Well, what do you think you're standing on?

You can't pitch in Candlestick Park.

Can't, too.

Can't, either.

Let's take a car and lose those guys.

She can't, neither.

A feller stands beside it holding a bat.

Just stand there quietly and hold the pin, right?

Say Jethro, are you sure that you can't throw without possum fat?

I can't even see it.

I can't wait to meet Mr. Durocher.

You have to catch that varmint by the end of his wings and spread-eagle him so he can't bite you.

He can't throw anything that isn't smeared with possum fat.

A body can't find no greens in these Beverly Hills.

Now I can't throw nothing that ain't smeared with possum fat.

Ooh, I can't wait to tangle with one of them golfs.

Well, Mr. Drysdale can't come, but me and Jethro would like to go along with you if that's all right.

I can't throw straight at all unless I put that on my hands first.

The bank president canceled, the millionaire didn't show up, and we can't get a caddy.

There are so many Dodger fans that are millionaires, I can't keep track of all of them.