Coach Mellor: Well, you've come to the right efficiency apartment. My perpetual single-tude has given me an amazing array of domestic skills. Make yourselves at home in my living room/gym/sitting area/lanai. Brisket? I made that in my gentleman's Crock-Pot.
Geoff: So tender! It falls apart at fork's first touch. Also, how long are we gonna be here?

Ms. Cinoman: Class, a very angry parent has informed me that some of you felt excluded from the "Joseph" tour. So, to make it right, I hereby change the school musical to "Joseph" instead of "Cats."
Coach Mellor: "Cats"! That's the title!

Coach Mellor: Oof. That was tough to watch. Well, Coach is here for you. Except during lunch. That's when I have my 67-vegetable smoothie. But I'm happy to talk again on my jog home.

Coach Mellor: You see that boy right there? That's Ruben Amaro Jr., baseball star, recruited nationally and currently dominating seven of his peers with the sheer power of his rifle arm. And yet his chances of making it to the pros are almost zero.
Ruben Amaro, Jr: Wait, what?
Coach Mellor: If anybody can do it, it's you, Ruben.
Beverly: So if Rubin might not be a Philly, what's the best case for Barry here?
Coach Mellor: Best case? Barry uncorks a wild pitch and blinds a peanut vendor.

Beverly: I don't get it. Murray usually destroys the kids' dreams, but for some reason, this one time, he's on board.
Coach Mellor: Well, unfortunately, your husband is suffering from what we in the athletic community call "sports goggles." "Sports goggles" are when a father gets so swept up by the promise of his son's athleticism, he's unable to see his own child's limitations.
Beverly: Interesting. I have never heard of that.
Coach Mellor: Well, it's not unlike the thick "mom goggles" that you strap on every day that prevents you from seeing the staggering mediocrity of your children.
Beverly: Please. I would never be so blind as to think that Barry could become a Philly. A professional model, sure, or doctor or doctor-model.

Coach Mellor: Alright, hit the showers or generously spray on deodorant.

Coach Mellor: Never in all my years in the gymanatorial arts have I ever been so blatantly disrespected.

Coach Mellor: Come Friday, all of you will be doing the state-mandated mile run. Here's how it works. You run a mile, I time you, then I inform the state of how alarmingly inert the modern child has become.

Coach Mellor: "Still growing"? That's your excuse?
Adam: Yeah, it's a super bummer, but what are you gonna do? A note's a note.
Coach Mellor: I didn't think your mother could top "preparing for a haircut."
Adam: I didn't, either. I was impressed, too.
Coach Mellor: Shame on you. What would William Penn himself say if he was standing here right now?
Adam: "Why aren't you all working the fields? Winter is coming."
Coach Mellor: Indeed, he would be mystified by our modern world, but he'd also be very disappointed in you.

Coach Mellor: Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you with heavy heart and wildly jacked delts to announce that I am leaving William Penn Academy.
Brian: What?
Coach Mellor: The truth is, I've been offered my dream job coaching the country's best wrestlers for the Olympics.
JC Spink: Wow. Where?
Coach Mellor: Just 30 minutes away at the Foxcatcher Farm, owned by the wild-eyed eccentric billionaire John Du Pont.
Brian: But why would a billionaire want to coach wrestlers?
Coach Mellor: Hard to say. He's an intense fella. Either way, it's an opportunity of a lifetime with zero chance of ending badly.