(Cut to a shot of the soccer yard. Brendon and Coach are on the sidelines,
as usual.)
Coach McGurik: Oh dear God, Brendon. What are they doing...
(Cut to a shot of the soccer field. Walter is dribbling the ball in the wrong direction, towards his team's own goal.)
Coach: Walter, no! The other direction! Go in the other direction!
(Walter reaches the goal and kicks the ball in. Perry is the guard. They both start jumping up and down, laughing and hugging.)
Perry: Yay! We win! We win!
Walter: We win, we win!
(Walter and Perry dance around the field, hugging and laughing. Cut back to Coach on the sidelines.)
Coach: Jesus, Brendon. These kids. I just don't know what to do.
Brendon: Maybe you should call a huddle.
Coach: Good idea. Alright, everybody gather round! This is a huddle! Walter, Perry! Dance your silly asses over here and shut up!
(The kids all group in a half circle around Coach. Brendon gets off of the bench and joins them.)
Coach: Alright, we're gonna call it a day. You're all a disgrace to the sport of soccer. And because of that, I'm going to write each of your parents a letter, telling them just how lousy you all are, and how I pray every night to get hit by a truck on the way to work, just so I never have to watch you play again.
(Coach leans over to Brendon and whispers.)
Coach: I'm not really going to write the letters.
(Whispering) Brendon: Yeah, I know. Maybe you should tell them that.
Coach: Hm. You're right. (Raises his voice and stands in front of the group again.) Okay, everybody go home, or back to class. Or whatever. No letters. That was just a joke. You're still lousy, but it was only a joke.
Brendon: Uh...Coach McGuirk.
Coach: Brendon. You're still here. What do you want. Class is dismissed.
Brendon: Well I...
Coach: Well hurry up, Brendon. I'm on a tight schedule here. Things to do, people to see.
Brendon: Well you see...you drink beer, right?
Coach: Is that it? I see. Well you know, as a teacher I'm not supposed to admit to any filthy habits I might have.
Brendon: Coach, you scratch yourself in front of us every day.
Coach: Bet that as it may, Brendon, the point is, we're discouraged from letting any of the children know that we drink or smoke or go to cock fights in Tiajuana every other month.
(Cut to a short image of Coach yelling and kneeling by a dusty cock fighting ring, latin americans surrounding him, and a beer in his hand. Cut back to the sidelines at the field.)
Brendon: Uh...so is that a yes?
Coach: I think I know what you're getting at You want me to be your hook up. Your supplier. What is it, you got a little party planned this weekend? Well I can do that for you. But it's gonna cost you.
Brendon: Uh...Coach...
Coach: Nothing's free, Brendon. I'm putting my neck on the line here for you. It's gonna be at least ten bucks over the purchase price of whatever booze you may need.
Brendon: Coach...
Coach: Okay, okay. Five bucks. But that's a bargain. You won't find that kind of deal anywhere else.
Brendon: Uh, actually I was more interested in the cans. And the bottles. You know, empty ones.
(Coach looks shifty eyed for a minute.)
Coach: What is this. Are you 5-0? Is this a sting? Do you need my fingerprints or something? What do you want with my saliva.
(Cut to a brief shot of Coach laying drunk on a living room floor. Empty cans and bottles surrounding him in a pile. He takes a swig of a bottle. Cut back to the sidelines on the field.)
Brendon: Well, you see, it's for recycling.
Coach: Recycling?
Brendon: Yeah. I saw this documentary about pollution and the environment. And now I'm recycling.
Coach: I see. And that's why you want my cans and bottles.
Brendon: Yeah.
Coach: Am I going to get them back?
Brendon: Well, no. You turn them in and they give you some money.
Coach: I always knew you were a grifter, Brendon. Trying to pull the wool over my eyes. This is quite a scam you've cooked up.
Brendon: It's not a scam. It's...it's for the environment.
Coach: Whatever you say. I want ten percent.
Brendon: Uh...
Coach: Alright, five. But you're not going to get any better than that.
Brendon: Um...deal?
Coach: Alright. Good. Now shake my hand. That makes it official.
(They briefly shake each other's hands.)
Coach: I'll stop by your place later tonight with the goods.
Brendon: Sure thing, Coach.
(Walter and Perry spin by, still hugging and dancing.)
