras?
FRASIER: Can't say that I do. Sherry, Niles?
Frasier starts to pour sherry into two glasses without waiting for Niles' answer.
NILES: Yes, please. (He takes a peek at the TV screen then speaks with a fake southern accent) Though we love opera, horse opera ain't exactly our cup of tea, Paw.
Frasier gives a glass of sherry to Niles, sits down on the armrest of the couch. He puts down his glass on the side table to flip through the day's mail.
MARTY: You know, I was thinking—maybe I'll dress up as Mr. Favor, an intrepid trail boss, and Eddie (picks up Eddie to show off his hat) can be my trusted sidekick, Rowdy, for Halloween next month.
NILES: (on the couch sipping sherry) The show had a dog in a starring role? In a western?
MARTY: NO! Rowdy's not a dog.
NILES: But that's a dog's name. Mrs. Giuliani in 1512 has a little peekapoo named Rowdy.
FRASIER: No, Niles. That dog's name is Felice [fe-LEE-che]. I just call it Rowdy because it sounds more appropriate for that little critter. The dog brings more headaches, not to mention earaches, than happiness, if you ask me.
MARTY: (miffed) Rowdy's not a dog's name. You know Rowdy Gaines, don't you?
Frasier and Niles blankly stare.
MARTY: (aside) Who am I talking to… Just so you know, Clint Eastwood played Rowdy. (slowly as if to speak to a small child) You do know who Clint Eastwood is, don't you?
FRASIER: (condescendingly) Of course I do. As a psychiatrist on and off the radio wave, I try to keep up with the current events, to keep my finger on the pulse of the city, so to speak. Besides, you used to watch Eastwood movies all the time when he played that, that… filthy fellow.
NILES: WHAT?
MARTY: (bristled) NO! Not filthy. It's DIRTY Harry, Dr. pulse of the city.
Niles chortles. Frasier shrugs off his father's remark
MARTY: I know you love your operas and symphonies. So did your mother. But she also loved watching sports and westerns with me. Rawhide was one of our favorites.
NILES: Mom? Seriously?
MARTY: Sure, why not? She said it was fascinating to see the not-so-distant past reenacted in the show. But I have a hunch there was another reason she liked it.
FRASIER: What makes you think that?
MARTY: She didn't ogle the steers the way she did some cowboys.
All three laugh.
FRASIER: Know what, Dad? I just remembered something. One night when I was ten or eleven, I had trouble falling asleep because I couldn't find the meaning of some Italian word that I saw in the La Traviata libretto. I couldn't get it out of my mind. So I got up thinking maybe Mom could tell me the meaning of the word. When I walked into our old living room, you and Mom were watching Rawhide. Yes, I can now clearly recall the scene on TV.
MARTY: (overjoyed) So, you really liked what you saw, huh?
FRASIER: Yes, and no. Technically, I liked what I heard. It was surreal to hear the clarinet solo passage from The Pines of Rome by Ottorino Respighi in a desert scene in a western show.
Marty's face falls.
NILES: Hmm… I don't remember ever seeing that. Was I there too?
FRASIER: No, you were too young, already fast asleep with a biography book on Tchaikovsky in your arms. Back then you were at the Tchaikovsky phase after Mom took you to your first Nutcracker ballet. You drove me batty playing the Nutcracker Suite and Swan Lake and the 1812 overture on your kiddy record player over and over and over, but you were yet to discover Tchaikovsky's one and only violin concerto.
NILES: (sighing) Was I ever so young…?
Marty rolls his eyes.