The Natural

It's one of those nights when TV has a few options.

I'm certainly into the NHL Stanley Cup Playoffs and am keeping a close eye on the Blue Jackets/Bruins game. I respect the Bruins (the one Boston team that I sort of like), and Greenwich's own Cam Atkinson plays for Columbus.

But I also spotted that The Natural is on. So I'm switching between breaks in hockey.

My God. That movie.

The thing is, we've had a little bit of a history between us, The Natural and I have.

I first saw it on our Panasonic VCR in probably late 1984 or early 1985. Yes, that means I did not see it in the theater. To be honest, I still don't remember why.

But I was soon mesmerized by the story of Roy Hobbs, a one-time baseball prospect who meets a strange fate with a mysterious woman, only to reappear out of nowhere as a power-hitting outfielder.

OK, the movie is flawed. So so so so so flawed. There are references aplenty to other baseball moments, with an imitation Babe Ruth just part of the mix.

(I suppose I should state here that there are spoilers ahead, so proceed with caution)

But it is also the magic and mythicism of baseball. It's about the flaws of humanity. The very highs and lows of life, with baseball serving as the definitive star.

So yes, I loved it. Especially when I first saw it.

Then I read the book.

I know. The book is different than the movie. But I guess this is the first time it had ever happened to me. The book blew me away. It was fantastic.

And nearly completely different from the movie.

So I've come to treat them as two different entities, in the way that some try to view The Shining. I realize The Shining is likely light years better than The Natural, but The Natural is very much me.

It takes place in 1939. Babe Ruth has only just retired four years earlier. Lou Gehrig will let the world know how lucky he is that summer. Joe DiMaggio is dominating. Ted Williams is only beginning to show his greatness.

Baseball was America at that point.

We're not in war yet, and we're working our way out of The Great Depression.

The movie is an enormous fantasy. It's not gritty like Major League or Bang The Drum Slowly.  It's not Field of Dreams (another movie I have a strange relationship with).  It's not The Bad News Bears.

It still produces a strong emotion when Hobbs, played by then-46-year-old Robert Redford (who could have also played Mickey Mantle if he wanted to) strolls to the plate in the ninth inning of the playoff game with the Pirates.

Randy Newman works our hearts with that fairly-iconic music.

And then? Goodbye, Mr. Spaulding.



Even the cynic in me suspends reality for a moment to deal with how ludicrously over-the-top the whole thing is.

But the romanticism of it all works. Those uniforms (I still want one). The old stadium (using Buffalo's now-gone War Memorial Stadium). The use of the radio announcer, calling the play-by-play serving as a narrator, but also adding to the nostalgic feeling.

Then I read the book and felt like I had been punched in the gut.

Say it ain't so, author Bernard Malamud.

That magic moment isn't so magical after all. It reads like the NCAA has a say in the aftermath.

*****
In the movie, there's the moment where Roy is in the hospital, and he allows himself a pause to look at his beloved Iris and let his emotion flow, if only briefly.

"I wish Dad could have...," Roy says, his thoughts trailing off.

"God I love baseball."

Wow.

Indeed. I love this game.

By the way, the Yankees won their fourth straight World Series in 1939.

That's baseball for ya.