Norm: You know, I saw Teddy Kennedy over there.
Carla: Whoa. Norman, really?
Diane: I still say that Kennedy will be president some day. [all groan] No, wait. Maybe even next time. You know how politicians are.
Norm: Doesn't make sense.
Cliff: Nah, I really don't think so, there, Diane. I've got a pet little theory about that. You see, if you go back in history and take every president, you'll find that the numerical value of each letter in their last name was equally divisible into the year in which they were elected.
Man: So who's gonna win, Cliff? Reagan again? Mondale?
Cliff: No. Not a chance. See, I figured it out. By my calculations, our next president has to be named Yelnik McWawa.
Sam: That's the stupidest name I ever heard.
Coach: Sam, please. You're talking about our next president.

Sam: Hey, Diane, we're talking here.
Diane: She's talking. You're killing time between thoughts.
Sam: You got a problem?
Diane: Look, Sam. Just watch it, OK? She's not one of your usual bimboettes.
Sam: That's what I like about her. She's got a lot of class.
Diane: While I have never been a big fan of the women you date, I will say that at least they were too stupid to be harmful.
Sam: I knew they'd grow on you.

Coach: Sam, Lana gave me a message for you but I can't remember it.
Sam: Lana's here?
Coach: That's it.
Coach: By the way, what are you two doing? We got a lot of customers out there.
Sam: Coach, I got a problem. Diane's helping me talk through it.
Coach: Look, Sam, let me tell you something. You've faced a lot of tough problems. You always found a solution but ever since Sir lsaac Hayes here came along... No offence, Diane, I love Sir lsaac Hayes, but, Sam, since then, it's been talk, talk, talk.

Carla: Tell me something, Red. Are professional athletes better between the old wamsuttas than ordinary men?
Lana: I've had no experience with ordinary men.
Carla: Oh, me neither, but I'm trying to work my way up to one.
Lana: Believe me, athletes take their pants off one leg at a time, like anybody.
Carla: They take off their pants? Whoa.

Norm: [enters] Evening, everybody.
All: Norm!
Diane: Hi, Norman.
Coach: Beer, Norm?
Norm: Nah, I'd probably just drink it.

Coach: So, what's new, Norm?
Norm: I just came from a late lunch at the Copley Plaza.
Cliff: Whoa, Norm, you had lunch at the Copley?
Norm: Yeah. I took a prospective employer there. I'm kind of courting the guy.
Coach: What did you have?
Norm: The rack of lamb for two. Just... [chef's kiss] Don't remember what he had.

Lana: Excuse me, could I ask you a question about your boss?
Diane: Ah, the king of the single entendre?
Lana: Tell me, does he have a wife, or worse, someone he cares about?
Diane: He's available and very desirable, if lummox is your cup of tea. And it appears to be.

Coach: Come on, Sam, do it. You're a natural. Look at you. You're tall, handsome, you got a great smile. Show her your smile. [Sam smiles] I'll be damned. Who the hell was I thinking of?

Norm: Ho, Cliff. Isn't that Tibor Svetkovic?
Carla: Svetkovic, where?
Cliff: Oh, yeah, that's Svetkovic all right.
Diane: Based on the fact that he has a long name that you can all pronounce, it's my guess that he's an athlete. Or will he be president in 1990?
Cliff: Diane, the man was Czechoslovakia's greatest hockey player. He defected to us just to play in the NHL.
Sam: It's an incredible story actually. He dressed up as a woman, hid in a haystack, crawled on his belly under barbed wire, swam a couple of rivers and stowed away on a tramp steamer to get here.
Diane: Amazing.
Carla: The next week, the rest of his team came over on the Concorde. That's what he gets for not reading his schedule.
Cliff: Well, nobody said he was a smart hockey player.

Sam: And who are you?
Lana: I'm Lana Marshall. I'm Tibor's commercial agent.
Sam: Is that right? Well, I'm Sam Malone. I'm kind of the boss here.
Lana: Oh, you're the boss? You're gonna tell me what to do?
Sam: Something tells me you know what to do.
Lana: I know what I like to do.
Sam: Well, that's nice. I like the lady who knows what she likes to do and does what she likes.
Diane: The mating ritual of the horny-breasted lounge lizard.