The Simpsons (1989–…): Season 3, Episode 9 - Saturdays of Thunder - full transcript
After Homer fails a fathering test, he decides to help Bart build his Soap Box Derby racer. But Bart dumps Homer and their racer after Martin's far superior vehicle suddenly becomes available.
##Ahh, the Simpsons ##
D'oh!
Products you could only imagine before.
The Foam Dome.
TheJet Walker.
Mr. Sugar Cube.
That baby changed our lives.
I'm actor Troy McClure.
You might remember me
from such TV series as...
Buck Henderson, Union Buster...
and Troy and Company's
Summertime Smile Factory...
but I'm here to tell you
about Spiffy...
the 21 st century stain remover.
Let's meet the inventor--
Dr. Nick Riviera.
Thank you, Troy.
Hi, everybody.
Hi, Dr. Nick.
Troy, I brought with me
the gravestone...
of author and troubled soul,
Edgar Allan Poe.
One of our best writers.
Yes, but unfortunately
a century of neglect...
has turned this tombstone
into a depressing eyesore.
I guess we're gonna have to
throw it away.
Not so fast, Troy.
With one application of Spiffy...
you'll think the body's
still warm.
Ooh!
Ahh!
''Quoth the raven--''
What a shine!
Ooh! That's one clean tombstone.
- Dad, you got a power drill?
- In the garage.
I'm offering three bottles--
enough to clean 1 ,000 tombstones--
for only $39.95.
Boo!
I'm afraid you're gonna have
to do better, Doctor.
Yeah, give us a break, Doctor.
But how can I make it lower than $39.95?
Find a way.
I can't find the safety goggles
for the power saw.
- If stuff starts flying
just turn your head.
- Check.
Okay. I'll throw in a fourth bottle...
the applicator glove...
and a state of Kansas
Jell-O mold--
$29.95.
- D'oh! D'oh!
Okay. Okay, calm down.
Homer, can you get the door?
It's my sisters.
- Homer, be nice.
- Okay, I will. I will.
Coming over here--
Patty, Thelma,
what a pleasant surprise!
What do you know.
He's wearing pants.
I owe you lunch.
Ugly.
Ugly. Butch.
What's the matter?
Can't you find a hairstyle you like?
Hold the phone.
That's the one for me.
- Ed Asner?
- No, next to him.
Mary Tyler Moore.
- Mmm.
- Mmm.
- Mmm.
Expiration date,June 1 989...
uh, 201 2, yeah.
Homer, are you ordering junk
off the TV again?
Shh! They'll hear you.
Oh, who's using the power tools?
I don't know.
Some guy, I guess.
We're going to the beauty parlor.
You should do something
with the kids while I'm gone.
Oh, sure, great idea.
I'd love to.
D'oh! Did you hear that?
- Yes.
- How much?
- Everything.
- What's the quickest, easiest way
to do something with you?
Take us to the video store?
Anything for my little girl.
Bart!
You can't weld
with such a little flame.
Stupid kid.
Ooh! McBain.
Mm-mm-mm.
McBain, you keep eating them hot links
you never gonna make it to a pension.
- Come on, live a little.
- No, thank you.
I got me a future.
I'm two days away from retirement.
My daughter's graduating
from college.
Little Suzie is growing up.
As soon as we nail Mendoza
my old lady and I...
are gonna sail around the world
like we always wanted.
We just christened a boat.
Yes, sir, everything
is gonna be just perf--
Aaah!
Damn, damn, damn. McBain.
- Yes?
- I'm not gonna make it.
Oh, stop talking crazy.
Just do one thing for me.
Get... Mendoza.
Mendoza!
- You want to rent it, sir?
- Why?
I just saw the best part.
Ooh.
Death by Knockout,
Blood on the Ice.
Ho, ho!
Football's Greatest Injuries.
- Lisa, we're going.
- But I can't find Happy Little
Allison Tinkly-Winkly Town.
Just grab something.
All these movies are great.
Look at this. ''Test your F.Q.--
Fatherhood Quotient.''
Maybe you should try it on Homer.
He'll fail it.
Uh-huh. In a second.
Well, I don't know.
Oh, now Henry Winkler,
there's a father.
Listen to what he told
a close friend.
''I don't always keep my cool
like the Fonz...
but my love for my kids has given me
plenty of happy days.''
