Bust my hump all week.
Stupid grass!|Supposed to be the boy's job.
Now, Homer, Bart's working|on his science project.
You heard the lady, Homer.
|So please mow quietly.
Genius at work.
Still just a potato.
The Lord's|given us a beautiful day, huh?
-Doing yard work?|-Who told? Marge, beer me.
Say, Simpson, I've got|some time-release granules
that'll get rid|of that crabgrass in half a jiff.
Crabgrass?|What are you talking about? Where?
There, there,|and there's a big patch over there.
There's nothing wrong with crabgrass.
|It just has a bad name.
Everyone would love it|if it was called "elfgrass.
-You may be right.
|-Where's my Duff?
We're all out.
|Would you like fruit juice?
-Don't toy with me, woman.
|-Couldn't help overhearing.
I've got suds in the rumpus room,|if you'll join me.
Okay, what the heck.
|I've earned a little break.
Holy moly, it's beautiful!
This is your first visit|to our homestead, eh?
We've only been neighbors for one,|two, three, four-- Eight years.
There's my little popcorn ball.
Hello, sponge cake.
In case you're|hungry, I made club sandwiches.
-Ain't she wonderful?|-Forgetting something?
Is draft okay?|Just put in the tap last week.
-This is a tasty lager from Holland.
|-Beggars can't be choosey.
Dad, thanks for helping me|with my science project.
Sure, study buddy.
-I've got the best dad in the world.
|-Now you know how that embarrasses me.
-Kids can be a trial sometimes.
|-Knock it off!
Knock what off?
You've rubbed it in the whole time.
|Your family is better than my family.
Your beer is from farther away.
|You and your son like each other.
Your wife's butt is higher|than my wife's butt.
You make me sick.
I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you|to leave.
I hope you understand.
I wouldn't stay on a bet!
One for the road.
Homie, quit tossing.
I'm just steamed up|about that jerk Flanders.
-Lousy bragging know-it-all showoff.
|-What did he say?
|He said that-- He said.
Well, it was how he said it.
-How did he say it?|-He.
-Was he angry?|-No.
-Rude?|-It wasn't how he said it either
but the message was loud and clear.
|Our family stinks.
I'm your best friend,|but I've gotta say
he's always been|a perfect neighbor.
-He's perfect now, is he?|-He's not perfect, but he is nice.
You were right.
Perfect in every way.
I'm just gonna walk|around the block to calm down.
I'm not perfect, like Ned Flanders.
Neddie, you're tossing.
|What's the matter?
I feel awful.
I forget that|we have it better than the Simpsons.
I drag him over, he has a beer.
|Can't blame him for erupting.
Then I turn into a snarling beast.
I|flunked the turn-the-other-cheek test.
-Maybe I'm not who you should talk to.
-Hello, Reverend Lovejoy?|-This is Mrs.
Just a minute.
Honey, honey, wake up.
-Ned Flanders is having a crisis.
|-Probably stepped on a worm.
I'm sorry to bother you, but I threw|a man out of my house today.
I feel like I've violated|Matthew 19: 19.
-Huh?|-"Love thy neighbor.
Oh, Matthew 19: 19, yeah, right.
Ned, the Good Book says|a gentle answer turneth away wrath.
That is a jim-dandy idea!
Bless you, Reverend.
I don't blame you for being upset.
I just wanted to give you this.
|I'll leave now.
"You are my brother.
I love you.
And yet I feel a great sadness|in my bosom.
" Wait, wait, there's more.
He opens his heart,|and you laugh at him.
" Oh, no.
-What a sap.
|-Read the bosom part again, Dad.
-Now, just a minute.
I wish we were as close as|the Flanders.
Okay, she's right.
|Let's do something together.
How about some miniature golf,|followed by frosty milkshakes?
-All right!|-I was going to wash my hair.
I'm studying for the math fair.
|If I win, I'll get a protractor.
Too bad we don't live on a farm.
But I got it in the middle.
-D'oh! That was practice.
|-Play it where it lays.
There's Homer Simpson.
What a perfect|opportunity to follow up on my letter.
-Give up, there's a six-stroke limit.
|-I can still make this for five.
Come on, baby,|please, please go in.
-Hi, Simpson, having fun?|-What are you doing here?
Mini-golfing with Todd-meister.
-Hi, Bart!|-Get bent.
Since we're friends,|how about a foursome?
You looked like|you had some trouble.
Jack Nicholson couldn't make|that shot.
It is difficult.
The best strategy|is to play conservatively.
Hug the rail.
It won't go in,|but you set up an easy deuce.
-It went in.
Final score: Bart, 41.
Six plus six, plus six,|plus six, plus six--
-"First prize, $50.
"|-"Balloons for everyone who enters.
Bartley, thinking of entering?
He's entering, and he's gonna win.
|Aren't you, boy?
I like that confidence but don't|pressure him.
Todd's very good.
Yeah? The fruit of my loins can beat|the fruit of your loins any day.
Come on, boy.
Dad, I've never won anything|in my life.
This is the only time I will ever|say this.
It is not okay to lose.
Keep your head down.
|Not you, I'm talking to the boy.
Keep your head down.
That didn't work, so move|your head and don't follow through.
Hey! That putter is to you|what a bat is to a baseball player
what a violin is to the guy--|The violin guy.
-Now give your putter a name.
-Give it a name.
Wanna try a little harder?
-Give it a girl's name.
-Why?|-It just is, that's why.
This is a picture of your enemy,|Todd Flanders.
Every day spend 15 minutes|staring at it
concentrating on how much|you hate him
and how glorious it will be|when you and Charlene destroy him.
