Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Let's see your glove, Champ. Looks good to me.

will defend his heavyweight title

Go back where you came from before I rip your fuckin' heart out.

- Sit down. - I just stood up.

The merlot Brougham. It's a fine car, but nothing like a Rolls-Royce.

You take over his organization and you get me my job back.

this is all the love you show me?

Fuck you, you whore. I quit.

- Oh, sorry. Merlot. - Yeah.

- Dolph Lundgren. - I like this guy.

- Am I that fat? - Nah. Just a whole lot of man.

All right. Now, use your head. Have a good fight.

Stop running like a… Verstappen

Mr. Julio Escobar.

- Say what? - For a white boy.

You gotta stop eating this stuff... and do some roadwork.

the man next in line to fight James Roper.

Let's see what we got here.

You disrespect me cos you threw a sucker punch? I'll show your white ass.

So, um... what about all these reports of all this room service?

And the greatest fighter. No man can beat this man at this point in his life,

- The fight of the century. - Hundred years. You.

- You OK, boss? - Never more lucid. Turn on the camera.

Oh, you nailed him! You rocked his ass.

Two bucks on the clean-cut white boy.

I'll call Bert Sugar.

- When the bell rings, he's dog meat. - Dog meat.

Thanks, man. I... You know, that's... you know, that really means a lot.

I can make him credible... till he gets in the ring.

dżyzas ja pierdole

That's all. Like my daddy say - you out there, James?

No, really, I believe that.

You know what? I don't need this shit.

I want to destroy you.

Think about it. This could be the fight of the century.

- My bro...? Oh, hell, no!

The highest-grossing fight in the history of boxing...

Happy birthday, Mrs. Ned Ashton.

The guy never met a meal he didn't like.

There's three of you and one of me, and you're running like roaches.

- Can you tell me why, James? - Yeah. Cos Cooney was a white boy.

Well, now I want the WBI to rank him in the top ten so I can give him a title shot.

You're a fake, a bully. I don't like what you do to Girl Scouts.

We're about to be champs, baby!

Now, that's entertainment.

- So what? - Yeah, so what? BFD.

And I love you.

I don't mean to correct you in front of your people, but it's merlot.

He's not eating any of this stuff?

Irish Terry Conklin.

That's all you got for me? Huh? Who's the champ? Who's the champ?

He drives a Brougham.

Till you beat me, I am the champ.

Not at all. He hit me one time, to wake me up, because I was bored.

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I'll hire Conklin's lawyer. How are the contracts?

Hey, Mr. Chump. I mean, Mr. Champ.

- Have you read it? - I don't need to read it. I'll sue your ass.

But this is not a boxing arena. It's the Globe Theatre. It's the Old Vic.

- Wardell. - Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Excuse me. Excuse me.

But wasn't that you on the cover of Playboy magazine?

By the time our journey is over, I'm gonna expose him for what he really is:

Happy birthday Brother

Hey, I'm glad we could, you know, straighten this out. Is this rayon?

no, no, no, no!

- Cos Tyson wasn't ready to fight. - Don't worry. When the bell ring, I'm in there.

Grim Reaper, whatever he calls himself - ducking me.

- Take it... take it easy. - I will.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Watch that overhand right.

Ring Magazine says the fight is a fraud!

I'm concerned that the champ is maybe too far gone to beat this Conklin kid.

Good left hook, great overhand right. Undefeated as an amateur.

Happy Birthday Matt