Mmm.
They call him
the Galloping Gazelle.
His habitat-- the frozen tundra
of Soldier Field.
For six seasons and two Pro Bowls
he grazed on the tasty green turf
of the end zone...
until one fateful Sunday
in November...
when the Gazelle was stopped
in his tracks...
by a big cat named
Wayne Shashefski.
Homie, we're back.
Don't mind that clod, Patty.
You could turn the world on
with your smile.
Could you turn off the TV?
- There's a test I want you to take.
- Oh, great.
You made me miss Joe Theisman.
This is from the
National Fatherhood Institute.
It evaluates your knowledge
of your son and rates you as a father.
Oh, Marge.
Question one.
''Name one of your child's friends.''
Uh, let's see, Bart's friends.
Well, there's the fat kid
with the thing.
The little wiener who's always
got his hands in his pockets.
They want a name,
not a vague description.
Okay. Hank?
Hank? Hank who?
- Hank...Jones.
- Homer, you made that up.
Question two.
''Who is your son's hero?''
- Steve McQueen.
- That's your hero.
''Name another dad you talk to
about parenting.''
- Next.
- ''What are your son's hobbies?''
He's always chewing
on that phone cord.
- He hasn't done that since he was two.
- Then he has no hobbies.
Oh, really? Maybe you should go out
to the garage and see.
Bart. Bart!
- What?
- Do you have any hobbies?
- No, not really.
- Well, that's what I--
Wait a minute.
What are you doing?
- Building a soap box derby racer.
- D'oh! That's a hobby.
Hey, so it is.
Oh, my God.
I don't know jack about my boy.
I'm a bad father.
You're also fat.
I'm also fat!
National Fatherhood Institute.
Please hold.
National Fatherhood Institute.
- Dave speaking.
- I'm Homer Simpson.
I just took your test.
I got a zero.
Good Lord! A zero?
Lana, cancel my 1 :00.
Mr. Simpson, we'll send a wood-paneled
station wagon over for you immediately.
Hey, Bart, where did
you get the lumber?
As three-time derby champ
Ronnie Beck says...
''Poorly guarded construction sites
are a gold mine.''
A conventional design.
Yeah? Are you building
a racer, Martin?
In between other projects.
If you'll excuse me, I've booked
some time at the wind tunnel.
Good-bye, son.
Bart, I think they're finally
hauling your dad away.
Maybe it's for the best.
For starters, Mr. Simpson...
take this copy of Fatherhood
by Bill Cosby.
If he's as smart
as he is funny, I'm sold.
If you want to be a good father,
you have to spend time with your son.
That's easy for you to say...
you preachy,
egg-headed institute guy.
- How much do you see your son?
- Why don't you ask him yourself?
- Homer, meet Dave,Jr.
- Huh?
How's your research, son?
I think we're near a breakthrough.
- Good work.
- Thanks, Dad.
Oh, how I envy you.
That back and forther you witnessed
didn't happen overnight.
It took years of effort.
- I've never been afraid of hard work.
- That's the spirit.
Step one-- find an activity to share.
Does the boy have any interests?
- What boy?
- Your son.
Find something he likes
and share in it.
Well, he is building
a soap box derby racer!
Oh, that would be perfect.
Dear God! Not again!
Bart, I'm gonna help you
build that racer.
Thanks, but I'm almost done.
- Get back on the couch and watch TV.
- Okay.
No! I'm gonna do it.
Sorry, Dad, but three-time soap box
derby champion Ronnie Beck...
never needed his dad's help.
But you can use me.
I'm good.
I built a lot of things
around the house-- the spice rack...
the bird feeder...
the Gymboree.
What was that? Ah, who cares?
Son, please let me help you.
Come on, Dad.
It would be weird.
This isn't working at all.
It's hopeless.
Wait a second.
Hmm.
''Cosby's first law
of intergenerational perversity.
''No matter what you tell
your child to do...
he will always
do the opposite.'' Huh?
Don't you get it?
You gotta use reverse psychology.
That sounds too complicated.
- Okay, don't use reverse psychology.
- All right, I will.
Son, I don't think
you should let me help you.
If you really want to help,
clean these paint brushes.
Thank you, Bill Cosby.
You've saved the Simpsons.
You know, Marge,
that Bart is a little miracle--
his winning smile, his button nose,
his fat little stomach...
his face alight
with wholesome mischief.
