Larry: Hey, Coach. What happened to our pool table?
Coach: It's still there, Larry, but thanks to our Billiard Buddy Adaptor, you know, it's more fun than ever now. It can be a knock hockey table, a Ping-Pong table, a slot-car track. You name it.
Larry: I want a pool table.
Coach: Well, let me get out my easy-to-follow conversion instructions here. Ah. Ah. Tool kit. For moving... And that.
Larry: Coach, how long is this going to take?
Coach: Ah, 20 minutes.
Larry: 20 minutes to put the pool table together?
Coach: No, 20 minutes to figure what the hell this is.
Larry: Forget it. I'll play Ping-Pong.
Coach: God bless you.

Sam: Is that right? Want to play Ping-Pong?
Diane: Of course I don't want to play Ping-Pong. It's preposterous.
Sam: It's not exactly my best sport. A lot of people beat me at it, but I bet I could beat the pants off you.
Diane: And what if you did? What would it prove?
Sam: It would prove that I'm having a great day, my dad was wrong, God's in His heaven and you are a loser.

Diane: Oh. As always, you are just trying to avoid the central issue here.
Sam: Come on, chicken. Bawk, bawk, bawk.
Diane: Don't do this, Sam.
Sam: Bawk, bawk, bawk.
Diane: I've played Ping-Pong. My father built me an elaborate rec room when I was a child. My daddy liked me.
Sam: Yeah. Yeah, I bet you got lots of practice staying home from all those proms, huh?
Diane: Yes. It gave me the opportunity to master the complexities of making toast.

Sam: Coach, is this what I think it is?
Coach: Well, what do you think it is?
Sam: I think it's something totally useless that some salesman talked you into buying.
Coach: Boy, you're good at thinking, Sam.
Sam: Oh. "The Billiard Buddy Pool Table Adapter."
Coach: Yeah, but it's not useless, Sam. You can make it into a Ping-Pong table, a knock hockey table, a salad bar.
Sam: How much?
Coach: Oh, I don't know. A buck, a buck and a half with croutons.
Sam: No, Coach, I mean how much for the whole thing?
Coach: Oh, 600 bucks, Sam, but the salesman- The salesman said, "Satisfaction guaranteed."
Sam: Or?
Coach: Now, that would have been a good question.
Sam: $600?
Coach: Yeah, hard to believe, isn't it?

Norm: Cliffie, maybe you could help me out. My mother-in-law's in town.
Cliff: Ah, sorry.
Norm: As if that wasn't bad enough, she wants to go sightseeing.
Cliff: Well, hey, tell her to go to Florida.
Norm: I told her to go further south than that, actually, but she's interested in American history.
Diane: Well, Norman, take your mother to see Bunker Hill.
Norm: Where?
Diane: Bunker Hill. The scene of what many consider one of the most important battles in American history.
Norm: Wait, wait, wait. Are you talking about that place that I've got to go all the way around to get to the Minuteman pizza parlor?

Coach: Sam, are you really going to play in this charity game?
Sam: Yeah. I was out there warming up. My arm feels good.
Carla: Are you kidding me? When a butterfly lands on a ball in mid-flight, it's not cooking.

Diane: Tell me, Sam, what brought about this sudden altruistic bent in your personality?
Sam: Hey, come on, I resent that. "Sudden?" I've always cared very deeply for people less fortunate than myself.
Lenny: Here they are.
[A team of Playboy Playmates enters the bar]
Diane: Oh, Sam, you great big humanitarian.
Sam: Who says you can't work for a worthy cause and still be sexually aroused?
Diane: You could be having an appendectomy and still be sexually aroused.
Sam: Be that as it may. I have to excuse myself now and go say hello to my fellow do-gooders.

Sam: So my place or yours?
Ginger: I have a roommate.
Sam: Yours it is.

Sam: I know what you're thinking and I don't care.
Diane: If you think I'm even concerned, you are wrong. Your sortie into sordidness has no effect on my emotions. You could make love to all five of those women and I would feel nothing. As I'm sure would they.
Sam: Why don't you come over here and let me introduce you to the girls. I want to show them the charity I was involved with last year.
Diane: You are a sand flea.

Carla: Yeah, the final score was Sam's team seven, Playmates zero. He was blowing those girls away. It was a massacre. I lost track of the final strike outs, but the important thing is the twinkies lost.
Sam: [enters] Ta-da!
Carla: Yay! Sammy, my man! Way to hum! Whoo!
Sam: Hey, did you hear I got 18 strike outs?
Steve: Uh, Sam, I counted 17.
Sam: No, the ump was blind. That ball cut the corner. Hey, Coach, drinks are on me. We're celebrating here.
Cliff: Hey, Sammy, what happened to the Playmates? I thought they were to sashay down here after the game.
Sam: Yeah, they were. You know, I guess they're sore losers. What happened to sportsmanship, huh?
Norm: Maybe they were a little put off by your victory laps.
Sam: Come on, man. That was just a joke. Hey, though, that was a pretty good game, wasn't it? I mean, I really had my stuff back.
Diane: Wasn't this game supposed to be for fun?
Sam: That's right. I had a great time.