Heavyweight - #6 James

Episode Date: November 1, 2016

James’s father’s dying wish was for his ashes to be disposed of on the 18th hole of a fancy private golf course. That was 16 years ago. In this episode, James, Jonathan, and their friend Howard attempt a golf heist to get into the club and set things right. Credits Heavyweight is hosted and produced by Jonathan Goldstein. This episode was also produced by Chris Neary and Kalila Holt. The senior producer is Wendy Dorr. Editing by Alex Blumberg and Jorge Just. Special thanks to Emily Condon, Stevie Lane, Derek Hurst, Stephen Hughes, and Jackie Cohen. The show was mixed by Haley Shaw.  Music for this episode by Christine Fellows, with additional music by Paul De Jong, Blue Dot Sessions, Benny Reid, Caspar Babypants, and Hew Time. Our theme song is by The Weakerthans courtesy of Epitaph Records, and our ad music is by Haley Shaw. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Horrible timing. Six kids in my house, two parents, and getting kids ready for Halloween. Jonathan Goldstein calling for Dr. Jackie Cohen. I gotta go. Whoa, whoa, wait, wait. Hello? Jackie? You know what? Okay, you're a doctor, right? Hurry up. I'm starting to realize, like, in the past year, I'm...

Hurry! I'm pretty convinced I'm... Hurry! I'm starting to realize, like, in the past year, I'm pretty convinced I'm losing hair. You're bald. Balding. Bald. It's a process. So bald. Now, I'm trying to figure out if it's a symptom of something.

I gotta go, John. I got to go. The party starts in 15 minutes. You're having a party at your house? Why didn't you invite me over? Um, do you want to just do the show? Or... From Gimlet Media, I'm Jonathan Goldstein, and this is Heavyweight. Today's episode, James. When he was a kid, James loved taking long walks with his dad, Douglas. Douglas was a film buff, and during these walks,

he'd recount the plot to every movie he'd ever seen. Hitchcock, Kubrick, James loved it. And when he grew older and finally got to see the actual movies, as good as they were, they often paled beside the versions his dad told. Something of a dreamer and an eccentric, Douglas lived his life as though he himself were a character in a movie. He died that way, too. On his deathbed, he issued an unexpected final request.

The request was that we scatter his ashes on the 18th hole of the golf course he loved. Each of Douglas' kids was handed a different task regarding the estate. James was put in charge of the ashes. My dad was probably the most important person to me, outside, obviously, of my wife and kids. When he died and when the will was recorded, I wasn't there. You were actually there, I think. I was there. Douglas was nearing the end and urgently needed to sign his will, and James, who lived out of town, couldn't make it in time. So he

asked me and our other good friend, Howard, to go to his father's bedside and bear legal witness to the signing of the will. To this day, James still carries around a lot of regret about not being able to be there. Although I know it's unlikely, my memory of that day is of Douglas wearing an ascot tucked into his hospital robe. Regardless of whether he actually was, Douglas was the kind of man who always gave the impression of wearing an ascot. As always, he was gentlemanly and cordial. This in spite of the fact that he would pass away within the next 48 hours.

Douglas was born an illegitimate child in a poor part of England and raised by a single mom. As a young man, he felt judged and carried with him the feeling of always having to prove himself, even going so far as to affect a posh, upper-class accent. For Douglas, golf was the domain of the wealthy and sophisticated, and having his ashes placed on the 18th hole of his beloved golf course, an event that James says he probably envisioned being accompanied by bagpipes and artillery,

would mean finally receiving his due. But James has yet to honor his father's request. It's now been 16 years. Is it just procrastination? That's what I told myself. Yeah. I can vividly remember, you know, a day afterwards thinking, oh, yeah, it's the simplest thing.

In fact, it seems so simple that we'll get to it. And now, 16 years later, it's very complicated. I think, to be honest with you, there's part of me that wants to hold on to them, because it's my dad. And so, the urn moved from mantles to closets. For a long time, it even knocked around in the trunk of James' car. It now sits on a shelf in his basement. Do you think it would be a load off your head if you were able to spread the ashes?

