Sort of like George Lucas, despite it being a terrible, terrible idea . . . I just can't seem to leave this thing alone.
But nonetheless . . . I had to revive this little slog, at least temporarily, because I've been thinking a lot about baseball lately - I'm in New York this week and trying desperately to get in to see the old Yankee Stadium before she's gone forever.
Anyway, watching ball games always makes me think about Annie's (Susan Sarandon's) opening speech in Bull Durham about the Church of Baseball.
It wouldn't make any sense to most people, but to baseball's faithful, it's one of the best openings in film:
"I believe in the Church of Baseball.
I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology.
You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle.
You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay.
I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 142 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball - now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake? It's a long season and you gotta trust.
I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball."
I believe in the Church of Baseball too.
If only the Blue Jays weren't such sinners.
I'll keep you posted.
(Maybe)
I'm too busy to do this little blog justice.
Plus I write all day for a living, so coming home to write for all your sorry asses would be like asking President Bush to come home at night and do horrendous damage to those around them.
"Ahhhhh, Laura come on. I don't do enough of this at work??"
So until further notice, the On The Felt blog is closed.
I won't keep you posted.
Hey, turns out this blog does still exist . . . sort of
Watched Pulp Fiction last night (IMDB top 250 list). Hadn't seen it in like six years. Turns out it's still a frickin' masterpiece. Tarantino may or may not be a little off the deep end, but even if he never does anything relevant again . . . we'll always have Pulp Fiction, and for that I will be forever grateful.
And then today I watched The Brothers Solomon. I knew it was going to be bad. But I was messing around on the computer and it has Wil Arnett in it and I thought "yep, this is going to suck, but it'll just be in the background and it has Wil Arnett in it."
Wow. What a chunk of drippy, melty, armpit-softened Whopper that was.
I am totally baffled by the movie industry. What other industry is capable of producing what is for the most part absolute bollocks - at great expense - and not only survive, but prosper to a great degree?
Just as Seinfeld proposed that 95% of the population is undate-able, pretty damned near 80% of movies are unwatchable.
Why?
Is it because the film industry is more inextricably linked to commerce than perhaps any other art form?
Is it because even crappy films often make money?
Is it some inherent flaw in the way the industry is set up?
I'm not sure, but we really need to get to the bottom of this because I'm one of these people who CANNOT turn off a movie - so I wind up watching these stinky cheese muffins all the way through to the end . . .
