the doctor's a woman. the doctor is the son's mother. feminists pose the riddle to reveal how deeply our sexual stereotypes run. i take it you're a feminist? you might try being saddled sometime -- the smell of leather, the sting of a whip. you're roy mcavoy the golf pro? i pictured something. different. i have a seven o'clock lesson. i'm a psychologist -- in layman's terms call me a neo-jungian, post- modern freudian, holistic secularist. inner demons and human frailty are my life's work. i used to practice in el paso but i've moved here now. i ordered these from the golf channel. i'm sure there are excesses and repetitions here, but i believe in the gathering of knowledge and i figured, well, there must be some truths about the golf swing illustrated by these devices -- and that you'd help me sort through it. i have dozens of golf videotapes, too. and a golf watch. no. i can always tell when someone is lying to himself, but i'm quite susceptible and frequently wrong when that person lies to me. that stuff cost me over 200 dollars -- aw, fuck. shit. awright, wise ass, show me. impressive. y'know, i tend to process things verbally. can you break down into words how you did that? a nod to the gods? what? what's unfinished? why? jeez louise. i'm afraid to ask. what's the other theory? while i appreciate your poetic sensibility, mr. mcavoy -- call me dr. griswold. roy. but at this point i think i'm more of the 'grip it and rip it' school. hand me the driver. what big dog? it's metal. oh. this is, without a doubt, the stupidest, silliest, most idiotic grotesquery masquerading as a game that has ever been invented. i think the big dog ate something. i wouldn't go that far. if you're such a legendary striker of the golf ball as everyone says, then why are you, at your age, out here in the middle of nowhere operating a barely solvent establishment, ducking the i.r.s., collecting a few pathetic dollars to buy your next sixpack -- when you're capable of so much more? no, you're chocked full of bullshit -- same time next week? mr. mcavoy, i can appreciate that you have a fairly laid-back, relaxed lifestyle -- but i have hours to keep. you amuse me, roy. but i'm the only woman in america born after world war ii who thinks astrology is a crock of shit. now let's see if the big dog'll eat. i'm waggling. it's none of your fucking business, roy. hi, sweetie. i know. i know. wait in there. roy. are you okay? obviously. in parlance you might understand, just kick back and let the big dog eat. he's an idiot. he's a juvenile idiot. we're talking about you and what you like to call your inner demons, roy, that human frailty you like to blather about, not some mytho-poetic metaphor you come up with in a feeble and transparent effort to do yourself credit. you don't have any inner demons. what you have is inner crapola, inner debris -- garbage, loose wires, horseshit in staggering amounts. you're being defensive -- cut to the chase and tell me why you're here. that's good. is she smitten with you? have you asked her out? if you shared your heart with this woman -- maybe asked her out to dinner -- then it would force these issues out in the open. ahh. so what you're saying is that all your speeches about swimming across the shark infested waters are really just about your golf game -- not about your personal life. this is therapy! what were you expecting? ann landers? look, it's rather simple. those risks that you love to take on the golf course, the risks you talk so passionately and poetically about -- you need to apply those risks to your personal life with the same passion. yes! yes! for godsakes, roy, that's enough! s'okay. look, just walk up to this woman, wherever she is, look her in the eye with those big beautiful green eyes of yours, let down your guard and don't try to be smooth or cool or whatever -- just be honest and take the risk -- you can do it! what?! my god. roy, slow down -- this is a terrible mistake! wrong. aw, shit. i am one horrible shrink. jeez. i didn't know you were talking about me. session's over. you better leave. please leave. god, you've got a beautiful swing -- i came here to apologize. well, i counseled you, you did exactly what i said, and i just. poured cold water over your effort. i didn't get it. i'm a terrible shrink, probably. i should've never got out of real estate -- actually i should never have left ohio for that cowboy in armarillo -- have you ever been to amarillo? it's not as romantic when you're actually with one -- a wrangler, y'know -- so of course the oil man in dallas looked great after that -- i don't know what i was thinking. that's when i went to the gulf and ended up in, well, trailer sales and then all those condos in corpus christi -- the bottom fell outta the market and i needed a new gig -- therapy. i took all the classes. look, i want to propose something -- as long as you understand this is professional -- we're not going out together -- i can help you with the mental aspects of the game. you've got romeo to be your swing doctor, i can be your head doctor. well, yeah. i'll improve. i'll