Brockmire (2017–…): Season 4, Episode 1 - Favorable Matchup - full transcript

Ha ha.

Ha ha!

Oh, shit,
you guys are early.

I imagined being
dressed for this.

And probably not saying
the word, "shit," either.

- Papa.
- Okay, hi.

You're all right.

Everything's... everything's
gonna be all right.

Good day, America.
Here's your morning news.

Food shortage riots have hit
Georgia and South Carolina

as hungry moms sweep through
the streets looking for food.



Scottsdale authorities
continue to battle

the mutant version of
Lassa Fever and are working

to quarantine those infected

while incinerating
the deceased

as Arizona is now
the fourth state

to become part
of the Disputed Lands.

The last remaining trees
of the Amazon have burned.

Officials plan to replace
a portion of the acreage

with an amusement park
dedicated to Brazilian

points of pride like
Samba, beef production,

and the highest number
of plastic surgeons

per capita than
anywhere in the world.

Looks like the heat wave
gripping the east coast

is about to break with
temperatures dipping



all the way down to the high
110s by your weekend.

And former homerun-hitter-
turned-cricket-champion

Bryce Harper stops by
to talk about

his new passion, cupcakes.

He's here to share
his favorite recipe

and shed some light
on why he is the latest

baseball superstar to leave
the major league behind.

Jim?

Jim, you still with us?

What's the attendance
looking like?

16,000.

It's the highest
in the league.

Yeah, I stand my original...

Can't really blame the public.

Not a great time to be
outdoors in America,

what with the heat and the guns

and the product
placement facial tattoos,

which are pretty horrible
on the inside as well.

Not to mention the water
shortages, which have led

to the aggressive
comeback of B.O.

Right, Todd?
B.O., sir.

Todd believes that deodorant
contains aluminum, which...

I don't care if it's laced
with arsenic, motherfucker.

You're an old factory dirty
bomb walking around here, man.

You know... you know
what kills me?

What galls me?
It's not your blatant

lack of self respect,
it's the way you just

happily and capriciously

break the social contract,
just right over your knee.

Like Bo Jackson
after a strike-out.

I stink, everybody!

Hey, hey!
Live with it.

Stop!
Let's focus on

how to respond
to the news of the day.

Hey, Linda.
Do you know where my dad is?

Production meeting.

Thank you.

I was thinking of a moment
of silence at the top

of the second inning
for the victims of Granite Bay,

- Baton Rouge, and Phoenix.
- Phoenix, again?

God, what the hell
is going on down there?

The Apocalypse.

Well, I guess everything
else moves so much faster

these days, why not
the End of Times as well, huh?

All right, gonna need a fun
segment to bring the energy

back up after that,
so uh...

how about Grandpa Doesn't
Understand New Thing?

We thought we'd save it
for the fourth hour

when the audience wants
to kill itself after

the 12th pitching change.

Maybe we could find
a kid in the stands

to teach you
the Fussy Jack dance.

- The what?
- The Fussy Jack Dance.

What is that?

It's, well... he'd teach
it to you and then you would...

- Hey, sweetie.
- Hey.

Or... or maybe Beth could
teach you the Fussy Jack.

- Or maybe not.
- No, no...

I tried to show him
K-pop once and he said,

"So this is the bullshit
ephemera everyone's

desperately
clinging to these days."

I was right to say it, too.
All right, meeting over.

Clear out, my daughter's here.
No, Todd, you go last.

Remember,
we talked about this?

So nobody has to swim upstream

through your malodorous cloud?

Go on, scoot.
Go on. Oh!

Oh, you're a soft-serve pile
of human failure, sir.

Dad, just... just let it go.

Congratulations, you stink.

Ohh...

Okay, the debate's
tomorrow, right?

- Yeah.
- Uh...

and you're not some little

sophomore outsider anymore.

You're a senior now.
You're two-time state champ.

You gotta own that, darling.

Now, you don't have the height

to create a physically
imposing stage presence,

so we have to harness the power
of your delightful hair

to create
a dramatic silhouette.

Take a look at this.

- Ooh.
- Huh?

I like it.
Thank you.

Oh, my God,
would you look at this?

It's your hairbrush.
Remember this thing?

I used this for the first time

before your very first
state tourney...

and this is your last one.

