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The Detroit Tigers are in a major funk. They’ve lost 9 of 10, which includes a game that they whiffed a record-tying 20 times, and another (last night) in which they blew a healthy 5-0 lead.
So why spend another day rehashing all of the club’s inadequacies? We know the bullpen is beyond shaky, we know Justin Upton is the new Jacque Jones, and we know Brad Ausmus is trying to find stability on the thinnest sheet of ice anyone has ever stood on.
Instead, let’s take a trip back in time to one of the more controversial baseball games in Hollywood lore. The contest itself took place back during World War II. The story was officially told to the American public some 50 years later.
Without further ado, here is the tale of a sibling rivalry, a hall of fame manager, and the most hotly-debated final play in the history of sport.
It’s All About Me
There have been more than a few selfish athletes over the years.
Scottie Pippen once refused to enter a playoff game in the final seconds because the ensuing play was designed for Toni Kukoc, who indeed wound up canning the buzzer-beater to take down the Knicks.
Manny Ramirez, upset with his contract situation, decided to go on cruise control in Boston one season by failing to run out ground balls and loafing it in the outfield.
Frequent complainer Terrell Owens was no stranger to calling out teammates or coaches for not getting enough balls thrown his way, regardless of whether or not his team emerged with a win.
Even Ben Wallace, once the consummate team player, started to brood in his last season with the Pistons. He would often talk of "not getting enough touches," despite the fact that he was completely inept on that end of the floor. In a final act of selfishness, Ben pulled a "Pippen" by refusing to re-enter a game during a late season loss to Orlando, ignoring the repeated requests of Flip Saunders.
Even the most reputable star athletes can lose their mojo at any given moment and cross over into that dark place where it becomes "all about me.” We saw it just this year with Andre Drummond. The Palace was rocking with the clinching of a playoff birth for the first time in seven years, but there was the big fella sitting all alone on the bench, looking none too pleased.
But all of the aforementioned figures pale in comparison to a superstar catcher from the 1940s that was not afraid to throw every single teammate on the chopping block, crushing hopes and dreams alike during the biggest moment of their lives.
A League of Their Own
The year was 1992 and "A League of Their Own" was taking the world by storm.
When it came out, many thought it would just be another ho-hum chick flick with Geena Davis and Co. trying to imitate real ballplayers. But when you walked out of Americana West after those 128 minutes, you most likely had no fingernails left; far fewer tears than with what you arrived; and a very painful, exasperated feeling lodged deep in the pit of your stomach.
How is it possible, you ask, that such a delightful and well-done picture could be undone by one single individual? If you don't know that answer, you have never met Dottie Hinson.
It was a trying time for the Rockford Peaches that summer, to say the least.
There was the drunkard ex-player for a manger in Jimmy Dugan. There was always a looming threat that the league would fold due to waning fan interest. Players had to attend weekly etiquette classes so they could learn critical life-lessons like "balancing books on your head" and "drinking tea in the proper fashion." With the war in full throttle overseas, the Peaches were in constant fear of the dreaded telegram with news of another husband falling prey to the cause.
(Speaking of which, the scene in which Betty Spaghetti receives such a notice is unquestionably one of the most difficult scenes to endure in the history of film. Jimmy walking past the row of girls sitting at their lockers, each praying to God that he keeps moving past them, and finally, the gut-wrenching "I'm sorry, Betty" as she is handed the note, bursting into tears. You could watch that scene 150 times, and on the 151st, you would still feel the same sickness you did on the initial viewing.)
So needless to say, it was not all "Peaches" and cream for this group.
Of course, the biggest issue was the complicated relationship between the pitcher-catcher battery of sisters Dottie Hinson and Kit Keller.
“You ever hear Dad introduce us to people? ‘This is our daughter Dottie, and this is our other daughter, Dottie’s sister.’ They should’ve just had you and bought a dog!”
Throughout the movie, we are consistently taken down one road -- that road being Kit as the irrational, whining, little sister, with Dottie acting as the honorable, humble, older sibling. One would think that Kit would derive some satisfaction from the on-field accomplishments of big sis. Think again. Kit instead harbors feelings of jealousy and resentment.
When Dottie smacks a game-winning homer, it's "You stole my thunder!"
When Dottie truthfully informs Jimmy that Kit "is throwing grapefruits up there" to bring about a necessary pitching change in a tight game, Kit fires the ball at her from three feet away and stalks off to the dugout. She insists that Dottie keeps "holding her back" instead of helping her to push through.
