Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Movie: The Commies are Coming

Ladies and gentlemen of the blog universe, I’m pleased to announce that I’ll finally be resuming the project that I started about analyzing the original Miracle on Ice movie, which I began approximately a century ago. For those of you (like me) who might have forgotten that this undertaking even existed back in the distant past when dinosaurs were still roaming the planet, I’m delighted to not-so-subtly remind you that I left off right before the pre-Olympic game against the Soviets at Madison Square Garden.

This segment begins with the famous skyline of New York City, which is always kind of depressing for me to see because it reminds me of how that classic image was forever marred by homicidal terrorists (who are my generation’s version of Communists, basically). Then the camera zooms in on Madison Square Garden’s billboard, which proclaims in neon lights that there’s the USA v.s. USSR hockey preview at 7:30 PM.

Along the sidewalk, there is a group of angry folk who apparently have nothing better to do with their wretched existences than wave around signs blaring messages about how Russia should leave Afghanistan alone.

Obviously, these politically charged people harbor under the delusion that guys like Valeria Kharmalov were calling the shots for Soviet policy. That’s about as hysterical as in the modern age when hockey fans and people in general actually cared about Pavel Datsyuk’s and Alex Ovechkin’s opinions about gay propaganda policies in Sochi. They’re athletes, not politicians, people. I don’t want to listen to them talk about matters of state; I just want to watch them dangle goalies out of jockstraps and score a million goals. Politics are boring. That’s why I never want to listen to an interview where Crosby discusses his feelings about abortion or Stamkos outlines his views on the madhouse that is the Middle East.

In short, I just wish the sign-waving idiots outside Madison Square Garden would concuss themselves with their placards and leave the rest of us normal people who don’t give a hoot about politics alone. Then the world would be a better place.

A dude I believe is Kaminsky and another agent exit a taxi, observing, “Would you look at this? Sometimes it isn’t a sport or a business. It’s an international incident.”

It’s good to see that one of the characters in the movie shares my jaded perspective on politics and all those who march around waving signs with personal political views outside entertainment venues. This is why you’re better off going to the Prudential Center to watch the Devils than to Madison Square Garden to watch the Rangers. Not only is the arena better, but there are a lot less idiots waving political signs out front. Heck, I’ve never seen an idiot waving a political sign outside the front of the Prudential Center, so there you go.

Moving along with the show (such as it is), the other agent asks, “What would you give to be part of our team tonight? To be out on the ice when the Russians skate out?”

Since the Red Army and US Olympic team match-up was billed as a David-Goliath game, I think that’s kind of like asking a resident of Boston back in the 1770’s what he would have given to be in the line of fire during the Boston Massacure. I mean the answer is clearly:

The other guy, plainly lying through his teeth, answers “a lot, a lot.” As Kaminsky and his companion begin to make their way through the sign-waving nuts, a third agent (the one whom I noticed earlier resembles an Oompa Loompa) hops out of a taxi, hollering Kaminsky’s name to get his attention.

The Oompa Loompa man after dashing up to his fellow agents inquires how their boys are doing and is told that they are doing just fine. I guess “fine” is at the extreme low end of the emotional spectrum now.

Ramping his obnoxious powers up to maximum, the Oompa Loompa man comments, “Well, I guess this is what Brooks was gambling on.” When one of his agent companions correctly points out that this isn’t Lake Placid, the undeterred Oompa Loompa man continues with pure pompousness, “The teams are the same, George. What do you say we meet afterwards? Loser buys the drinks.”

This is an example of the sort of unfair spots gambling that I just can’t condone, since it’s simply unjust to have the person who is totally depressed after seeing his team lose buy the drinks. It should be the person whose team won who funds the drinking, so that everyone feels like a winner, and the poor soul who just had to watch their team stink can take a sip and proclaim:

The Oompa Loompa cackles to himself like the Wicked Witch of the West before the scene mercifully changes to the US Olympic team streaming onto the ice as the announcer declares, “The US Olympic team coming out onto the ice at Madison Square Garden for a very important game tonight against the USSR, the final match-up before next week’s Olympics begins at Lake Placid, and this is for the most part a team of college kids against a team that demolished NHL All-Stars a year ago this week at the Garden.” Well, at the time of the Lake Placid Olympics Slava Fetisov was only like twenty-two and the average age for the US Olympic team was twenty-two so that makes this match-up totally even, right? I mean:

The announcer explains that there will be an opening face-off at center ice between Neal Broten and Valeri Kharmalov. Since in real life it was actually Mark Johnson who took the opening face-off against Kharmalov, I can’t help but wonder why the director felt it was necessary to needlessly alter this detail to make this movie just a little less historically accurate. Whatever. It gives me an excuse to say hello to Neal.

Neal manages to win the face-off and the US carries the puck into the Soviet zone, and what follows is just a bunch of slow skating and excruciatingly bad passing by the actors that makes me want to gouge my eyes out. Watching these actors play hockey looks like what I imagine a herd of Bambis would resemble if forced to skate and pass a puck around for the first time. (For the record, doing this to deer is not recommended, since it probably constitutes animal cruelty.) This movie must have been on such a shoe-string budget that they couldn’t afford to hire actors who had ever even seen a person skate.

The US team turns the puck over to the Soviets, and then the audience has to endure the torture that is watching the actors in this film butcher the artistic and skilled hockey that the Red Army team was renowned for, which makes me feel sick to my stomach, so:

To try to convey why I’m so nauseous, I’ll just explain that Pavel Datsyuk, who is basically pure poetry in motion when he plays hockey, is probably the contemporary Russian who best depicts the traditional Soviet style of play. Lots of slick passing. Smooth skating. Lovely stick handling around entire NHL teams. An uncanny ability to predict what will happen next in a game. An understanding of how to navigate his own zone. So basically by turning Kharmalov into Bambi on skates, what the director did was even worse than having Pavel Datsyuk, the man who splits defenses like this:

played in a movie by this dude who can’t even play keep-away with Datsyuk:

because at least that guy played college hockey. So, yeah, next time Valeri Kharmalov appears in a film can we not insult his memory by having some Pee Wee play him? Thanks.

