Back in the '80s, the hottest trends were Jams,
Wayfarer, Swatch watches, and acid-wash jeans.
But at William Penn Academy,
there was one item of colorful wool clothing
that the biggest trendsetters were never without.
Is it just me, or does everyone but us have a letterman jacket?
Speak for yourself, bro.
Did I miss the day they sell the clothes from the lost and found?
We earned these. I lettered in badminton.
- Dive team. - Bass fishing.
Wow. This school's athletic department
has really grown in the last few years.
Yep, I'm a jock now,
and I get all the sweet benefits that come with it.
Hello, my romantic equal.
- Die, dork. - And the dance begins.
Well, it's not like I need a stupid varsity letter
to get into film school.
- Au contraire. - Balls!
And balls may be exactly what you need, Mr. Goldberg.
You need to round out your personal journey
with some athletic challenges.
But people who make movies don't care about sports.
Not true.
Alfred Hitchcock... Star tailback.
Ron Howard... Decathlete.
Ridley Scott... Hockey goon.
That all seems super wrong.
But are you saying if I don't get a varsity letter,
I won't get into film school?
I'm not not saying that.
Luckily, I'm heading up a revival
of a storied William Penn athletic institution.
Pickleball!
The sport of kings!
This is William Penn's last championship pickleball team.
Anyone look familiar?
Is that Vidal Sassoon?
That's me... Earl "Mr. March" Ball.
March was the month for the tri-state pickleball finals,
hence the sobriquet.
I mostly follow.
- Nice hair. What happened? - Time.
She's a cruel thief.
She took my golden locks
but also my precious pickleball
from the fore of mainstream sports.
Come on. Pickleball was never a thing.
How dare you?
It swept the nation!
You seem fired up for some reason,
so I'll match your emotion.
Let's do this giant ping-pong thing!
That's the spirit!
Coach Nick,
we got a fresh cucumber ready to be brined.
- Coach him up. - Never.
I'm done with you pushing your filthy pickle in my gym.
Please remember, words matter,
and I am the principal of this school.
And I am the principal of this gym.
The gym is inside the school, so I am principal of both.
Damn it. That tracks.
But I'll still never coach this sorry excuse for a sport.
Yeah, seems like Coach Nick's got some stuff going on.
Why don't you just jump out there and show us what you got?
Hey, everyone. Let's have some fun.
Fresh dill coming your way.
Oh, that seems cute...
Welcome to the pickle, bitch.
Such a regal game.
♪ I'm twisted up inside ♪
♪ But nonetheless, I feel the need to say ♪
Synced & corrected by kinglouisxx www.addic7ed.com
♪ I don't know the future ♪
♪ But the past keeps getting clearer every day ♪
It was January 15th, 1980-something,
and with my dad's birthday fast approaching,
my mom was on edge.
Murray's turning 51 and has forbidden me
from exercising my greatest gift.
Pointing out when someone's put on a couple of pounds?
I'm very perceptive. I can hear it over the phone.
But no, it's planning elaborate, over-the-top birthday parties.
That's exactly what she'd done for my dad's 50th birthday,
but it turned out he hated parties,
so he fell asleep under a pile of coats and missed the whole thing.
Which is why we're just having a stupid family dinner
and I'm presenting him with this tiny scrapbook.
"Murray Goldberg... Husband, Father,
"President of our United Hearts
"Volume 18"?
Well, a legacy this rich
can't be contained in one volume.
The man has two shirts. I think it can be done.
Where'd you get all this stuff, anyway?
His dad gave me a box of old memories.
Grumpy Ben?
I thought he hated memories and Murray and boxes.
Yeah, he's not great.
Yo, where's your checkbook? There's a shirt I want.
I mean... I need to recharge my hug batteries.
Has college taught you nothing?
You open with the hug nonsense.
Go ahead. It's in my purse.
Cheggit, it's Dad's birth certificate.
Whoa. He was a big baby.
They didn't even bother with the ounces.
He's actually a year younger than we thought he was.
Wait. That can't be right.
Trust me, Bev,
the feds don't get this stuff wrong.
