Last modified on 28 November 2013, at 08:41

Major League

Major League is a 1989 film about the hapless Cleveland Indians, whose new owner puts together a purposely horrible team so they'll lose and she can move the team. But when the plot is uncovered, they start winning just to spite her.

Written and directed by David S. Ward.
When these three oddballs try to play hardball, the result is totally screwball. taglines


Jake TaylorEdit

  • [in Mexico, upon receiving a phone call asking him to report to Cleveland Indians spring training] ... is that you, Tolbert?! This isn't very funny, you know. I'm hung over! My knees are killin' me and if you're going to pull this shit at least you could've said you were from the Yankees.
  • [to Rexman] Hey, Rexman! Hell of a situation we got here. Two on, two out, you guys trailing by one in the ninth. You got a chance to be a hero on national television... if you don't blow it. By the way, I saw your wife at the Capri Lounge last night. Hell of a dancer. You must be very very proud. Oh, and that guy she was with? Oh, i'm sure he's a close personal friend and all, but tell me, what was he doing wearing her panties on his head? [Rexman pops the ball straight up] Uh-oh, Rexy I don't think this one's got the distance.
  • Second base... [underthrows second baseman] shit.
  • [about to find out whether he's made the team] Come on Jake. It's only your life.
  • [He tries to throw a runner out, talking to himself] Don't bounce the damn ball...[Overthrows the second baseman] Nice throw, dickhead.

Willie Mays HayesEdit

  • [sliding into home plate in a tux] The American Express Card. Don't steal home without it.
  • [Introducing himself] Willie Mays Hayes. I play like Mays, and I run like Hayes.
  • Don't you guys go anywhere. I plan to put on a hitting display.
  • Cerrano's looking for some extra power for tonight. He's looking to sacrifice a live chicken. Hey Jake, man, we can't have people puking in the locker room before the game!
  • [later, with Cerrano having struck out again] We should've got the live chicken.

Harry DoyleEdit

  • In case you haven't noticed, and judging by the attendance you haven't, the Indians have managed to win a few here and there, and are threatening to climb out of the cellar.
  • Vaughn, a juvenile delinquent in the off-season, in his major league debut.
  • Vaughn into the windup for his first offering... [ball thrown several feet off the plate] Just a bit outside. He tried the corner and missed.
  • Ball four...ball eight...low and Vaughn has walked the bases loaded on twelve straight pitches. Geez, How can guys lay off pitches that close?
  • Just a reminder fans about Die Hard Night coming up here in the stadium. Free admission to anyone who was actually alive the last time the Indians won the pennant. [35 years prior.]
  • The post-game show is brought to you by... [searches through his papers] Christ, I can't find it. The hell with it!
  • Heywood leads the league in most offensive categories, including nose hair. When this guy sneezes, he looks like a party favor.
  • Vaughn deals...and Heywood swings and crushes one towards South America. Tomlinson will need a visa to catch this one, it is out of here and there is nothing left but a vapor trail.
  • Well, you can close the book on Kellner. [covers microphone with hand and turns to Monty] Thank God!
  • We don't know where Hayes played last year, but I'm sure he did a helluva job.
  • Heywood's a convicted felon, isn't he Monty? [Monty: Ah...doesn't really say it here.] Well, he should be!
  • Hayes is picked off! Well, so much for that. Personally I think we got hosed on that call.
  • And for the Indians, that's one run on, let's see...one hit? That's all we got?, one goddamn hit? [Monty: You can't say "goddamn" on the air!] Don't worry; nobody's listening anyway.
  • And the Indians win it! The Indians win it! OH MY GOD, THE INDIANS WIN IT!

Lou BrownEdit

  • Forget about the curve ball, Ricky. Give him the heater!
  • [After Hayes has made a Willie Mays style basket catch] Nice catch, Hayes. Don't ever fuckin' do it again.
  • Well, you may run like Hayes, but you hit like shit.
  • [After Dorn has jumped out of the way of a ground ball and then tried to field it anyway] C'mon, Dorn! Get in front of the damn ball! Don't give me this '¡Olé!' bullshit!
  • [Contemplating Rick Vaughn in sleeveless uniform] Alright, Vaughn. They tell us you're a pitcher; you're sure not much of a dresser. We wear caps and sleeves at this level, son! Understood?