The actor playing Valeri Kharmalov manages to bumble his way through a series of passes that results in a goal where Guttenberg makes a pathetic save attempt that resembles an interpretive chicken dance. It’s like he was thinking:

Over at the bench, Herb paces and is probably internally screaming:

The camera then flashes to the scoreboard, which kind of looks like it was constructed with cardboard by a bunch of third graders for a book report project, so viewers have visual confirmation that the Soviets are indeed up 1-0.

After the US team finally regains control of the puck, they have a breakaway attempt, which Tretiak deflects with a kick save that looks like he’s either fall-down drunk or else has simply never blocked a hockey puck before. Clearly the director just drugged and dragged in some random guy of the street to play Tretiak, Hall of Fame goaltender. Having seen this sad sequence of Hollywood hockey ineptitude, I can only mutter:

There is more bungling with the puck, mainly by the actors playing the Soviets, and then Guttenberg makes a pathetic lunge to try to stop the puck before it finds the back of his net, giving the Soviets a two goal lead. Guttenberg in goal is like:

More insult to the game of hockey follows, interspersed with Herb barking at his players from the bench to “watch the gaps; watch the gaps,” and then Krutov manages to score basically from the blue line. Since his team is making zero effort on offense or defense, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jim Craig was mentally checking out of this game, remarking mentally:

Following the camera flashing to the cardboard scoreboard to beat into the audience’s collective brains that the Soviets are up 3-0, the commentator states some gibberish about the US needing to prevent this game from becoming a rout. What a fool. If a hockey game is 3-0 and the first period is nowhere close to over, it’s already a rout. That was true even during the ‘80s when scoring was ridiculously inflated compared to the modern era where players are supposed to at least look like they’re trying to be defensively responsible rather than just play fire wagon hockey.

Predictably, the Soviets score another goal, and, forgetting that as captain he should probably pretend to be at least a little bit supportive of his teammate, Rizzo, as the crowd breaks into boos, skates up to Jim and asks in the breathless tone of a sugar-high toddler, “Man, did you see that goal?” Watching this unfold, I wonder for the millionth time:

Given that Rizzo has been doing a disappearing act all night, Jim would probably be one-hundred percent justified punching him square in the jaw, or else trolling him next time he made a save by exclaiming:

Electing to be a bit more subtle, Jim replies witheringly, “Yeah, I was there. Remember?” You tell him, Jimmy. That’s the spirit. Teach your captain some manners.

Totally not picking up how rude he is being, Rizzo punches Jimmy in the shoulder, responding, “I’m sorry, Jimmy, but class is class.” Basically, Rizzo is saying:

Only he is completely wrong, since he just showed all the social grace of a bull raging around a china shop.

Over at the bench, Herb calls out a line change, and the Coneheads climb onto the ice. Then Herb demands if Rizzo has gotten all the Russian autographs that he wanted. Rizzo, continuing to be an idiot, wants to know if Herb is talking to him. Herb confirms that he is indeed talking to Mike, the team captain. Perhaps concussion tests should be run on Rizzo. He seems a bit mentally impaired right now.

The pathetic excuse of a hockey game carries on, and when the guy who plays Neal makes a terrible drop pass, there is a comically slow breakaway by the Soviets, who unsurprisingly score high on Craig’s glove side. This game for the US team is the equivalent of this:

There is more booing by the crowd and flashing to the cardboard cutout scoreboard, and then Rizzo, the stupid captain, manages to score, so the tally is slightly less lopsided. Maybe if he had bothered to show up earlier in the game it wouldn’t have been such a rout, but he was probably too busy practicing insults he could hurl at his goalie to show up to the game on time.

Any momentum the US might have gained by Rizzo’s goal is squashed when the Soviets tally again. Then the game goes from bad to worse when Jack O’Callahan, after hitting a Soviet player against the boards, is rammed from behind by another Soviet player, and crumbles to the ice. There is a dramatic swell of music as he is carried from the ice, and readers will just have to wait until next time to hear what damage has been wrought on poor OC.

Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Movie: Looking for Lake Placid

After bidding a sad adieu to Les Auge (whose humorous presence will be missed in this film), the action moves to the team bus traveling down a mostly deserted, dark highway at night. The camera pans in on Coach Patrick and Herb snoozing in the front row, and it’s good to see Herb doing something as normal and non-confrontational as sleeping. Perhaps it will lower his blood pressure.

As the bus moves along, Pav’s guitar strums the tune to Simon and Garfunkel’s classic tune about the New Jersey turnpike and its endless bumper-to-bumper traffic jams, and he sings us “America” in a melancholic voice:

Once Pav finishes his singing, Jim notes to Rizzo, who is sitting next to him, “I’m just looking for one small town in America, Lake Placid.” That must have been harder to do before the days of Google Maps, so that’s quite a quest.

Rizzo responds playfully, “Lake Placid? I’ve never heard of it. Don’t worry, Jimmy. If it’s got less than ten thousand people, Brooks has got it on the schedule.”

The guy behind Jim whose face I can’t read well in the dark bus (so I don’t know who he is, basically), comments, “I personally don’t think the place exists. Probably just Brooks’ way of getting a hockey team together.” I think he should adjust his tin foil hat because the conspiracy theory reception isn’t too good, but he’d probably just assure me:

The person behind Rizzo puts in, “You know what I think? We all died and went to hockey players’ hell.” Nah, hockey players’ hell wasn’t invented until John Tortorella (who really should have an award for the biggest coaching meltdown given in his honor, or, really, disgrace each year) began his NHL coaching career. For proof of what I mean, check out this charming video of Tortorella roasting his players alive:

Remember that’s what Tortorella does in front of rolling cameras. He’s probably even more of a Grade A jerk in private, but moving along from Tortorella’s Broadway productions because he’s now been fired by two different NHL franchises in two consecutive seasons which makes him not particularly relevant to the hockey world anymore (thank you, hockey gods), let’s get back to our 1980 adventure.