Full disclosure...
I thought Dad was in his mid-60s.
If this is real,
then that means Murray is turning 50 again,
which means I get a redo.
That's your takeaway?
I wish I could redo coming over here.
By the power vested in me by me,
I am throwing Murray a second 50th birthday party.
Yeah, I don't think he's gonna be excited
about the party or the life-changing error
that will rock him to his core.
Pishposh.
Murray is gonna be thrilled to hear the great news.
What the hell am I?
50!
Now you get to enjoy
the unspeakably grand second 50th extravaganza
that I am somehow
gonna pull together at the last minute.
I'm sorry. I-I'm kinda reeling here.
My whole life's been a lie.
Big-time.
If I had to guess, it's that your hateful father
screwed up yet another detail of your childhood.
But, hey, cake and presents.
That rotten bastard.
Just go talk to him, tell him how you feel.
Oh, I'm gonna talk to him, all right.
I'm gonna talk to him good.
And also give him this invitation.
How did you get these printed up so quickly?
I get things done.
Now you go get this done with your dad
so we can finally have my party...
Your party. Your party.
While my dad had a bone to pick with his dad,
I had handpicked someone to help me kick butt at pickleball.
Barry, I need your help.
No can do, bro. I've got a midterm.
But I have a sports emergency.
Say no more. But first, say more.
- What is the sport? - Pickleball.
You will be a champion within hours.
You can do that?
Your relentless training begins now.
I could barely do a regular push-up.
This is just you sitting on me.
If you can catch a pickle blindfolded, you can do anything.
- Barry... Oh, oh! - Look alive.
Oh, God! They're wet and surprisingly hard.
Oh, I'm so sorry.
Wax on, wax off.
This is how Daniel-san learned
basic defensive karate moves.
And how to apply an important coat of wax before it rains.
Barry...
You do know how to play pickleball, don't you?
Till today, I never heard of pickleball.
So this was just you sitting on me
and winging pickles at my head
and having me clean your car?
Totally. Wouldn't it be cool if those things
actually made you good at pickleball?
You were last my hope.
Who am I supposed to turn to now?
Chill.
I'll take you to my sports mentor, Coach Mellor.
But Coach Mellor disappeared
to follow his dream to coach wrestling to adult men in the woods.
- We'll never find him. - And yet we will.
I'll tell the police he robbed us at gunpoint.
Then they'll have to find him for us.
Or we could just ask his brother.
Not as fun, but I guess.
Is that one of those pickles you threw at me earlier?
When you get to college, you'll learn the value of a pickle.
While Barry and I set off to find Coach Mellor,
my dad was about to go off on Pop-Pop.
Where you been? I've been out here five minutes.
Oh, I thought you were that busybody lady from across the street
who's always trying to bring me food, make sure I'm okay.
Open the door next time, have a conversation, that'll get rid of her.
- What's crawling up your ass? - This.
What is that? Deed to your fancy house?
Came here to rub it in my face? Nicely played.
It's my birth certificate.
It says I'm a year younger than I thought.
Yeah. Well, oops.
"Oops"? How the hell did this happen?
I was busy. I didn't have time for things like birthdays or meals
or wherever the hell you were.
So, you've known about this my whole life?
No, no. Not your whole life.
I noticed it when you were about 12...
- Or, I guess, 11. - Unbelievable.
Oh, come on. What difference did it make?
The difference of a year.
Here we go again, his highness bellyaching about his birthday.
What birthday? You never even gave me one.
La-di-da. Look who needs a birthday every year.
Who are you, Colonel Sanders?
- The chicken guy? - He was fancy, though, huh?
I mean, who would wear a white suit around all those chickens?
Fine. The Colonel is a Southern dandy.
But you never gave me a card or a cake
or, God forbid, a present!
Well, who knows what kids want?
I told you every year!
Yeah, socks that you'd call your own.
No, a transistor radio to listen to a ball game!
Oh, boo-hoo.
You know what you did get? A roof.
Oh, you spoiled me by letting me indoors.
Can I just say something?