The amount of times I cried, you know, going on about what a terrible son I was, to not honour his request and the guilt I have about the way he died and, you know, I didn't deal with it well. And it's all, it's all a piece. He, as he got sicker and sicker, he wanted to go home desperately. As he got sicker and sicker, he wanted to go home desperately. And myself and my siblings decided he could not go home because he was a hoarder. Though it wasn't clear that he ever used them,

Douglas had an entire room filled solely with golf clubs. Having lived through the war, he also saved empty TV dinner trays, old microwaves, and broken radios that he'd find on the street. We decided he could not go back there, and he was so upset about that, and he went out just really angry. He just wanted to go home. I can't fix the way he died, but this was his one request and I haven't honored it. And not only would I be putting to bed something that's been just dogging me for years, I think I'd also feel pretty proud of myself that I'm the person I want to be. Since the person I want to be is the person who helps people be the people they want to be, I asked James if he'd like me to help him lay his father's ashes to rest.

And James said, Yes. Would you want to do that? Yeah, of course I do. The objective? Infiltrate Douglas' fancy old golf course and scatter the ashes. The obstacles? Septuagenarian narcs with prying eyes. Not to mention the fact that scattering earthly remains is against the law.

For this to work, we need the right team. James was the key man, our entry point into the operation. And I was the bank, bankrolling the green for expenditures. All that was missing was a front man. We needed a person of quick wit. Look at that, right off the bat. Bat, cat, sat, fat. Someone cool under pressure.

What's that on my arm? We needed... Oh, that's arm hair. Howard. Not only was Howard our oldest friend, but he was there with me the day the will was signed and the directive was given. And to top it off, Howard never met a grift, swindle, or flimflam he didn't think was eggs in the coffee okay. Fill your pockets with extra after-dinner mints at the

local diner? Check. Avail yourself of ill-gained coffee refills through a counterfeit Russian seniors card? Double check. Howard was always on the make and up for anything. The date had been set, Sunday, which also, as it happens, was Father's Day. The team was in place. We just needed to sort out logistics. Thursday, 8.48 p.m. Howard? Hey.

Hi. Hi. Hi. Hello. Hey. I'm on the phone with James. Hi. I just wanted to get us all together to strategize a little bit.

So, Howard, is there any wisdom or experience that you could bring to bear from past things that you've done like this? From my previous heist experience? Yeah. Well, we shouldn't do Asher to get too high. Yeah. That's number one. Some booze maybe might help.

Steal our nerves. So do you want to try to go there and play golf? No, I've never golfed. I don't know how to golf, so. I've never golfed either, and it's the 18th hole, too, so I wish it was the first hole, because we could just go and suck and then do our thing. Yeah.

He specifically needs the 18th hole, right? 18th hole. It's the last hole. But if there's someone there watching us, how do we do it? The clubhouse is near the 18th hole. It looks over the 18th hole, so that's another challenge. What's a clubhouse? Clearly, there was a lot of work to be done. 9.32 p.m.

A quick look at the golf course website reveals a very specific dress code. Polo shirts, belts, golf shoes, something called a tilly hat. If wearing a polo shirt with some kind of bonnet wasn't embarrassing enough, the rules explicitly stated that all shirts were to be tucked in to your pants. For this to work, we need to honor the dress code to a tee. In short, we need the best disguises money could buy. And as the bank, it was my job to secure the greenbacks. After a brief parlay with Gimlet founder and CEO Alex Bloomberg,

I'm told my budget is $50, to which I say, but I've already promised the crew I'd take them shopping at JCPenney and now I'll look like an idiot, to which he says, what crew? And I say, never mind. Alex then tells me to take it up with Matt, because he's in the middle of a boardroom meeting, but Matt scares me, so I just convert the green to Canadian Travelers Checks,

a safe, responsible move, so Alex, if you're listening, you should at least cover the service fees, except you probably aren't listening because you're too busy with your precious startup. Except you probably aren't listening because you're too busy with your precious startup. So, although it probably wasn't the kind of establishment James' posh dad Douglas would approve of, we'd need to hit the only place we could afford. Friday, 12.36 p.m. It turns out the sports section of a goodwill can be a pretty sad place.

Unstrung badminton rackets, waterlogged Nerf footballs you only hope are logged with water, and... One boxing glove, that's... As an advanced student of the heist film as genre, I know that when pulling off a big job, the perfect outfit is crucial. Think Michael Caine's luxe white turtleneck in The Italian Job or Elliot Gould's neckerchief in Ocean's Eleven. They have some very nice slacks here, I will say. And the prices are very affordable. You want to try on the polo shirts?

