Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

- Say what? - For a white boy.

Fuck you, you whore. I quit.

Happy Birthday Matt

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

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

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

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

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

will defend his heavyweight title

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

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

- Oh, sorry. Merlot. - Yeah.

Ring Magazine says the fight is a fraud!

I'll call Bert Sugar.

Happy birthday Brother

Stop running like a… Verstappen

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

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

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

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

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

Till you beat me, I am the champ.

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

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

Grim Reaper, whatever he calls himself - ducking me.

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

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

- Sit down. - I just stood up.

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

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

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

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

Mr. Julio Escobar.

No, really, I believe that.

©2013 Columbia pictures industries inc. all rights reserved

this is all the love you show me?

dżyzas ja pierdole

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

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

- Dolph Lundgren. - I like this guy.

Let's see what we got here.

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

He's not eating any of this stuff?

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

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

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

Oh, you nailed him! You rocked his ass.

Now, that's entertainment.

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

Watch that overhand right.

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

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

Irish Terry Conklin.

We're about to be champs, baby!

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

He drives a Brougham.

no, no, no, no!

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

the man next in line to fight James Roper.

Happy birthday, Mrs. Ned Ashton.

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

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

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

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

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

Two bucks on the clean-cut white boy.

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

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

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

And I love you.

I want to destroy you.

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

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

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.