will you put that gun down. the boy's a fan of our son. so nice to meet you. i'm ray's mother, and this is ray's father.
my ray is so appreciative of his fans. he'll be so pleased you stopped by.
oh, yes. i expect him home any minute. ace is surprised.
would you like some cookies? i just baked them. mrs. finkle hurries off to the kitchen. ace smiles at mr. finkle. the guy's a corpse.
it was all that dan marino's fault, everyone knows that. if he had held the ball laces out, like you're supposed to, ray would never have missed that kick. dan marino should die of gonorrhea and rot in hell. would you like a cookie, son? ace takes a cookie. holding it up.
laces out! crash!! a large stone smashes through the window. outside, a pickup truck filled with drunken patrons from the pigskin sports bar drives by yelling their finkle chant.
i told you he had a lot of fans. mrs. finkle picks up the rock and hurls it out the broken window. it hits one of the vandals, knocking him out cold, as the truck peels away.
when ray gets back and starts kicking again, he'll never even know he was gone. i kept his room just the way he left it. she opens the door to ray's room. ace steps in.
what a sports nut, huh? in the center of the room is a movie projector.
oh yes. by all means. mrs. finkle shuts the lights off. ace turns on the projector. the film flickers over the "marino must die!!!" graffiti. it's the final play of the super bowl. marino takes the snap, finkle kicks and the ball sails wide. the film repeats itself ad infinitum.