Dad... you can't keep
crying at every single

made-up milestone
before graduation.

Sure, I can.

But this morning you said
we were toasting the last

pizza bagels I'd ever
eat while living at home.

Oh, I forgot about
the pizza bagels.

On our very last
family trip to Costco.

Come on, old man.
Tighten it up.

Ah, come on,
don't throw things at me.

You're a bully sometimes,

you know that?
Stop it.

If I'm emotional, it's cause
I'm proud of you, darling.

Let me tell you, your mother,

she'd be very,
very proud of you as well.

- Thanks.
- Hmm.

I also think that you might
be getting emotional because

you have no idea
what you're gonna do

with yourself when I'm gone.

What do you mean, gone?
You're only gonna be

three hours away.
I'll see you every weekend.

I'll see you most weekends.
Some weekends.

And with the rest of my free
time I'll just, uh,

you know, I'll stare into
the void of my own futility.

No, I'll finally get
the Ojai house ship-shape.

I'll fix up that roof and, uh,

put some flowers
on Clemenza's grave.

Clemenza...

my poor little
110-year-old baby boy.

He was so weak at the end.

Dad, we just got
you to stop crying.

Sorry.

Look, maybe it's time
you find something else

to do for a living.

Oh, trust me,

I'm not qualified
to do anything else.

God, I wish I was.

Jim Brockmire must be

the next commissioner
of baseball.

That's the conclusion

from every headhunter
that we hired.

People have been laughing
with him and at him

for over a quarter
of a century.

His commercials are popular.

Hell, even plaid
has made a comeback.

This is a guy who knows
how to attract attention,

and that is what we need
to undo the damage

by the last
two labor stoppages.

I know some of you

have clashed
with him in the past.

He called me an out-of-touch
capitalist vampire!

I know it, Freddie.

And this was after
I personally invited him

to my Zephyr regatta.

I mean, what kind
of man does that?

- What kind of man does that?
- I know...

I know!

But I also know
that Jim Brockmire

is our last chance
to save this game.

And on a personal level,

he's someone that
I consider a friend.

Friend?
No, we're not friends.

Sir, you're a billionaire.
You're evil.

I mean, you get that, right?

I mean, you see how you live

and the rest of the world
lives and the difference there?

I tolerate you as
an owner in the same way

that I might try
to befriend the nicest

Aryan brother
in prison, but, uh...

still a horrible,
horrible Nazi.

Anywhoodles,
did I interrupt you?

I think... were you offering
me a job or something?

We want to make you
Commissioner of Baseball.

Stupidest thing
I've ever heard in my life.

Stupider than thinking
that I'm your friend.

Which is stupid.

Please plug into outport.

God damn hallo-projector!

I'm plugged into the outport!

What are you
trying to show me?

A presentation about how people
don't like baseball anymore?

'Cause I already know that.
I do have the ability

to see obvious things.

This is not a presentation,
this is a 3D animation

specifically designed
to convince you to do

the commissioner job and
guaranteed to blow your mind.

Well, I have seen
a hallo-projector before.

I mean, I'm a man who enjoys
all the latest modern advances

in pornographic technology.

Even put a Mr. Magorium's
Masturbatorium

in my local mall.
Very nice,

very upscale.
Two stories.

The only downside
is a limited fantasy menu.

Mostly Magorium's own
interests which are very...

God, they're specific.
But listen,

his Masturbatorium,
his rules, right?

Key is, you gotta bring
your own pleasure pocket

and find a little corner...

And... oh!
Seems like you, uh...

Please plug into outport.

Son of a bitch!

Jesus, don't you have
a tech guy for this?

Yes, but he left me
two weeks ago for Jeff Bezos,

and he took my
holo-wire with him.

Ouch, that has got to sting.

It does.

I will wing it.

Baseball's situation
is worse than you know.

Okay, we took a survey
of American ten-year-olds,

asking who's your
favorite sports team.

My Yankees are the only team
that made the top 100.

At number 81

and that's right
behind Sampdoria.

The hell is a Sampdoria?

It's the fifth most
popular Italian soccer team.

Hachi Machi Malone.

So half the owners, they
wanna contract their teams,

the other half of the owners
don't wanna buy them.

There are reasonable scenarios

that the League
will fold in five years.

Wow.
Well, you're right,

that's a lot worse
than I realized, but you know,

all the more reason
for me to say no.

