As I said last time, these rewrites are now setting up for the series finale instead of just adjusting the Jackie/Hyde material, and that brings us to an episode where there is no Jackie/Hyde at all! Well, to be more specific - none of the scenes with Jackie and Hyde from this episode got rewritten. Here, Eric's situation with Casey and the gym gets a total overhaul, in preparation for what's to come with his teaching career... (the Zen will be back next time, promise.)
SHOW TITLE
INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT
A war zone, of sorts. The couch, the chairs, the coffee table, the floor – everything in sight is covered with potato chips, and potato chip bags lie everywhere. KELSO lies on the floor beneath the coffee table while HYDE crouches behind the turned-over lawn chair. Slowly, they stand, with ERIC and FEZ doing the same from behind the couch.
HYDE:
That was probably our second-best potato chip war ever.
RED enters from the stairs. He freezes on the landing when he gets a sight of things.
RED:
What the hell?
KELSO:
(sits on couch)
We'll clean it up later, dude.
RED:
I'm not your "dude," and you never clean anything up.
KELSO:
Well, we mean to, but then we leave, and then we come back, and it's already cleaned up.
RED:
(to all)
You eat my food, you dirty up my house, and every time I go into a bedroom, I have to wonder about finding one of you naked with some poor girl!
FEZ:
Well, at least you know that if you find me naked in a room, I'm by myself.
RED:
All right, I want everybody who doesn't live in this house to get out now!
KELSO:
(stands)
You know what? You're a real bummer, man. Come on, Fez. Let's go to our new apartment, where people can do whatever they want, whenever they want. Just like the Bible says - "let my people do whatever they want."
He and Fez exit through the basement door.
Hyde rights the lawn chair and sits. Eric moves around the couch to stand before Red.
RED:
And you want to be a teacher. You – Mr. Salty Spud. Yeah, America's got a bright future ahead of her, now that her fresh young minds are all gonna be learning from Mr. Salty Spud.
ERIC:
Dad, you've wanted me to get a plan together for my future all year. How about a little bit of support now that I have one?
RED:
How about a little bit of my foot in your ass? How can I believe that you're any more serious about teaching than all the other crap you've tried, when I come down here and find you buried in Lay's with the foreign kid?
ERIC:
Well, I am serious. I already talked to UW, they gave me a spot in the teaching college, and I found a way to get myself prepared over the summer. You know, test the waters.
Red's eyes narrow; he's suspicious.
RED:
How?
ERIC:
The high school has that summer sports program for younger kids. I signed up to be an assistant coach.
Red regards his son for a minute, then bursts into laughter, which Hyde joins in on.
RED:
(through laughter)
Assistant coach? You? What sport could you possibly help teach?
He and Hyde erupt again.
ERIC (cont'd):
What? No, I – come on, I can do this. I mean, I know the rules. I know how most sports work.
HYDE:
That's true. When the wrestling team used to beat him up after gym, he knew exactly what holds they were using.
ERIC:
Yeah. And, you know, what is teaching if not passing on the wealth of knowledge you have about things you have no ability to do?
Red sighs and Hyde snickers.
MAIN CREDITS
BUMPER
MUSIC NOTE: "Welcome Back" by John Sebastian.
INT. SCHOOL GYM – DAY
Summertime sports, inexplicably confined inside: the gym floor is cleared, but racks of baseball bats, ball nets, and various items of protective gear line the walls. Kids in Point Place Players T-shirts and shorts shuffle awkwardly around, quietly chatting with one another as they await the commencement of summer training. A man in a green track suit, his back to the camera, stretches in one corner.
Eric, also dressed in T-shirt and shorts, enters with DONNA and KITTY.
ERIC:
All right, first day on the road to teaching. Man, I can't wait.
(nods to kids)
I get to take all these little guys and help lead them to their futures. Which, for nine out of ten, will be menial jobs in a crappy Wisconsin town – but when that one left makes it big, I bet you he'll remember Mr. Forman.