trade my services for golf lessons and help you through the qualifying. if you get into the open, well, you're on your own. yeah. i just have to help him keep his head on straight -- he does have the occasional tendency towards self-destruction it seems. i find him mildly attractive when he's obnoxious and arrogant like this -- trust your feelings, roy. is this normal behavior for him? roy -- just shut up and hit the ball. you failed miserably. your job is not just to qualify for the open, it's to prepare for the open. my job is to help you prepare. i didn't know you felt like breaking all the clubs in your bag. from what i understand, the u.s. open is the most difficult golf tournament in the world played under the most difficult circumstances with the greatest players -- winning it means controlling yourself, managing your emotions, staying cool, not getting in a pissing contest with your caddie who, incidentally, quit. nonetheless, from the mental aspect -- which is my domain -- you have regressed and are fumbling somewhere between delusion and denial. i'm a psychologist. hi, honey. that's the question -- why? i think we should go, david. oh, come on, david -- why do men insist on measuring their dicks? for god sakes, i wasn't being literal! david, let's go. oh, jeez. you guys are really being childish -- `private victories precede public victories. you cannot harvest a crop before you plant it' `how you view the problem, is the problem' `follow your bliss' `say not that i have found the truth but that i have found a truth' `you can't have the fruits without the roots' when the going gets tough, the, the, the, whirrrrrrrrrrr, the, the. roy? anybody home? my god. roy. i'm sorry, i just. oh, roy, jesus. quoting yourself, 'it is the paraphernalia for lost and desperate souls.' of course you do. what happened? are you taking penicillin? so it's in romeo's department? oh. well. i just came over to congratulate you on the regionals and return your car -- david says he doesn't want it, just wanted to make a point with you -- but i suppose we could have a therapy session right here and now roy. i gotta get some air -- you have moments. this is a moment. you look great. utterly exposed, completely vulnerable, the inner child trying to get out. you always liked that part about saddling up, the smell of leather naw. i gotta go. oh, i don't have a car, i need a ride. not tonight. i didn't mean it like that. unconsciously, roy, i don't have a clue what i'm talking about. i do too. but i have no idea what it's progress towards. good luck in the open, roy. old people, children, and dogs. does, `integrity, tradition, and honor' include kicking a man when he's down? this man still has a lot of good golf shots in his system -- david, i'll bet you a hundred dollars right now that roy here can hit a ball -- -- from right here to. through that door to the patio. and give me a vodka tonic with a twist -- roy? what about the river, the piranha, the immortality? all that bullshit? you gonna drag your ass home with an 83? in fact, two hundred says he can hit it through that door, over the patio, into the river, and make that pelican fly off that post. i'm not leaving till one of you men starts acting in a manly fashion. roy? now we're talking! manly men! shut up and hit the ball. i musta been blind thinking you were worth a shit, simmsy! drinks on me, boys! helluva shot, roy! no, no, no. you were great. perfection's unobtainable. come over the top a little. let's take a mulligan and tee it up again -- i've got some money from the pelican bet -- why don't we go somewhere fancy and celebrate -- get ready for the final round. ex-shrink. we're sleeping together now so i can't be his therapist. knew what? you nervous about tomorrow? yes it will. yes it will. and it's okay. which one of you is the bookie? what are the odds that roy will win? those sound good to me -- i want you to place a bet for me. five thousand nine hundred dollars on tin cup to win. i said put it all on roy. got it? boys -- put it all on tin cup. oh no, tin cup ran it five feet past. how did he get the name 'tin cup'? 'clank''s not a good name for a man. so why'd you leave him? actually, no. go for it! go for it, roy! knock it on! my problem is i've never been with you can still make par from up there -- take your drop and make your par! i can't believe he's doing this. he can blow the whole tournament! you're right, roy, what the hell! let 'er rip! yes. a magnificent fool. it has its charms. y'know, by finishing in the top 15 at the open you qualified to be in it next year -- i'm thinking with your game you should go back to the qualifying school, try to get out on tour. actually, i picked up a whole bunch of new clients at the open. lotta guys on the tour said if i could do that much for you, imagine what i could do for them. and sleep in the winnebago at night. you're learning some discipline and self-control. that's great, roy. and i'm learning how to listen to the tuning fork, throw caution to the wind, and take crazy risks i never thought were possible. i fell for you.