No, thank you.

Give me one good reason

why you don't
wanna be commissioner.

I'll give you
several good reasons.

The position has
no actual power, sir.

I know I'd be mouthpiece
for you and your owner buddies,

all of whom I cannot stand,
and I mean to a man.

Okay.

No one else can make
baseball this interesting.

There's no one else
who can communicate

to every generation
of Americans.

You, Jim Brockmire,

you are a true original.

No, I'm not.

All my broadcasts now
are just rip-offs

of late-'80s David Letterman.

I thought the top ten list

would've made
that exceedingly clear.

But you know,
our popular memory just seems

to have Alzheimer's now,
as evidenced by this

stupid Fussy Jack Dance.

Look at this... that's
"I'm A Little Teapot."

Okay, look... handle, spout.
Jesus Christ.

Look, I'm looking forward to
retiring, quite frankly, okay?

The narrative
of my life is complete.

I've achieved
every dream I ever had,

I worked my way out
of the gutter, I just...

I wanna relax

and spend some more time
with my daughter.

Okay... well...

this has been a waste of my
incredibly valuable time!

Blimp!

- That's it?
- Son of a bitch!

You're just gonna abandon a
million-dollar holo-projector?

See this is the kind
of disconnect from humanity

that I was talking about!

Well, well, well, come to papa.

Looks like Daddy's gonna
fuck himself some light.

Hello?

Beth?

Anybody home?

What would you like to see?

Oh, God, I'm like
a kid in a candy store.

Um, okay,
well, definitely Ann-Margret.

And let's have her
sitting on my face.

Initiating.

Dad!

Dad, are you home?

- Hey, hey, hey, hey.
- Hi!

I got accepted into NYU!

We didn't apply to NYU.

Yeah, well, I applied to
a couple schools by myself.

And you didn't...
you didn't tell me about it?

Well, I mean,
I didn't think I had to

because they put me
on the waitlist,

but then they just
called me and they said

they have room in the fall.

I can't believe you did all
this behind my back, darling.

I mean, you only wanted me

to apply to Missouri schools
and I...

You got into the best one.

Washington University
of St. Louis.

It's the Harvard
of the Midwest.

Yeah, but I always
wanted to explore.

Explore what?
I don't know if you've noticed

the bleakness that's enveloping
this country like a heavy fog,

but it's very
dangerous out there.

Students at the University
of Arizona have to barter

their own internal organs
for safe passage.

I mean, these are dystopian
times we're living in.

Attention, Ann-Margret is
waiting to sit on your face.

- What was that?
- That was nothing.

Look, maybe you have
some romantic notion that

you're gonna find yourself in
New York, but let me assure you

that version of that
city no longer exists.

St. Louis is now what
New York used to be.

It's full of racial strife

with the occasional
affordable neighborhood.

New York is now
just a flooded playground

for the 1% of the 1%.

The Bronx is now Brooklyn,
Brooklyn is now Manhattan,

Manhattan is now Dubai
and darling, the worst part?

Worst part is, Staten Island
is still just Staten Island.

Ha. That thing is a civic
black hole that the light

of gentrification and human
decency can't penetrate.

Look, I made up my mind.

If you don't wanna pay for it,
I can get student loans.

I don't understand.

Is NYU's public policy
school that much better?

I wouldn't know because I'm
gonna go to their film school.

Film school?
Jesus Christ.

Every parent's
worst nightmare.

I've always wanted
to tell stories.

You know this about me.

Beth.

Your mom was raised
in a two-room house

with seven other people, okay?

She worked her ass off,
literally, every day

just to go to Ateneo de Manila
University, okay?

I know that she wants
me to go to college.

I just don't think she'd
give a shit whether it was

NYU or Washington University...

It's the Harvard
of the Midwest.

Harvard of Missouri!

Where you going?
Where you going?

I don't know,
I've never stormed off before.

All right, okay,
well, let me fix your hair

before you leave, too,
'cause it's a mess.

Look, I don't wanna fight.

Well, I don't either.

Great, so can we just...

talk about this?

Sure.

So go ahead and apologize.

For what?

For applying
to schools without me.

Okay, well, I'm sorry, Dad.

I'm sorry I don't wanna
live at home forever

while you jerk off
to your holo-projector.