Not exactly Frankie Muniz's wraparound shades in Agent Cody Banks, but it'll have to do. Look at these two. Ooh! It's like rayon. Look at these two. Ooh! It's like rayon. Look how soft this is. The good news is that the Goodwill has changing rooms. The bad news is that there's only one,

and it's about the size of a bus station toilet stall. I'm going to come in with you. But since we are A, a team, and B, absolutely fearless, together we cram in, and like any team would, strip completely naked. That might be the ugliest shirt I've ever, ever seen in my life.

It bears mentioning that the shirt Howard is referring to is creamsicle orange and bears the logo of a plumbing company. And, luckiest of lucky days, he's found the exact same shirts for me and James. This way, he reasons, we can all match. Like a crew. It looks good. You're not supposed to look good. It's golfing. Oh, man.

Howard, James, and I have known each other since we're teenagers. Back then, we used to hang out like this all the time, just doing goofy stuff. But we're teenagers. Back then, we used to hang out like this all the time, just doing goofy stuff. But we now live in separate cities, with wives, kids, jobs, and we never get to do this kind of thing anymore. Standing around in the middle of the afternoon, laughing in the buff with old friends,

feels nice. You're the only one that has a tattoo. So this is good. We got shirts. And I got a belt. As we exit into the parking lot, our plastic sacks plump with glad rags, something straight-up magical happens. Oh, my God! Before getting too excited about what we think we might be seeing, possibly,

we wait confirmation from the man who can spot a con a mile off. What is a double rainbow? It's legit. A double rainbow. And even Howard's impressed. Mildly. And so James and I give ourselves over fully. Overcome by this fortuitous sign, the crew was moved

to song. It was red and purple and crimson and green apple and A rainbow was a good omen, like James' dad Douglas was looking down on us and smiling a big multicolored upside-down smile. Pink and orange and blue! Sure, we were dressed to the 18s, but if we each took 45 minutes to sink a ball from two feet away, we might attract suspicion. We needed to train. Hard. I'm talking rocky, running through waist-high Russian snow hard.

A montage of steel drum musicians learning to play chariots of fire set to the tune of Eye of the Tiger hard. I'm talking actually learning how to play golf. We find a driving range in the fancier part of town and book a golf pro by the name of Stephen. Saturday, 1 p.m. Are you Stephen? Absolutely. Hey, Stephen, I'm Jonathan. Nice to meet you, Jonathan. This is Howard. How you doing, Howard?

And this is James. This is Stephen. Hi. Stephen. A smile with more dimples than the golf balls he lovingly cradles. A tall drink of sports aquavelva eau de toilette, if ever there was. Stephen's been golfing professionally for over 20 years and couldn't be nicer or better smelling.

And considering the frantic barrage of imbecilic questions we ask, he also couldn't be more patient. Stephen, can I see the bottom? Are those official golf shoes? Yeah. I have one quick question. What do golfers think about Happy Gilmore? They find it insulting. After a brief lecture on the basic how-tos,

hit ball with stick, hold stick with hands, get ball in hole, we're ready. We insist James go first. After all, this is his mission. What we want to do is we want to finish it just like this here. While Stephen tenderly positions James' hips and elbows, Howard grabs my microphone and golf commentates. I'd say he looks really, really horrible.

Just ridiculous looking. Not encouraging. Somehow, James manages to connect on his very first try. That was good. Everyone's saying very encouraging things, but it's really horrible, just to say. But he got it, it went in the air, and he hit it. It's like you say to a child.

It's like, good, you hit it. Stephen looks over at Howard, who now squats in the grass, untying and retying his two left-footed, Goodwill-issued golf shoes, and then he looks over at me. A grown man in a too-lar large tilly hat, strings cinched tight enough beneath the chin to ensure the clenched-jawed vocal affect of a

young Katharine Hepburn. He waves us to come hither, offering up something in the way of inspiration. I'm gonna try to make it go from right to left. It must feel really good when you get it up in the air like that. Well it's great because that's the goal right is to get it up. The golf you get it up in the air like that. Well, it's great because that's the goal, right, is to get it up. The golf ball flies straight up into the air, and then, as though eerily achieving human consciousness in mid-flight, suddenly takes a sharp left. Wow, so cool! Howard, baptized in the backsplash of Stephen's pheromones, is born again.