Well, how about a little thing called accountability, Kit? Was it Dottie that loaded the bases in the final inning of a crucial game with a playoff spot on the line?? No...that was you!
Was it Dottie's fault that you chose to get into a postgame brawl with 'Rasslin Rosie O' Donnell when you knew full well you were outweighed by at least two and a half bills? No...you made that choice!
But somehow, Kit continued to play the "helpless little sister" card to the point of exhaustion, not once choosing to take responsibility for any of her actions.
“You stink. You’re lousy. You’re only the best player in the league.”
Which brings us back to the focal point of the piece, Mrs. Dottie Hinson.
She was the most dominant player in the All American League, hands down. She was an absolute terror in the middle of the order. She hit for average, she hit for power, all while handling the most demanding position on the entire diamond, catcher.
There was no weak spot in her game. Physically, that is. Between the ears, it could be a different story. As viewers, we always wanted to see Dottie flash that killer instinct. She had all the ability. Now just couple with that with a win-at-all-costs attitude and you have some kind of unbeatable baseball warrior.
After a tumultuous regular season filled with controversial trades, family loss, and extremely painful slides wearing short skirts, Dottie thought nothing of it to up and leave the team right before the World Series opener. Sure, Bill Pullman had just returned from the war safe and sound, but jeez, can't the guy wait another week?
And for Pete's sake, it's Bill Pullman we're talking about here! Has a woman ever dropped everything she had to start a lifetime with Pullman? I think not!
The only times he's actually been sought after were by Ellen DeGeneres in "Mr. Wrong" (in hindsight, she couldn’t have been that interested), and by Sandra Bullock in "While You Were Sleeping." (Pullman's brother was in a coma...she had no other choice.) And now Dottie, the highly respected team leader and face of the league, was jettisoning her Peaches for Pullman at the most critical moment of the season.
The Peaches dropped a pair to Kit's Racine Belles (she was traded mid-year) to open the series. With Dottie nowhere to be found, they easily could have packed it in and called it a season. Only, Jimmy Dugan's crew didn't roll like that.
They fought back, tooth and nail, to even things up at three games apiece. An epic Game 7 was on the horizon. Even without their MVP, the gals from Rockford found themselves just nine innings away from a very meaningful league championship.
But in the warm-ups prior to the climactic contest, we discover that Dottie has now returned to play in the final game. It was the film equivalent of the classic children’s story about the little red hen that labored all day long baking a beautiful loaf of bread -- receiving no help from any of the other animals -- then being cozied up to once the final product was presented in all its delicious glory. The other animals didn’t contribute to the cause, so why should they reap any of the benefits?
Same goes for Dottie. She was off gallivanting around Yellowstone Park with the lifeless Pullman while her teammates were laying it all on the line in a hotly contested World Series. And now she wanted back in? That Geena Davis sure had some ego.
“High fastballs. She can’t hit them, can’t lay off ‘em.”
The final game sequence in the film hits you from so many different angles and touches on so many different emotions that by the time it's over, it feels like you just played a full season of ladies' baseball in the shadows of a history-altering world war. Little sis Kit was on the hill for rival Racine. And even though the girl had major self-esteem issues and a mediocre pitching arsenal at best, she was a bulldog that day. She twirled eight innings of scoreless baseball and her Belles carried a narrow 1-0 advantage into the final frame.
This is where the movie started messing with your mind.
"All the Way" Mae (Madonna) legged out an infield single. Doris Murphy (Rosie O) laced one back up the box. Eventually, the Peaches had runners at 2nd and 3rd with two out. And as fate would have it, none other than Dottie Hinson was loping confidently towards the dish.
(Now this is the one point in the film where you have to suspend your disbelief a little bit. It's a Hollywood movie, thus the confrontation here had to be between the two main characters. But do not be fooled...in real life, this is an automatic intentional walk situation. Go-ahead runs in scoring position, first base open, two outs, championship on the line, and the league's most menacing hitter at the plate??? Even Brad Ausmus would have known to toss four wide ones in this situation. Couldn't the screenwriter have just loaded the bases for that final at bat, thus sparing us 17 years of sheer analytical torture?!?)