OthersEdit

  • Eddie Harris: Up your butt, Jobu.
  • Eddie Harris: Are you trying to say Jesus Christ can't hit a curveball?
  • Eddie Harris: Yo, bartender, Jobu needs a refill.
  • Pedro Cerrano: [having decided on a new use for Dorn's golf club covers] Hats for bats, keep bats warm.
  • Pedro Cerrano: Jobu... I go to you. I stick up for you. And you no help me now... I say fuck you Jobu. I do it myself.
  • Pedro Cerrano: Is very bad to steal Jobu's rum... Is very bad.
  • Roger Dorn: Let's cut through the crap, Vaughn. I only got one thing to say to you: "Strike this mother fucker out."
  • Roger Dorn: [Talking about a ground ball he missed] It was out of my reach. What did you want me to do, dive for it?
  • Rachel Phelps: [while Wild Thing is playing] I hate this fuckin' song.

DialogueEdit

Lou: I thought you said we didn't have any high-priced talent.
Charlie Donovan: Forgot about Dorn, cause he's only high-priced. Picked him up as a free agent three years ago.
Lou: Still hits the ball well, doesn't he?
Charlie Donovan: Yeah, just can't field it. [Dorn gives cocky gesture to them]
Lou: We'll shape him up.

[Vaughn pulls up on a motorcycle]

Pepper: Look at this fuckin' guy.
Lou: [Chuckles] It's my kinda team, Charlie, my kinda team.

Haywood: Taylor, what are you doin' back up here?
Taylor: I couldn't cut it in the Mexican Leagues.
Haywood: How's your wife and my kids?

Willie Mays Hays: Call the stewardess, Vaughn. I need one of those bags!
Rick Vaughn: There aren't any stewardesses.
Willie Mays Hays: I wonder if there are any pilots!

Jake Taylor: Um, the Indians.
Chaire Holloway: Here in Cleveland? I didn't know they still had a team!
Jake: Yup, we've got uniforms and everything, it's really great!

Cafe Waitress: Spring training starts on the 1st. How do you think the Indians will do this year?
Cafe patron: [Reading newspaper] Doesn't look too good.

[Cuts to a construction site]

Construction worker: Doesn't look too fucking good.

[Cuts to two Japanese groundskeepers working on the Indians playing field]

Groundskeeper #1: [In Japanese] They're shitty.
Groundskeeper #2: Hai.

[Spring training has ended, Indians roster is announced.]

Cafe patron: [Reading roster] Rick Vaughn? Willie Hays? I never heard of most of these guys. Mitchell Friedman??

[Cuts to construction site]

Construction worker: Who are these fucking guys?

[Cuts to groundskeepers]

Groundskeeper #1: [In Japanese] They are shitty.
Groundskeeper #2: Hai

[Near middle of the season, Indians starting to climb out of last place]

Cafe patron: You know, they could be a lot worse.

[Cuts to construction site]

Construction worker: You know, these guys aren't so fucking bad.

[Cuts to groundskeepers]

Groundskeeper #1: [In Japansese] They're still shitty.
Groundskeeper #2: Hai

[After first day of workouts in spring training]

Willie: 200 pushups! How am I supposed to hit if I can't lift my arms? Shit!
Jake: Well, the way I played today, I wouldn't be surprised if they red-tagged me, already.
Willie: Huh?
Jake: If you get a red tag in your locker, it mean's the skipper wants to see you, because you just died and went back down to the minors.

[Vaughn, starting to open his locker, stops at this. Taylor notices.]

Jake: Hey, don't worry, kid. They don't cut anybody on the first day. [Vaughn nonetheless keeps his locker closed.]



Rick: What's that shit on your chest?
Eddie: [wipes his finger across his chest] Crisco, [Runs his hand through his hair] Bardol, [Wipes his finger on his hip] Vagisil. Any one of them will give you another two to three inches drop on your curve ball. 'Course if the umps are watching me real close I just rub a little jalapeño juice up my nose, get it runnin', and if I need to load the ball up I just... [wipes his nose] ...wipe my nose.
Rick: You put snot on the ball?
Eddie: I haven't got an arm like yours; I have to put anything on it I can find. Someday you will too.

[wearing tuxedos, the whole team stands behind Home Plate]
All: Hello. Do you know us?
[putting on their caps]
All: We're a Major League Baseball team.
Jake: But since we haven't won a pennant in over 30 years, nobody recognizes us - not even in our own home town.
Eddie: That's why we carry the American Express card.
Rick: No matter how far out of first we are, it's cool. You know, it keeps us from getting shut out at our favorite hotels and restaurant-type places.
Pedro: So if you're looking for some Big-League clout, apply for that little green home-run hitter.
Roger [Acting very stiffly compared to everyone else]: Look what it's done for us. People still DON'T recognize us but... [snaps his fingers]
Lou: We're contenders now.
Willie: [slides into Home Plate and holds up a green credit card] The American Express card: Don't steal home without it.

