Tin Cup Page #2

TIN CUP:

That stuff's a waste of money.

MOLLY:

I'm sure there are excesses and

repetitions here, but I believe in

the gathering of knowledge and I

figured, well, there must be some

truths about the golf swing

illustrated by these devices -and

that you'd help me sort

through it.

She stands there with contraptions coming from every

limb.

MOLLY:

I have dozens of golf videotapes,

too... And a golf watch.

TIN CUP:

(irritated, impatient)

Take it off. All of it. Now!

You're a smart woman, for

Chrissakes -- don't you know the

work of charlatans when you see

it?

She deposits all the golf gimmick devices in a pile.

MOLLY:

No. I can always tell when

someone is lying to himself, but

I'm quite susceptible and

frequently wrong when that person

lies to me.

(pointing to the

pile of devices)

That stuff cost me over 200

dollars -

TIN CUP:

Then it's 200 dollars of sh*t...

He tees a ball, hands Molly her driver and steps back.

TIN CUP:

Go ahead. Take a swing.

Molly takes a pitty-pat swing and whiffs, and mutters

under her breath with the ease of a longshoreman.

7.

MOLLY:

Aw, f***...

TIN CUP:

Well, you talk like a golfer -

Molly unloads a mighty second swing. The club head

bounces off the mat. The ball sits untouched.

MOLLY:

Sh*t.

TIN CUP:

'F***...' 'Sh*t...' these are

highly technical golf terms and

you're using them on your first

lesson -- this is promising.

MOLLY:

Awright, wise ass, show me.

Tin Cup takes the club from Molly, motions for her to

step back, tees up a ball, and rockets a drive into the

night.

TIN CUP:

Something like that.

He hands her back the club and tees up another ball.

Molly just looks at him.

MOLLY:

Impressive. Y'know, I tend to

process things verbally. Can you

break down into words how you did

that?

Tin Cup takes a deep breath -- this is his speech.

TIN CUP:

'What is the golf swing?' -- by

Roy McAvoy.

(beat)

The golf swing is a poem.

TIN CUP (CONT'D)

Sometimes a love sonnet and

sometimes a Homerian epic -- it is

organic and of a piece, yet it

breaks down into elegant stanzas

and quatrains. The critical

opening phrase of this song is the

grip, in which the hands unite to

form a single unit by the simple

overlap of the smallest finger...

(displays grip)

... held lightly, a conductor's

8.

baton.

(starts swing)

Lowly and slowly the clubhead is

pulled back, led into position

not by the hands but the body

which turns away from the target,

shifting to the right side without

shifting balance. Tempo is

everything, perfection unobtainable,

as the body coils, now to the top

of the swing, in profound equilibrium.

And then a slight hesitation, a nod

to the gods...

MOLLY:

A nod to the gods?

TIN CUP:

To the gods, yes... that he is

fallible. As the weight shifts

back to the left pulled now by

powers inside the earth -- it's

alive, this swing, a living

sculpture -- and down through

contact, always down, into terra

firma, striking the ball crisply

-- with character -- a tuning

fork goes off in your heart, your

balls -- such a pure feeling is

the well-struck golf shot -- And

then the follow through to finish,

always on line -- The reverse 'C'

of the Golden Bear, the steelworker's

power and brawn of Carl Sandburg's

Arnold Palmer, the da Vinci of

Hogan, the unfinished symphony of

Roy McAvoy.

MOLLY:

What? What's unfinished?

TIN CUP:

I have a short follow through -my

swing can look unfinished.

MOLLY:

Why?

TIN CUP:

Some say it's because that's the

best way to play through the winds

of West Texas... and some say it's

because I never finish anything.

You can decide. The point is every

finishing position is unique as if

that is the signature left to the

artist, the warrior athlete who,

9.

finally and thereby, has asserted

his oneness with and power over the

universe by willing a golf ball to

go where he wants and how and when,

because that is what the golf swing

is about...

(finally)

It is about gaining control of

your life, and letting go at the

same time.

Molly stares back, exhausted and intrigued.

MOLLY:

Jeez Louise...

TIN CUP:

There is only one other acceptable

theory of how to hit a golf ball.

MOLLY:

I'm afraid to ask. What's the

other theory?

TIN CUP:

Grip it and rip it.

MOLLY:

While I appreciate your poetic

sensibility, Mr. McAvoy -

TIN CUP:

Call me Roy, Molly...

MOLLY:

Call me Dr. Griswold...

MOLLY (CONT'D)

Roy... but at this point I think

I'm more of the 'grip it and rip

it' school. Hand me the driver.

Tin Cup does. She tees it up.

TIN CUP:

Waggle it, Doc, don't forget to

waggle.

(as she stares at

him)

Waggle... the club head...

(shows her)

... it's a little relaxing

ritual...

She waggles the club head, then takes the club back.

10.

TIN CUP:

Let the Big Dog eat!

She stops, lets the club fall.

MOLLY:

What Big Dog?

TIN CUP:

The driver, the number one wood -

MOLLY:

It's metal.

TIN CUP:

Yeah, woods are metal -- don't

worry about it -- and the driver's

known as the Big Dog and I'm just

saying to turn him loose, let 'er

rip, let the Big Dog eat!

MOLLY:

Oh.

She swings. Tops the ball. It goes ten feet.

MOLLY:

This is, without a doubt, the

stupidest, silliest, most idiotic

grotesquery masquerading as a game

that has ever been invented.

TIN CUP:

(cheerfully)

Yes, ma'am, that's why I love it.

(beat)

And if you hit one good shot -- if

that tuning fork rings in your

loin -- you can't wait to get

back.

She cracks one dead solid perfect out into the night. It

felt great and she knows it.

MOLLY:

I think the Big Dog ate something.

TIN CUP:

Did the tuning fork ring in your

loin?

MOLLY:

I wouldn't go that far.

TIN CUP:

Always quit on a good shot. We'll

call that lesson number one...

11.

(confidentially)

... and if ya wouldn't mind paying

me in cash -- there's a little

I.R.S. situation I'm dealing with

MOLLY:

If you're such a legendary striker

of the golf ball as everyone says,

then why are you, at your age, out

here in the middle of nowhere

operating a barely solvent

establishment, ducking the I.R.S.,

collecting a few pathetic dollars

to buy your next sixpack -- when

you're capable of so much more?

Her speech is delivered without judgement or rancor, so

matter of factly that he's disarmed.

TIN CUP:

Perhaps I'm chocked full of inner

demons?

MOLLY:

No, you're chocked full of

bullshit -

(cheerily)

Same time next week?

She heads off to the parking lot. He stares.

TIN CUP:

What did you mean I should try

'being saddled' sometime?

TIN CUP (CONT'D)

Were you being literal or was that

some kind of Freudian type deal?

Molly? Doctor?

(beat)

What kind of saddle?

CLOSE ON MOLLY:

As she walks into the West Texas night. She smiles,

enjoying Tin Cup's confusion.

Tin Cup just stares into the night, holding his cash, until

JOSE'S VOICE ECHOES down from the roof.

JOSE:

I got it! Esta bien! The flag

is up!

CUT TO:

12.

7 INT. DRIVING RANGE SHACK - NIGHT 7

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