Bull Durham alert

I hate people who get the words wrong. It ain't "woolly" it's "weary" and it nobody's got stress, they're wearing a dress.

 

Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

 

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.

 

A fine piece of writing, but it seemed forced in the film

 

That's Costner's fault.

 

No, it's the thought of anyone who'd put that speech in the mouth of a minor-league catcher.
Talk about your magical realism.
And Robbins looks pathetic on the mound.
Costner's second most-overrated baseball film.

 

Dude. It was the 80s.

 

Sorry to ask, but is there ANYTHING you like?

 

Please see the Costner speech, except for the Oswald part.
And the DH. I like the DH.
And "Tin Cup."

 

Lend yourself to fantasy every once in a while, Fen. It helps the bitter pill of reality go down better.

 

Few things in life are perfect. Once I accepted that flaws are part of the beauty in life, things became a LOT easier on me.

 

I KNEW IT! FASCIST!