He's seen the pinnacle of male perfection. And James, it is not. See, James, that's what it looks like. That's when a man hits a golf ball. A male of the species hits a golf ball. Next up is Howard. He steps to the tee, grips the club in just the way Stephen instructed, does this adorable waddle back and forth to get his footing just so.

And then... Did you hear that? Let me play it again. Thrice. A swing and a miss, a swing and a miss, a swing and a miss. That's too much. A little bit.

If you're losing your balance, you're too fast. Too fast. The first 25 years are tough. A little bit. If you're losing your balance, it's gonna be too fast. The first 25 years are tough. Oh, Steven. All this and funny too. My attempts were just as fruitless. As it turns out, golf is hard. We wonder if Douglas knew just how difficult a mission

he'd sent us on. How would we do without a golf pro standing there helping us? You know the difference between golf clubs? There's wet. No, I don't. Not really. I mean, I know to look at... Wedge, driver, putter, one iron, two iron, three iron,

putter, driver, putter. 1.39 a.m. It's the night before the job, and the reality of our situation begins to set in. How can any sting be stung when the would-be stingers absolutely stink at golf? Clearly, this plan wasn't going to work. And so, at a quarter to two in the morning,

panic set in. It's impossible. It's impossible for us to play golf. We would suck so hard. We would never make it off the first fucking hole. And if we knocked the balls anywhere... Yeah, I'm with you. It's like learning how to fucking juggle. It's an incredibly impossible thing to do.

It's going to be so obvious that there's something's up because we've never fucking golfed. Yeah, that's the issue. If we're doing any sort of subterfuge, we're going to be the most obvious, conspicuous people in the world. Conspicuous. And then we'll have to get all the way to the 18th hole. That takes hours.

I mean, literally hours, even if you're good. Literally, yeah. And then try to get the ashes out and forget it. 2.15 a.m. Do you guys know what stomp rockets are? Growing desperate, we chuck the old plan and begin to free associate new plans. We need a t-shirt cannon. Well, you know, actually, that could work. Growing desperate, we chuck the old plan and begin to free-associate new plans. 3.05 a.m. What if we dumped them into, say, like a balloon, and then filled it with water, and then whipped them so they would explode all on the 18th green, and that's it?

This was going nowhere, so I raised the possibility of her pulling off a night job. For those of you squares who need to be hep to it, that's a job one performs at night. They might have dogs. What if they think we're, like, terrorists or something? Super, super posh exclusive club going late at night with someone's human remains, which is fucking totally illegal. Yeah, I mean, they must have some sort of security there.

Oh, 100%. The sun was coming up soon, so I suggest that, like in Dog Day Afternoon or Reservoir Dogs, or really any other movies about dogs that I've also not seen but can only assume have happy, heartwarming endings, maybe we

just show up during the day and hope for the best. This idea, they liked. After the break, the A-team of golf sets off on its mission. I want to be Golf Lundgren, and you can be Mr. T. T-E-E. Oh, Mr. T, right, right, right. And what am I?

You just know as Wedge. No, you're Wedge N that in cleef. James, you want a drink? Scotch, yeah? Maybe. On ice? Sure. Thank you. Sunday, 8.10 a.m. Father's Day arrives, a beautiful one in Montreal.

James says it's a lot like the day Douglas died. We all rendezvous at the safe house, which also happens to be Howard's rec room. James has held on to his dad's urn for 16 years, but he's always kept it in the velvet bag it came with, so he's never actually handled it. Earlier in the day though, in anticipation of the job, he withdrew it, and if there was any question about just how much Douglas

loved golf, it was immediately answered by what was revealed. Etched into the side of the urn was a golfer in mid-swing. Here's to you, Dad. So I'm taking some of Brucey's poop bags that are actually unscented, which is kind of nice, and we're going to use these to transfer

some of James' beloved father's ashes into here. Harrod had the idea of using his pug's poop bags to separate the ashes into portions for each of us. His reasoning? Should one of us get pinched by some golf clubhouse Johnny Law, the two surviving members of the crew could still carry out the job. Oh my God, this is so strange. Oh, what a business.

I know, what a business. I ain't deaf, but what a fucking business. Well, I'm glad you got, I'm glad I'm, I've had a couple drinks, so I'm getting all sentimental, but I'm really glad you guys are doing this with me. Part of this thing for 16 years, there was this sort of fear that I wouldn't be able to handle dealing with it, the physicality of it. But if there's something I'm now grateful for, and I wonder if there was some wisdom in it, is that he has compelled me to deal with this.