Walter and Perry: We win! We win! We win! We win!
Coach McGurik: Oh dear God, Brendon. What are they doing...
(Cut to a shot of the soccer field. Walter is dribbling the ball in the wrong direction, towards his team's own goal.)
Coach: Walter, no! The other direction! Go in the other direction!
(Walter reaches the goal and kicks the ball in. Perry is the guard. They both start jumping up and down, laughing and hugging.)
Perry: Yay! We win! We win!
Walter: We win, we win!
(Walter and Perry dance around the field, hugging and laughing. Cut back to Coach on the sidelines.)
Coach: Jesus, Brendon. These kids. I just don't know what to do.
Brendon: Maybe you should call a huddle.
Coach: Good idea. Alright, everybody gather round! This is a huddle! Walter, Perry! Dance your silly asses over here and shut up!
(The kids all group in a half circle around Coach. Brendon gets off of the bench and joins them.)
Coach: Alright, we're gonna call it a day. You're all a disgrace to the sport of soccer. And because of that, I'm going to write each of your parents a letter, telling them just how lousy you all are, and how I pray every night to get hit by a truck on the way to work, just so I never have to watch you play again.
(Coach leans over to Brendon and whispers.)
Coach: I'm not really going to write the letters.
(Whispering) Brendon: Yeah, I know. Maybe you should tell them that.
Coach: Hm. You're right. (Raises his voice and stands in front of the group again.) Okay, everybody go home, or back to class. Or whatever. No letters. That was just a joke. You're still lousy, but it was only a joke.
Brendon: Uh...Coach McGuirk.
Coach: Brendon. You're still here. What do you want. Class is dismissed.
Brendon: Well I...
Coach: Well hurry up, Brendon. I'm on a tight schedule here. Things to do, people to see.
Brendon: Well you see...you drink beer, right?
Coach: Is that it? I see. Well you know, as a teacher I'm not supposed to admit to any filthy habits I might have.
Brendon: Coach, you scratch yourself in front of us every day.
Coach: Bet that as it may, Brendon, the point is, we're discouraged from letting any of the children know that we drink or smoke or go to cock fights in Tiajuana every other month.
(Cut to a short image of Coach yelling and kneeling by a dusty cock fighting ring, latin americans surrounding him, and a beer in his hand. Cut back to the sidelines at the field.)
Brendon: Uh...so is that a yes?
Coach: I think I know what you're getting at You want me to be your hook up. Your supplier. What is it, you got a little party planned this weekend? Well I can do that for you. But it's gonna cost you.
Brendon: Uh...Coach...
Coach: Nothing's free, Brendon. I'm putting my neck on the line here for you. It's gonna be at least ten bucks over the purchase price of whatever booze you may need.
Brendon: Coach...
Coach: Okay, okay. Five bucks. But that's a bargain. You won't find that kind of deal anywhere else.
Brendon: Uh, actually I was more interested in the cans. And the bottles. You know, empty ones.
(Coach looks shifty eyed for a minute.)
Coach: What is this. Are you 5-0? Is this a sting? Do you need my fingerprints or something? What do you want with my saliva.
(Cut to a brief shot of Coach laying drunk on a living room floor. Empty cans and bottles surrounding him in a pile. He takes a swig of a bottle. Cut back to the sidelines on the field.)
Brendon: Well, you see, it's for recycling.
Coach: Recycling?
Brendon: Yeah. I saw this documentary about pollution and the environment. And now I'm recycling.
Coach: I see. And that's why you want my cans and bottles.
Brendon: Yeah.
Coach: Am I going to get them back?
Brendon: Well, no. You turn them in and they give you some money.
Coach: I always knew you were a grifter, Brendon. Trying to pull the wool over my eyes. This is quite a scam you've cooked up.
Brendon: It's not a scam. It's...it's for the environment.
Coach: Whatever you say. I want ten percent.
Brendon: Uh...
Coach: Alright, five. But you're not going to get any better than that.
Brendon: Um...deal?
Coach: Alright. Good. Now shake my hand. That makes it official.
(They briefly shake each other's hands.)
Coach: I'll stop by your place later tonight with the goods.
Brendon: Sure thing, Coach.
(Walter and Perry spin by, still hugging and dancing.)
Walter and Perry: We win! We win! We win! We win!