Some teammate from the front of the bus, shouts over his shoulder, “Hey, will you guys shut up? Some civilized people up front want to get some sleep.” Come on, man. A team bus is meant to be loud, so that tells the audience:

At this point, Jim decides to open up and start relating his whole life story to Pav, saying, “You know, when I was a kid, I never slept. Not a lot. Used to get up at four o’clock in the morning to play hockey. My mother would be in the kitchen fixing breakfast. She was healthy then. Anyway, I used to play with the older guys on the pond. My kid brother plays there now. The older guys had cars, so I’d slip downstairs and stay near the heater to keep warm and close to the door so I could hear the horn of the car. It really felt good being the youngest allowed to play.” This is cute, because I know that Jim liked to slip his mother notes in the morning and stuff.

Pav points out, “Except they made you play in net.” Ha. That’s funny because my brother is a goalie, but I’ve always said that the only reason he became one was for the masks. Goalies get to customize their masks, which I suspect is one of those bones the hockey community threw them because otherwise no one would be willing to take that awful job. (If you’re the goalie, you can make thirty saves and still get booed for the one you miss, and also you wear so much protective equipment that if you want to hug a teammate you risk suffocating him; goalie fights are like two men attempting to dance with beach balls glued all over their bodies). Basically, the thing is, if you weren’t a very odd person before you became a goalie, you would be after a few seasons of it, and it shows. Some of those goalie masks look like creations serial killers would make out of their victims (looking at you, Carey Price). Some look like the ultimate foray into geekdom (Kari Lehtonen! Peter Budaj!). I love that every goalie’s psyche is right out there on display. (And, in the case of the one that looks like brains: way to take that literally.) Gives you something to analyze during breaks in the action.

“Nah,” Jim answers. “That was just when I was in high school. They supplied the goalie’s equipment. Besides, my mother figured that goal was the safest place.” That’s odd. I thought Jimmy was pretty much always a goaltender even when he played pond hockey as a kid, because I remember him saying somewhere that he wanted to play but didn’t understand all the rules, so being a goalie was simple since all he had to do was keep the puck out of the net. I’m going to trust my memory more than this film. In short, movie:

Speaking of playing with older guys, Bah remarks, “When I was a freshman I played for Duluth against the ’76 squad. Man, I thought those guys were ten feet tall.”

“Hey, Bah,” Buzz teases, “tell them how you scored the winning goal against us in overtime.” That sounds like a cool moment. Was it as awesome as TJ Oshie’s shootout goal against Russia?

“Yeah, hare-brain,” retorts Bah, “for the four-hundred and seventy-fifth time.” Everyone laughs uproariously, as Bah continues, “Migraine headache number two.”

“What’s number one?” shouts somebody from the front of the bus (and the poor lighting in this scene is driving me nuts, because it makes it even harder to identify characters who all look the same).

Being all sociable for once, Jimmy jokes, “ ‘Where’s Brooks? O’Callahan’s looking for him.’” That’s actually pretty funny, because it gives me a mental image of OC going after Herb like Roy going after Perry in this hilarious gif:

Now I just wish the movie would show Herb and O’Callahan at each other’s throats. That would be better than ten million renditions of Herb giving Rizzo and Jimmy a hard time. Oh, well, we can’t have everything we want in life, so moving along with the film, Rizzo decides to end the fun by warning, “Hey, you guys better take it easy. He’ll hear you. Let’s get some sleep.” Then Rizzo curls up in his chair like a total baby, and the bus rolls along.

Not actually going to sleep, Rizzo tells Jimmy in a quiet voice, “Hey, Jimmy. All that stuff is behind you now. Got to think to the future.” Okay, Rizzo, I realize you were just trying to be sympathetic there, but you sound like a total moron, since that’s not how the stages of grief work. The stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and freaking denial and anger again. Okay, I invented the last bit to make a point, but hear me out. Grief is a process. You don’t get over losing your mother the same way you move beyond losing a sock (never a whole pair, of course) in the washing machine unless you are a sociopath.

“Future?” Jim asks. “Actually, I was thinking about my ma. I guess there’s a connection somewhere.” Of course there is. The connection is in Lake Placid, the place where we’re all looking for…

 

Breaking down a Miracle Movie: Captain and Cut

As those saints among you who have been loyally following my blog now, we last left off with Herb essentially declaring that he would go down with the sinking Olympic team ship. Since that’s been decided, we, of course, need to appoint a captain to steer this sinking ship into an iceberg and to not abandon ship when it does, so stay tuned to see who is the recipient of this honor.

To begin this exciting part of the movie, the boys are in their locker room, and Dave Christian is distributing pieces of paper to everyone so that the team can elect their Olympic captain. Not at all concerned with voter anonymity, the camera zooms in on Bill Baker’s paper, so we can read Rizzo’s name on it.

When questioned about his vote by a peeping teammate (whose face I can’t recognize), Bill explains that a reliable source told him that Herb hates Rizzo the most. The audience can only infer that Bill is apparently so juvenile he believes that the player whom the coach despises the most should automatically be the captain just because it will infuriate the coach the most, which is about as good an argument for Communism as any, since regular people are obviously mentally unequipped to make prudent decisions when determining their own leaders. Also, the audience is free to suspect that Herb (who actually wanted Rizzo to be captain) planted that source just to manipulate Bill’s brain. Careful, Bill, because:

Being all skeptical, Rob asks, “More than O’Callahan?” Now in real life, this line would make sense, because Herb liked to rip into Jack O’Callahan just to make a point to the entire team, rendering it conceivable that the team as a whole might conclude that Herb wasn’t particularly fond of OC, and, by all accounts, Jack and Robbie enjoyed taunting one another, but in the movie world this line is just incongruous with what’s actually been shown thus far.