-Who?|-I'll show you who she is.
Now start hating.
-I overheard you warping Bart's mind.
Aren't you making too big a deal|of this tournament?
But this is our chance|to show up the Flanderses.
Sure, but why do we want that?
Sometimes the only way to feel good|is to make someone feel bad
and I'm tired of making people|feel good.
What are you doing?
Who are those guys in chess|that don't matter?
A blockaded bishop is of little value,|but I think you mean a pawn.
I am a pawn.
It's times like this|that I'm thankful
Dad has almost no interest|in everything I do.
Bart, I think I can help you.
We begin at the library.
Bart, this is the card catalog.
"Anecdotes, "Eisenhower and, "|"Humor, "Japanese Obsession With".
Here it is: Putting.
And the most important book of all,|the Tao Te Ching by Lao-tzu.
-We can't afford all this.
|-We're just borrowing them.
-Close the logical part of your mind.
-Become like uncarved stone.
-You're pretending to understand me.
-It's very frustrating.
I have a riddle for you.
|What's the sound of one hand clapping?
Piece of cake.
It's a 3000-year-old riddle|with no answer.
It's supposed to clear|your mind.
No answer? Lisa, listen up.
Try another one.
If a tree falls and|no one's around, does it make a sound?
But, Bart, how can sound exist|if there's no one there to hear it?
It is time.
The basis of this game is simple|geometry.
Just hit the ball here.
You've actually found|a practical use for geometry!
What is this?
-Get down before the neighbors see--|-Simpson!
I don't care how this looks.
He's|gonna mop up with your son's butt.
May the best man win.
"May the best man win.
"|The loser's mating call.
Just a minute.
|My son has a very good chance.
-Yeah? Wanna bet?|-I'm not a betting man.
-I'm a chicken, am I?|-Right.
How's this? A batch of your wife's|delicious blueberry muffins
against one of my wife's|homemade wind chimes.
-Are you afraid to make a real bet?|-No, I just--
-Simpson, you're starting to annoy me.
|-How about this, Henny Penny?
If Bart wins tomorrow,|you have to mow my lawn.
And if Todd wins, you have to mow|my lawn! And do a decent job for once.
Better yet, you have to mow my lawn|in your wife's Sunday dress!
You have yourself a bet,|you jackaninny!
-Read that back to me.
|-"The father of the loser--"
"Loser" is such a harsh word.
|How about "the boy who doesn't win"?
"The father of the boy who doesn't win|has to mow the lawn
in his wife's Sunday dress.
You both have to sign?|I hope blood isn't necessary.
I'm game if you are, Flanders.
Good gravy, what did I do?
Straighten your arm.
|Rotate your shoulders.
Son, all I'm asking is that you try.
Anybody can try.
I want you to win!
Marge, give me your honest opinion.
|This, or this?
Morning! By the way, the tournament|is today.
And you'd better win.
-Dad!|-See you downstairs, boy.
-That crazy Marmaduke.
-Octopus, third tentacle.
-Off the grave.
Bliss from oblivion of self.
Here you go.
|A lumberjack's meal for my golfer.
Mom, Bart is on a diet|of complex carbohydrates.
-Steak will make him logy.
|-What won't make him logy?
A racehorse eats oats before he|or she wins the Kentucky Derby.
News flash, Lisa.
Bart is not a horse.
|Eat your steak, boy.
|Welcome to the finale
of a stirring afternoon|of miniature golf.
The cream has risen,|the wheat has bid farewell
and we begin the final match|with two warriors:
The unknown Bart Simpson|and Todd Flanders
one of the most skilled|10-year-olds to ever play.
Having never received encouragement,|I'm not sure how it should sound.
-But here goes.
I believe in you.
-Lord, we beseech thee--|-It's no use praying.
I already prayed,|and we can't both win.
Simpson, we were praying|that no one gets hurt.
Flanders, it doesn't matter.
|Tomorrow you'll be in high heels.
-No, you will.
Afraid so, infinity plus one.
Young Flanders has the honor|and will tee off first.
It's got a chance.
Tree falling in the woods.
Tree|falling in the woods.
And the battle is well|and truly joined.
Mercy's for the weak, Todd.
If one looked up "courage",one might|find a photo of these two gladiators.
Near the Great Emancipator at|the last hole, each has eight strokes.
The victor shall drink champagne while|his opponent tastes bitter defeat.
It's okay, son.
You can recover.
Remember what Vince Lombardi said!|"Lose, and you're out of the family.
Neither in best form.
This pressure|can unhinge the steeliest competitor.
-This is intense, isn't it?|-My knees are shaking
I got butterflies in my stomach.
|But it builds character.
-Who wants character? Let's quit.
-We decided we're equally good.
|-We want to call a draw, man.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a draw.
Forgive this Brit for crying, but|this is the most stirring display
of gallantry since Mountbatten|gave India back to the Punjabs.
-Put it there, man.
Homer, our kids showed us|something today, huh?
By working together,|we can both be winners
and neither of us|has to do that wager.
-Put it there.
|-You're welching on our bet?
What? Neither boy lost.
"The father of the boy|who doesn't win
has to mow the lawn|in his wife's Sunday dress.
But neither-- We--|You have to do it too.
Small price to see you humiliated.
My best dress.
One day I'll be telling this|to a psychiatrist.
Listen to them laughing.
|This is so humiliating.
I'm never gonna live this down.
Simpson, I feel silly,|but what the hay?
Reminds me of my old fraternity days.
Oh, my God.
He's enjoying it!