Anyway. Dan’s dad repeats what he said before about being double-parked downstairs. Danny goes over to his desk and gets an envelope with some tickets that will get his dad into "everything" like the pre-fight party and the post-fight party where, "if you want, you can watch me on television." As if. Mr. Rydell complains -- get this -- that the seats are too close. They’re ringside. "I don’t need to sit that close," says Mr. Rydell. But he’s complaining, not because Dan shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble, but because "I don’t need to go strutting around and showing off like I’m a big shot." Yeah, you sure look the type, Mr. Rydell. I bet you’d really stand out ringside at a boxing match, all frowny-faced. Dan says it’s not showing off, those are just the seats they gave him because he’s a "fairly important person in sports tonight." I feel for Danny -- he thought his dad would be excited, and instead his dad is Boone from Animal House. Mr. Rydell wonders if the tickets can be traded. Danny laughs, "Yeah, sure, we’ll see if we can scare up somebody who wants to sit ringside," and Mr. Rydell squashes him instantly by saying, "Danny. You don’t have to get smart-ass with me." Danny, all serious, says, "I wasn’t, Dad." Yes, you were, Danny, but it’s okay; your dad is Boone from Animal House. Finally, Mr. Rydell thanks his son for the great tickets, and just when you think the two of them might have a touching father-son moment, Mr. Rydell says, "You shouldn’t wear your hair so short, you’re starting to look a little bit gay." I think that was supposed to be sad, not funny, but I laughed in spite of myself, one of those snort-laughs you do when you’re trying to hold it in, as if you were at the funeral of a math teacher you hated. Dan thanks his dad for the fashion tip. Mr. Rydell says he’s double-parked, which is news to Dan and me and the viewing audience. This is Mr. Rydell’s way of saying he has to go, so Danny says, "Okay," and his dad leaves and Deflated Danny watches him go for about ten minutes. Maybe to win his dad’s love, Dan could write him poems and stalk him in all his classes and just basically carpe diem a little bit more.
In a production meeting, Dana is explaining to Isaac that they’ll be fine if the fight lasts at least eight rounds, but less than that and Dan and Casey will have to fill. I wonder if Dan and Casey are aware of how little faith Dana has in them, unlike Isaac, who is confient they can fill. Dana says Isaac is pretty casual about it. Isaac says he trusts Dan and Casey. Dana says while he’s busy trusting the dynamic duo, she’ll be doing her job, which from what I can tell consists of bringing everybody down with her pessimistic doomsday demeanour. Jeremy comes in to inform her that "Tim Turner [whoever that is] is sick and can’t work tonight." "He’s sick?" double-checks Dana. "Yes," says Jeremy. "How sick?" queries Dana. Wait for it, wait for it… "Sick enough that he can’t work tonight." Booyah! This show doesn’t need a laugh track, it needs a rim-shot track. Dana wants to know who the replacement is, and Jeremy says, "A guy I’ve never heard of, which is saying something," instead of just answering the damn question already, and Dana asks if he has a name and Jeremy says "yes" and Dana asks what it is and Jeremy says, "Who cares, I haven’t heard of him," and no wonder Dana is so tightly-wound, having to put up with this kind of idiocy. Dana gives him a pointed "Jeremy…" with the unspoken implication being, "Jeremy, tell me who the replacement is or I’ll rip off your scrotum," and Jeremy hastily says, "Chuck Kimmel," which elicits laughter from Isaac and Natalie and stunned surprise from Dana. Jeremy wants to know who Chuck Kimmel is, and Dana says, "The Cut Man," and everybody says, "The Cut Man," and Jeremy explains that Kimmel was already in Atlantic City. Dana guesses that Kimmel was drunk in front of the slots. Hey, everybody needs a hobby, Dana. For you, it’s driving away the guy who loves you; for Chuck Kimmel, it’s drinking and gambling.