He reminds me of me before the weight
of the world crushed my spirit.
Hmm, yeah.
- I like our chances, son.
- Ugh!
Your father's not supposed
to help build your racer...
- but you should at least
consult him about it.
- D'oh!
You're in heat four.
Whoa. Where's your helmet?
Helmets are for wusses.
I can't let you go
without a helmet.
He's my son, and if he doesn't
wanna wear one, you can't make him.
Okay, fine. I wanna get out
of here sometime today.
Attention, everyone.
To those questioning the value
of the space program...
behold!
Ay, caramba!
Hey...
you can't smoke in the pit area.
Fine.
Hey, Simpson...
where's your losermobile?
Losermobile. Wait a minute.
Uh, it's over there, Nelson.
Whoa, talk about
your pieces of crap.
I don't care who wins,
as long as one of us beats that guy.
- Same here.
- Careful, boys.
It took me months
to steal that bumper.
Help! Help!
- What was that?
- You didn't hear nothing!
- You nervous, son?
- Don't worry, Dad.
As three-time soap box derby
champion Ronnie Beck says...
''Gravity is my copilot.''
Hey, boss.
Just in case you need it.
Ahh, thanks, guys.
Now get out of here!
Oh, I didn't realize
this hill was so high.
Could I have another--
Deploy, damn you! Deploy!
It hurts! It hurts!
Owee! Owee! Owee! Ow!
Mm-hmm.
Young man, this stress fracture...
will require you to be
in a cast for six weeks.
That means I can't possibly race.
You're lucky to be alive.
Save your palliative cliches
for the next poor sap, Doctor.
Is it okay to visit?
Of course.
Hey, man, cool crash.
- Way to cheat death.
- Thanks, Bart.
You had the best stick there.
I wish I could build 'em like you.
That racer transformed me
into the twisted creature...
you see before you.
I'll never race again.
If you don't race,
Nelson will win.
Even if I wanted to,
I'm in no shape to do it.
Unless--
Bart, will you drive my car?
I don't know if I should.
My dad and I built
our car together.
If I drove someone else's,
it'd kill him.
On the other hand, I'll do it.
We've got a lot of work
to do on the car.
I'm pulling you out of school
for two weeks--
I don't know how to say this,
but I don't wanna drive your car.
It's slow, it's ugly,
it handles like a shopping cart.
The car has a few bugs,
but we're Team Simpson.
Dad, I love you,
but you taught me to win.
- When did I teach you that?
- I picked it up somewhere.
If I drive Martin's car,
I can win.
- I'm sorry, but--
- No, go ahead, leave me.
- Dad--
- Go on and win.
Go on and win without your dad.
I'll just sit here in Li'l Lightnin'
which the Simpsons built...
and remember that for
one brief shining moment...
I had a son.
Ow.
Ohh!
Dad. Can you take me
to Dr. Hibbert's?
Why? What's wrong?
I scheduled a tetanus booster.
Maybe I'm being a little anal
but barefoot season's coming up...
and there's a world
of rusty nails out there.
Sure, I'll take you, wait with you,
worry about you...
then you'll ride home with someone
who has a faster car.
This is how you get your kicks,
isn't it, Lisa?
D'oh!
Martin, your bone is healing nicely.
Tell me something I don't know.
Dr. Hibbert, Lisa needs a--
You! Home wrecker!
Mr. Simpson, you have
every right to be angry.
But rest assured,
your son loves you.
You certainly gave that boy
the heebie-jeebies.
- Dad, aren't you coming?
- No.
- Now, don't pout.
- I'm not pouting. You are.
You gotta come. I just got
your hat out of the fridge.
- Sorry.
- Don't you have something
to say to Bart?
[ Homer]
No. Can't think of a thing.
I've always said
you were a good father.
I've always defended you
when people put you down.
- That's for sure.
- She ain't lying.
But I guess I was wrong.
You are a bad father.
Leave me alone.
Good morning, everybody...
and welcome to an event
that harkens back...
to the carefree days
of the Great Depression--
the soap box derby.
In just minutes these
junior Al Unser,Jrs...
will lock horns.
Huh? ''Name your son's hobbies.''
Building a soap box racer.
''Name one of your child's friends.''
Martin. Martin!
I'll curse that name
till the day I die!
Huh?