As of yet, Herb has only directed specific tirades to Rizzo and Jim Craig, as the script writers went to great pains to establish in the previous two sections, so if teammates were to conclude that Herb had any extreme rancor toward certain players, based on what the movie has shown, they would have to believe that Herb hated Rizzo or Jimmy the most. If the movie wants us to believe that Herb seems to hate OC, show him ripping into OC the way he does Rizzo or Jimmy. Don’t just have this awkwardly thrown in line of dialogue about it when the comment is at total odds with everything the dialogue and action has demonstrated in the last couple of scenes. I want to like this line since it is spoken by Robbie about OC, but because of how the rest of the script leading up to it is written, I instead have to ask the script writers for the umpteenth time:

The camera pans across the room to focus on Pav just in time for the audience to hear him ask Buzz, who is sitting next to him on the bench, whether Buzz wants his vote. Buzz chuckles and answers, “Hey, look, I can’t tell you how to vote, but I’m voting for Rizzie.” This is also a sort of weird reply, since I doubt players would have been allowed to vote for themselves, as that would result in a fiasco where everybody voted for himself and there would still be no captain. However, it does establish that people are voting for Rizzo as more than just a joke, which I guess is respectful of his leadership abilities at least. I’m glad that it was only some of the team that apparently voted for Rizzo for the lolz of seeing him clash with Herb. That makes this whole captaincy thing feel much more official.

Moving across the locker room again, Jim is telling the guy sitting next to him to give him a look at his ballot. This dialogue sounds like we’re in a third grade classroom voting for class president, honestly. In keeping with this childish vein, the dude next to Jim retorts, “Hey, I don’t see you flashing your ballot around.”

Smiling slightly, Jim persists, “Come on.” Surrendering, the guy opens the ballot, and Jim reads Rizzo’s name in an incredulous tone. Then when the guy next to him demands to see his ballot, Jim reveals with a grin that he voted for Rizzo as well. What a clever and unpredictable joke brought to us courtesy of the scriptwriters. Jeez, no wonder USA Hockey appoints captains and associate captains for Olympic teams now rather than letting players vote. It spares us scenes like this imagined satirical one from the 2014 squad:

Dan Bylsma: Welcome to Sochi, gentlemen. USA Hockey asks me to remind you all not to flush the toilet paper down the toilets, as it might make the pipes explode, and to reiterate that the yellow stuff coming out of the sinks isn’t Gatorade, so drink the Dasani we’ve provided instead of anything spewing out of the faucet. We don’t want any illnesses because then I might have to remove Faulk from the storage closet I’ve locked him in for the duration of the tournament. Now, we’ve got to elect ourselves a captain who, of course, will be better than whiny old Sidney Crosby, so please write somebody’s name who isn’t your own on the paper I’ve just passed out.

Zach Parise (in an undertone to Ryan Suter): I’m voting for you, buddy, because we’re bros from our days with the National Development Team.

Ryan Suter: Me too. Well, I’m not voting for me. I’m voting for you, but, other than that, we’re twins.

Ryan McDonagh to Derek Stepan: Hey, Step, who’s got your vote?

Derek Stepan: Probably Marty St. Louis. You can’t go too wrong with a veteran player like him, right?

Ryan McDonagh: Isn’t he on the Canadian team?

Derek Stepan: Duh. Do you even read the news, Mac Truck? It was this huge scandal when Yzerman left him off the Canadian roster for the second time in eight years, and he wasn’t appeased by being the injury replacement for Stamkos, so he’s been demanding a trade to the Rangers, which is why he’s a candidate for the Rangers’ captaincy once Callahan’s been traded for trying to earn more money than he’s worth.

Ryan Callahan: What’s this about earning more money than I’m worth? Do we get paid for this Olympic gig?

Zach Parise: Only if we get sponsors like Chobani. Speaking of Chobani, can you believe it isn’t served in the Olympic dining halls? How am I going to get my calcium if not from a morning dose of my favorite brand of Greek yogurt? Oh, and I’m a totally uninspired hockey player unless I get my daily value of calcium, so this is a serious concern.

Ryan McDonagh to Derek Stepan: I wasn’t talking about the Rangers. I was talking about the US Olympic team we’re on right now.

Derek Stepan: Oh, yeah. My bad. I guess I’ll vote for you since we played college together at the University of Wisconsin and everything.

Ryan McDonagh: I’ll return the favor by voting for you. Badgers forever!

Cam Fowler: Coach, am I allowed to vote for Captain Crunch? Sugary cereals are my favorite.

Dan Bylsma: Um, out of curiosity, Cam, how old are you, anyway?

Cam Fowler: Twenty-two, which means I’m the perfect age for a second childhood that I should enjoy because the next thing I have to look forward to is a midlife crisis that probably won’t happen until I’m forty and retired from pro hockey.

Dan Bylsma (massaging his temples): No, you can’t vote for Captain Crunch because he’s not on this team.

Cam Fowler (pouting): You didn’t say we had to vote for someone on the team. You just said that we couldn’t vote for ourselves. It’s not fair to change the rules midway through an election even if we are in Russia.

Dan Bylsma: Fine. You can vote for Captain Crunch, but nobody else will, so it doesn’t even matter.

Patrick Kane: You know who else no one will vote for because he doesn’t matter? Jonathan Toews. He’s the worst captain ever, and nobody likes him. I hope the media reports that I said that, because that will really steam him, and an angry Toews is an entertaining, for-once-not-boring Toews.

Dustin Brown: Can I knock out Toews’ kneecaps? That would be really entertaining.

