Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

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

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

I want to destroy you.

Watch that overhand right.

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

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

Happy birthday, Mrs. Ned Ashton.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, that's entertainment.

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

- Dolph Lundgren. - I like this guy.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

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

And I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

this is all the love you show me?

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

No, really, I believe that.

- Oh, sorry. Merlot. - Yeah.

Stop running like a… Verstappen

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

- Sit down. - I just stood up.

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

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

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

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

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

Let's see what we got here.

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

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

- Say what? - For a white boy.

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

Irish Terry Conklin.

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

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

We're about to be champs, baby!

Grim Reaper, whatever he calls himself - ducking me.

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

Mr. Julio Escobar.

Ring Magazine says the fight is a fraud!

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

will defend his heavyweight title

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

Fuck you, you whore. I quit.

Happy Birthday Matt

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

the man next in line to fight James Roper.

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

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

Two bucks on the clean-cut white boy.

I'll call Bert Sugar.

dżyzas ja pierdole

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

Till you beat me, I am the champ.

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

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

Happy birthday Brother

He's not eating any of this stuff?

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

no, no, no, no!

- 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.

He drives a Brougham.