Having grown up in a family where sports played no significant part in our daily lives, I have for several years now been working to fill in the gaps of my historical and cinematic baseball education. For the most part, I find the history of baseball fascinating, but baseball films seem to me to be hit and miss. In some cases, the "misses" are poorly made, contain a flaw in some element of casting or production, etc. In others -- perhaps in more than I realize -- the passage of time has rendered them opaque. To a degree, that is a statement on the films themselves though it is also a mark on me and my inability to see through a slower pace, less advanced visual effects, and other features to recognize what makes them truly excellent.

This being established, I came across Major League on Amazon Prime several months ago and decided to give it a try. Expecting a cheesy eighties flick chock full of young stars whose fame extended far beyond this movie, I was pleasantly surprised to find much, much more than I could have predicted.

For one, this film presents the world of baseball in a manner that is equal parts cheeky and respectful. Each scene, even the serious ones, contains some nugget of slapstick or sarcasm, and yet the film is fastidious in its representation of the look, sounds, and feel of major league baseball. From the locker room to the field to the fans to the booth, there is a sense that viewers are being treated to a little bit of all parts of the game.

Of course, Major League is hardly a documentary, but it succeeds in selling the viewer on the premise that every character on the team loves the game and thereby invites those of us who also love baseball to invest in this story. This characterization begins early in spring training as each player has his own approach to preparing for the possibility of the dreaded "red tag," a crimson mark placed in your locker if you're being sent to the minors. (Watching the Netflix documentary The Battered Bastards of Baseball (2014) a short time after this, it was difficult not to have this entire spring training sequence from Major League close in mind.)

Incredibly, the pacing and humor of Major League translate smoothly nearly thirty years on, most likely due in large part to the outstanding casting: Tom Berenger seeks one final playoff run in the majors as protagonist Jake Taylor; Wesley Snipes is electric as Willie Mays Hayes (and whose physicality plays for both humor and athleticism); Charlie Sheen becomes a hard-throwing local celebrity known as "Wild Thing" Vaughn; Dennis Haysbert strikes a balance between enigmatic and endearing as Cerrano; Corbin Bernsen is Dorn, a flawed but vital corner infielder; James Gammon is the quintessential no-nonsense baseball manager Lou Brown; and real-life Brewers broadcaster Bob Uecker as fictional Cleveland Indians announcer Harry Doyle is the voice of the team as well as the film. Are these characters all well-developed, fully fleshed-out individuals? Well, no. There are certainly archetypal structures throughout, but they never seem to matter. If you don't find yourself rooting for these players and this team as they make a run at 32 wins down the stretch, then perhaps you've never endured a losing season with your favorite team and reveled in the minor victories or indulged in an irrational hope that they could -- contrary to all sense -- go all the way.

CALL ON THE FIELD: Major League is a leadoff homer, still filled with punch and vivacity several decades after it was first released in theaters. Grab some popcorn, kick back, and enjoy the laughs.

While commuting to and from work, one of my favorite albums to listen to, particularly when I'm in a baseball state of mind, is the Baseball Project's Volume 2: High and Inside.  The band is comprised of one half of R.E.M. (Peter Buck and Mike Mills), Scott McCaughey (who has done great work with R.E.M. both live and in the studio), Steve Wynn, and Linda Pitmon.  Their topics range from recent to historical, and they bring a serious interest in baseball, as well as a great sense of humor and clever song construction, to their work.

I also realized recently that there are not one or even two but three additional albums by this band for me to discover.  What I'm waiting for, I have no idea.  

To get to the point, one of my favorite details on the album comes from the second track, titled "Panda and the Freak."  It is both a fun song about the signature talents of the then-San Francisco Giants' Pablo Sandoval and Tim Lincecum, and a tip-of-the-hat to some of baseball's more memorable nicknames.  The moniker that immediately stood out on first listen for me was "Death to Flying Things," referred to in the song as "the greatest nickname of all time."  At one point, I wondered if this was a reference to Randy Johnson for his pitch that an unfortunate bird happened to fly into, but this was not the case.

In fact, I realized recently that there are not one or even two but three total baseball players who have worked under this nickname.

Jack Chapman is the oldest player to earn this nickname; he played baseball from 1874-1876 before managing from 1876-1892.  According to Wikipedia, he played on three teams and managed six, overlapping as a player-manager for the Louisville Grays.  In his fascinating Baseball History Daily article, Thom Karmik digs deeper into the career, mindset, and post-majors career of Chapman, even sharing Chapman's (brief) statement regarding the four men on his 1877 Louisville Grays team who were involved in the first major league baseball gambling scandal, long before the infamous 1919 Chicago "Black Sox" scandal.  

Bob Ferguson, though about two years younger, also earned this nickname (before Chapman?), and given the greater length of his career (1871-1884 as a player, 1871-1887 as a manager) and number of accomplishments listed in his Wikipedia entry, it would appear Ferguson is the more memorable "Death to Flying Things."  Citing BaseballLibrary.com (which no longer appears to be available), the origin for Ferguson's nickname is explained based on his excellence in fielding his position.  Indeed, in an article for MentalFloss.com on baseball nicknames, Ethan Trex lists this nickname as "Death to Flying Things Ferguson," noting his "unprecedented prowess as a fielder."  His Wikipedia entry also recognizes Ferguson as the first player to work as a switch-hitter (batting from both sides), citing The Complete Armchair Book of Baseball.  Thus, Ferguson was not only famous for his fielding but also a notable innovator at the plate!

Although the Baseball Project was most likely referring to Bob Ferguson​ when singing about "Death to Flying Things," there is one final -- and much more recent -- man who has been referred to by this nickname.  He is Franklin Gutierrez, who began his major league career with the Cleveland Indians (2005-2008) and has since played for the Seattle Mariners (2009-2013, 2015-2016).  Longtime play-by-play announcer for the Mariners Dave Niehaus bestowed this honor upon Gutierrez following an excellent play.  Although I could not find the video replay of this catch that gave Gutierrez a nickname linked to baseball history, I can only imagine it must have been a beautiful sight to behold... unless, of course, you were rooting for the other team.


SOURCES:
- Baseball Project. Volume 2: High and Inside. 2011. 
- "Death to Flying Things," "Jack Chapman," "Bob Ferguson," "Franklin Gutierrez." Wikipedia.org.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_to_Flying_Things
- Karmik, Thom. "Death to Flying Things." Baseball History Daily. April 3, 2013.  https://baseballhistorydaily.com/2013/04/03/death-to-flying-things/ 
- Trex, Ethan. "From Hippo Vaughn to Shoeless Joe Jackson: The Origins of 17 Classic Baseball Nicknames." Mental Floss. http://mentalfloss.com/article/25762/hippo-vaughn-shoeless-joe-jackson-origins-17-classic-baseball-nicknames