For the Love of Tanner

To watch The Bad News Bears today is to look at a nearly unrecognizable world.  Walter Matthau stumbles around as a less than sober contrast to today's cult of self-esteem parenting that rewards breathing.  The "parenting" revolution of the last twenty-five years has not necessarily been an evolutionary leap forward, and this film reminds you of its mixed results. Look, I spend most weekends in a camping chair on various East Bay little league fields, and the most common parental cry is "Great job!" Little Timmy looks at three fastballs down the middle without lifting that hundred dollar aluminum bat off his shoulder, and the coach shrieks, "Great job, Timmy! Great try!" Little Max dribbles a meek grounder to the first baseman who lets the ball slowly roll into his glove and takes one easy step to the bag. The parents erupt: "Beautiful play! Now that's baseball!" Both boys look embarrassed. I breathe deeply.  And the beat goes on.

Obviously, there is nothing wrong with positive encouragement, but at times it looks like a presentation of good parenting. Watch me encourage the children. If you get the same words in the same tone for doing absolutely nothing that you do for fouling off five pitches and then ripping a single to left, the traditional conditioning model has left the building. If I'm mixing my metaphors, maybe I'm confused, too.

The Bad News Bears came out in 1976, and the opening scene is Walter Matthau driving into the ballpark's parking lot, dumping a bit of Bud from the can he's holding and topping it off with bourbon. He's  being paid to coach a new team of misfits because the parents are busy. He's got his afternoons free and a fierce booze habit to support, so a genre is born- the lovable losers pull together and take on the arrogant rich kids for the championship. It was a novel premise at the time, but from a 2011 couch, much of the fun is spotting cultural shifts.

For one, Matthau drinks openly and publicly AT ALL TIMES. He drinks in the dugout. He's holding a Schlitz when he ambles to the mound to berate his pitcher. His Bud never leaves his hand when he drives, and he never shows the slightest self-consciousness about any of it.  He does all this in the presence of blessed children, and yet few comment on or gape at the booze in his hand. It's just there. A few kids comment by dismissing him as a drunk, but their tone is sadly knowing, as if they've seen this act for too long at home. He's not a good man and he's a terrible role model, and I wouldn't want him coaching or coming near my sons. But something in his unwillingness to even pretend at niceties makes him a cartoon anti-hero for those choking on the trophy-for-everyone times. Any "great job" coming out of his mouth comes in response to something worthy of the utterance.

The kids are especially tough. Everybody's favorite is Tanner, the trash-talking, racial-epithet hurling, fist-throwing second baseman. Tanner turns no cheeks and never met an empty "good game" he could spit out. At the end of the championship game, when the evil Yankees deliver their empty apology, Tanner doesn't fake-smile and the boy doesn't hug. "You can take your apology and your trophy and shove it up your ass."   He could grow up to be a horrible person, but it's hard to find that brash fighting spirit and toughness today.  In an uncomfortable sense, Tanner keeps folks honest.  Kelly Leak, the Harley-riding, chain-smoking and cougar-chasing baseball Brando, does doughnuts on the field during the opening day ceremonies and takes Tatum O'Neal to see the Stones. He was winning when Sheen was in diapers. Today, he'd probably be in Learning Skills and on Ritalin. 

Most importantly, the movie remains hilarious. The kids are distinctively funny, a few adults are not shallow and selfish, and the games are filled with weird drama. Find a sixer of Schlitz Malt Liquor and rent this beauty one rainy afternoon. Tanner will be a far better inspiration for the evening than that gym visit ever could. If you haven't seen it for awhile, you might be surprised just how raw this thing is.