Yeah, give me your half-assed apology.
I wasn't going to apologize.
What I was gonna say was that if anybody handed me an extra year,
I wouldn't spend it complaining about not getting a pony.
Transistor radio!
There he goes again.
Welcome to phase one of your fabulous 50th redo party.
♪ Happy Bir... ♪
Not happy and no parties.
I'll be in the shed.
Check it out.
The breeze from his angry walk-by blew out the candles.
I wonder what he wished for.
If I had to guess, to sit in the shed.
While my dad made party-planning a challenge,
finding Coach Mellor was easier than we thought.
Coach Mellor?
Well, well, well. If it isn't the Goldfarb boys.
- You look... - Like an old, stinky dook
left in your favorite running shoe,
and you want to go for a run, but you can't,
'cause that hot steamer owns that shoe now.
I was gonna say "sad," but sure,
I guess your dook-shoe story is more colorful.
What are you doing here?
I thought you were at billionaire oddball
John du Pont's Foxcatcher Farm.
I was, but those dark woods
hid more secrets than I'm willing to admit.
But I turned that "L" into a "W"
by quitting coaching forever.
But you were the one who always said winners never quit.
And you said the only cure for broken bones is jumping jacks,
which is medically wrong, but inspiring, I guess.
Sorry, boys,
but I've hung up my whistle... there.
- But it's a sports emergency! - It's true.
Without you, I won't get into the one school
that guarantees future success...
Film school.
You know, I've spent so much time
around jacked men pushing physical and societal limits
that I forgot the charming whine of a little boy.
- Is that a yes? - Far from it. I'm no coach.
Look at me. I'm a mess.
I've gained two pounds.
Told you not to eat that 17th almond.
See that? No self-control.
Whatever your thing is... I can't help you, boys. I'm sorry.
Wait, Coach, is that you?
Yeah, that's me.
Were my delts really that jacked?
Damn it, Rick, leave pickleball in the past, where it belongs.
You're just mad 'cause I was a better P-Baller than you were.
Of course I am.
I was an All-American football player,
but God didn't grace me with the delicate wrists
to wield that mighty paddle.
Enough talk about God's fickle nature.
My pathetic-nerd brother
needs someone to show him how to pickle.
It's true. I forgot how pathetic and nerdy he is.
I don't really think that's the main takeaway here.
Look at his spindly arms and toothpick legs.
His concave chest and that doughy neck.
And his flat feet and sickly posture.
Spin around, Adam.
Show us how sad the back of your body is.
Yeah, my instinct is to say no.
You know what? Seeing this tragic excuse
for the human form in its full non-glory
is just the kick
in the two-button polyester shorts I needed.
I'm back, baby!
Whoo!
And someone else is back, too.
Hello, old friend.
Follow me to greatness, boys.
With that, my training began.
My dad didn't want a birthday redo,
but my mom wasn't gonna take "no" for an answer.
Welcome, family and friends of Murray Goldberg.
I've assembled this dream team,
and Essie,
together to brainstorm some ideas
for Murray's 50th surprise party.
Geoff will be writing down your ideas.
Here's an idea.
We don't throw Dad a party
because he clearly said he doesn't want one.
Boo!
Don't write that down.
But Erica's right, Bevy.
The man chose a shed over cake.
That's only because he has never truly had a birthday.
Now, once Murray understands the joy of celebrating his special day,
that shed won't seem like such a fun option.
Please. You just want a redo of his last 50th birthday.
Okay. Let's get pitching.
All right. What does Murray Goldberg like?
Hmm.
Hmm? Hmm? Hmm? There are no bad ideas.
Cheese?
I'm also in a cheese area.
Did somebody already say cheese?
The man does love cheese.
Now we're cooking with gas.
Okay, enough with cheese. He likes other things.
Bevy, maybe we should get the ball rolling
with things he doesn't like.
There's a lot of those.
I'll start. People.
- Dancing. - The Dallas Cowboys.
Neighbors who wave to him.
- Loud music. - Loud birds.
- Quiet birds. - Doctors who advertise.
