Cobb Page #4

You're feeling loyal to a woman

you're gonna divorce?

That's pretty stupid, Stumpy.

I'm not getting a divorce. I'm being loyal.

That's why you wined and dined

the little brunette...

who had the office across the courtyard

from you in Santa Barbara?

- What do you know about her?

- I do my homework.

- It didn't last long.

- You don't have to explain.

When it comes to women, I'm a total sh*t.

The difference is, I know I'm a sh*t.

- Nobody knows about the brunette!

- It's our secret.

The part about me being a sh*t with women

ain't going in the book.

- I gotta put your family in my book.

- Your book? My book!

Nothing about my ex-wives

or my children is gonna be in it.

- My book is about baseball.

- My book is about Cobb.

Cobb is baseball!

Look.

What is that?

- That's a man!

- F*** him.

Stop the car.

Whoever it is,

gotta be pretty stupid to be

out in this sh*t.

Why? We're out in this sh*t.

Come on! Get in the car.

What the hell are you doing out here?

- It's you!

- It's the writer!

- Get in the damn car.

- Thank you.

I can't believe you found me.

I told you, you wouldn't last a day

with that bastard.

Cobb's in the car. He's driving.

Mr. Cobb's in the car? I ain't getting

in the car with that son of a b*tch.

- I'd rather-

- Get in the car!

- He hates me. He hates colored people.

- He hates all f***ing people!

Don't give him the satisfaction

of dying out here.

If dying out here gives him pleasure,

then I won't die out here.

It's Willie. We'll get him over to town.

I ain't taking that n*gger anywhere.

Get your ass out of here.

Shut the f*** up and give him a lift!

You ain't gonna shoot me. He's bluffing.

No, I won't. But I'm sure Willie here

will take great satisfaction in it.

- Willie, you a baseball fan?

- Yes, sir.

Who's the greatest ballplayer,

in your opinion?

Willie Mays, no doubt about it.

- That n*gger couldn't hold my jockey strap.

- Excuse me, the man is speaking.

And I'd say, the second-greatest player

is Jackie Robinson.

- You know that's horseshit.

- Josh Gibson is the greatest catcher.

- What about Mickey Cochrane?

- What about Campanella?

You try to steal on Campy,

he'd run down there and tag your ass out.

That's very poor firearm safety, Willie.

Willie, who was the best base runner?

Well, of course, the greatest base runner

of all time isn't riding in this car.

No?

The fastest base runner of all time

was "Cool Papa" Bell.

"Cool Papa" Bell, my ass.

"Cool Papa" Bell was so fast,

once he hit a line drive up the middle...

that hit himself in the head

sliding into second base.

Okay, best pitcher. Satchel Paige?

Satchel Paige can throw a pork chop

past a wolf.

Mr. Cobb, with that hesitation pitch...

old Satchel would have had you

batting .220 and kissing his black ass.

I didn't know you were prejudiced,

only talking about n*gger ballplayers.

Prejudiced? You calling me prejudiced?

The man with the gun does the talking.

You wretched old prick.

Slow down, Mr. Cobb.

Watch it.

What the hell are you doing?

That's it. I'm driving.

Get your hands off

the goddamn steering wheel.

F***ed up roads, Stumpy.

Thank you, Lord.

And I want to thank you, Mr. Cobb...

for the lift into town.

And you, sir...

you should leave

this disgusting, wretched...

sorry son of a motherf***er immediately.

Good evening.

Oh, thank you, Jesus.

Oh, Lord, there's Reno, Nevada.

What is the problem now?

I'm a loyal customer...

All you do is complain.

Complain? Have you ever tried drying off

with one of your towels?

You can see through them.

You cannot see through them.

Plus, people steal them.

I can't keep good ones in stock.

They're thicker than your blankets.

Two rooms, please.

Get in line. I'm in the middle of something.

The heat's on the blink.

The mattress is lumpy. I want a discount.

- Mona, you always want a discount.

- Ramona.

And the mattress is-

Excuse me, I got a very sick man.

Can I get him checked in, please?

We're all sick in the eyes of God,

but we still have manners.

- I'm not through with you yet, Jane.

- Ramona-

I'm moving down the street.

As a matter of fact,

I'm moving to a higher-level establishment.

May I help you?

Two rooms, please.

I was a fool for thinking

Cobb's brilliance...

might be what I needed

at this moment of my life.

Ty Cobb was the last thing I needed.

He was not misunderstood.

He was understood perfectly well.

He hated blacks. He hated Jews.

He hated Catholics.

He hated everything except himself

and his own view of the world.

"Pathetic, paranoid, and lost in the past. "

What is this sh*t?

Those are my notes.

You can't look at my notes.

Your f***ing notes is my goddamn life.

You're gonna betray me.

I'm gonna tell the truth.

- Whose truth?

- Mine. I'm the writer.

And I am the legend,

and legends are not f***ing pathetic.

They're just notes.

You don't know a thing

about greatness, do you?

So sue me.

Why don't you find yourself another writer?

There's no time.

Okay, I'm entitled to my opinion.

That is truly pathetic.

Who gives a good goddamn

about the opinions of Al Stump?

What people want to know about

is Tyrus Raymond Cobb...

not who he hates,

'cause everyone hates somebody.

They don't care if he had two wives or 10,

if he hit women or they hit him.

You think they want to know

how to steal second base?

Yes, precisely!

I don't.

I get it. You're one of these

college psychology-type fellows.

You want to find the missing piece

of the puzzle known as the Madman Cobb.

You think you'll be

the next Ernest Hemingway?

You're just a moderate-sized success

in a moderate-sized pond.

F*** you, Cobb.

I am much more than a moderate success.

You sure have a little spirit there.

I like that. That's good.

You want some goddamn psychology, son?

I'm all ears.

You listen to me.

I'll give you some psychology.

My father was a great man.

He told my mother he was going out of town

for the weekend on business.

But he didn't go.

He came back, because he thought

she was being unfaithful.

I don't know why he thought it,

but he thought it.

My father thought he would catch the man

who was trying to steal his wife from him.

Catch him in the act.

My father had high standards. The highest.

He believed in quality.

He believed in education.

He believed in God.

He believed in me.

He believed in my mother.

But on that night...

he seemed like a prowler.

And so...

my mother killed my father.

Shot him in the belly...

and then blew his head clean off.

Your mother killed your father?

Pretty goddamn good piece of psychology,

wouldn't you say?

Childhood incident that explains me.

Let me tell you something.

I was a prick before it happened,

and a much bigger prick after it happened.

You can stick that

up your Sigmund Freud ass.

- Your mother killed your father?

- And you're not printing it, either.

- I have to.

- No, not unless I say so.

I don't think you understand something,

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