DONNA:
Okay, I'm proud of you, but you probably shouldn't call them "little guys." A few of them are bigger than you.
Eric "ahs" and nods. Seeing the man stretching, he takes a step toward him and raises his hand in greeting.
ERIC:
Hey there, coach. Eric Forman, your new assistant, ready to play.
The man turns around, revealing:
DONNA:
Casey Kelso?
Indeed it is. CASEY'S track suit is open, showing off the T-shirt underneath, and a whistle hangs around his neck. He's also grown a very '70s – and very "gym coach" – moustache that doesn't suit him.
CASEY:
Hey there, Pinciotti. Wow, look who you got with you - little Foreplay.
He ruffles Eric's hair.
ERIC:
Yep, that's me. Okay. Okay, okay!
(jerks his head back)
Okay.
CASEY:
And Mrs. Forman. God, you get younger every time I see you.
KITTY:
(swooning)
Oh, me too.
CASEY:
Yeah.
(to Donna)
Pinciotti, you are looking so good. You know, now I'm trying to figure out why I ever broke up with a blonde.
DONNA:
I was a redhead then.
CASEY:
Man, I gotta start paying attention. The thing is, see, I got this tendency to, uh... what's the word?
KITTY:
Smolder?
DONNA:
(to Casey)
I think the word you're looking for is ditch – bail - run away.
CASEY:
No, no. Oh, wait, did you say "bail?"
KITTY:
So, Casey, how did we get so lucky to see you here today –
(touches his arm)
A little bit sweaty? (laughs)
CASEY:
Well, um, I'm the coach.
ERIC:
No way. That's funny. It looks like a normal gym, but apparently, I've stumbled into the mouth of Hell.
CASEY:
Yeah, see, the regular coach needed someone to fill in, so he called the best quarterback that Point Place High ever had. And I figured, you know, the cheerleaders - they practice in here, so it'd give me a good chance to see what's gonna be on the market in a couple years.
ERIC:
And I have to be your assistant?
CASEY:
Looks like it. Speaking of which, we'd better get started.
(blows whistle)
All right, kids, give me two minutes of laps around the room, go!
He blows his whistle again. The kids scramble into their laps. Casey shakes his head as they move.
CASEY (cont'd):
Hustle, Weaselface! Come on, Fishhead! Hey, Two-Chin, no snacks on your laps!
ERIC:
Do you just have rude and demeaning nicknames for everyone?
CASEY:
Yeah. See, I got this thing with the kids where they tell me their names and I don't remember 'em.
He blows his whistle again, driving the kids to pick up the pace, as Eric shakes his head in disbelief.
INT. SCHOOL GYM - DAY
It's an interesting regiment that Casey has the kids on: with all the sports equipment available, he has everyone in a line across the gym, throwing balls at one lone kid cowering in the corner. Casey and Eric stand by the door, observing. Eric notes the fear of the victim and the reluctance of the throwers; Casey strokes his moustache, checks his watch, and casually blows the whistle.
CASEY:
Okay, that's your time up, Chipmunk. Grab a ball and fall in line. Forehead, you're next.
The next boy in line, a skinny kid in glasses, timidly steps forward as the others gather up the balls.
ERIC:
(to Casey)
You nicknamed that kid "Forehead?" That's – come on, man. That's not even good.
CASEY:
Well, I'd go with "Foreplay" since his name starts with "for," but you took that one.
ERIC:
Whatever. What's the point of this game, anyway?
CASEY:
It's Target, Foreplay. You have a target –
(points to Forehead)
And the point is to hit it.
ERIC:
Yeah, but why? I mean, a game like this is just mean. Sports should teach kids, you know, strategy and teamwork and how to deal with drunken, angry people who could never do your job telling you how you could be better at it. Come on, Casey, give them something fun to do.
Casey looks Eric over, scoffs, and blows his whistle.
CASEY:
(to the kids)
Hold up there, Forehead. Y'all have a new target for Target.