''Who is your son's hero?''
Three-time soap box derby
champion, Ronnie Beck.
Wow. I'm one question away
from being a perfect father.
''Name another dad
you talk to about parenting.''
- Ohh!
- Hey-hey-ho, Simpson.
Shut up, Flanders.
Flanders!
Flanders! Flanders. Uh-- Uh--
When should a boy start dating?
- There are two schools
of thought on the subject--
- Great! Thanks!
I talked to Flanders
about parenting!
I'm a perfect father!
Hold on, son.
I'm a-comin'.
My friend and I have a bet.
Are you Mary Tyler Moore?
Ooh! Wow! It really is you.
If she breaks up on you,
steer away from the grandstands...
or you might kill hundreds
of innocent spectators.
- What did I just tell you?
- Kill spectators.
What is the matter with you?
It's my dad--
lying there on the couch...
drinking a beer,
staring at the TV.
I've never seen him like that.
Forget about your father!
You're driving for me now.
Do it for your old man, boy.
Simpson, prepare to die.
Let's rock.
Ladies and gentlemen...
to drop the green flag--
our beloved mayor...
Diamond Joe Quimby.
To everyone participating today,
I salute your vigor.
Check out the rack on the blond
in the fourth row.
Go! Go! Go! Go!
Ha! Ha!
Like the elegant
Roman in Judah Ben-Hur...
these modern charioteers
battle ferociously.
No quarter given;
none asked.
The world has not seen
the likes of this...
since the French carried
Lucky Lindy off on their shoulders...
from Le Bourget Field.
And now, to present the trophy...
three-time soap box derby champion,
Ronnie Beck.
Congratulations, Bart.
Seeing you out there
brought back a lot of memories.
Thanks, Mr. Beck.
I was alone out there...
but someone was riding
with me in spirit.
This is for you, Dad.
No, son, you earned it.
I might remind you both
I did design that racer.
The driver is essentially ballast.
The better man won, Simpson.
You can really drive.
Thanks, Nelson.
Put her there.
# Ha-ha, ha-ha-ha #
Loser!
# Na-na, na-na-na #
You know, there is such a thing
as being a bad winner.
Mom, I never won before.
I may never win again.
# Na-na, na-na-na #
That's my boy.
# Na-na, na-na-na #
# Na-na, na-na-na #
Shh!
D'oh!
Products you could only imagine before.
The Foam Dome.
TheJet Walker.
Mr. Sugar Cube.
That baby changed our lives.
I'm actor Troy McClure.
You might remember me
from such TV series as...
Buck Henderson, Union Buster...
and Troy and Company's
Summertime Smile Factory...
but I'm here to tell you
about Spiffy...
the 21 st century stain remover.
Let's meet the inventor--
Dr. Nick Riviera.
Thank you, Troy.
Hi, everybody.
Hi, Dr. Nick.
Troy, I brought with me
the gravestone...
of author and troubled soul,
Edgar Allan Poe.
One of our best writers.
Yes, but unfortunately
a century of neglect...
has turned this tombstone
into a depressing eyesore.
I guess we're gonna have to
throw it away.
Not so fast, Troy.
With one application of Spiffy...
you'll think the body's
still warm.
Ooh!
Ahh!
''Quoth the raven--''
What a shine!
Ooh! That's one clean tombstone.
- Dad, you got a power drill?
- In the garage.
I'm offering three bottles--
enough to clean 1 ,000 tombstones--
for only $39.95.
Boo!
I'm afraid you're gonna have
to do better, Doctor.
Yeah, give us a break, Doctor.
But how can I make it lower than $39.95?
Find a way.
I can't find the safety goggles
for the power saw.
- If stuff starts flying
just turn your head.
- Check.
Okay. I'll throw in a fourth bottle...
the applicator glove...
and a state of Kansas
Jell-O mold--
$29.95.
- D'oh! D'oh!
Okay. Okay, calm down.
Homer, can you get the door?
It's my sisters.
- Homer, be nice.
- Okay, I will. I will.
Coming over here--
Patty, Thelma,
what a pleasant surprise!
What do you know.
He's wearing pants.
I owe you lunch.
Ugly.
Ugly. Butch.
What's the matter?
Can't you find a hairstyle you like?
Hold the phone.
That's the one for me.
- Ed Asner?
- No, next to him.
