Last installment, we were left wondering whether certain guys—namely Johnson and Paradis—were, to paraphrase Herb’s terminology, tough enough to stand up. Now we’re ready to begin to find out, because the boys are engaged in a speed skating drill around the rink that involves Herb barking out the seconds and the verbal equivalent of a whip’s encouragement.
Patrick, in his role as the blind optimist on this coaching staff, remarks that they’re fast, and Herb, as the Debbie Downer who is never satisfied, counters crisply that they aren’t fast enough. At the moment, I’m left with the general impression that even a blazing comet wouldn’t be fast enough to please Herb, but maybe a European would, since he shouts at the boys, “You guys think you can beat the Europeans skating that way? Let’s go! Hit your spots!”
Talking to Patrick again, Herb instructs his assistant coach to tell Paradis to put his heart into training because he’s shirking. All the evidence thus far points to Paradis being about as able to stand up under the barrage of Herb’s training as a Dixie Cup can the wheels of a Chevrolet Suburban.
Throwing his hand in the air, Patrick protests, “Come on, Herb. He’s one of the best skaters out there.” Ah, yes, but can he beat the Europeans skating like that? We’re not going to find out unless he puts his heart into it.
Expressing this sentiment, Herb retorts, “But he’s not giving us one-hundred percent. You tell him I want no loafers on the forward line.”
As Herb is shouting more of his unique brand of encouragement at his charges, a short man in a suit who has the unfortunate distinction of having a hair malfunction—at least, I hope it’s a hair malfunction and not an intentional style– that makes him resemble nothing more than an Oompa Loompa enters the arena.
Leaning against the edge of the rink, the newcomer offers a wave, an odd lingering glance, and a perky, “Hello, Herb. If you’ve got time later, I’d like to talk to you about one of my clients, Grazier.” Homoeroticism yay! If I were Herb, based on the scary sidelong glances this man was casting over me, I’d be filing a restraining order instead of taking the risk of talking to him alone, since he makes the Stalker Song ring in my ears like alarm bells.
Seriously, how did Grazier’s parents decide this walking sexual harassment case waiting to happen was a wise choice to represent and presumably at times be alone with their child? Now I can imagine why Grazier busted. He had this creep as his agent. Most likely, he’s in a padded room somewhere, a quivering mess as he tearfully uses a rag doll to show the therapist all the places where the scary man touched him. That being said, I sincerely apologize for poking fun at Grazier when he was sitting next to OC on the plane, because I didn’t know the deep, dark pain he was living with after the abuse he suffered from his agent.
When Herb just stares in revulsion at this borderline pedophile, Patrick supplies, coming to the rescue in his alternate persona of Captain Obvious, “It’s Grazier’s lawyer.”
Instead of calling the police to escort the unwelcome agent from the premises, Herb demonstrates a notable disregard for Patrick safety, ordering him to get Grazier’s lawyer out of here. Being the prototypical gullible second-in-command, Patrick does this, and I’m burning incense in gratitude that he didn’t end up dead and bleeding in an alley somewhere.
The scene finally shifts from the creepy agent back to Herb’s office, where he removes Grazier’s picture from the wall, tearing it and venting to Patrick, “It’s a waste, a total waste. The only reason he came to camp was to make the pros think he didn’t need them.” That’s weird, since I didn’t see any pro scouts lurking around the rink. They must have concealed themselves behind the bleachers really well.
Shaking his head and gazing downward, Patrick says in an almost whine, “I’m sorry, Herb. It’s just one guy. I can’t be everywhere.”
Unrelenting as granite, Herb counters, “Well, you’ve got to be. Patrick, you’re my eyes and ears with this bunch. I thought we had a deal with the lawyers. Who’s next?”
Instead of pulling out an answer from a fortune cookie, Patrick responds, “Herb, most of what the guys tell me—well, it’s like over beer—in confidence.” Here Patrick sounds like he’s a busybody at a neighborhood block party pretending to be reluctant to share a supposed friend’s secret when really he would take the utmost joy in it and only requires the slightest prodding to spill out everything he knows and suspects. Of course, I don’t believe that Patrick means to be devious here, so I won’t blame him for that. I will fault him for being a stupid coward, though, and let me expound upon why.
Patrick is an idiot to bring up the aspect of confidentiality, as it lets Herb know that he and some of the boys have something to hide, and it must be pretty terrible if it can’t be shared without scandal. If you have a secret that you want to keep, the first step is not posting up a gigantic billboard declaring that you have one, Patrick. Apart from the fact that Patrick is a total moron, we also learn that he is not a vertebrae, after all, since he has no backbone and will be telling Herb everything he knows as soon as Herb glares at him.