ERIC:
Wait, new target? What's...
QUICK CUT:
New angle. Eric cowers in the corner as balls bombard him from all sides.
INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - DAY
Late afternoon. Kitty and Donna are at the kitchen table, sharing a cup of tea.
An exhausted Eric staggers in through the patio door and drops down in the empty seat at the table.
KITTY:
Hi, honey. How was your first day of school?
ERIC:
It was awful. Casey's a terrible coach. He's just bullying those kids.
KITTY:
Oh, that doesn't sound like my Casey.
(beat)
I mean, the world's Casey.
ERIC:
Man, it's like he's everything guys like me hate about school gym, you know? Nothing's fun, you don't learn anything – it's just some botard with a whistle calling you names, throwing things at you, and walking out halfway through practice so he can check out the cheerleaders.
DONNA:
Eric, you signed up for this summer sports program to get started as a teacher. You're the assistant coach. If Casey leaves, you're in charge. Why don't you use that time to teach the kids? You know, as long as it isn't how to throw?
ERIC:
You know what? You're right.
KITTY:
Well, I just can't believe someone working at the school is taking a peek at those cheerleaders. I have half a mind to put on some lipstick and go have a talk with Casey.
She stands, taking her cup with her. Eric and Donna share a look as she crosses to the sink.
INT. SCHOOL GYM - DAY
The next morning. The kids are all there, but Casey is nowhere to be found. Eric enters and looks around. One thing is obvious: no one wants to be there.
ERIC:
(to himself)
You know, if this teaching thing falls through and I end up working in a funeral home, it'll probably be the same atmosphere.
(to the kids)
Okay, guys, Coach Kelso's out... assessing the market, so – looks like I'm in charge. Now, who here's signed up for soccer?
No one raises their hand.
ERIC (cont'd):
Who here's signed up for basketball?
No one raises their hand.
ERIC (cont'd):
Who here's dad signed them up to get them out of the house?
Every hand goes up.
ERIC (cont'd):
Wow. It's like Bizarro Superman. You know, Superman's dad sent him to a planet with a yellow sun to give him superpowers, and ours send us to the Institute of Things We Can't Do.
That gets a nervous chuckle out of the kids. Eric smiles and rolls with it.
ERIC (cont'd):
Okay, let's forget about the ball sports for a minute. Um... oh! Has anyone here seen Star Wars?
The kids all gasp. One of them, FOREHEAD, puts his hand up.
FOREHEAD:
You've seen Star Wars?
ERIC:
(laughing)
Oh, kid – I think we're all in for a much better day today.
He takes a fold-up lightsaber from his pocket, extends the blade, and strikes a few poses. The kids, wide-eyed, take it all in.
FADE TO BLACK
COMMERCIAL
BUMPER
INT. SCHOOL GYM - DAY
Shortly after the previous scene. A complete turn-around in atmosphere: the kids, wearing baseball catcher's masks for protection, are all enthusiastically practicing lightsaber combat with whiffle bats. Eric paces behind the attacking line, his lightsaber held over his shoulder.
ERIC:
Yes – very good, little ones. Remember –
(doing Obi-Wan)
"A Jedi can feel the Force flowing through him."
He chuckles and continues down the line. He pauses at one pair, where the defender keeps missing his parries.
ERIC (cont'd):
Hey, Westley? Watch the shoulders, not the blade. You'll see the strike coming.
(to another pair)
Fisher, try mixing up your attacks, buddy. Don't go for the head every time.
He makes it to the end of the line, where "Forehead" is aggressively attacking his partner.
ERIC (cont'd):
Whoa, Forrest, ease up. You're not fighting Darth Vader here. You're practicing with Biggs.
"BIGGS" pushes his mask up.
BIGGS:
Coach Forman, can that be my new nickname? I hate the one Coach Kelso gave me.
ERIC:
What was it?
BIGGS:
Butthead.
ERIC:
Wow, he is really slipping with those.
He indicates for "Biggs" to flip his mask back down and resume practice.