Oh, hey, how dare you
kink-shame me, young l...

you were raised in
a sex positive home.

Don't you forget that.
My goodness.

Ew!

Resume projection.

Resuming Ann-Margret
sitting on your face.

Hey...

Look,
I know that Puso sa Puso

is important to you,
but, uh...

that guy out there on
the screen, that's not me.

Right, that's me
doing a drunken impression

of Robert Wagner...

who was doing a very weak
impression of Cary Grant.

The real me is bound to be
a huge disappointment to you.

I'm just... I'm so sorry that
I'm all you have in this world.

That's a bum deal.

No two ways about that.

Of course, I didn't have
it very easy myself.

My father was an alcoholic
mass of impotent rage.

And my mother was a grifter
who saw parenting as,

well, just another angle.

Doesn't get any better
any farther on up

the family tree, either.

We're all directly descended
from an 18th-century

German cult leader
named Brachmire

who preached an
interpretation of Lutheranism,

where everybody had
to diddle each other

while making eye contact,
but anywhoodles, anywhoodles.

The one constant in this
unending cycle of trauma

is selfish parents
raising selfish kids,

but you know what?
That's gonna end with us

because for the first
time in my life,

I feel capable of living
for somebody else.

From now on, everything I do,
everything I am

is gonna be in service of you
and your future, darling.

You are my purpose now.
Anything you want,

I promise you,
anything you need.

Can you...
can you braid my hair?

Oh, my goodness.
You speak English?

My God.

You know, I'm not too shabby
with languages myself.

I speak four or five
of them pretty good.

Pretty well.

All right, easy there
George Plimpton,

because nobody
likes a know-it-all.

Hair braiding,
is that what you said?

Hey, I can do that.

How the hell do I do that?

Oh, okay,
you want me to brush it?

Hair brushing, here we go.

All right...

lovely hair.

- Ow!
- Sorry.

Ow...

Tch, tch, tch, tch.

Can't talk like that.

At least not directly
into my face like that.

I'll be gentle.

That okay?

- Mm-hmm.
- Okay.

Dad, I know you
think in times like these,

going to film school
is a pointless luxury

and that you think public
policy is the only way

to enact change,
but I would argue that

stories are just as important.

They were always the light
in the darkness for me,

and as Plato's cave teaches...

You can go to NYU, Beth.

It was wrong of me
to get in between your dream.

That is not the kind of parent
that I ever want to be.

You're old enough to figure out
who you are for yourself.

If you're telling me that's NYU
and film school, oh, God,

then we will definitely figure
out a way to make that happen.

Thank you!

Oh, my God,
thank you, thank you.

- Oh, God.
- Hmm.

God, I knew
you'd come around.

Did you?

It's just...
I thought it would be after

I convinced you with my speech,

which I still plan
on giving, by the way.

It's a tight three hours,
including the overture.

Well, I'd expect nothing
less from my scion.

I love you, Dad.

I love you, too.

Um... how much is this
all gonna cost me?

Um...

150k per year.

Oh...

Oh, that got me.

Ow.

Not including
room and board.

Oh, I can't breathe.

That's so bad.

Well...

lucky for us,
you can stay with me,

'cause by the way,
I'm going to New York, too.

What?

Yeah, I decided to accept
the job of commissioner,

which just happens
to be in New York City.

I mean, as you know,

it has always been
my life-long dream.

You never once mentioned it.

Well, it's the kind of dream
you keep secret for fear

that it won't
actually come true,

but it has, at long last.
Jim Brockmire,

Baseball Commissioner.

That sounds... insane.

Well, probably, yes.
Possibly.

But look, the important
thing is you're going to NYU.

Yeah.

- Yeah, with my dad.
- Exactly.

And oh, wait till you see
the condo that I got for us

in New York.
Wait till I see it,

because I kind of panicked,
went in way above asking

and bought it sight unseen
and now...

oh, I'm so over-extended
on that thing.

Well, did you sell
the Ojai house?

Oh, God.

That would've made
so much more sense.

Oh... I am so terrible
at real estate.

I mean, the whole thing

is terrifying.
You know that mortgage

means "Death contract"?

Death contract...
the hell is that?

You know what?
We gotta sell this place, too.

Right away,
no time to stage it.

We'll take the first offer
we are lucky enough to get.