Miss Cinoman: Mr. Goldberg, if you're gonna watch rehearsal, you have to respect my stage.
Murray: Sure. It's your team. Manage it.
Miss Cinoman: All right. Take it from the top, Matthew, all right? Be Tevye. Feel the burden of the humble dairyman with five handsome daughters.
Murray: Bah!
Miss Cinoman: Mr. Goldberg! I'm sorry. I don't buy this kid having five daughters. Do you?
Miss Cinoman: Yes. I buy it enough. C'mon, the kid's a tomato can. Can't hit the broad side of his mark.
Matt Schernecke: This adult man is hurting my feelings.
Murray: Sack up, Schernecke. You gotta have thick skin if you want to make it in the big show.

Miss Cinoman: Adam, is your dad gonna be here the whole time?
Adam: I don't know, man. He took the week off work. The whole thing's been off the rails from the start.
Murray: I just want my kid to have a shot at the bigs.
Miss Cinoman: Fine. If you pipe down, I'll make him the understudy for Tevye. Does that work for you?
Adam: So that means I'll have no lines and get to just hang in the wings? 'Cause yeah, that super works.
Murray: Whoo! It's on now! You better watch your back, fake Tevye. 'Cause we're comin' for ya.
Adam: Dad, stop making veiled threats to Matt Schernecke.
Matt Schernecke: They're kind of not veiled at all.
Adam: I'm so sorry.

Erica: Hello and welcome, product lovers of all ages. Prepare to be delighted by my delightful jingle medley.
Pops: I'm already delighted, but I'm prepared for more.
Erica: [singing] The best part of waking up is Folgers in your- Plop-plop, fizz-fizz, oh, what a relief- Honeycomb's big, yeah, yeah, yeah. Gimme a break, gimme a break- What would you do-oo-ooh for- An Oscar Mayer wiener- By Mennen! Mommy, wow, I'm a big kid- Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow.
Pops: Wow! I don't know what half of those are selling, but I'm buying.

Beverly: Got some bad news from cousin Marci last night.
Pops: Just out of the blue like that? You haven't talked in 15 years.
Beverly: Yeah, well, I've been missing her. And it's a good thing I called, too, because she told me that, for legal reasons, she can't listen to jingles from existing products.
Erica: But I worked so hard on these. I was gonna mail her a tape.
Beverly: No! No, you can't. It has to do with, uh, torts and briefs and subpoenas. I could've been a lawyer, so it made sense to me.

Beverly: Good news she told me about some, uh new products that have yet to be jingled.
Erica: Name it, and I'll sing it. Hit me.
Adult Adam: [v.o.] Even though my mom swore she changed, in the end, she couldn't help but lie.
Beverly: Dr. Steinman's Butt Grease.
Pops: I'm very curious about this product.
Beverly: Dr. Steinman's a very respected tushie surgeon. He developed the healing ointment himself, and now he's sharing it with the world.
Erica: Steinman, I got to sing that? It's not so easy on the ear.
Beverly: It's not great. But yet, the next one is even worse. Barnaby's Baltic Sea Juice.
Pops: I don't want that product.
Beverly: There's more. Magellan's Ol' Fashioned Year Round Nog for people who want eggnog, but not just at Christmas.
Pops: I'd like a good 'nog in the summer.

Adult Adam: [v.o.] When Matt's dad heard I got the understudy, he came to check out the competition.
Mr. Schernecke: Come on there, Matty boy. Just how we practiced.
Adult Adam: [v.o.] Turns out the only thing worse than one sports dad is two. First, they cheered.
Murray: Come on, AG! Come on, now! Let's go.
Mr. Schernecke: Go big or go home, Matty boy. Look alive!
Adult Adam: [v.o.] Then, they bragged.
Mr. Schernecke: My son is a five-tool player. He sings, dances, acts, juggles, and mimes.
Adult Adam: [v.o.] Next came the insults.
Murray: Give it a rest, Schernecke. Your kid's no Tevye. That wheelbarrow's got more charisma.

Murray: There you are, AG. Come on, you got the call. You're goin' in.
Adam: [hoarsely] Bad news. Lost my voice. Whatcha gonna do?
Murray: Hydrate it. Suck on a lozenge. Get back out there!

Adam: Okay, what am I looking at?
Murray: Me.
Adam: You were in "Fiddler"?
Murray: I played Tevye. I only auditioned because my dad loved the play.
Adam: But Pop-Pop hates everything.
Murray: Not this. He was so proud. He would sit in the front row every night. And for the first time, I felt close to the guy, you know?
Adam: So that's why this means so much to you?
Murray: I know it's stupid. But I just wanted us to have the same thing I had with my dad.

Adam: I'll audition to be in the chorus or something.
Murray: Absolutely not! In my house, it's Tevye or nothing.
Adam: I don't want to be the lead!
Murray: You're gonna be Tevye, damn it! Now put on my grandfather's old Russian coat and sing for me.
Adam: It's so heavy.
Murray: Like the weight of a man with too many daughters.
Adam: How do I already smell? How?
Murray: That's the smell of greatness. Now show me your shimmy.
Adam: I don't wanna shimmy.
Murray: Shimmy for your father, damn it. Like this. It's in our blood and our shoulders.
Adam: [sighs]
Murray: If that's how you shimmy, damn it, we got to go back to fundamentals. Come on, put your game face on. Do it!

Barry: What's going on in here?
Murray: Not now, Barry. Adam's form is off. I got to coach some sense into the kid.
Barry: Sounds to me like a father demanding perfection and telling his son he's not good enough.
Adam: That's exactly what's happening.
Barry: Damn it, I want that!
Adam: Why?
Barry: 'Cause it's my dream to have a sports dad who spazzes out in the stands and calls me a lazy failure who needs to play harder.
Adam: Great. He's yours. Take him.
Murray: Oh, no. If we're gonna win this part, we got to buckle down and dig in.
Barry: Fine, forget sports! Whatever your dumb thing is, I'll do it.
Adam: It's "Fiddler on the Roof."
Barry: Great. I'll go on the roof right now with a fiddle.
Murray: You don't even have one!
Barry: I'm gonna go bongo on the roof. Where's the ladder?
Murray: Do not get the ladder.
Barry: Ladder it is.
Murray: Do not go in that garage and touch my ladder, moron! I mean it!
Barry: Too late, theater sports dad. I'll send a rope down for my bongos.