Mary Tyler Moore.
- Mmm.
- Mmm.
- Mmm.
Expiration date,June 1 989...
uh, 201 2, yeah.
Homer, are you ordering junk
off the TV again?
Shh! They'll hear you.
Oh, who's using the power tools?
I don't know.
Some guy, I guess.
We're going to the beauty parlor.
You should do something
with the kids while I'm gone.
Oh, sure, great idea.
I'd love to.
D'oh! Did you hear that?
- Yes.
- How much?
- Everything.
- What's the quickest, easiest way
to do something with you?
Take us to the video store?
Anything for my little girl.
Bart!
You can't weld
with such a little flame.
Stupid kid.
Ooh! McBain.
Mm-mm-mm.
McBain, you keep eating them hot links
you never gonna make it to a pension.
- Come on, live a little.
- No, thank you.
I got me a future.
I'm two days away from retirement.
My daughter's graduating
from college.
Little Suzie is growing up.
As soon as we nail Mendoza
my old lady and I...
are gonna sail around the world
like we always wanted.
We just christened a boat.
Yes, sir, everything
is gonna be just perf--
Aaah!
Damn, damn, damn. McBain.
- Yes?
- I'm not gonna make it.
Oh, stop talking crazy.
Just do one thing for me.
Get... Mendoza.
Mendoza!
- You want to rent it, sir?
- Why?
I just saw the best part.
Ooh.
Death by Knockout,
Blood on the Ice.
Ho, ho!
Football's Greatest Injuries.
- Lisa, we're going.
- But I can't find Happy Little
Allison Tinkly-Winkly Town.
Just grab something.
All these movies are great.
Look at this. ''Test your F.Q.--
Fatherhood Quotient.''
Maybe you should try it on Homer.
He'll fail it.
Uh-huh. In a second.
Well, I don't know.
Oh, now Henry Winkler,
there's a father.
Listen to what he told
a close friend.
''I don't always keep my cool
like the Fonz...
but my love for my kids has given me
plenty of happy days.''
Mmm.
They call him
the Galloping Gazelle.
His habitat-- the frozen tundra
of Soldier Field.
For six seasons and two Pro Bowls
he grazed on the tasty green turf
of the end zone...
until one fateful Sunday
in November...
when the Gazelle was stopped
in his tracks...
by a big cat named
Wayne Shashefski.
Homie, we're back.
Don't mind that clod, Patty.
You could turn the world on
with your smile.
Could you turn off the TV?
- There's a test I want you to take.
- Oh, great.
You made me miss Joe Theisman.
This is from the
National Fatherhood Institute.
It evaluates your knowledge
of your son and rates you as a father.
Oh, Marge.
Question one.
''Name one of your child's friends.''
Uh, let's see, Bart's friends.
Well, there's the fat kid
with the thing.
The little wiener who's always
got his hands in his pockets.
They want a name,
not a vague description.
Okay. Hank?
Hank? Hank who?
- Hank...Jones.
- Homer, you made that up.
Question two.
''Who is your son's hero?''
- Steve McQueen.
- That's your hero.
''Name another dad you talk to
about parenting.''
- Next.
- ''What are your son's hobbies?''
He's always chewing
on that phone cord.
- He hasn't done that since he was two.
- Then he has no hobbies.
Oh, really? Maybe you should go out
to the garage and see.
Bart. Bart!
- What?
- Do you have any hobbies?
- No, not really.
- Well, that's what I--
Wait a minute.
What are you doing?
- Building a soap box derby racer.
- D'oh! That's a hobby.
Hey, so it is.
Oh, my God.
I don't know jack about my boy.
I'm a bad father.
You're also fat.
I'm also fat!
National Fatherhood Institute.
Please hold.
National Fatherhood Institute.
- Dave speaking.
- I'm Homer Simpson.
I just took your test.
I got a zero.
Good Lord! A zero?
Lana, cancel my 1 :00.
Mr. Simpson, we'll send a wood-paneled
station wagon over for you immediately.
Hey, Bart, where did
you get the lumber?
As three-time derby champ
Ronnie Beck says...
''Poorly guarded construction sites
are a gold mine.''
A conventional design.
Yeah? Are you building
a racer, Martin?
In between other projects.
If you'll excuse me, I've booked
some time at the wind tunnel.
Good-bye, son.