In a surprise to absolutely nobody in attendance, Dottie came through. She smacked a line drive over Kit's head, scoring two to grab the lead, and sending young Kit off the deep end. She immediately became despondent on the mound, putting together an unsightly sobbing-hyperventilating combo that left viewers nauseous and without sympathy.
The woman that always tried blaming everyone else around her had nowhere to turn. She had blown the lead, possibly the title, and the person she should have cherished most earlier in the year, Dottie, was starring for the other team. Some movie justice, finally.
One shutdown inning in the bottom half and we'd all be leaving the theater feeling peachy.
The Belles put the tying run aboard and were down to their final out when little Kit Keller strode to the plate. We must not forget that just a moment ago, with Kit again wheezing and crying uncontrollably in the dugout, Dottie shoots an extended glance in her direction.
We see it now.
Everything has changed.
“Keller’s running through the stop sign at third . . . she is not stopping!!”
Dottie no longer has that championship spirit of a gladiator about to deliver a final knockout blow. The eyes are completely devoid of the passion and fire that should have been oozing out of her every pore at that critical moment. It was just a look, but really, it was so much more. In that instant, Dottie decided her team's cause was no longer what mattered most.
The Rockford Peaches spent months busting their butts; blood, sweat, and tears were shed fighting for one common goal. Friendships were formed, heartbreaks were felt, and tragedies were overcome.
The Peaches never stopped playing. They thirsted for a championship that might go even the smallest way towards filling that monstrous gap the war had inflicted on so many in our country.
But to the disappointment of myself, the Peaches, and millions of others around the world, Dottie was about to take matters into her own hands. Literally.
Kit got behind in the count 0 and 2. Just one more strike. But Ellen Sue went to the well one too many times with the high heat and Kit smoked one to the right field corner.
The tying run came around to score, with Kit busting it around second in hopes of a three-bagger. Evelyn (for the first time ever) made a picture-perfect relay and the ball wound up in the hands of Doris at third base as Kit pulled in with a stand-up triple.
Only she didn't pull up, she kept going.
The ball was actually in the hands of the third baseman as Kit reached the bag. Normal baseball logic would say that this gamble was beyond stupidity. More like temporary insanity.
But she just kept on going. And even though it took Rosie O’Donnell a good 8-10 seconds to actually fire the pill to the plate (why she took so long to make a simple toss during such a big play I will never understand), Dottie still had ample time to brace herself for the approaching collision with Lil' Sis.
Heck, she could have even moved up the baseline a little bit, stepped to the side, and just tagged Kit as she went by. But Dottie knew exactly what she was about to do.
Kit bull-rushed her at the moment of impact, driving forward with every bone in her 108-pound body, sending Dottie hurtling backwards. She hit the dirt, her arm splayed out to full extension, and she dropped the ball. Or so she would like you to think.
Lasting Debate
The debate about whether Dottie let go of the ball on purpose as a final favor to her hard-luck sister is really not worth a moment's thought.
It was a deliberate move, and that is that. You need not go more than a half hour back in the flick to see a nearly identical home plate crash, only this time Dottie was hit by a girl half the size of Kentucky. Needless to say, she came up flashing the cowhide and smelling like a rose.
Also, in the final game, after Kit’s successful mad dash to the plate, the Peaches are all seen trudging off the field with their heads down. Even Jimmy Dugan (Tom Hanks), the manager that routinely slept through games earlier in the year, was crushed. But Dottie just stood there, watching the celebration, a hint of a smile emerging from the corner of her traitorous lips. It still makes my skin crawl.
Even as time goes on, certain questions remain unanswered.
Why would Dottie return to the team for Game 7 when her heart was clearly elsewhere?
Why did Jimmy even play her in the final when Alice had done a more than respectable job in the first six?
And why, oh why, did Dottie think that it was her right to award Kit -- her oft-complaining, always-whining, “I blame you for everything that has ever happened to me,” little sister -- this life-changing championship over her 15 Peach teammates that had worked so tirelessly for the entire summer, both with and without her?
The answer to that we will never know.
Dottie Hinson disappointed a lot of people on that fateful autumn day. She let me down. She let the nation’s baseball fans down. She let Betty Spaghetti down.
I can only hope that she, like me, struggles to fall asleep at night, trying to shake the memory of such an unsettling conclusion to an otherwise perfect story.
Geena Davis has done very little meaningful film work in the 24 years since A League of Their Own was released.
And now you understand why.