Ryan McDonagh: Oh, shut up. Everyone respects Toews, and nobody respects you. I’d call you a cheapshot artist but that’s more of a compliment than you deserve, so I’ll just say you’re a dirty hockey player, and I’m having a mounting urge to crosscheck you.

Dan Bylsma: Knock it off, you two. We’re all on the same team here. Save it for the Stanley Cup Finals.

Ryan McDonagh: Does that mean that Pittsburg is planning another embarrassing playoff exit to a lower seed?

Dan Bylsma: We don’t even need to plan them. Embarrassing playoff exits just happen to Penguins naturally.

Justin Faulk (entering from the storage closet): Can I vote for team captain?

Dan Bylsma: God, Justin, don’t startle me like that! My ticker can’t handle it. Anyway, what are you doing out of that closet?

Justin Faulk: I was kicked out by the janitors. They want to convert it to a bathroom by installing five toilets and no partitions.

Dan Bylsma: That’s disgusting. Everyone, make a mental note not to use that room. Well, Justin, you can’t vote, since you aren’t really on the team in my opinion, but you can collect the ballots. (Once the ballots have been assembled.) Um, T.J., not to sound accusatory, but what demon possessed you to write your name ten times?

T.J. Oshie: Sorry, Coach. Just practicing my autograph.

Dan Bylsma: Very smart, since that’s the only form of writing hockey players need to know to make it big in the NHL. Don’t worry. We’ll just use your ballot as the line-up for when we get into a shootout with Russia or something.

T.J. Oshie: Good joke, but I’m not dumb enough to fall for it, because you can’t use the same person over and over in a shootout.

Dan Bylsma: Not in the NHL, but in international hockey you can, and the Olympics is international hockey. I can use you ten times in a row in a shootout if I want to…

T.J. Oshie: Okay, now you’re taking this joke a little too far.

Dan Bylsma: You say that now, but wait until you see how much farther I can carry it on the largest stage.

So, anyway, thank God we were spared the sight of that on the NHL network, but we’ll have to go back to the Miracle on Ice film now that bit of comedy has passed, so we’re returning to the locker room, where Jim is asking Rizzo who he voted for captain. In response, Rizzo lifts his paper to show Buzz Schneider’s name. Perhaps Rizzo and Buzz are developing a bromance. I hope that Les Auge doesn’t get too jealous, since that would just be uncomfortable and sad.

Upon reading Buzz’s name, Jim wrinkles his nose and rolls his eyes. I guess he expected Rizzo to be a big enough egotist to vote for himself or something.

The scene shifts to Rizzo sitting on a sofa, talking into a phone, saying in his half of the conversation, “Kevin! Yeah, it’s me—Mike. I’m all right. How are you doing? Good. Look, is my dad there? Oh, no, no, that’s okay. Uh, listen. When he comes in, just tell him I was elected captain. Yeah. No, that doesn’t mean Brooks still can’t cut me. Look, all right, Kevin, do me another favor. Call Ma and tell her and the rest of the family, will you? And tell her to let Donna know, too. She wasn’t home, either. Yeah, that’s very funny. Okay. Good to talk to you. All right.” After that, he hangs up the phone without saying good-bye, because he is a male, after all, and everyone knows that all men are socially incompetent on the telephone. It’s like a law of nature, and I’m not sexist; I’m right.

This movie has an obsession with revealing important tidbits through one-sided phone conversations, so to outline the salient points viewers are supposed to glean from this conversation, we learn the following from this telephone exchange: Rizzo has been elected captain of the Olympic team, Herb can still cut him so that tension remains, and Donna is still an essentially useless character for Rizzo to have a romance with that the film insists on inserting in unnecessary ways, since if she wasn’t home, it’s not critical to reference her.

Getting past my annoyance with the waste of film time that Donna represents, it’s time for the US Olympic team to play an exhibition game against the Adirondack Red Wings, which, as the name implies, is the minor league affiliate of the Detroit Red Wings. As a franchise, the Red Wings are, of course, renowned for their excellent drafting, but none of that vaunted prowess is on display in this movie, since all the Adirondack Red Wings play hockey as if they have never picked up a stick or tied skates before. On the plus side, the Detroit Red Wings are famous for being patient with their prospects, which is fortunate since these minor leaguers seem likely to make an NHL impact around Armageddon.

The announcer talks about how the game is still scoreless between the Adirondack Red Wings and the US Olympic team, and how Les Auge is drifting back in his own zone to collect the puck, moving at a speed slower than paint dries, because everyone in this movie skates like they are cutting through molasses rather than ice. Needless to say, I’m doing this as I watch:

Auditioning for the role of Captain Obvious, the announcer remarks on how the Olympians aren’t looking sharp in the game as they dump the puck into the Adirondack end of the rink, where the Adirondack defense manages to collect the puck in the clumsiest possible way and pass it to their center, but Les Auge intercepts the puck and gives it to Neal Broten.

On the bench, Herb yells at his team, “Watch the other side!” That seems a rather ambitious request to make of the Olympians. Based on the way the actors play them, it would be too much to ask for them to skate and locate the puck at the same time, nonetheless keep track of the opposition while performing the aforesaid tasks.

The announcer explains for the slower members of the audience that Herb isn’t at all happy with his squad’s performance as the Adirondack forwards advance with the puck again, and Les Auge, in his bid for MVP, manages to look like a flat-footed moose hit by a tranquilizer gun when he smashes into the boards and fails to hamper the opposing team’s advance.