Bart, I think they're finally
hauling your dad away.
Maybe it's for the best.
For starters, Mr. Simpson...
take this copy of Fatherhood
by Bill Cosby.
If he's as smart
as he is funny, I'm sold.
If you want to be a good father,
you have to spend time with your son.
That's easy for you to say...
you preachy,
egg-headed institute guy.
- How much do you see your son?
- Why don't you ask him yourself?
- Homer, meet Dave,Jr.
- Huh?
How's your research, son?
I think we're near a breakthrough.
- Good work.
- Thanks, Dad.
Oh, how I envy you.
That back and forther you witnessed
didn't happen overnight.
It took years of effort.
- I've never been afraid of hard work.
- That's the spirit.
Step one-- find an activity to share.
Does the boy have any interests?
- What boy?
- Your son.
Find something he likes
and share in it.
Well, he is building
a soap box derby racer!
Oh, that would be perfect.
Dear God! Not again!
Bart, I'm gonna help you
build that racer.
Thanks, but I'm almost done.
- Get back on the couch and watch TV.
- Okay.
No! I'm gonna do it.
Sorry, Dad, but three-time soap box
derby champion Ronnie Beck...
never needed his dad's help.
But you can use me.
I'm good.
I built a lot of things
around the house-- the spice rack...
the bird feeder...
the Gymboree.
What was that? Ah, who cares?
Son, please let me help you.
Come on, Dad.
It would be weird.
This isn't working at all.
It's hopeless.
Wait a second.
Hmm.
''Cosby's first law
of intergenerational perversity.
''No matter what you tell
your child to do...
he will always
do the opposite.'' Huh?
Don't you get it?
You gotta use reverse psychology.
That sounds too complicated.
- Okay, don't use reverse psychology.
- All right, I will.
Son, I don't think
you should let me help you.
If you really want to help,
clean these paint brushes.
Thank you, Bill Cosby.
You've saved the Simpsons.
You know, Marge,
that Bart is a little miracle--
his winning smile, his button nose,
his fat little stomach...
his face alight
with wholesome mischief.
He reminds me of me before the weight
of the world crushed my spirit.
Hmm, yeah.
- I like our chances, son.
- Ugh!
Your father's not supposed
to help build your racer...
- but you should at least
consult him about it.
- D'oh!
You're in heat four.
Whoa. Where's your helmet?
Helmets are for wusses.
I can't let you go
without a helmet.
He's my son, and if he doesn't
wanna wear one, you can't make him.
Okay, fine. I wanna get out
of here sometime today.
Attention, everyone.
To those questioning the value
of the space program...
behold!
Ay, caramba!
Hey...
you can't smoke in the pit area.
Fine.
Hey, Simpson...
where's your losermobile?
Losermobile. Wait a minute.
Uh, it's over there, Nelson.
Whoa, talk about
your pieces of crap.
I don't care who wins,
as long as one of us beats that guy.
- Same here.
- Careful, boys.
It took me months
to steal that bumper.
Help! Help!
- What was that?
- You didn't hear nothing!
- You nervous, son?
- Don't worry, Dad.
As three-time soap box derby
champion Ronnie Beck says...
''Gravity is my copilot.''
Hey, boss.
Just in case you need it.
Ahh, thanks, guys.
Now get out of here!
Oh, I didn't realize
this hill was so high.
Could I have another--
Deploy, damn you! Deploy!
It hurts! It hurts!
Owee! Owee! Owee! Ow!
Mm-hmm.
Young man, this stress fracture...
will require you to be
in a cast for six weeks.
That means I can't possibly race.
You're lucky to be alive.
Save your palliative cliches
for the next poor sap, Doctor.
Is it okay to visit?
Of course.
Hey, man, cool crash.
- Way to cheat death.
- Thanks, Bart.
You had the best stick there.
I wish I could build 'em like you.
That racer transformed me
into the twisted creature...
you see before you.
I'll never race again.
If you don't race,
Nelson will win.
Even if I wanted to,
I'm in no shape to do it.
Unless--
Bart, will you drive my car?
I don't know if I should.
My dad and I built
our car together.
If I drove someone else's,
it'd kill him.
On the other hand, I'll do it.
We've got a lot of work
to do on the car.
I'm pulling you out of school
for two weeks--
I don't know how to say this,
but I don't wanna drive your car.
