Hard Ball

---

I gotta lock up, son.

You looking for faith,

forgiveness?

I'm lookin' for the Bulls

to cover the spread.

Duffy's here.

You better have his money.

I got it. I'm gonna have it.

What's the score?

You're into Duffy for at least five

grand. Who gave you an account?

I laid six grand

with the Barber to get me even.

Chicago's down by four.

- I got Chicago gettin' eight.

- Less than a minute to go.

Hang on!

Just hang on.

Did you bet the Barber with

my money? You're not that stupid.

Shut up, Duffy. In 1 8 seconds,

you'll have your money.

Oh, and he gets hammered,

and in it goes!

Sh*t!

Okay, if he makes both,

it's eight. I push. I'm even.

Flagrant foul.

He shoots that first.

- That's bullshit!

- You're screwed if he makes three.

Grab him!

Get off of me!

I'm first, O'Neill!

You always pay me first!

You wanna kick my ass?

No one can kick my ass

better than I can.

Hey, Conor, it's Ticky!

Did you bring money

for the summons?

- What's that?

- Did you bring money to get me out?

- Damn, you got "zactly's" breath.

- "Zactly's breath"?

Your breath smells zactly like

your ass. Damn, that's nasty.

Did you pay them?

They said it's 580.

- I need the tickets.

- Which ones?

You got two pair on the floor

for the Bulls-Rockets.

I'm gonna hawk those myself.

The game's not till 7:00.

- It's 5:
00. Tell me where they are.

- What?

- Sh*t.

- Come on.

They're under the religious statue

on my dresser.

Wait, Ticky!

You gotta get 1,200.

- You gotta pay to get me out!

- I already did.

- Yeah?

- It's Ticky. Let me in.

Ticky. Thank God.

I really need that money. How much

did you get for the tickets?

Jesus!

Hey, O'Neill. Remember me?

They grabbed me outside

the United Center.

- Yeah, you're the Barber's son.

- Yeah.

Remember making that phone call

from Michael Pistone's wedding?

- Get off of me.

- You talked to me.

You said, "This is O'Neill,

number 55. What's my limit?"

So I check 55,

and I see you got six grand.

So you put that six grand down

on Milwaukee, and they tank.

So I ask my old man about O'Neill

on 55, and guess what he tells me.

- That guy died four months ago.

- Look, tell the Barber--

You bet six grand on your

dead father's account.

- I need some money right now!

- I'll give you everything I got.

All right. That's a start.

Relax.

Forty-seven dollars.

All right, you owe 6,600.

You pay me a grand a week

until I say stop.

- That's ridiculous. 500.

- 750. Bring it to the barber shop.

You don't want me

to come back here.

They grabbed me outside

the United Center!

Excuse me. I'm Conor O'Neill.

I got an 11:
30 with James Fleming.

Can you lend me...

twelve grand?

What-- do you need to

bury your father again?

What?

Did you dig the guy up

or something?

- What are you, freakin' sick?

- I'm sick?

Four months ago

you come in here crying...

about how you need $5,000

to bury your old man.

I talked to Mahoney

at Mikey's wedding.

It seems he also gave you

And I'm gonna pay Mahoney back.

I don't give a sh*t

how much you owe Mahoney.

Listen, Jimmy, I'm really up

against it right now with Duffy--

And I really don't give a sh*t

how much you owe the bookies.

Come back in here.

You know, this...

just might help you.

-Jimmy, this is only 500 bucks.

- I know.

You're going to coach

a kids' baseball team with me.

Jimmy, I don't think you understand

how serious my situation is.

I'm gonna pay you $500 a week

for the next ten weeks.

That's week one.

-Jimmy, I ain't no good with kids.

- You know, Conor...

I do this to give something

back to the community.

You don't want to do it,

give me the check back.

So, I'll see you

at the field tomorrow.

- 3:
30.

- Where is it?

Right behind that Baptist church

where you used to buy reefer.

The only thing behind that church

is those shitty housing projects.

I'll see you tomorrow.

I'll whack this sh*t to the gate.

You ain't gonna mess with me.

Sh*t.

Yo, check out Coach Jimmy's whip!

Oh, damn, this sh*t is pimped.

Whoa, guys,

don't touch the car.

Yo, Coach Jimmy.

Here's my extra inhaler...

and here's my Sugar Babies

for when my blood needs sugar.

Mom says I do better

when my blood's got sugar in it.

What's your name again?

-Jefferson Albert Tibbs. But--

- Everybody listen!

That gentleman behind you

is Coach Conor.

He'll be taking over

the day-to-day operations.

- What?

- That bum guy's our coach?

Coach Conor just stopped by

to give you the equipment.

Jimmy, I can't do this by myself.

Here's your roster, schedule,

Sugar Babies, inhaler.

I gotta be in New York three weeks.

Training seminar. Can't be avoided.

- Good luck.

- Hey, wait, Jimmy.

- Wait.

- What's wrong with that man?

Wait, wait, wait!

How am I gonna get my money?

Every Monday, Ellen will have

a check for you. Gotta go.

- Five hundred, right?

- Every Monday.

- Five hundred every Monday.

- You bet.

I'll see ya.

- Andre Ray Peetes?

- 'Sup, my brother!

- What position do you play?

- Big Willie.

Whatever, man--

back catcher or center field.

I got mad power.

I pound the sh*t to the gate, yo!

Damn right.

Miles Penn field II?

- This dude.

- Him.

What position does he play?

He says he can pitch, Coach Conor,

but I might pitch too.

- What's your name ?

-Jefferson Albert Tibbs.

Mom says I can play anywhere.

My asthma and all,

I should probably play first.

I gotta keep my sugar up too.

You know, Mom said that

some boys just plain big-boned.

And some boys

just plain fat-assed.

Hi. Matt Hyland,

head of the coaches' committee.

- You the Kekambas?

- What?

- Are you the Kekambas?

- Yeah, b*tch, we the Kekambas.

So, what's up?

Where's James Fleming from

Smyth and Stevens Securities?

He's out of town on business.

I'm assisting him.

What do you got--

six or seven kids?

If you can't field a team,

the league'll drop ya.

I'll tell Coach Fleming--

This is Darryl Mackey.

He's the president of the league.

Last year was a mess.

We had to cancel games

because we'd show up...

and the other team

would have five kids.

Waste of everybody's time.

We're just trying to save everyone

a whole lot of trouble, okay?

If you can't field a nine-man team,

you and the Kekambas should go home.

Talk to Jimmy Fleming at

Smyth and Stevens Securities...

and submit a roster by Friday.

- Friday.

- All right?

Yo, Coach.

Kofi and Ray. Ray want to play.

Is that Kofi Evans and...

- Raymont Bennet?

- Yeah, Coach.

But Miss Wilkes

ain't gonna let them play.

Wait, hey, hey!

Who's Miss Wilkes?

She teaches Saint Malachy. She gets

on my damn nerves, I swear to God!

She is real mean, Coach.

She's an old nasty lady. She tell

your moms every little thing.

Do you know she called my house

every night last year? Every night.

- She won't let these guys play?

- Hell, no!

She said they couldn't play ball

until they do these book reports.

- Kofi ain't doin' sh*t.

- Ray Ray neither. They're like...

"B*tch, quit that noise."

Hey, can we cool it

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