Given front row access to the US Olympic team’s net, the Adirondack forward pots a goal, and Les Auge should be proud, since he just achieved the feat of making the terrible skating of the Adirondack forward seem magnificent, but then again, everyone on the ice is so bad at skating that they make Corey Perry (he who spends half of every NHL game toppling into the other team’s goalie and falling to his knees in odd poses) look like Scott Niedermayer (who flew across the ice like Jesus walked on water). For those of you who benefit from visual aids, that means this goal:

Looks like this one:

That’s saying something about how awful the caliber of competition in this game is, since I’ve always insisted that:

Regretfully putting aside the topic of how smooth Niedermayer’s skating was and how criminally underrated he sometimes is by people who cannot appreciate gifts from the hockey gods, we’ll resume our analysis of the game between the US Olympic team and the Adirondack Red Wings. Anyway, the Adirondack forward celebrates as if he just netted the Stanley Cup winner, and Steve Guttenberg, who was once again caught at the totally wrong goalpost, is probably thinking:

Back on the bench, Herb barks at Pav to get his line out there, instructing them to skate, play their game, and get back the point by scoring.

Seriously, based on the skill level of these actors, that’s akin to ordering a blind man to paint a landscape or a deaf man to compose a concerto mimicking the sounds of chirping birds.

Les Auge, who is still on the ice in a shift that must have lasted three minutes when the average shift should be about thirty to ninety seconds, is whistled for tripping and sent to the penalty box for two minutes.

At the bench, Herb probably wants to do this:

Since he’s a professional, though, he settles for snapping, “What did I say to Les Auge? Skate! Forget surgery with your stick! Please.” Just because Herb is showing wonderful signs of growth in the manners department by remembering to say please, his team should give him positive reinforcement by offering the thumbs-up and chanting as one:

The announcer comments about how the Red Wings are on the attack, which isn’t exactly surprising, as they are on the power play, and that’s what they should be doing, but they don’t actually manage to score with the man advantage, because the final buzzer sounds with the tally 1-0 in favor of the Adirondack Red Wings. Still, I imagine the Adirondack coaches will be drawing diagrams on their blackboards to illustrate:

In the locker room after the game, Les Auge is cupping his chin in despair, and I think he’s not the only one doing so. I bet the coaching staff of both teams are considering the benefits of arson in blowing up their teams or at least hosting a gigantic fire sale. In fact, after this game, the conversation among the Red Wing executives as overheard by a fly on the wall probably sounded something like this:

First Red Wing Big Wig: So, do you want the good news or the bad news first?

Second Red Wing Big Shot: Give me the good news first. I’m still finishing my caviar and champagne, so I don’t want to throw up.

First Red Wing Big Wig: The good news is that our minor leaguers won against the US Olympians.

Second Red Wing Big Shot: I’m done, and what could possibly be bad when we won?

First Red Wing Big Wig: Our prospect team is in shambles. Gordie Howe would weep if he saw it, and you know how tough he is.

Second Red Wing Big Shot: We can’t go peeing on Gordie’s Hall of Fame legacy. What are we going to do to bring some respectability back to our franchise after tonight’s shameful victory?

First Red Wing Big Wig: I was thinking we should tank for draft picks so we can acquire some actual prospects, because that Stevie Yzerman kid looks vaguely promising. Maybe he can lead us through the desert of playoff failure to the oasis of drinking from the Stanley Cup.

Second Red Wing Big Shot: Sure, and while we’re dreaming, why don’t we also bring in Scotty Bowman and about five Red Army players to help us win the greatest trophy in all sports?

While the Red Wings were hatching their top-secret plan for bringing the Stanley Cup back to Detroit around 1997 (since Detroit always takes the long view), Herb was probably in the hallway calling Murray Williamson, who coached many of the National teams Herb played on and also coached the 1972 Olympic squad that Herb wasn’t on which brought back the silver medal. Bugging their connection, we’d probably hear something like this:

Herb: Murray? Is that you?

Murray: If I say it isn’t, will you hang up and stop bothering me?

Herb: That’s like the king of all stupid questions. When have I ever stopped bothering anyone?

Murray: When you’ve gotten something that you wanted. As soon as you get whatever you’re demanding, you stop bothering your victim.

Herb: Clever of you to notice. You’ll be overjoyed to hear that it’s you I want something from this time around.

Murray: Of course you do. Former players never contact old coaches unless they want something. What do you want from me? A glowing letter of recommendation for a job application?

Herb: Don’t be dumb. I’ve already got a job coaching the ’80 Olympic team. That’s what I’m calling about. I want you to send me a list of all the players from the ’72 squad that have retained their amateur status, because after tonight’s slaughter by the Adirondack Red Wings, my team needs a massive infusion of new blood if you catch my drift.

Murray: Wake up and smell the coffee, Herb. Everyone on that team is either retired from hockey or playing professionally. You’re going to have to forge your own Olympic destiny with your own college boy brats.

Herb: Didn’t you have a sixteen-year-old on your team? Isn’t he still eligible?

Murray: The sixteen-year-old was Mark Howe, and he’s playing in the NHL as a defenseman, telling me that he’s going to be a Hall of Famer and that I played him in the wrong position as a forward. The cheek of some people. If I had a penny for every time I heard something like that from a player, I’d have a mansion on Maui.

Herb: The measurement of how much I don’t care is in the purely theoretical number range, Murray. If you can’t help me, I’m going to hang up now, because I’ve got players to bully in the locker room.

Entering the Olympic team’s locker room, Herb harangues his team: “You guys are playing worse and worse every day. In fact, right now you’re playing as though it’s the middle of next month.”

It’s a slightly modified Brooksism. Excellent. Moving on with his lecture, Herb marches up to Jim and jabs a finger at his goalie’s chest, declaring, “Craig, don’t think your place is guaranteed on this Olympic squad.”

Increasing his volume as he yells at the only other player that he talks to on a routine basis, Herb growls, “Rizzie, skate harder! Oh, and another thing, Mike, control your linemates’ play, because if you can’t, let me know right now before we make the final cuts.” While it’s neat to see a winger rather than a center expected to lead a line for once, everything else about this piece of dialogue makes me cringe, because how does nobody else on the team notice that Herb only talks to Jim and Rizzo, which probably means he’s making a scapegoat of them at least half the time.

