Company, halt!

- Whoa. - [Horse Nickering]

Dress that line.

Dress that line, mister.

Dress that line, soldier.

Mister, hold my mount.

You fat, disgusting slob.

You're a goddamn disgrace!

A vicious mother, isn't he?

Yeah. He can't do that to our pledges.

Only we can do that to our pledges.

Redo those buttons. Dress that belt buckle.

Straighten that cap. And goddamn it, tuck up those pajamas.

Attention! Eyes front!

What's that on your chest, mister?

It's a pledge pin, sir. A pledge pin?

On your uniform?

Hooked it. Shit.

[Glass Shattering, Golf Ball Bouncing]

Just tell me, mister. What fraternity would pledge a...

man like you?

It's a Delta pin, sir.

Slice.

You'll report to the stable tonight and every night at 1900 hours...

and without that pledge pin!

Do you understand?

Your left arm is straight, but you're not keeping your head down.

You're all worthless and weak.

Now drop and give me 20!

[Horse Whinnying] Ho! Whoa! Ho!

Get back in rank! Attention!

Always try to hit through the ball.

Whoa, big fella. Whoa. Whoa.

Trooper, whoa... [Clang]

[Screaming]

I gotta work on my game.

No, no, no. Don't think of it as work.

The whole point is just to enjoy yourself.

[Screaming Continues]