It's slow, it's ugly,
it handles like a shopping cart.
The car has a few bugs,
but we're Team Simpson.
Dad, I love you,
but you taught me to win.
- When did I teach you that?
- I picked it up somewhere.
If I drive Martin's car,
I can win.
- I'm sorry, but--
- No, go ahead, leave me.
- Dad--
- Go on and win.
Go on and win without your dad.
I'll just sit here in Li'l Lightnin'
which the Simpsons built...
and remember that for
one brief shining moment...
I had a son.
Ow.
Ohh!
Dad. Can you take me
to Dr. Hibbert's?
Why? What's wrong?
I scheduled a tetanus booster.
Maybe I'm being a little anal
but barefoot season's coming up...
and there's a world
of rusty nails out there.
Sure, I'll take you, wait with you,
worry about you...
then you'll ride home with someone
who has a faster car.
This is how you get your kicks,
isn't it, Lisa?
D'oh!
Martin, your bone is healing nicely.
Tell me something I don't know.
Dr. Hibbert, Lisa needs a--
You! Home wrecker!
Mr. Simpson, you have
every right to be angry.
But rest assured,
your son loves you.
You certainly gave that boy
the heebie-jeebies.
- Dad, aren't you coming?
- No.
- Now, don't pout.
- I'm not pouting. You are.
You gotta come. I just got
your hat out of the fridge.
- Sorry.
- Don't you have something
to say to Bart?
[ Homer]
No. Can't think of a thing.
I've always said
you were a good father.
I've always defended you
when people put you down.
- That's for sure.
- She ain't lying.
But I guess I was wrong.
You are a bad father.
Leave me alone.
Good morning, everybody...
and welcome to an event
that harkens back...
to the carefree days
of the Great Depression--
the soap box derby.
In just minutes these
junior Al Unser,Jrs...
will lock horns.
Huh? ''Name your son's hobbies.''
Building a soap box racer.
''Name one of your child's friends.''
Martin. Martin!
I'll curse that name
till the day I die!
Huh?
''Who is your son's hero?''
Three-time soap box derby
champion, Ronnie Beck.
Wow. I'm one question away
from being a perfect father.
''Name another dad
you talk to about parenting.''
- Ohh!
- Hey-hey-ho, Simpson.
Shut up, Flanders.
Flanders!
Flanders! Flanders. Uh-- Uh--
When should a boy start dating?
- There are two schools
of thought on the subject--
- Great! Thanks!
I talked to Flanders
about parenting!
I'm a perfect father!
Hold on, son.
I'm a-comin'.
My friend and I have a bet.
Are you Mary Tyler Moore?
Ooh! Wow! It really is you.
If she breaks up on you,
steer away from the grandstands...
or you might kill hundreds
of innocent spectators.
- What did I just tell you?
- Kill spectators.
What is the matter with you?
It's my dad--
lying there on the couch...
drinking a beer,
staring at the TV.
I've never seen him like that.
Forget about your father!
You're driving for me now.
Do it for your old man, boy.
Simpson, prepare to die.
Let's rock.
Ladies and gentlemen...
to drop the green flag--
our beloved mayor...
Diamond Joe Quimby.
To everyone participating today,
I salute your vigor.
Check out the rack on the blond
in the fourth row.
Go! Go! Go! Go!
Ha! Ha!
Like the elegant
Roman in Judah Ben-Hur...
these modern charioteers
battle ferociously.
No quarter given;
none asked.
The world has not seen
the likes of this...
since the French carried
Lucky Lindy off on their shoulders...
from Le Bourget Field.
And now, to present the trophy...
three-time soap box derby champion,
Ronnie Beck.
Congratulations, Bart.
Seeing you out there
brought back a lot of memories.
Thanks, Mr. Beck.
I was alone out there...
but someone was riding
with me in spirit.
This is for you, Dad.
No, son, you earned it.
I might remind you both
I did design that racer.
The driver is essentially ballast.
The better man won, Simpson.
You can really drive.
Thanks, Nelson.
Put her there.
# Ha-ha, ha-ha-ha #
Loser!
# Na-na, na-na-na #
You know, there is such a thing
as being a bad winner.
Mom, I never won before.
I may never win again.
# Na-na, na-na-na #
That's my boy.
# Na-na, na-na-na #
# Na-na, na-na-na #
Shh!