My nephew, Darrin, for some reason I can't understand.
Parties, which again begs the question,
why are we doing this?
Mrs. Kremp, uh, what did you say after Vic said Cowboys?
Okay, this has obviously been a huge waste of time.
Oh, I know!
Firemen acting like big shots.
We're done, Vic. Thanks for nothing.
Now, I need you all to get the [Bleep] out of my house.
But come back in three hours,
and don't bring any birds or Darrin.
He spells it with an "I."
While my mom's party committee fizzled out,
I was ready to sizzle on the pickleball court.
You boys are in luck.
Not only are you being trained by a pickleball champion,
but that champion happens to have his own court.
Ha-ha!
Uh, you mean this sad dirt patch?
And the net's all broken.
You don't need a net.
I don't know anything about pickleball,
but I'm pretty sure you do.
It's, like, the only thing you need.
Let's get to work.
Lob! Lob! Lob!
It was time to get serious about pickleball.
Erne! Erne! Erne!
Luckily, I had two of the greatest sports mentors watching over me.
- Half Volley! - Half Volley.
Thanks, Coach Echo. Lob!
- Erne! Dink! - But I still sucked.
- Half Volley! - Big-time.
So dense.
That's the beets and pears and bananas
and a second type of beet.
Oh, yeah, that's what I'm tasting.
Nah, you're tasting the brewer's yeast.
Oh!
Again!
But then something crazy happened.
Maybe it was all the yelling
- or the beet smoothie. - Erne!
- Dink! Half Volley! - Either way,
pickleball started to make sense.
Ooh.
Ooh! I brought the heat.
That's one spicy pickle, Goldfarb.
We did good work here today, Coach.
We really did.
This is the first time since I escaped that compound by foot
that I've felt anything but numb.
- What happened there? - I'm not ready.
But I think I kinda am.
I say when you're kinda ready.
You're ready. Kinda.
Meanwhile, my mom was ready to hit my dad
with the best surprise 50th redo ever.
Everyone, come on in. Welcome to Murmania.
Murmania?
Indeed. A love letter to my husband in party form.
You might want to remove your shoes,
'cause I'm about to knock your socks off.
Well, I've got a wicked bunion, but okay.
Pretzels and milk, anyone?
It's Mr. Goldberg's favorite snackable drink.
My dad likes it for some reason.
Behold.
Holy moly. Is that the guy from Channel Five
who hits the chime when he does the weather?
I'd recognize that simple chime anywhere.
Tonight's forecast...
100% chance of Murray's tears of joy.
Oh, my. What's happening here?
Oh, tonight, it's the dining and reclining room.
Whoa, pretzel-y milk and lumbar support.
But wait. There's more.
Please welcome Lee of Lee's Hoagies.
And for our final special guest of the night,
someone my husband has admired for years,
the Phillie Phanatic!
Oh!
The San Diego Chicken's mortal enemy.
You've done it again, Beverly.
You know what, Mom? This is crazy,
and not in your usual clinical way.
- Aww. - Honestly, Dad is gonna love this.
Well, after I asked you fools what Murray would like,
I realized nobody knows that man better than me,
his perfect wife with the beautiful hair and skin.
Oh, Dad's walking up the driveway.
Oh. Uh, okay.
Everybody, shut up!
Shut up. Shut your faces.
Even you, Phillie Phanatic.
Beverly, I don't think he has a working mouth.
Surprise!
In that moment,
my Dad took in everything my mom did
to make his birthday redo perfect,
and all he did was this.
Why, Chime Guy?
While my mom's party was a bust,
I was ready to bust some moves on the pickleball court.
Well, well, well.
Look who heard the siren song of the pickle
and came running back home.
Mr. March.
In the flesh.
Is your protege ready to bring that hot dill?
All that stands in the way
of a letterman jacket and film school
is chopping a backspin to the baseline.
I hope you play as smooth as you talk.
Schernecke!
Goldberg, you beat our worst player, you're on the team.
Wait. I'm our worst player?
Sorry you had to hear it this way,
but glad we don't have to tiptoe around it anymore. Go get 'em.
