Rick Walker: Sam, I know it's crazy for a stranger to come here for advice but the pitching coach said you're the only man who can help me.
Sam: Well, I'm flattered.
Rick Walker: He said if anyone knows about slumps, it's you.
Sam: The legend lives on, huh?

Rick Walker: Sam, can I buy you a beer?
Sam: No, thanks. I don't drink anymore.
Rick Walker: Oh, yeah. I heard rumours you used to hit the bottle sometimes.
Sam: Well, they're true.
Rick Walker: Did you drink during a game?
Sam: Never on the mound. It, uh, sets a bad example for the catchers.
Rick Walker: Did drinking help, say?
Sam: No. Quite the contrary.

Carla: Boo! How about an early shower? [blows a raspberry]
Sam: Carla, come on.
Carla: Eh, the guy's a rag arm.

Diane: Sam? Who is that man?
Sam: That's Rick Walker, he's a relief pitcher for the Red Sox. The poor guy's in a slump. He's going through hell. You try to get out of those things, the worse it gets.
Diane: Well, you know what he needs. Meditation. [Sam chuckles] It gives you total serenity.
Sam: Well, maybe I could suggest it.
Diane: Well, it worked for me. I used to have this facial tic. Started meditating, right away.
Sam: Really?
Diane: Absolutely.
Sam: What kind of tic?
Diane: Oh, well, it was hardly noticeable.
Sam: Come on. Let me see.
Diane: No. I got rid of it. It's a thing of the past. [Diane's face twitches] So, anyway, suggest meditation. It just might do wonders.
Sam: I can see it did wonders for you, right?
Diane: I am a living endorsement.

Coach: Sam, forget that meditation. What he needs to do is beef up his sex life. See a bit of the ladies, take the edge off.
Norm: He's right. Sammy here has taken more edges off than a carpenter.

Coach: Sam, I never thought you'd part with the bottle top.
Sam: Come on, Coach. It's er.. It's only going to be for a couple of days. It's not like it's special or anything magical. Hey, Cliffy. Here you go.
[As Sam slides a beer down the bar, it heads straight down and over the edge, smashing into the floor]
Diane: Gee, I hope you haven't lost your other talent too.

Diane: Did Rick Walker pitch again last night?
Carla: Yeah. He got another save. Boy, that old bottle cap comes through again, huh?
Coach: See, that's 3 saves and 2 wins in 2 weeks, and all of a sudden, the city of Boston's in love with him.
Cliff: Yeah. Everybody but Sammy.
Coach: Yeah.
Diane: Sam and his pre-scientific notions of magical bottle caps.

Norm: Sammy, you grabbed the coffee pot by the sides.
Sam: Yes I did.
Norm: Doesn't it hurt?
Sam: Hurt's not the right word. [groans as he dips his hands in ice]
Cliff: Oh, hey, anybody have any money down on the coffee pot?
Norm: Sammy, you've got to get that bottle cap back. For the first time in my life, I'd rather be me than you.

Diane: Well, I guess I'll knock off too, OK?
Sam: Yeah.
Diane: Yeah. I could... I could go to the all-night bookstore in Cambridge or I could go home and make myself a cup of tea. What do you think I should do, Sam?
Sam: Score!
Diane: That would have to be the bookstore.

Sam: Oh, the game's over and my baby's comin' home.
Diane: May I ask a question?
Sam: Could you hold that question for a minute? I've got a very important phone call to make here.
Diane: You're calling Rick, right?
Sam: Yeah, I think that's his name.
Diane: Do you have the number of the bull pit?
Sam: Uh, no. They'd probably be in the bunkhouse by now.