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| (photo courtesy of claymationwerewolf.blogspot.ca) |
Now that both the L.A. Kings and LeBron have finally been
crowned, sports-fans can turn their undivided attention to America’s favourite
pastime. The summer may have only just begun, but the regular baseball
season is already in full swing. And while I only follow MLB with a
passing interest, cultural osmosis has cultivated in me a profound appreciation
for the game itself. The history of Baseball is the history of the 20th Century. Its past is our
prologue. Baseball is mythical. Anyone who’s made the pilgrimage to
Cooperstown, and wandered the halls with hushed reverence, can attest to this
inalienable truth. It’s also cinematic. I may not love the sport,
in its current hyper-corporatized incarnation, but I love the game and I love
it on film.
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| (photo courtesy of ign.com) |
It’s a genre of simple pleasures. From the classics
(The Pride of the Yankees) to the comedies (Major League), from
the kids-flicks (The Sandlot) to the Costners (Bull Durham, For Love Of The Game), baseball movies spin timeless tales of fathers and sons,
brothers and best friends. They’re most effective when waxing poetical
rather than statistical; baseball as a metaphor for life. The Natural,
starring Robert Redford, gets me every time. When he cracks the climactic
homer, unleashing a cascade of sparks upon the diamond, I lose control, more
blubbery than a can of tuna.
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| (photo courtesy of thesportingsnarf.com) |
A man’s tears are shielded from fraternal heckling on all
but a few occasions; when his child is born and when his team wins the
championship. But I’ve yet to meet a real man who’s eyes don’t mist up at
the end of Field Of Dreams. Proof positive there is crying
in baseball.