I've never cursed him for it, but I've been angry. I've never been angry, but I've been, I don't know what the word is, sort of like, fuck, you know, you couldn't just go without, you couldn't just die. You had to make this somewhat absurd, ridiculous request that was impractical and almost impossible to achieve. But I'm sitting right now kind of almost grateful for it. So let's hope, let's hope we're successful today.

8.25 a.m. As we set off on the job, Howard shows doubts about his outfit. I look like a fat failure of a dentist. I look like I lost my practice because I put dentures in a child's mouth. I lost my practice because I put dentures in a child's mouth. As we near the golf course, James grows silent. I might have parked in a space. All right.

Good show. How are you feeling? Nervous. I'm going to park near here just for a quick getaway. Fromiddy, giddy, giddy, giddy. From the parking lot, we wind our way towards the green. Maybe it's testament to a tilly hat cocked at just the right angle, but nobody seems to be stopping us.

We have infiltrated. Look how manicured it is. It looks like a pool table. There's a pile of ashes there in the middle. The golf course is what you'd expect. Green grass as far as the eye can see, trees, ponds. It's beautiful and under normal circumstances it'd make us feel peaceful-like. But just now it's making us feel out of place, reminding us of who

we are. Three frightened middle-aged men dressed in discarded plumbing company uniforms struggling under the weight of our bulky knapsacks and a mission that just now feels too big for us. I don't know, should we just try to go to the 18th hole or should we go in and... That's, I believe that's it. As it turns out, the 18th hole is should we go in and... That's, I believe that's it, isn't it? As it turns out, the 18th hole is the hole nearest the parking lot. That red flag right there is your destination. One of the green of the 18th hole and that is it.

It is the most conspicuous hole, so thanks a lot, Dad. Right now we're being watched. Even now? Even now we're being watched. Even now? Yeah. We decide to play it cool, case the joint. We make our way to the ninth hole, which is out of view. And it's here that fear sets in. And with it, bargaining.

The ninth hole, Dad, right here would be perfect. I could go with the whole earned dump. Maybe he liked the screen. He liked the whole golf course. It wasn't his, but I know this is the back nine. I know he liked the back nine. Next, denial.

This is my question. Why would your dad, who is an avid golfer, who is probably really, really serious about his game, why would he want to put his action on the green, which would interfere with other golfers? I suggest we cool our heels in the clubhouse, and the boys agree. It turns out that that evening is a Father's Day banquet,

so the staff is rushing to prepare, which allows us to wander around relatively unnoticed. The club goes back about a hundred years, and on the walls are hung old brown and white photos and plaques commemorating the members who've died fighting in both world wars. Since almost the start of our mission, James had expressed a fear that maybe no one at the club would even remember his dad. Douglas was just such a loner that over the years James had never met any of his friends. As far as he knew, he didn't really have any. There was a lot about his dad he didn't know,

like whether he was even any good at golf. So he was hoping he might find some small trace of him here, a photo, or even his name on a list somewhere. Oh, a registry. We find a large, old-looking book that lists every champion in the course's history. Wow, it goes back to 1903. Some of these are names, huh? every champion in the course's history. Wow, it goes back to 1903. I mean, I'm sure he's probably documented

in some book somewhere. It's just a question of finding it. Do you want to check that book? Yeah. Did you look through all this? Yeah, I didn't see anything in here. Since the book won't talk, we look for someone who will.

We stop every staff member and golfer who looks old enough and ask if they remember Douglas. I was saying it was Douglas Hurst who passed away in 2000. We're hoping to find some sort of sign of him, but I don't know. The name doesn't ring a bell. Douglas Hurst, a long time ago. We're trying to find people who remember him. I play at 6 in the morning, so the only guys I know are the grasshoppers.

I didn't know him. No dice. Until... Doug Hurst, you guys knew him? Sure. That's his son right here. You're kidding! In a basement room squeezed into an armchair, watching golf on TV,

is Serge. A French-Canadian bulldog of a man, he pours fistfuls of mixed nuts into his mouth, which he washes down with generous slugs from his beer. Crazy Doug, that's you! Through the half-jar of fancy cocktail nuts crammed into his grizzled maw, you might not be able to understand the words Serge is desperately trying to choke out. He's saying, Crazy Doug.

