Smails: I demand satisfaction.
Al: You demand satisfaction? Well I'll tell you what's satisfying: cash. I'll shoot you 18 holes for ten thousand bucks!
Smails: [laughs] Wha... I could beat you with one arm!
Al: Well, how about teams then, for twenty thousand? You can have Dr. Frankenputz...
Dr. Beeper: [mortified] I beg your pardon!
Al: And I'll take Ty, here.
Ty: Guys, don't include me in this.
Al: Come on, Ty, you're an ace. Everybody knows it.
Ty: I don't play golf, for money, against people.
Al: What are you, religious or something?
Ty: You might say that.
Smails: Ty, can I have a word with you? In private?
Ty: Sure thing, Judge.
Smails: Listen, your father and I prepped together, went to war together, played golf together. We built this club, he and I. And let's face it, some people simply do not belong. Let's not... cave in too easy. What do you say, Ty?
[Smails and Ty start to laugh]
Ty: Let's make it $40,000.
Al: Hey, great!
Ty: [to a glaring Smails] You know, Judge, my dad... never liked you.
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