Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

He likes the pop-in. I've told him how I hate the pop-in.

I was primed for the first row. I was gonna put my feet on the dugout.

They are a loathsome, offensive brute.

How dare you impugn my clicking.

All my life I've dreamed of sitting front row, behind the dugout.

Hey, how you doing?

- Maybe you should ask him. - I don't have to.

Oh, are you interested?

Not if you have a lot of money.

Yeah. So Lenny gave me the tickets for tomorrow night.

No, no, no. George, a deal's a deal. I want you to have it.

Well, fan... You know, my father-

Five thousand? Why would anybody buy Kramer for $5000?

Maybe I was wrong about her.

She was a guest of my father's.

We took him to the emergency room. The x-rays were all negative.

...you know, I feel like I'm stealing from you.

- Yeah. - Okay. Bye.

- Enjoy the game. - Thanks.

Well, I was leaving anyway. So we're on for tomorrow?

I don't opt for happiness. I opt for happiness.

If you were going out with her, it'd be a different story.

We're not gonna show it, don't want to encourage that kind of behaviour.

- Elaine, just take the cap off. - No! Get off of my hat!

- There's your cap! - Let's go.

My father's the Yankees' accountant. It's the owner's box.

- There's George. - Look at him.

It's a bunch of squiggly lines.

How's it coming?

That's Lenny West, my accountant, who's a hell of a guy.

She does abstract stuff. In fact, she's painting Kramer right now.

There's nothing to read. It's yesterday's news.