Principal:
Mr. Madison, the Industrial Revolution changed the face of the modern novel forever. Discuss, citing specific examples. [Billy clears his throat several times]
Billy Madison:
Uh... Okay. The Industrial Revolution to me is just like a story I know called "The Puppy Who Lost His Way." The world was changing, and the puppy was getting... bigger. [Later]
Billy Madison:
So, you see, the puppy was like industry. In that, they were both lost in the woods. And nobody, especially the little boy - "society" - knew where to find 'em. Except that the puppy was a dog. But the industry, my friends, that was a revolution. [Long pause]
Billy Madison:
Knibb High football rules! [the crowd erupts into cheers]
Principal:
Mr. Madison, what you have just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
Billy Madison:
Okay, a simple "wrong" would've done just fine.
Bertier:
[sees Sunshine get out of car with long hair] Hey fellas! Look at that fruit cake!
Coach Yoast:
Gerry, just keep your mouth shut and get back on that field!
Colonel William G. Bass:
Coach Boone, I'm Colonol Bass. We just got transfered here from Huntington Beach, California, this is my son, Ronnie, he's a quarterback.
Coach Boone:
[shakes Sunshine's hand] How you doin' Ronnie?
Colonel William G. Bass:
Coach Yoast.
Coach Yoast:
[shakes Sunshine's hand as well] My Pleasure.
Coach Boone:
We're pretty set at the, uh, quarterback colonel. But if they boy's any good, you might want to check out Wilson or Hamilton.
Colonel William G. Bass:
Well, I met Coach Taber. He won't let blacks play on his team. The way I see it, if these boys can fight a war together, they can play football together. Now, he's a pretty good runner.
Ronnie "Sunshine" Bass:
[chucks football towards Gerry, who is decently far away]
Bertier:
[spins around, angry, as football hits him square in the back]
Big Ju:
[laughing hysterically] Yeah, a Fruitcake, huh?
Tony D'Amato:
I'll tell you this, in any fight it's the guy whose willing to die whose gonna win that inch. And I know, if I'm gonna have any life any more it's because I'm still willing to fight and die for that inch, because that's what living is, the six inches in front of your face. Now I can't make you do it. You've got to look at the guy next to you, look into his eyes. Now I think ya going to see a guy who will go that inch with you. Your gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team, because he knows when it comes down to it your gonna do the same for him. That's a team gentlemen, and either, we heal as a team, or we will die as individuals. That's football guys, that's all it is. Now what are you gonna do?
Annie Lamm:
Grandpa, can I drive?
Barney:
You want to get us killed, kid?
Annie Lamm:
Oh, come on.
Barney:
What if a cop sees us? Or worse, your mother?
Annie Lamm:
There are only three cops on this Island, and they play paper football all day! I can do it.
Barney:
Driving a car is a little harder than a boat, Missy. Ane we all know how that turned out.
Grandpa Donald:
I don't know, Annie...
Annie Lamm:
OK... I guess when I'm your age I won't be able to tell my grandkis that my Grandpa taught me how to drive. It'll just be some random boyfriend instead.
Barney:
Captain, are you crazy?
Grandpa Donald:
Oh, don't get your panties all in a bunch. Live a little.
Barney:
I'd like to live a lot, that's the problem.
Annie Lamm:
Don't worry, Barney. I'm a good driver.
Barney:
I hope they spell my name right in the obituaries.
Trent:
You know, I thought I recognized you. You tried out for the football team last year, right?
Sam Witwicky:
Oh, no, no, that... No. That, that wasn't like a real try-out. I was researching a book I was writing.
Trent:
Oh, yeah?
Sam Witwicky:
Yeah!
Trent:
[grinning] Yeah? What's it about? Sucking at sports?
Sam Witwicky:
[laughs a little] No, it's about the link between brain damage and football. [Trent looks really angry, while Mikaela hides a smile]
Sam Witwicky:
[nods head] No, it... it's a good book. Your friends will love it. You know, it's got mazes in it and, you know, little coloring areas, sections, pop-up pictures. It's... a lot of fun.
Ross:
I had a dream last night where I was playing football with my kid.
Joey, Chandler:
That's nice.
Ross:
No, no, with him. I'm on this field, and they, they hike me the baby. I know I've gotta do something 'cause the Tampa Bay defense is comin' right at me.
Joey:
Tampa Bay's got a terrible team.
Ross:
Right, but, it is just me and the baby, so I'm thinkin' they can take us. And so I uh, I just heave it downfield.
Chandler:
What are you crazy? That's a baby!
Joey:
He should take the sack?
Ross:
Anyway, suddenly I'm downfield, and I realize that I'm the one who's supposed to catch him, right? Only I know there is no way I'm gonna get there in time, so I am running, and running, and that, that is when I woke up. See, I am so not ready to be a father.
Chandler:
Hey, you're gonna be fine. You're one of the most caring, most responsible men in North America. You're gonna make a great dad.
Joey:
Yeah, Ross. You and the baby just need better blocking.
As I get older, the tyranny that football exerts over my life, and therefore over the lives of people around me, is less reasonable and less attractive. Family and friends know, after long years of wearying experience, that the fixture list always has the last word in any arrangement; they understand, or at least accept, that christenings or weddings or any gatherings, which in other families would take unquestioned precedence, can only be plotted after consultation. So football is regarded as a given disability that has to be worked around. If I were wheelchair-bound, nobody close to me would organise anything in a top-floor flat, so why would they plan anything for a winter Saturday afternoon.