Then again, the boys who confide in Patrick are partly to blame for Herb uncovering their secrets. I mean, what sort of fool entrusts any important, confidential information to this film’s version of Craig Patrick? Merciful Lord, you’d be smarter to confide your secret to your worst enemy, because at least when your foe came forward with your dreadful secret, everybody would consider the source and probably decide it was a vicious falsehood. However, when someone who seemingly has your trust reveals a confidential story about you, everyone is going to believe it, even though that person has just proved himself a liar. That Sociology 101 lecture is done now, so we can progress with the rest of the scene.
Perhaps Herb is as disgusted with Patrick’s flakiness as I am, because he scoffs, “Really? Well, you’d better get it through your head that you’re part of management now. I’m not asking you to be a spy. I’m asking you to do your job as my assistant, and if this bunch is going to disappear on me, let me know, so that I can quit before I get fired.”
Not to be a Negative Nancy about this whole script, but that bit of dialogue would have been a million times better without that final clause. First of all, I doubt that Herb would be in jeopardy of getting fired just because some boys that could have been on the team chose to go pro. Since the pros were where all the money was, it would be hard for any coach to convince all the top talents to remain amateur for the Olympics. It’s the same sort of reason why NCAA coaches today aren’t routinely fired just because some of their best players move onto the greener pastures of the NHL. USA Hockey would know that and not create a revolving door of coaching staff unless they felt that something else was seriously lacking in Herb’s coaching.
Apart from the whole idea of Herb being fired because some guys deciding to go pro being rather far-fetched, it’s not consistent with Herb’s character to have him be such a defeatist. He’s the type of guy who is going to fight tooth-and-nail to make this team successful, and he’s not going to quit at basically the first sign of adversity. Anyway, it would be totally hypocritical of him to demand unconditional commitment to the team from the boys when he’s prepared to abandon ship over any imagined leak. Ugh. What a way to butcher Herb’s character.
Deciding to betray every confidence he’s ever received from anyone on the team in one fell swoop, Patrick rifles through a list of the boys’ names and announces, “Morrow’s firm, but that might change. He’s getting married in two weeks.”
Herb’s murderous look conveys how much he hates weddings and all the cake that comes along with them.
Patrick continues, “The Eastern guys. They’re all borderline, especially Craig. He’s hard-pressed financially.”
Leaning forward to check a list on his desk, Herb says, “Well, if he’s going pro, he’s going to the Atlanta Flames. They own him. Is he talking to them? Phoning?” How is Patrick supposed to know that? Is he supposed to have wire-tapped Jim’s phone or just eavesdropped on line for the pay phone?
Patrick answers that Jim hasn’t been contacting the Atlanta Flames, but “that doesn’t mean anything” because “he’s represented by lawyers.”
Herb demands, “By who—Kaminsky?”
When Patrick replies by Bob Murray, Herb snarls as if Patrick invented the concept of athletes being represented by agents, “Same thing, damn it. They work together, Patrick. I thought they promised to keep these kids amateur.”
Trying to placate the angry Herb before he orders a human sacrifice, Patrick says, “So far so good. They’re telling the guys to stick with it—to see the team you come up with.” When it comes down to it, that’s really the best a team’s management can expect from agents. An agent’s primary responsibility is to represent his client’s interests, not a team’s. That’s what they’re hired to do, and there’s nothing wrong with them doing their jobs, although Herb, naturally, doesn’t perceive it that way.
All bitterness, he grumbles, “So now I’ve got another set of guys to answer to: lawyers and agents.” Welcome to being a GM, Herb.
“They’re part of the business, Herb,” argues Patrick, obviously calling on his experience as an NHL player. “You’ve got to face it: our best guys have other choices, and they know it.”
Shaking his head and poking his desk with a fervent finger, Herb declares, “Guys with choices on their minds don’t help us one bit. This has got to be the only thing in their lives. Not choices, this.”
Herb is starting to remind me of another Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory character who always wanted stuff now and didn’t care how. Herb would be really comfortable in a Communist regime, obviously, as he doesn’t want to run his team at all like a democracy. With Herb’s manic anti-choice stance, I can easily picture the following scene transpiring as the team’s bus pulls into a rest stop in the middle of the night…
Patrick: All right, boys. I’m going to run into Seven-Eleven to buy us all some drinks. Let me take a tally of who wants what. Raise your right hand if you want a can of Coke, and your left hand if you want a can of Pepsi.
