Take Me Out to the Ball Game…
January 13th, 2008 by 
Caroline Spector
The Dude was out of town this week. This usually means I do extensive household projects and indulge in watching even more chick-flickage than usual. “Sense and Sensibility,” “Pride and Prejudice” — okay, Jane Austen anything — but you see where I’m going. I really thought I knew the ultimate in chick-flickage.
Boy, was I wrong.
See, I was booping around the dial, and as there was nothing on TV thanks to the writers strike and coverage of the New Hampshire primaries (that’s what the Internet is for, fer crying out loud!), I found myself deep in HD land with sparse pickings from which to choose.
But then I see “We Are Marshall” is playing on HBO HD. Yay, think I, Uplifting Sports Film. As The Dude and I are both well into our ohmyGodhas”FridaysNightLights”jumpedtheshark? mode, I was ready for some good ole fashioned football as metaphor.
What I was not ready for was bawling my freaking eyes out for the entire hour and a half of the film. And as I was dabbing the tears from my eyes for the umpity-umph time, it occurred to me that I should not have been surprised.
See, the thing that I finally twigged to after lo, these many years, is that the biggest tear-jerkers aren’t chick flicks. No, little precious, they’re sports movies.
Yes, our macho, testosterone-laden men are secretly huge suckers for the most shameless emotional manipulation available known to well, man.
How else do you explain “The Pride of the Yankees,” “Brian’s Song,” “The Natural,” “Eight Men Out,” “The Lou Gherig Story,” “Field of Dreams,” “The Greatest Game Ever Played,” “Knute Rockne All American” and “The Bad News Bears?”
There’s only one explanation: That deep down in their hearts, men are secretly Big Girls.
So, Ladies, if you want to spend a romantic evening with your male S.O., forget about dragging him to the latest period piece. Abandon the idea of a romantic comedy. Get thee to NetFlix and rent one of the titles listed above. You can thank me later.*
*Disclaimer: If your man doesn’t dig sports. Forget everything I just said. I’m afraid you’re on your own.
Posted in Caroline, Daily Life, Movies, People, Pop. Culture, The Dude | 
6 Comments »
January 13th, 2008 at 3:35 pm
Oh, guys who don’t dig sports are sentimental softies, too. It’s just they save their sentimentality for other things. And a lot of these films, like, say, Field of Dreams, get guys right where they live, even if they don’t like sports. There’s the father-son thing–that really gets guys. So I think your advice still holds, they just have to be a little choosier about which films they pick.
January 13th, 2008 at 10:15 pm
I realise y’all are cursed with living in Texas*, where the only time you see ice is generally in a vanilla coke, but how could you leave “The Mighty Ducks,” “Slapshot,”** “H-E-Double Hockey Sticks,” and especially “Mystery, Alaska” off the list?
Or, if you must stick to sports in which UT contends, add “Glory Road” to your list. Or “Hoosiers.”
*Yes, that’s envy speaking. Your point?
**Not certain this counts, since it features a Michael Ontkean strip scene which might make it a “chick flick” by definition.
January 13th, 2008 at 10:47 pm
“The Junction Boys”
January 13th, 2008 at 11:49 pm
Maureen’s right — a guy doesn’t have to dig the sport to get all sappy about a sports movie. It’s the father-son, mentor-pupil, buddy-buddy, brother-brother, and/or comrade-in-arms angle that gets us.
To all the films already mentioned, I’ll add “The Longest Yard” (the original one).
I’ll also note that another category of film that can get most guys — even those unmoved by sports movies — is the guy-animal buddy pic.
So if a man doesn’t get misty-eyed at either “Brian’s Song” or “Old Yeller,” he ain’t human.
(I’ve never seen any of the “Air Bud” movies . . . but I suppose I should, since I understand they qualify both as sports movies and as guy-animal buddy pics.)
January 14th, 2008 at 1:03 am
“Brian’s Song.” You bastard, Denton.
January 14th, 2008 at 12:27 pm
My favorite moment in Sleepless in Seattle is the part where Tom Hanks and Victor Garber, sending up the women’s affection for An Affair to Remember, start talking about The Dirty Dozen with tears in their eyes and catches in their throats.
Hanks: Jim Brown was throwing these hand grenades down these airshafts. And Richard Jaeckel and Lee Marvin [Begins to cry] were sitting on top of this armored personnel carrier, dressed up like Nazis…
Garber: [Crying too] Stop, stop!
Hanks: And Trini Lopez…
Garber: Yes, Trini Lopez!
Hanks: He busted his neck while they were parachuting down behind the Nazi lines…
Garber: Stop.
Hanks: And Richard Jaeckel – at the beginning he had on this shiny helmet…
Garber: [Crying harder] Please no more. Oh God! I loved that movie.
So I guess, for some men at least, it’s not just sports. (In the mind of Nora Ephron, anyway.)
Angels in the Outfield makes me cry, but I don’t think that qualifies as a manly sports movie.