A movie ostensibly about baseball. I know nothing about baseball aside from the name Babe Ruth. This movie almost piqued my interest in the sport of baseball.
From a time when Kevin Costner could do no wrong, hit after hit.
This movie is good and if made today it would most likely have to have a ‘message’ or token member of a downtrodden minority. Or a lesbian.
Something like that.
Not my generation’s star man, which was Zidane, the ‘Original’ Ronaldo, and then latterly CR7 and Messi. I will still maintain that Cristiano Ronaldo over the broad spectrum of his career is the greatest football player of all time, yet Maradona at his peak from 1984-’89 was playing the beautiful game from another planet.
I don’t think anyone has ever had an impact on a World Cup as he did in 1986. He was not just an attacking midfielder with five decisive assists and goals, which is an astonishing feat in itself; he was a talisman, a wee warrior, a leader, and was hard as fuck. If you watch the matches again he dominates every one of them, carrying an average team over the line each time.
This was back in the day when the ‘art’ of defending consisted of trying to break legs. Coaches would drill it into the centre-backs before kick-off – it was legalised GBH. How he managed to make it through games beguiles me, even more so with the artistry on display after being booted up and down the pitch for 90 mins.
One in a million, and if he were playing the modern game with today’s diet, nutrition, sports science bonanza (and protection from referees) he’d be on an iron throne with a fat cigar in his mouth.
Am I wrong?
Some things shouldn’t be revisited, mainly items from childhood that fill you with nostalgic joy. The Mighty Ducks movies are a mighty (sorry) example of this. I was convinced they were masterworks because time is an emollient cream of sorts. By gum, these films are fucking dire.
Where to begin? We can start with Emilio Estevez’s face. It is unchanging throughout. The bloke has the acting chops of a turnip and the charisma of a sock. If he were my coach I’d quit the team. What is even worse, though, are the kids. They are so annoying that I think I’d spike their milk bottles with cyanide had I passed through the school system with them. The one exception is the fat bastard from Keenan and Kel who pops up in the sequel; he’s the only critter there with an IQ.
And what a mad movie D2: The Mighty Ducks (1994) is. For some reason the bad guys are from Iceland. Every single one of them looks 10 years older than their age and appear to be either Neo-Nazis or overgrown members of the Hitler Youth. Their coach is even called ‘The Dentist’; Marathon Man (1976) flashbacks kicking in.
However, the theme tune is splendid and the Flying V looks aesthetically pleasing even though it makes zero fucking sense.
The ’90s were an odd time.
Further reading/viewing:
https://bleacherreport.com/articles/2141498-25-things-you-never-knew-about-the-mighty-ducks-trilogy
https://www.empireonline.com/movies/reviews/d2-mighty-ducks-review/
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 