Green awaits, along with the promise it brings
- Brett Hiner: A Work in Progress
- February 11, 2022
- 903
January and February are tough months: gray, drab, slush-filled yards and pot-hole filled streets. For some, the excitement of the holiday season is a distant memory, with decorative-filled rooms transformed back to normal, children safely returned to their college dorm rooms and the taste of Grammie’s cheesy potatoes lingering on the taste buds.
January and February are tough months.
In some capacity I have been in school since fall 1977, so the chance for a winter escape is an impossibility. My escapes have been relegated to good books or movies — always mindful of the inevitable arrival of spring and the colors it brings.
More often than not, I associate those colors with baseball. It has been a bit since I have attended a professional football game, but my memories of football fields are that the grass is never as green as it is at Progressive Field — the colors never as alive as they are on the center-field scoreboard.
Sometimes we have to force ourselves out of the winter months, even if only for a little while. Thinking of spring training and the hopefulness of a new season allows us to do that. So do baseball movies, which are a January/February must in our household.
Arguing the merits of what makes a great baseball movie or what the greatest baseball movie is of all time seems almost blasphemous. I am sure there are bad baseball movies, but none come immediately to mind. Choosing a favorite one is as tough as facing a Nolan Ryan fastball.
Baseball movie endings, however ... now there is a fun debate.
Spoilers ahead.
The child in me would make an argument for the finale of “The Bad News Bears” — of course, the Walter Matthau one — being the best. Maybe of all baseball films it is the truest ending to those who have experienced baseball at any level (uh, with the exception of the kids drinking beer as they approach home plate to accept their second-place trophy).
The fact is most of us experience losing way more than the rare feat of holding up a championship trophy. When Tanner Boyle tells the Yankees where they can shove their apology and second-place trophy and Lupus throws it at them, well, they say and do what many disappointed Little Leaguers have felt.
The beauty of the ending is in the authenticity of the scene. There is no rally cap or miraculous comeback, no moral lesson or walk-off home run, but just one team losing to the better team and acting like heartbroken youngsters because of it. The characters remain genuine to who they have been the entire film, and uttering the famous line, “Wait ‘til next year,” summarizes the hopeful innocence of youth and the promise of the next season.
Maybe it is because of my love of the Tribe, but ranking just above “The Bad News Bears” would be the finale of “Major League.” At this point it has less to do with Jake Taylor’s bunt and Willie Mays Hayes’ slide into home — maybe the worst baseball slide in movie history, by the way. It has less to do with Rick Vaughn getting punched in the face by Roger Dorn or Jake embracing Lynn Wells as his time with the ball club comes to an end.
Instead, it has everything to do with Bob Uecker’s “call.”
Many Indians fans, I think, envision them, someday, finally winning the World Series and hearing Tom Hamilton’s “call” on the final out. I would hope, out of deep admiration, he would say something akin to what Uecker does in the film: “And the Indians win it! The Indians win it! Oh my God, the Indians win it!” Some would even likely hear James Newton Howard’s melodic score playing in our hearts and minds, as it does in the movie.
The fact is with the recent name change, we will never hear the word “Indians” uttered in a potential championship someday. As a result the ending of “Major League,” as perfect as it already is, now takes on even more depth for lovers of baseball because it now time capsules the former hopes of generations of Indians fans.
But at the top of the list must be Barry Levinson’s finale to “The Natural.” Often criticized for the implausible ending of the Robert Redford film, I think it is the fanciful aspect that makes it the best baseball movie ending ever. The beauty of sports is that it is where the unreal happens, and it affords us the opportunity to witness and talk about it, turning us all into storytellers.
Of course, Redford’s “Roy Hobbs” smashes the game-winning home run into the lights of the ballpark, shorting out the antiquated system. As the sparks cascade down onto the field, viewers see the corrupt team owner’s wishes, literally, going up in flames. Hobbs, from the moment he joins the New York Knights, is the spark for any success the team achieves, and the sparks reflecting off manager Wilford Brimley’s glasses also reflect the passion he has always had for the sport of baseball.
That we come full circle, watching Redford play catch with his son, just as his father did with him, only adds to the visual poetry.
In their own ways, all three endings provide the type of sports majesty that can only be achieved in a baseball film.
If you are reading this on Feb. 12, we have 12 days until we see the Guardians take the field in Arizona — 48 until they return to open in Cleveland. Maybe these movies will help get us to that beautiful day on March 31, knowing somewhere buried under that blanket of white awaits the green and the promise it brings.