INT. SCHOOL GYM - DAY
Lightsabers have been set aside for now. The kids now have mats strapped to their backs – some green, some yellow. They run around the room, the greens throwing whiffle balls at the yellow mats and vice versa. A small number of kids without mats stand against the far wall. Eric watches from near the door.
FISHER, a yellow mat, takes a hit. Eric blows his whistle.
ERIC:
That's your last hit, Fisher. Your screens are down.
Fisher shrugs off his mat.
FORREST:
Defensive formation!
Forrest and two other yellow mats surround Fisher, protecting him from more whiffle balls. The other yellow mats form a line in front of them and start returning fire on the green mats.
Donna enters. She comes up to Eric and nudges his shoulder.
DONNA:
What's going on?
ERIC:
Oh, hey! Check it out. I've got the kids in teams – the Federation and the Klingon fleet. For each "ship" that survives, the winning team gets bonus points, so they have to work together to save as many ships as possible.
A kid on the green team who's lost his mat takes a whiffle ball to the arm. Eric blows his whistle.
ERIC (cont'd):
That's one more down for the Klingons! Evacuate, Chip!
CHIP shuffles off to join the others at the far wall.
DONNA:
Wow, Eric. You've really reached these kids. I'm so proud of you. A little embarrassed, but mostly proud.
She and Eric smile at each other and hold hands.
Casey enters, unnoticed by anyone. He takes a long look at the scene before him, then slaps Eric on the shoulder.
CASEY:
What's all this?
ERIC:
I'll tell you what this is –
He points out to the game, where another green sheds his mat.
ERIC (cont'd):
That's screens down for another Klingon. The Federation's comin' back!
The yellow mats all cheer, even as the game continues. At least, it does until a scowling Casey gives a loud blow of his whistle.
CASEY:
Okay, kids, hustle up.
(they do so)
Coach Foreplay thinks you all should learn something from this, so here's a free lesson: what you're doing here's a great way to earn yourself an ass whooping. Like you all did now. So ditch those mats and get yourselves ready for Target.
The kids all groan. Eric, mouth agape, looks from them to Casey, and moves between them.
ERIC:
What? No! Come on, man. Look – none of these kids want to be here for sports, and it's not like you were teaching them any. They all have to be here. Can't we let them – you know, have fun? Hang out? Work on getting along and cooperating? And getting called on by their actual names? I mean – is it that hard to remember Chip?
He points to Chip.
ERIC (cont'd):
Look – you obviously don't wanna take time out from scouting future ex-girlfriends, and we've got a good game going here. Why don't you just let us play?
CASEY:
(looks Donna over)
Well, I'm not so sure I need to be down by the cheerleaders anymore. But, uh, how about you take that nerd gibber down to summer debate prep and let somebody whip these kids into more shape than you've got, okay, Foreplay?
ERIC:
(beat)
No, okay. You want us to play Target?
He grabs a dodge ball from one of the bags against the wall.
ERIC (cont'd):
Oh, we'll play Target.
CASEY:
You're gonna try and hit me with that?
ERIC:
Not me – her.
He hands the ball to Donna, who drives it right into Casey's gut. He clutches it as he bends over. Eric sweeps his arm toward the kids, "join in." They all shed their mats, grab some balls, and lob them Casey's way.
FADE TO BLACK
CREDITS
INT. SCHOOL GYM – DAY
The end of practice. Eric, Donna, and the kids gather up all the balls scattered over the gym. As the kids fetch the balls, Donna and Eric feed them into a net.
Donna bends over as she puts a ball in, and Eric looks over her and notices his students looking her way.
ERIC:
(whispers)
Hey, Donna, I think my kids are checking you out.
Donna glances over her shoulder.
DONNA:
(to Eric)
No.
(beat)
You think?
She stands, turns, and strikes a pose.
DONNA (cont'd):
Hi, boys.
The kids, caught out, hastily resume gathering balls as Eric chuckles.
END.