Mike & Molly

Hi. My name's Mike. I'm an over eater.

Hi, Mike.

I had a pretty good week. I lost two more pounds.

And that was before I cut my hair, flossed my teeth

and pulled a dust bunny from my belly button.

So, let's just call it an even three.

My point is, the winter weight is slowly starting to melt away.

That doesn't mean I'm out of the woods yet.

In fact, I'm looking at what could be

the biggest food challenge of the year

for any Chicago sports fan.

I'm talking about opening day at wrigley field.

All right? Cold beer,

chili dogs, salted peanuts.

Those little cups of chocolate ice cream...

You know... that you eat with the tiny wooden spoon?

You're still sucking the flavor out of the wood grain

while you're ordering the next one.

But this year, I'm sticking to my diet.

I'm pitching a no-eater.

When I stand up for the seventh-inning stretch,

there'll be no crumbs, peanut shells, or candy wrappers

falling from my vintage Ryne Sandberg Cubs Jersey.

It's all about discipline.

I'm going to keep my eyes on the ball,

away from the vendors,

and pray to God we don't go into extra innings.

I'm gonna do it this year. But more importantly,

the Cubbies are gonna do it this year.

I'm planning on dieting through the playoffs,

all the way to the world series.

Now who's with me?!

Cubs! Cubs!

Cubs! Cubs! Cubs! Cubs! Cubs!

Man, I'm looking forward to this game.

And this year, I got a new pair of blue blocker sunglasses,

so I ain't losing any more foul balls to the sun.

You didn't lose that ball in the sun;

you lost that ball to a six-year-old girl.

She bit me.

Ah, baseball season again.

You know, we have something similar in my country.

Yes...

One man stands in the field holding a large stick.

Another man throws a stone at him.

Then the man with the stick

chases the man who threw the stone.

Oh. And you call that baseball?

Stay away from my goats,

you rock-throwing bastards.

Similar to your sport, except instead of hot dogs and beer,

we have drought and starvation.

Go, Cubbies!

Hey, Carl, what would you think about, um,

me asking Molly to go to the game with us? Sure.

Why don't I ask my grandma to go, too?

Better yet, let's just Skip the game,

and we can all just make a quilt and do each other's hair.

A simple "I don't care for the idea" would suffice.

Well, I'm just saying, opening day is our tradition.

And besides, we only got the two tickets.

Yeah, but I could trade those two for three in the bleachers.

What? I stood in line all night for those field-level tickets.

I had to pee in my thermos.

But Molly's my girlfriend,

and I should include her in everything I do,

because shared experiences and memorable moments

are what bring a couple closer together.

You're reading her magazines, now, aren't you?

I can't help it. She leaves them in the crapper,

and the sports section only gets me halfway home.

Look, there's nothing wrong with you guys

doing things apart from each other.

Yeah, but isn't that one of the top ten warning signs

that your man is cheating?

Dude, seriously, you got to read a little less

and push a little harder.

Oh. That's where my cosmo went.

Yeah, I wanted to finish this article

on finding the female g-spot.

Got to be honest. Looks like a two-man job.

Yeah, or a one-woman job.

Hey, I only have to work a half-day tomorrow.

I was thinking we could go grab lunch.

Oh, I can't. I'm going to the Cubs game with Carl.

You guys are going to opening day?

Ah, that's great.

Yeah, I wasn't trying to exclude you from anything.

This is just an annual ritual that I have with Carl.

I get it. It's a guy thing.

Exactly. It's like growing a beard, or peeing standing up.

Might not be fair, but I didn't make the rules.

Actually, I'm okay with being excluded

from both of those things.

Besides, it's baseball.

You'd probably be bored to tears.

No, I love baseball.

Used to go to the games all the time with my dad.

We'd take the el to the ballpark,

I'd sit on his lap and keep the scorecard.

Some of my best memories of him are at those baseball games.

Really? Yeah...

That was our special time together.

Just me and my pop.

You know, I haven't gone to a single game since he died.

You're kidding? No.

So I completely understand

how much this tradition means to you guys.

Good night, sweetie.

Sleep tight.

Now, Michael...

Be sure and make a big fuss over Carlton's new baseball mitt.

He's been breaking that thing in all month.

I promise to ooh and ah.

I'm just happy to see the boy

oiling something other than himself.

Hey, what are you doing here so early?

Batting practice doesn't start for another 45 minutes.

I'm just excited to get to the park.

Cheering on my favorite team, with my best buddy.

Oh, we got to make one little stop on the way.

What stop? No big deal. Hey is that a new mitt?

Ooh... ah...

You invited Molly to come with us, didn't you?

Oh, man!

I knew you'd fold!

I had to. She used to go to the games

with her dead dad. They'd take the train;

they'd sit in each other's laps...

I don't know, you got to hear her tell it.

And because of that, I got to sit in the bleachers?

Hey, I didn't kill the man. Why do I have to be punished?

I'll sit in the bleachers. You two can sit down front.

Oh, I see. You get to enjoy the game

while I entertain your girlfriend.

Fine, then you sit in the bleachers.

Which is exactly what you wanted.

Boy, quit going on and on.

You talking about a baseball game.

Acting like Michael stood you up for the junior prom.

Well, he asked me to go first.

Is it any wonder that everybody at my church

has you in their special prayers?

Listen, we'll take turns in the bleachers.

I promise I won't let her ruin our day.

Fine. She can come.

But I am not the third wheel.

She is the third wheel.

I get it. We're the motorcycle

and she's the sidecar. No.

We're the winnebago, and she's the little ski-doo

we're dragging behind us.

Hey, this winnebago lost three pounds last week.

Well, I already told you how good you looked.

It's just nice to hear once in a while.

Good Lord.

The two of them might as well move to Las Vegas,

get a couple of white tigers and start a magic show.

Looky what I found.

Oh, my God.

Dad's old Cubbie cap.

Oh...

Ah, it smells just like him.

Vitalis and old spice.

Dad sure loved the old spice, didn't he, mom?

That's all you girls ever gave him... for Christmas,

his birthday and father's day.

He used to have to slap it on pretty heavy

just to keep it from piling up.

Yeah, I have a weird memory of him using that stuff

to start the grill.

Starting the grill,

getting paint off his hands,

killing ants...

Oh, my God.

If you were a little bustier,

you'd look just like dad.

Boy, he loved taking you to the games.

You were his little tomboy.

I remember as soon as we'd get to the ballpark,

he'd always order his one beer

and then give me a little sip of the suds.

Well, he'd usually slam down four or five

before you even left the house.

That's the reason you had to take the train.

It's going to be weird, you know?

I-I've never been to a game without him.

Don't worry.

He'll be there with you in spirit.

I know he's sitting up there right now,

looking down on all of us.

Hmm. Kind of like when he used to take

the lawn chair up on the roof

with a cooler of beer.

Yeah...

Except without the neighbors complaining

because he's throwing rocks at cars

or peeing in the drainpipe.

Carl, I'll be happy to sit in back,

if you want to be up front.