Pacing around the locker room, Herb continues, “All right, Patrick will give you travel details, and, Lester, see me after you get dressed.” Eek. Herb is actually addressing someone besides Jim or Rizzo. I have a bad feeling about this…

Seriously, this means that Les Auge is about to get the ax, and I’m devastated because his bromance with Rizzo was sweet (better than the actual romance between Donna and Rizzo, to be honest) and he was one of my favorite characters. What a pity. I’m going to need a moment to dry my eyes with a Kleenex, so:

Staring after Herb as he leaves, Les looks so much like a kicked puppy that my heart breaks into a million pieces. Then, he acts like a martyr, commenting to Mike that it’s going to be all right because it’s all for the best. I half expect him to expound upon how life is a box of chocolates:

Mercifully, we are spared seeing the actual cut (in a case where the script writers are content to do a bit of implication for once rather than a ton of hitting over the head with the obvious), and the scene shifts to Les returning to an emptied locker room in his suit. Realizing Rizzo is waiting for him on a bench, Les crosses the locker room and remarks, “Thanks for waiting.”

Standing up, Rizzo comments in a rather choked voice, “Hey, I, uh, I packed your stuff up for you.”

Gesturing at the bag, Les replies woodenly, “Yeah, thanks.”

“I’m real sorry, Les,” Rizzo adds.

Being all stoic, Les responds, “It was going to happen sooner or later. I meant what I said that night. You got to get it where you can find it, and if there’s nothing for me here, I’d rather find out now.”

Getting angry, Rizzo says, “Come on now, Les. Would you get off it? You’ve got a great future in this game. You’re a player.”

This is breaking my heart, because it turned out that Les Auge was basically a career minor leaguer who only played six NHL games, but at least that makes him more successful than Hugh Jessiman. Still, it’s hard for me to be comforted by even Hugh Jessiman bust jokes, since Les is great, and I want him to succeed in hockey. Les:

That denial is what is causing me so much angst, but Les is more of a realist than I am, because he observes, “But not in the ’80 Olympics. Win.”

With that last command, Les leaves the locker room and walks out onto the ice, where he fires a puck into the net and raises his stick in a lackluster gesture of jubilation. Les is very wise here, since in life you always have to look on the bright side.

On that bittersweet note, Les exits the rink and the film, so we’ll bid adieu to one another until it’s time for me to analyze the next installment.

Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Movie: The Stars versus the Olympians

After the confrontation in the creepy hallway, it’s time for the game between the North Stars and the US Olympians. The game coverage begins with an annoying announcer’s voice providing the commentary: “From the Metropolitan Sports Center in Bloomington, Minnesota, home of the Minnesota North Stars, it’s the North Stars of the National Hockey League against US Olympic team.” What a pompous guy, referring to the National Hockey League instead of just calling it the NHL like virtually everyone else on the planet. I already dislike this announcer even more than Pierre McGuire, which is saying something since the following meme depicts my relationship with Pierre McGuire’s NHL commentary quite succinctly:

Getting past my detest-at-first-hearing feelings for the commentator of this Stars and US Olympic team game, it’s time for us to listen in as the US team completes a warm-up skate. As they circle the arena, Buzz asks Les Auge, “Hey, how are you feeling?”

Shrugging repeatedly, Les Auge replies, “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t feel ready, you know.” What a weird answer. If you don’t feel ready, then you know exactly how you feel, so don’t start off by saying that you don’t have a clue what emotions you are experiencing, because it makes you sound like this:

“Yeah, I do,” Rizzo answers, “but for me, it’s now or never, you know?” I feel like “you know” has been really overused in this conversation by now, you know? I think we should disembowel the scriptwriters, you know, for making us listen to this drivel, you know. You know, someone should have explained to them that an excessive amount of “you know” doesn’t add veracity to dialogue; what it contributes is aggravation that will heighten a lot of viewers’ blood pressure.

Shifting away from the warm-ups, the camera pans over the crowd, and then we are informed by the pompous announcer, “Ready for the opening faceoff now between Johnson and Bernard. ”

Bernard opens the game’s trash talk with this charming comment, “Keep your head up, Johnson. It’s gonna be a long night for everyone. Tonight you play hard ball.” I guess this rather lame attempt at an intimidation tactic is Bernard’s way of warning Mark that he’s supposedly going to spend the night celebrating like this if he wins a faceoff:

Mark wins the faceoff but he shouldn’t bother rejoicing, since, as soon as he passes the puck to Robbie, Robbie coughs up the puck almost immediately because maintaining puck possession or even going with a dump-and-chase style is so passé. Way to set a strong tone like a first line winger should, Robbie.

As the action lumbers along, it becomes increasingly clear that the actors who play the Olympians (and the North Stars) entire hockey experience is limited to once having participated in a round of Nok Hockey at the pool. None of these guys can skate or pass, nonetheless skate and pass at the same time, so watching this part of the movie is just brutal to anyone who has ever seen a hockey game or even just imagined what one might be like to witness. It’s only a short but excruciating time before the US Olympic team’s terrible technique results in a breakaway opportunity for the North Stars because nobody on the US squad can figure out how to give or receive a pass and certainly nobody thought to hang back on defense:

Steve Guttenberg, who is ridiculously uncoordinated in this segment of the film, reaches for the totally wrong part of the net in a sad stab at a glove save, and, of course, the North Stars score, leading me to believe that the block of wood in Nok Hockey is a better goaltender than Steve Guttenberg, so pick that slab of wood for your fantasy hockey team before Steve Guttenberg.

