Two Baseball Movies

Two weeks ago, I watched two baseball movies: Eight Men Out and 61*.

Eight Men Out was a film about the Black Sox scandal where players from the Chicago White Sox took money to throw the 1919 World Series. The most recognizable faces in the cast were John Cusack, Charlie Sheen, D.B. Sweeney, John Mahoney (from Fraser) and Studs Terkel.

Cusack played George "Buck" Weaver, Chicago's third baseman, who knew about, but refused it to participate in the fix. Hoping the others would come around before derailing the entire series, he kept quiet. His silence would cost him dearly.

After the scandal broke, baseball's first commissioner, the tough Kenesaw Mountain Landis (how I love that name), banned the seven conspirators and Weaver from baseball for life with the following statement:

"Regardless of the verdicts of juries, no player who entertains proposals or promises to throw a game, no player who sits in conference with a bunch of crooked players and gamblers where the ways and means of throwing games are discussed and does not promptly tell the club about it will ever play professional baseball."

The movie painted a sympathetic portrait of Weaver, so it was easy to feel that Landis punished him too severely. On the other hand, if Weaver had spoken up when he had the chance, he might have squashed the whole thing.

Before the Series began, his manager, William "Kid" Gleason, played by Mahoney, saw that something was distressing Weaver. With just the two of them staring out at the empty ballpark, Gleason gave him a chance to say something, say anything, but Weaver clammed up and essentially sealed his fate (at least, as the movie tells it).

Compared to Landis' swift and stern response to the threat gambling posed to the game, the current commissioner's response to the steroid threat seems even more indecisive. It has only been over the last year that baseball's leaders have seriously addressed the issue. Bud Selig recently released an open letter to fans outlining the sport's stance and response to the use of human growth hormones. I'm glad he at least said something officially, but it will be interesting to see what action will be taken and how forcefully it will be taken against those who attempt to cheat the game.

The second movie was Billy Crystal's inspiring 61*, the story of Roger Maris' and Mickey Mantle's historic 1961 season. Early in the year, both men were on pace to beat Ruth's record. As the season progressed, the single season home run record became the story of the year.

Here were two Yankee teammates chasing the Babe's record in the house he built. Mantle was the crowd-pleasing veteran. Maris was the reclusive youngster. Despite the media's claim of a feud or a rivalry, the men were actually good friends who helped each other deal with the pressures the additional attention brought. Just as people focused on every plate appearance when McGwire and Bonds threatened and eventually broke the previous single season record, the intensity was just as strong forty-five years ago.

One of the story's aspects I found interesting was how Yankee fans loved Mantle, but hated Maris. Mantle was handsome, friendly and outgoing. He was the media darling, the fan favorite. He had played in New York for a long time, so he was their man. Maris was quiet and never smiled. The media immediately disliked him and so did the fans. He had only spent a year with the team, so to them, he wasn't a "true" Yankee. Whenever Mantle hit a home run, they cheered. Whenever Maris hit one, they jeered.

As Maris got closer to the record, fans became more hostile. They started sending him death threats and hate mail. It didn't matter that Maris was a wholesome guy with a wife and kids. It didn't matter that Mantle partied too much or cheated on his wife. Who they were as men played no part in who people chose to be their hero.

All Maris wanted was to play baseball and the public punished him for it. Seeing how poorly fans treated him made his record-breaking home run even sweeter. It was a moment of exhilaration and relief; exhilaration for what he achieved and relief because his achievement also meant freedom from the inhospitable glare of the spotlight.

Crystal's love of the game was evident throughout the film, as was his admiration of both players, especially Mantle. I'm just glad he didn't whitewash the sport or lapse into simple hero worship. The film didn't shy away from the ugly side of the game and showed Maris and Mantle at their best and worst during that most amazing year in baseball history.