Crazy Doug is his nickname for James' dad. Was he good? He was a good golfer. He was a good golfer. Yeah, but he was like, what was it, 8 or 9 handicap. Okay. Oh, that's very good. Oh, that's very good, okay. This is like the top 5% of all the golfers in the world. So he was very good. He was very good. And he was dedicated.

The room full of golf clubs that James had thought was garbage, Serge spoke of it with respect. He called it the largest, most complete collection of golf clubs in all of Canada. You never want to hear someone refer to a person you love by a pet name prefixed by the word crazy. But the benefit is that when they tell you stuff about your dad, you know they're being honest. So when Serge says what he says next,

James knows he can believe him. I don't think I have ever met somebody as brilliant as your dad. They're level at depth of knowledge about everything. But on the other side, he was also very, I would not say shy. Isolated, like a... Exactly. Yeah.

He could play alone. We saw him very rarely on the clubhouse. I think it was because he was a bit of a loner. But he did love people, and he loved the people here, and he did love all his friends here. But he really loved to come at 6 in the morning when he could just do his thing. That was very my father.

That's what my mother used to say too. It's very my father. And it's not that he didn't like people. He just liked to do things at his speed, his way and be done. Because he was sort of a loner. He was a loner. He's my father.

You're the son of your father. And with that, it's time for James to become the son his father had asked him to be and do the job we came for. I think it's just like right now, we're just walking around. We're members, we're members' sons. We head back outside and walk with purpose to the 18th hole. As fate would have it, the coast is clear. Actually, James is...

Put some of your hand right now. Here, here. Just kind of... Tie my shoe, tie my shoe. Yeah, tie your shoe. Tie your shoe. There's an opportunity right now. Let's walk with him. With Howard on his left and me on his right, we walk James out to the green,

doing our best to protect him from view. Yeah, yeah, yeah. We're walking with you. Say something, maybe. Yeah, I will. Say something in my head. Do you want to say something in your head? Yeah, I'm just saying something in my head. Okay. Wow, we're actually doing this.

This is incredible because you're actually doing it right now. This is actually happening. He's actually putting his dad's ashes right on the 18th hole, just like he wanted. We didn't think this would be possible, actually. James just tipped his hat. He just dumped it right into the 18th hole, very discreetly. I got it right in the hole. That felt really good. I'm really glad.

Right in the hole. Exactly the way you want it to be. I feel great. I feel awesome. Howard and I are feeling pretty good, too. This is the last time James would ever get to do something his dad had asked him to do, and we're proud to be a small part of it. We put our arms around our friend's neck, and pat his back. Okay, you got back home.

That's incredible. Happy Father's Day. Happy Father's Day. Happy Father's Day. That worked out perfectly. And James is right. It has kind of worked out perfectly. Sure, unlike the end of heist films like Reservoir Dogs,

we weren't sipping drinks from a coconut on a beautiful beach. But James had become the person he wanted to be, and I had become the person who helped him become the person he wanted to be. And Howard, well, he'd become the person who fills up a dog poop bag with free golf clubhouse dinner mints. So all in all, it was a happy ending. Thank you guys for doing this. James had a fistful of his father's ashes in his hand, and he walked onto that green, like a dawn,

bend onto one, he tipped his hat, and just dumped it right into the hole, like clean, right in the hole. That was a hole in one, that's what I would say. Now that the furniture's returning to its goodwill home Now that the last month's rent is scheming with the damage deposit Take this moment to decide If we meant it, if we tried Or felt around for far too much

From things that accidentally touched Heavyweight is hosted and produced by me, Jonathan Goldstein, along with Chris Neary and Kalila Holt. The senior producer is Wendy Dorr. Editing by Alex Bloomberg and Jorge Just. Special thanks to Emily Condon, Stevie Lane, Derek Hurst, Stephen Hughes, and the good doctor, Jackie Cohen. The show is mixed by Haley Shaw.

Music by Christine Fellows. Additional music credits for this episode can be found on our website, Our theme song is by The Weaker Thans, courtesy of Epitaph Records. And our ad music is by Haley Shaw. Follow us on Twitter at Heavyweight, or email us at heavyweight at gimletmedia.com. We'll have a new episode next week. I will literally collapse. Like, literally, fake heart attack type shit. Probably wouldn't work. What if we got a drone? Like, you know those little parrot drones?

And put a bag in it, punched a hole in the bag, and flew the drone over? You know how they say with brainstorming there's no bad ideas? These are bad ideas.