This was it.
My pickleball journey may have been days in the making,
but thanks to my training,
there was no way I wouldn't dominate the court.
- And I did. - Yeah!
Sports was easy...
Until it wasn't.
Turns out, that point would be my only one.
Try again. Try again.
Yep, that day on the pickleball court,
Matt Schernecke sliced and served me up hard.
Okay, it's 20-1. I think it's safe to call it.
Terrible effort, Goldberg.
Yes! I'm still the worst.
Oh.
Damn it! Now I'll never get into film school.
I just say that to get folks interested in joining the team.
Your future as a filmmaker still may or may not happen.
That was hard to watch.
So, this was all for nothing?
Not nothing.
You proved beyond a shadow of a doubt
that I'm not a coach anymore.
I'm just a man.
A man who has to go to a special gym
to find heavy enough weights to lift. But still just a man.
I'd failed at pickleball,
but I couldn't let Coach Mellor think that he failed me.
What are you doing?
Just sodding over a beautiful pickleball court.
Thinking about putting some azaleas right there,
maybe a lovely crushed-stone path where you're standing.
- So long forever, my special pickle. - I know this is a big blow,
but this yard is gonna be a charming outdoor area for entertaining.
Just say your piece.
I wanted to stop by and say thanks.
Thanks for what? You didn't make the team.
Yeah.
But you never gave up on me.
I-I know you don't feel like a coach,
but I still think you're one of the best.
Yeah.
Truth be told, it was kinda nice getting out there.
Well, you should know, letterman jacket or not,
you've always inspired me.
And you'll always be my coach.
Damn it, Goldberg, you know absolutely nothing about physical fitness,
but you always seem to be able to give my heart a workout.
W-What's this for?
Well, as far as I'm concerned,
you'll always be first string on the team of life.
That's not a thing.
Just put it on.
Now, bring it in for a standing dog pile.
With that, I finally got my letterman jacket.
As for Coach Mellor, he was finally thinking
about getting back in the game.
The thing is, when you make peace with your past,
your future is wide open.
I'm sorry, Murray.
You said you didn't want a party, and I didn't listen.
I-It wasn't that.
It was perfect.
You liked it?
Yeah, all those people, everything you did for me, I loved it.
Then why are you in here?
Oh, geez.
Oh.
My dad never cared about my birthday,
so...
I tried not to care.
But tonight,
I realized how much I missed.
Oh, Murray.
Nah, it's a good thing.
I may have not had a great dad or a great childhood,
but I have a great wife and a great life now.
Well, you know what the best part about this whole thing is?
I saw hoagies down there.
You're a whole year younger than you thought you were.
And even better, I get an extra year with you.
Sometimes, if you're lucky enough,
life gives you a second chance.
It might not happen the way you thought it would,
but often, you'll find the biggest wins are off the court.
Turns out, no matter how you count the years,
time keeps moving.
And sure, it's easy to fear getting older,
but the truth is, if you're busy worrying about the past,
you might not notice that the present moments
are often the perfect ones.
And in the end, those are the ones you'll remember forever.
Here. I, uh, got ya something.
Don't make a big deal.
Now you can listen to all your ball games or whatever.
- I love it! - Yeah, well, anyway, uh...
Happy birthday.
So, that's the story
of the second time my dad turned 50
and how he always said
it was one of the best nights of his life.
Give him this invitation.
How you doing, everybody? I'm Adam Goldberg.
It's my dad's birthday right now,
and he is 50 or 51. We don't really know.
♪ Happy Birthday ♪
50 years, and look what I have to show for it.
Well, well, well.
Look who came to dance one last pickle.
Hey, Mr. March, or should I say,
Mr. March Your Ass Out of Here on a Stretcher?
That was tortured.
Like your forehand.
I hope you got your hot dog ready,
because you're about to be relish, my friend.
Bring the pickle!
Pickle!
Aah! Damn it, that hurt!
Curse you and this God-awful excuse for a sport!
Synced & corrected by kinglouisxx www.addic7ed.com