Jake: That's my wife...
Willie: Does she know that?
Jake: Well, she would've been if I hadn't screwed it up... who's that guy she's with?
Willie: I don't know. He's not wearing a name tag.
Rick: Want me to drag him outta here, kick the shit out of him?

Harry: [reading statistics on the air] And the Indians drop this one, 6-to-one to the Rangers. For the Indians, one run on, let's see, one hit...that's all we got? One god-damned hit?
Monty: [covering microphone] You can't say "god-damn" on the air!
Harry: Don't worry. Nobody's listening, anyway.

Charlie Donovan: Vaughn's been looking good out there today.
Rachel Phelps: Don't worry, he'll blow it.

[the Indians board reacting to Rachel Phelps's spring training roster]

Board Member #1: I've never heard of half of these guys and the ones I do know are way past their prime.
Charlie: Most of these guys never had a prime.
Rachel Phelps: The facts are, we lost our two best players to free agency. We haven't won a pennant in over thirty-five years, we haven't placed higher than 4th in the last fifteen. Obviously, it's time for some changes.
Board Member #2: This guy here is dead.
Rachel Phelps: [obviously...] Cross him off, then.

Lou: [answering the phone] Tire World.
Charlie: Lou, it's Charlie Donovan with the Cleveland Indians. How would you like to manage the Indians this year?
Lou: Gee, I don't know...
Charlie: What do you mean, you don't know? This is a chance to manage in the big leagues.
Lou: Lemme think it over, will ya, Charlie? I got a guy on the other line about some white walls. I'll talk to ya later.

Charlie: We heard about your pitching out of Portland last year...
Rick: I'm not really with them anymore...
Charlie: We'd still like to take a look at you in our spring training camp in Arizona, March the first.
Rick: [He's in jail.] I'm ... uh... not sure I can make it by then.



Jake: Que pasa there, Pedro?
Pedro: Bats, they are sick. I can no hit curve ball. Straight ball, I hit it very much. Curve ball, bats are afraid. I ask Jobu to come, take fear from bats. I offer him cigar and rum. He will come.
Eddie: You know you might think about taking Jesus Christ as your savior instead of fooling around with all this stuff.
Roger: Shit, Harris! [leaves]
Pedro: Ah, Jesus (pronounced "hay-seuss"). I like him very much, but he no help with curve ball.
Eddie: You trying to say Jesus Christ can't hit a curve ball?
Jake: Ok, Harris, let's not start a holy war here.

Tom: Stay away from her.
Jake: Suck my dick.

Jake: [at the library, discussing Jake's one-night stand with a flight attendant] I had no choice. She bet me fifty dollars that she had a better body than you and I had to defend your honor.
Lynn Wells: Oh, what a bunch of bullshit! I have a much better body than she does!
[everyone in the library turns to look]
Jake: [to others] She's right.

Rick: I got news for you Mr. Brown, you haven't heard the last of me. You may think I'm shit now, but someday you're gonna be sorry you cut me. I'm gonna catch on somewhere else and every time that I pitch against you I'm gonna stick it up your fuckin' ass! [throws baseball against locker]
Lou: Good! I like that kind of spirit in a player. The only problem is I didn't cut you.
Rick: What?
Lou: I think someone's been having some fun with you.

Roger: [after Rick tackled him, and the two have been separated] Don't fuck with me, Vaughn!
Rick: Yeah? [shouting] Fuck you!
Roger: What's the matter, rookie Fuck-Wad? Can't you take a little joke?
Rick: Real fucking funny, asshole.
Lou: All right, [shouting] All right. Knock that shit off.
Roger: Lou, you better make it real clear to this little lady that I'm not about to take his shit.
Lou: Shut up, Dorn.

Jake: What I was concerned with was why you didn't come up with that grounder that Ryckert hit in the 9th?
Roger: It was out of my reach. What did you want me to do, dive for it?
Jake: Rog, it could have meant the game!
Roger: Oh come on, cut the rah rah shit Taylor! Year after this I go free agent. Plus me and my agent got a couple of plans for life after baseball. So I am not about to risk major injury or deface this property for a collection of stiffs!
Jake: Ya know Dorn, I liked you so much better when you were just a ballplayer. You were really great, once. If you wanna be an interior decorator now, that's none of my business. But some of us still need this team. Now you listen to me! This is my last shot at a winner and for some of the younger guys it could be their only shot. I don't know what happened to you. But if you ever, ever tank another play like you did today, I'm gonna cut your nuts off and stuff em down your fuckin' throat!