Herb: Damn it all to Hell, Patrick! How many times do I have to remind you not to overwhelm their toddler brains with choices? Choices shouldn’t cross their minds at all. They should only be thinking about the Olympics, not sodas. Just buy about twenty-five bottles of Poland Spring, and be done with it. Water is good enough for this bunch. We need to leave soft drinks to the soft.
Perhaps having similar thoughts to the ones racing around my head, Patrick is so aghast he is speechless, and I’ll leave my readers to recover from their heart attacks at Herb’s mania until next time.
glimpsesfromanivorytower 
Ha, this was a very unfortunate few minutes to be sectioned off by itself. But I promise, it gets better! Just, uh, don’t watch the hockey too closely.
I can appreciate what all the things here were trying to accomplish, but… ugh. So poorly executed. It makes me wonder how much better this movie could’ve been had they had a bigger budget and longer production schedule.
Craig is seriously a giant buffoon in these scenes. Though I don’t understand why it’s his job to waylay lawyers and agents at the door while simultaneously running practice, so that much I blame on Herb. But you’re right, the fact that he mentioned he was told things in confidence was the dumbest ever. If you’re going to pull double duty like that, you don’t tell either side what you’re doing. I like that it told us that he’s gotten beers with the guys, since it gives us a sense of the relationship he has with the players and the weird conundrum he faced as being part of management with this team, but sheesh, facing a conundrum is very different than just being an idiot about it. And besides, he makes this whole deal out of “they told me these things in confidence,” but then gives Herb absolutely no real information because he HAS no real information. “I can’t tell you what I know, Herb. But here’s what I know: this is definitely going to happen. But maybe not.” He did, however, slightly redeem himself by talking some sense into Herb about the lawyers. (And that’s a whole other issue on its own. Thinking that Herb didn’t know about all that already? Yeah, sure. Riiiiiight.)
And unfortunately, Grazier’s lawyer’s hair does NOT improve at any point. Nor does he ever stop being kind of a turd. Spoiler alert? lol.
Yeah, this section was certainly the most painful one to plow through so far, and it may not have been exactly ten minutes, but, by the end of it, I was just so fed up with blogging about the foolishness, that I decided to let it be, and hope that the next section would be an improvement. I figured if it was an improvement, I’d be in a better mood to appreciate it.
The biggest annoyance about the movie so far is that I can practically see how much is lost in execution due to a small budget and short production schedule. They have a lot of good, interesting ideas of aspects about the creation of this team to explore, but they can’t help but fumble a lot of those ideas due to terrible scriptwriting and awful acting. Everything would just feel so much more realistic if those two gigantic flaws were dealt with.
Giant buffoon definitely seems like a fair way to describe Craig in these scenes, although Herb is also a jerk to expect him to run practice and halt agents at the door. When Herb, who was standing closer to the agent, tells Craig to get rid of him, I was thinking, “Why can’t you do that yourself, Herb? Are you feeling shy or something?” I guess I just feel like Herb spends too much time telling Craig to do stuff that he could do perfectly well on his own.
It’s one of my pet peeves when people mention in casual conversation that they were told things in confidence. Unless you’re some sort of doctor keeping a patient’s records sealed, don’t draw on the confidentiality idea.
I do like that it told us he got beers with the guys, since that does give insight into the relationship he had with the players, but it would have been better if we could see him getting beer with them and maybe talking about some of these things with them. That way we would know what he does and perhaps feel similarly torn as he does. I mean, one of the advantages of the film medium is not having to stick to one character’s perspective all the time. They could have totally capitalized on that here.
Ugh, and then it was doubly irritating that he had no solid information for Herb, so from the beginning, instead of talking about confidences, he should just have been like, “As far as I know, everyone may or may not be firm in their commitment to this team,” since that is essentially all he ends up imparting.
Yeah, I couldn’t believe that Herb wouldn’t know about the role of agents when it comes to professional athletes and people about to become professional athletes. It’s definitely in character for him to not like dealing with agents, but I also have trouble believing that the pragmatic side of him would fail to realize that for better or worse, agents are part of the business of hockey. I could see Patrick not minding the agents as much, since he went onto become a successful GM for many years, so he couldn’t have hated agents to an insane degree. Perhaps it would have been better for Herb to just be annoyed rather than clueless about the role of agents in hockey, and for Patrick to maybe present the positive side of agents looking out for their players based on his NHL experience.
Darn. I was hoping that Grazier’s lawyer was done making appearances, but if he had to stick around, the least he could have done was fixed his hair into a less atrocious style and not be a smug weirdo all the time.