Family Guy

Quahog's own poet laureate comes to the set

and graces us with her... Oh, God, that's tonight?

Hey, Jerome, turn on the game.

Sorry, guys, cable's out.

We're only getting local stations.

Oh, what, so now we got to talk sports to pass the time?

Or maybe watch Gilmore Girls.

Just as, like, a goof.

You know, if you want to talk sports,

I've got quite a story to tell.

Oh! Oh! This is the one where Lorelai's mom makes

her martini with an onion instead of an olive.

Boy, that's a passive-aggressive move.

If you knew her mom, you'd know that's

a passive-aggressive move.

It all started when I was a young boy...

Last chance on this Gilmore Girls thing.

I was a baseball prodigy.

It was back home in the Cuban league.

I grew up working in the tobacco fields outside of Havana.

That's where I learned to play baseball.

Our mitts were made of cigars, some of them still going.

All right! Ha! All right, I caught it!

At night I drove a cab.

We all had to drive huge cars there.

I was just a regular young man wearing pants

that went above my belly button.

Pull your pants up.

When I was nine, my father took me

to my first baseball game.

Fidel Castro was there to throw out the first pitch.

He was wearing the same outfit as always.

Later we would find out he had a fashion disease

known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

We would write more jokes about him,

but our dumb-dumb writers only know what he looks like.

Strike!

We all worshipped Che Guevara.

Although none of us really knew what side he was on.

Thank you?

But we knew he'd make a great poster

in college dorm rooms someday.

Please rise for the Cuban National Anthem.

In Cuba, we hated America so much,

we copied everything they did.

And died trying to get there.

Castro said there were CIA

all over our island, but I never saw any.

Yeah! Ha-ha! All right!

But from that day on, I fell in love with baseball.

I dreamed of one day playing in the big leagues,

so I signed up for a montage to get better.

I was at the top of my game.

I didn't even need the full montage.

I was even recruited to play on Cuba's national team,

the Gooding Juniors.

Tonight, the Cuba Gooding Juniors

take on the Haiti Joel Osments!

We tried to play, but it was difficult

because hurricane season was February through January.

Every time, a hurricane would sweep through,

decimating the island, causing hundreds

of dollars worth of damage.

Aah!

Under Castro, every male over the age of 18

was required to serve two years as a band leader.

I loved baseball, but yearned to play in America.

I would look across the water and dream about

the great time they must be having there.

I bet it's not so great.

Dang it! I'm at the wrong country.

I knew what I had to do.

It was nothing against Cuba.

Cuba was nice.

We had a Bay of Hotties,

but also another bay of less attractive women.

I forget what they called it.

However, tensions between the U.S. and Cuba were high.

Castro was not happy that they had named

the most dangerously gay part of San Francisco after him.

Defecting to the U.S. was punishable by prison or death.

But I was determined.

Then came my chance.

The Cuba Gooding Juniors had

an away game in Barbados.

Oy, herma we can escape to the Cayman Islands.

Cayman, my ass. I'm going to America.

Okay, when we land in America,

we all have to stop saying "Cooba."

The sea was choppy, and the sharks were relentless.

- Who is it? - Uh, not a shark?

- Don't open it! - No, it's just people.

- Yeah, people. - And sharks.

Shh! No sharks. Just people.

After a week at sea,

we saw the glittering lights of Miami.

It was beautiful.

Then we decided to go to Quahog instead,

which took eight more months.

Eventually, I signed a large deal

with the Toronto Blue Jays.

But because I was from a warm-weather climate,

it didn't work out.

- I still remember my first major-league game.

It was four hours and 25 minutes long.

I was like, "What the?"

Wow, Cleveland. I had no idea you played baseball.

Too bad you couldn't hit a home run

with The Cleveland Show.

Well, it certainly wasn't a whiff.

More of a foul out.

It was a double.

You know, you're not the only one

who got a taste of sports glory.

I had a pretty good run, myself.

Scrawny little guy like you, Quagmire?

What did you play?

I was a competitive tennis player.

Some might say too competitive.

But I was the breath of fresh air

that the stuffy tennis world needed.

I was born into a real tennis family.

On my first birthday, my mother gave me a little Head.

I wanted to be the first male cheerleader for tennis.

Day and night!

Ooh, tennis!

And when that was weird, I decided to just play tennis.

But it was understood I'd grow up to be a tennis player

like my father and his father before him

and his father before him.

We came from a long line of tennis dicks.

I had six brothers,

but they'd all sliced off their hands

opening a tennis ball can,

possibly the most dangerous object known to mankind.

Hey, guys. Anyone want to play tennis?

Llewellyn, no!

But I would do everything I could

to make my now-female father happy.

Practices were intense.

I feel like you skipped over

a very big story point right there.

My father was a World War II vet,

so he used to make me reenact the D-Day landing

with tennis ball machines.

But the work paid off.

I got invited to the first U.S. Open,

which, at the time, was called the U.S. Now Open.

There, I met the player who would become my archrival:

Sweden's Hedd Banssen.

He'd bring his personal chef to every match,

which was very distracting.

Aah! What the hell?

Hergy bergy meatball throwy!

Come on, this can't be legal. What are you, blind?

Serve ball!

I was the bad boy of tennis,

and my unconventional style of play changed the game.

Before I came along, tennis was so safe,

it was customary to hit a six-handed backhand.

I pioneered the one-handed backhand

and, eventually, the no-handed backhand.

Quagmire, I love your backhand.

That sounds like a backhanded compliment.

I also flouted tennis etiquette

by wearing the longest, baggiest shorts

the game had ever seen.

People criticized my style of play

because I argued with umpires

and was taught to bounce the ball 40 times

before my serve.

Let, first service.

I'd won the U.S. Open,

but I wouldn't settle for just that.

My goal was the coveted Grand Slam:

pancakes, eggs, sausage and bacon at Denny's.

One day, Glenn. One day.

Maybe your birthday.

I made it to Wimbledon

and got to play in front of the queen...

Freddie Mercury.

I altered my 40-bounce routine just for him.

It was an honor playing for Freddie on grass that day.

He later died. The doctor said it was asphalt.

It was the era before AIDS, but a lot of tennis players

had to deal with the scourge of Penis Gerulaitis.

Despite my on-court temper tantrums,

I was on top of the world.

Tatum O'Seventies.

The hottest actress of the era.

She was fresh off her success playing an 11-year-old

in a Little League movie, which, for some reason,

made her the biggest sex symbol in Hollywood.

- Thought you might need this. - Thanks. I'm Glenn.

I know. I watched you smash your racket and scream at a baby.

You know, if you're free after this,