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Little Big League


Little Big League (1994)

In a sentence: A preteen inherits the Minnesota Twins and names himself the manager.


"Baseball was made for kids, and grown-ups only screw it up." -- Bob Lemon
There is a not-so-grand tradition of films that cater to one demographic or another. The one that gets talked about the most is blaxsploitation (and hats off to you if you somehow had that word on your bingo card for a review of this film), but there are all sorts of examples. Formulaic romcoms, cheap slashers, everything Jason Statham does, et cetera.

Little Big League is boysploitation. It's part of a tradition of movies for boys, let's say 9-15, where they get to briefly escape an existence of constantly being told what not to do, of constantly struggling with their fidgeting and antsiness and hormones, and get to imagine having some kind of control over their lives. This usually manifests in money, power, or access. But above all, it's respect. People listening to them, and taking them seriously.





You know you're in good hands early on, as the film finds lots of little ways to signal to you that the script was written (or punched up) by someone who knows the game. Billy (the kid) gets to clarify a rule in his Little League game, and then spars with his grandfather over some genuinely good baseball trivia. A lesser film would've had him do that thing where he floods the zone with babble that doesn't make sense to a real fan but registers to everyone else as "is knowledgable about the thing," like a network procedural with a hacker who spews nonsensical technospeak. But no, Billy really does know the game, and a viewer who knows the game will recognize he does.

Billy's played by Luke Edwards, and he's perfect. He can't be too much like a normal kid because a normal kid would never get to do this, and he can't be too performative or he'll sound like those child actors who try to project their way through everything (SNL's Vanessa Bayer had a character that had this type down cold). Instead, he comes off exactly the way he has to: as a hyper-precocious (but mostly real) kid, the kind that can occasionally surprise the adults around him.

They don't really pull too many punches initially, either. You already know the players are going to hate this and he's going to win them over, but by God, they really make him work for it. They come at him from all angles: we look stupid, we have to live this down after you leave, you're going to hurt my ability to get a new contract. And he finds unique ways to motivate and win over each according to their distinct personalities. He's also forced to make tough choices that remind him that baseball isn't just a game, it's a business, and that being a manager means you can't just be a fan.



The film really puts in the work on the premise, rather than just expecting us to go along with it for the fun. It takes an insane idea and then works overtime to try to make it as plausible-seeming as possible, rather than just coasting on an assumed suspension of disbelief.


How's the Baseball?

Extremely good, for several reasons.

First and foremost: the actors move like real ballplayers. In some cases, it's because they were real ballplayers. Brad Lesley played a few seasons in the bigs before moving on to a similar stint as an actor, and Timothy Busfield (!) played semipro ball when he was younger. But it's not just them: it's everyone. I'd be extremely surprised if Jonathan Silverman had a similar career, but his mechanics look pretty good, too.

There are unbroken shots of one actor throwing to another, throwing to another, and everything looks great. Fast, fluid, effortless. Given the year the film was made, I doubt effects played a role. They seemingly just scoured the land for actors who knew how to play and worked with the ones that hadn't. It looks like real baseball; I can't find any seams in the shot other than the ones on the ball. Bravo.



There's also a ton of cameos that baseball fans will notice and appreciate. And none of the lines are forced or stilted. They're all delivered well. And they're folded naturally into the action, too. They don't lampshade them. They don't have some player come up, hit his mark and smile awkwardly before a real actor says "wow, it's 14-time All Star Iván Rodriguez! You're one of the best catchers in the game!" Sometimes they linger on the players for an extra beat to give you a chance to notice, but that's it. It's refreshingly restrained.

Oh, and the montages! Okay, sure, the structure and music are banal, but the action is lovely. It's not just some guy catching a ball in a close up you can clearly tell was tossed casually from just off screen. They pull back and let you see the flow, see the human gears shift and click into place as the play unfolds. It's genuinely beautiful. Balletic. They show the prettiest thing in all of baseball: the double play turn at second. The people who shot and edited these understood something real about the beautiful mechanics of baseball. It's a joy to behold, and the kind of thing even a non-fan will appreciate. Look at this, from 1:18:



Wait wait, there's more! There's a cool trick play at one point in a key moment that's genuinely creative and, honestly, even kinda believable. It's not only fun, and interesting, but it's exactly the kind of thing you'd expect a kid, unshackled by convention or social considerations, to try. Because: why not?

Oh, and bonus points for the casting of Billy's mom, not just because she's great, but because eight years after this film was released, she gave birth to Pete Crow-Armstrong, currently patrolling the outfield for the Chicago Cubs.


Do They Win?

Nope. They go from last-to-first, but they lose the big game. The final out made by the most likable player. As a general rule, I give a little extra respect to any sports film that has the good guys lose, in part because it's always interesting to see how it manages to frame the literal loss as a moral victory. And here, it's a win because they weren't even supposed to be here. And, of course, because Lou (Busfield) hits it hard enough to win the game, but is robbed by a leaping Ken Griffey Jr. who pulls it back from just beyond the wall. The ultimately tough luck loss.





It's obviously trite to have a sports movie where the moral is "it's important to still have fun," but it's true, and it's extremely well illustrated here. To whatever degree that message seems vapid, is because it's misunderstood.

When you say it's important to have fun, that doesn't mean you don't need to try and it doesn't mean you can't get frustrated. It doesn't mean you can't expect more from your teammates, and tell them so. You can still struggle, sweat, and swear...but you have to find the struggle itself enjoyable. You have to enjoy the experience for itself, independent of the result. Not every single time, but most of the time.

As of the time of this writing, I'm on eight softball teams (and kinda half-on another), and I run two (and kinda half-run another). And all of them wear out the same refrains: hit a ball hard but it's caught anyway? Don't change anything, few inches to the side and it's a hit. Nice swing, good cut, they'll start fallin'.

There are 162 games in a baseball season. That's twice as many games as they play in basketball and hockey, and 10 times as many as they play in football. And they need to play that many because individual games are highly random, and need a long statistical tail to even out. To play baseball is to learn to love process over result. And that process, that grind, that series of iterations and tweaks and riding out streaks and slumps alike, is the essence of the sport. And that process is what has to be fun, has to be gratifying in its own right, for its own sake.

A well-struck ball is a well-struck ball, whether it hits the grass or finds a glove. Or maybe, every now and then, makes its way all the way out to a cheering fan beyond a wall.