Willie: [looks over Jake's shoulder and see's him reading a comic book] Moby Dick? What you reading that for?
Jake: This happens to be a masterpiece of American Literature.
Willie: [chuckles] Lynn turn you on to that?
Jake: Yeah... a long time ago.
Willie: Well listen, if we ever get out of here, me and the other guys are going to a club later on tonight. You want to come with us?
Jake: [frustrated] Oh, I can't, I got some reading to do.
Willie: [rolls his eyes] What man, you got a test or something? Jake, man why don't you just go over there and see her. Maybe she'll let you slide on a couple of these.
Jake: Well I would if I knew where she lived.
Willie: That's easy! Just tail her home from the library.
Jake: You mean sit in my car and wait for her to get out of work and then follow her? That's kind of juvenile, don't you think?
Willie: [ponders it for a split second] Yeah!

Willie: What the hell league you been playing in?
Rick: California Penal...
Willie: Never heard of it. How'd you end up playing there?
Rick: Stole a car.

Harry: [before the playoff game] Monty, anything to add?
Monty: Ummm... no.
Harry: He's not the best color man in the league for nothing, folks!

Heywood: [after Hayes reached on a bloop infield single] You really knocked the crap out of that one.
Willie: Oh, I plan to get at least a double out of this. [shows Heywood his black gloves] I bought a hundred of these. One for every base I'm gonna steal. Excuse me while I take my first step toward the Hall of Fame.
Heywood: My ass.
Harry: [Hayes takes his lead off first base] We don't know where Hayes played last year, but I'm sure he did a hell of a job.
Heywood: You're gonna look real sharp, tryin' to steal second with your shoe untied.
Harry: [Hayes looks down, then gets thrown out by the pitcher] Throw to first... Hayes is picked off! Personally, I think we got hosed on that call.

Lou: [at a team meeting] Can I have your attention, please? I have something I think you all ought to know about. It seems that Mrs. Phelps doesn't think too highly of our worth. She put this team together because she thought we'd be bad enough to finish dead last, knocking attendance down to the point where she could move the team to Miami... and get rid of all of us for better personnel.
Roger: Even me?
Lou: Even you, Dorn.
Eddie: What if we DON'T finish last?
Lou: She'll REPLACE you with somebody who WILL. After this season, you'll be sent back to the minors or given your outright release.
Jake: [stands] Well then I guess there's only one thing left to do.
Roger: What's that?
Jake: Win the whole fucking thing.
[long pause]
Willie: [stands] Yeah.
Pedro: [pounds his hand] YES!

Lou: [After Dorn boots a grounder] C'mon, Dorn! Get in front of the damn ball! Don't give me this olè bullshit!
Roger: Look, I took one of those in the eye last year, and I am not about to lose my sight!
Lou: [Unconcerned] I'm deeply moved. Every time I see you play one off the hip, you owe me forty sit-ups.
Roger: What?

[Later on, Roger appears with a contract]

Roger: Look here, Lou. My contract clearly states I don't have to do any calisthenics that I don't feel are necessary. So what do you think about that?

[Lou grabs the contract, throws it on the ground, and urinates on it before walking away]


[Vaughn has just given up a grand slam in his first appearance of the season]
Pepper: Go get him?
Lou: No, let's see how he reacts.
Harry: Well Brown is apparently going to stick with Vaughn here as the Indians trail 8-0. Coleman steps in - a .281 lifetime hitter. Taylor with the sign; Vaughn into the motion with his pitch.
[Vaughn beans Coleman between the shoulder blades]
Harry: Uh oh!
Lou: Interesting.
Harry: 'Bout time, it's 8-0.
Umpire: [To Vaughn] You! You're gone!
Rick: What?!
Umpire: You heard me, you're gone!
Rick: He was right on top of the plate!
Lou: I think you can go get him now.
Rick: The ball slipped out of my hand, it was an accident!
Umpire: You threw at him intentionally.
Rick: Oh, kiss my ass!
Umpire: Get out of here.
Rick: You're full of shit! Fuck you!
Umpire: Get out of here, rookie!
Rick: Hey, why don't you blow me, ump?!

TaglinesEdit

  • When these three oddballs try to play hardball, the result is totally screwball.
  • A comedy with bats and balls.

CastEdit

See alsoEdit

External linksEdit

Wikipedia
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