Slap Shot Page #7

- Well, any fool can fight.

- No, I swear to you.

The Chiefs will be sittin' pretty in Florida

when this town is a stinkin' memory.

You see, I personally

have been talkin' to the owner,

which is why I've been

too busy to call you.

Every wakin' hour

I'm on the phone with this guy...

Reggie, Reggie. I'm moving.

- What?

- To Long lsland.

A gal who works

in a shop there has a space open.

Business here is just dead.

Are you really goin'?

You know, we have

to get divorced one of these days.

I mean, I could meet somebody,

you could meet somebody, you know?

Yeah?

Well, don't look so sad.

It's gonna be a big one!

- See those guys?

- Reggie, look. I'm late.

I'll write you when I get settled.

Hey. I'll try to call you before you go.

- It sucks!

- No, son. It looks nice and sells hockey.

It ain't mean enough.

Put some blood in there.

Show somebody gettin' hurt.

A groin injury.

Put a f***in' map of Florida

in the background. Get some tits in!

Put a "For Sale" sign on the bottom.

I don't want any tits

and I don't want any "For Sale" sign.

Jesus.

Remember that great

Peterborough game in... '68?

Yeah. What about it?

Jacky St Pierre's wife left him.

My God, it was snowing like hell

before we even got to the motel.

- Yeah.

- Jacky had a whole keg sent in.

Poor Jacky. He had a future.

I told him to watch that drunk drivin'.

God, Joe, did we ever get shitfaced!

And Jacky told everybody he was gonna

get Jill back even if he had to beg her.

- I told him not to do that.

- Oh, I think he shoulda.

She was a dynamite broad.

- God, did we get shitfaced.

- I liked Jacky.

- Yeah. He could've been great.

- Yeah.

And remember

I went up to your room afterwards

and you were dressed

in chick's clothes?

Yeah, you had on

this black bra with tassels.

You were dancing in front of a mirror

with this kinda zebra-skin jockstrap.

Remember how I screamed at you

when you started comin' on to me

and I just said "Jesus, stop it, Joe.

I'm ashamed of you."

Damn you.

I wanted to tell you

that I forgot the whole thing.

Years have passed.

Now I'm sexually liberated.

I don't care who's a fag no more.

I mean, who cares?

It's natural. It's all around us.

Who's the owner, Joe?

He's probably calling Florida.

See how the sale is going.

I was in Florida once, on a Southern tour,

where I met this little redhead

who was an underwater specialist.

The first thing she says to me

was "Come on out by the pool."

So I went out, and she comes

leaping out with this banner,

wearing nothing

but this little see-through wet suit.

- Hey, Reg, I want a chair by the pool.

- I want some snatch by the pool.

- Reg, you want a Coke?

- No, I can't.

I'm tapin' an interview at the station.

They're playin' it at four. Don't miss it.

That was some road trip. Six straight wins

and a whole new rash of penalty minutes.

Well, we got a whole new attitude.

What about the Hanson brothers?

They're not just bullies?

Just bullies?

They scare the bejesus outta everybody!

- Deliberately?

- Well...

I'd like the folks to come down and watch

us cream them punks from Syracuse.

Anything new on the sale of the Chiefs?

I think the negotiations are...

you know, goin' pretty good.

I have a personal announcement, though.

I am placing a personal bounty

on the head of Tim McCracken.

He's the coach

and chief punk on that Syracuse team.

- A bounty?

- Yeah.

A hundred bucks of my own money for

the first of my men that nails that creep.

That's eight o'clock at the War Memorial,

the Syracuse

and the all-new Charlestown Chiefs.

- Thanks, Reg.

- Not to worry, kid.

I'm placing a personal bounty

on the head ofTim McCracken.

He's the coach

and chiefpunk on that Syracuse team.

- A bounty?

- Yeah.

A hundred bucks ofmy own money

for the first ofmy men that...

- Yeah?

- Are you nuts?

- Bullshit!

- A bounty!

- We could all land in the clinker for this.

- Oh, big deal, Joe.

You can't put a bounty on a man's head!

I just did.

- Yeah?

- Reg? It's Killer.

- Oh. Hi, Killer.

- I want that $100.

Well, you gotta earn it, Killer.

- My attitude's right.

- Uh-huh. OK, kid.

In-f***ing-credible.

Who is it?

Yeah?

- Hi.

- Hi.

- What's up?

Jesus.

Come on in.

- Well, I did it.

- You bet you did. You did, you bet.

The wedding presents my side gave.

50-50, right?

Can you get my clothes?

Sure.

Jesus, did you write him a note?

Do you think I should have?

I don't know.

He's sure gonna think the worst.

- Hey, Lily, we're gonna have a ball.

- We are?

Except right now I gotta take a nap.

I mean, I put a bounty on this guy's head.

If I don't get some shuteye...

If I don't get some shuteye,

I'll get murdered out there on the ice.

Otherwise I would've given you a night on

the town. We could've gone to the Aces.

She won't mind. She's great to sleep with.

Ned sleeps with her before every game.

Her breathing makes him

feel more secure.

Listen, Reg,

I'm gonna get a grip on myself.

I'm gonna start using my imagination,

go with the traffic.

I've been going about this all wrong.

I probably am terrific.

You want some spaghetti?

Reg?

Run the siren.

Run the goddamn siren. I'm payin' for it.

Let 'em know

there's gonna be blood in there.

I can circle, but it's gonna cost you more.

Oh, for Christ's sake.

- There.

Don't ever play "Lady of Spain" again!

Jesus Christ.

- Hey, McCracken.

- Dunlop, you suck cock.

All I can get.

$100 bounty on the head of famed

Syracuse stick man Tim McCracken.

McCracken, also known as Dr Hook for

his scalpel-like prowess with the stick,

has been known to carve a man's eye out

with a flick of the wrist.

There's a carnival-like atmosphere here.

The crowd is gathered and, well, you can

feel it, there's an air of expectancy...

Syracuse skating out now.

We're looking forward to a real contest.

We're ready to face off in the

middle circle. The referee is ready.

The linesmen for tonight...

Go, Chiefs, go! Go, Chiefs, go!

$100 says you're gonna crack my skull.

- I wouldn't crack your knuckles for $100.

- So he's bluffin'.

Somebody's gonna kill you, you dumb

son of a b*tch, but it's not gonna be me.

Good pass!

Go on, man! Hit him!

What's the matter with you?

You're a Chief!

- Come on.

- Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Fight back!

You son of a b*tch! Get over here!

- Chickenshit yellow-belly.

- I scored, you f***ing has-been.

They don't want you to score goals.

They want blood. They're booin' you.

Go get him, Killer!

Come on, you son of a b*tch. Come on!

- Come on, Killer!

- We win cos I score goals.

Oh, kiss my ass.

We win cos I make 'em crazy.

- Nail him!

- You don't make me crazy.

I will, cos you're benched.

You want ice time, come and tell me

when you wanna play it my way.

- You're the biggest p*ssy in the league.

- I like p*ssy.

Oh, yeah? Well, that's not what

I hear from your wife. I hear...

Go get him, Killer!

Real old-fashioned guts,

for Dave "Killer" Carlson

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