Red Blow: Pretty good food, huh?
Roy Hobbs: Damn good.
Red Blow: You can't spell it, but it eats pretty good, don't it?
Pop Fisher: Hobbs. I'm sending you down Hobbs, Class B ball. Tomorrow you go to the Great Lakes Assocaition.
Roy Hobbs: All right. You make the rules.
Pop Fisher: That's right, that's right and you ain't been playing by 'em. Don't you remember signing a contract.
Roy Hobbs: I remember signing a contract, to play ball not to be put to sleep by some two bit carney hypnotist! I won't do that Pop! I can't.
Roy Hobbs: Red, it took me sixteen years to get here. You play me, and I'll give ya the best I got.
Red Blow: I believe ya.
Pop Fisher: You know my mama wanted me to be a farmer.
Roy Hobbs: My dad wanted me to be a baseball player.
Pop Fisher: Well you're better than any player I ever had. And you're the best God damn hitter I ever saw. Suit up.