Pieces of Chicken: Notes on the second- or third-best baseball movie ever (“Major League”)

The movie that lifted the phrase “€œjust a bit outside”€ into the American lexicon turned 25 years old earlier this year. It was broad, shallow, bordering on downright illiterate, the dunce at the back of the greatest class of baseball movies ever made. And somehow it outlasted them all.1.Here’€™s how the second- or third-best baseball movie of all time came to me: 10 minutes here, 15 minutes there, glimpses, cartoonish flashes, Wild Thing leaning on a jukebox that was playing “€œWild Thing,”€ Willie Mays Hayes sprinting in pajamas, Pedro Cerrano circling the bases with his newly existentialist bat, more, less, again and again and again, in motel rooms, at in-laws’€™ houses, in this apartment or that apartment, swear words sometimes unshackled, sometimes blunted to ludicrous approximations, 3 a.m., 3 p.m., drunk, sober, bored, anxious, half-asleep, distracted, compulsive, morose, giggling. I lingered whenever it crossed my path, and thus it accrued within me over a couple of decades until finally it was part of me, like an element of my personality or some sort of internal diet-related cyst. That’€™s generally how the world comes to us, all manner of aesthetic wholeness pretty much a myth. You want a whole chicken? Well,… Read full this story

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