On the bench, Herb tries to steady the crew by shouting, “All right. Pavelich, Schneider, Harrington.” As the Coneheads climb over the bench for a line change, Herb is probably asking himself:

The commentator babbles on about how this game is, “A tough initiation for the US Olympic team after coming back from a ten game tour of Europe. That have to accustomize themselves to a physical, North American style.” That’s kind of an odd statement to make. The players on the US Olympic team would have been raised with the more physical North American style. Being that they aren’t goldfish, I think they’d be fine transitioning back to the North American style after only a few weeks of playing the European version because they have things called long term memory and muscle memory.

At this point, we have an awkward blend of actual footage of the North Stars and Olympic team game and shots of Karl Malden on the bench. It all just comes across as very clunky. The real footage destroys any suspension of disbelief that might still exist in the audience by reminding us that Karl Malden isn’t really Herb Brooks and the actors bumbling around on ice aren’t really the Miracle boys. What should have been done was either using all fake footage or relying entirely on the real footage of the game for this part of the movie, because this mixing-and-matching effect isn’t working.

This montage reaches a climax when Christian gets into a fight and then everyone else on the team piles into the fray in a bench-clearing brawl since if you can’t beat them on the scoreboard you might as well beat them with your fists. Apparently having sustained permanent brain damage from his stint in the NHL, Patrick asks what this is and is informed by Herb that it’s a “crowd pleaser.”

Then we’re back in the locker room, where Herb addresses his team, remarking, “Sometimes a good kick in the butt is good for a top athlete. It helps them grow, build a team. I can’t say that you played well out there tonight. The score could have been worse. It could have been worse than four goals to two, but you’ve got to give your all all the time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. And we’ve still got to get down to twenty players before we face the Russians, and they’re hungry but really hungry. I keep telling you over and over and over, if you want to do your best, depend on each other, all of you, especially Craig and Eruzione.”

In other words, Herb is asking his team (especially Craig and Eruzione, since that’s the movie’s new clever inside joke that makes me want to trample over plants):

“If you want to be your best,” Herb bellows, “then skate together as a team and not for yourselves.”

The guy sitting next to Rizzo whose name and number I can’t read whispers to Mike, “I think he hates you.”

Mike mutters back, “I get the feeling.” Obviously, the boys think that Herb sits around, jabbing fingers at the roster and exclaiming:

“Quiet, Mike,” Herb orders, remembering to actually follow the rules of his name scheme.

Mike says, “Yes, sir.” Then he asks the person next to him, “Did he call me ‘Mike’?”

Well, what this script lacks in the subtlety department, it makes up for in sheer stupidity by thinking that everyone in the audience is as dumb as the scriptwriters, because the terrible joke refuses to die a natural death, as Herb states, “Yes, Mike. You heard right.” I’d threaten to kill a plant for every time this dead horse of a joke gets revived for another flogging, but I don’t want to destroy the Amazon, so I’ll try to control my burning rage.

Continuing to roam around the locker room, Herb rants on, “Tonight you had a chance to skate against the pros. Ask yourselves if you were ready for them, and then stop to think how tough the pros found the Russians. If you don’t respect them, you can’t respect yourselves. Practice tomorrow morning ten o’clock.”

With that, Herb leaves the locker room and steps out into the corridor, where Patty greets him, commenting, “You look pleased.”

“I am,” Herb declares as dramatic music throbs in the background as it must for every important piece of dialogue in this film. “Tonight they became a team.”

Wrapping her elbow in Herb’s, Patty inquires, “Does that mean you’ll win?”

Shaking his head, Herb, ever the downer, responds, “Not necessarily, but if we lose, we’re going to do it together.” In other words, Herb is saying:

There can’t be a much nobler team sentiment than that, so on that note, we’ll end this discussion until next time.

 

Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Movie: Money Talks

This next segment begins with a high level of excitement as Patrick pounds away on a typewriter. Now for those of you who don’t know what a typewriter is, it’s one of those ancient pieces of technology that people used to write things in type on before personal computers and laptops were invented. These devices were annoying (my parents say) because they did not connect to the Internet, you couldn’t delete stuff, and the Cut/Copy/Paste function did not exist. We should all feel very sorry for Patrick having to endure these technological Dark Ages, but at least he has lived long enough to experience the wonder that is the iPhone.

Having addressed the mystery of what a typewriter is, we can go back to wondering what Patrick is typing up on this antiquated contraption. Fortunately, the movie does not keep us in suspense for long because this isn’t a horror film. Almost immediately, the camera zooms in on the paper, and, as dramatic music swells in the background, we see that it is a list of the boys who survived the first cuts.

Then the scene shifts to a hallway in which the list of players is affixed to a bulletin board, and we can read the names of the boys in question. The list is organized alphabetically, which is perfectly fine, but it has Neal Broten’s name spelled wrong, which is not. There it is at the third slot, staring us insolently in the face, Neil Broten instead of Neal Broten. In other words, Patrick messed up twenty-five percent of Neal’s first name, or else just assumed that Neal’s parents couldn’t spell and took it upon himself to rectify their errors. This is one of the more hilarious hockey identity mistakes I’ve seen in awhile. It’s almost as good as the time Bobby Clarke forgot Claude Giroux’s name on draft day or the time the wrong Sedin twin was sent to the penalty box. Almost but not quite, so get your act together, Patrick. I mean, you had one job to do, and you messed it up. Think, McFly, think.

All right, I’ve made enough of a mockery of pathetic Patrick by now. I actually don’t think it’s Patrick that’s the real idiot here, but rather the scriptwriters because I highly doubt this is some form of subtle characterization. I think the scriptwriters aren’t even aware that Neal’s name is spelled wrong, which, of course, is their prerogative. After all, it wasn’t like he was going to be an NHL All-Star, be the first American to have a hundred point season, get his number retired by an NHL franchise, or be the first American to score a Stanley Cup winning goal. Okay, I’m going to take a deep breath, calm down, and repeat, “Personal US Hockey Hall of Fame” to myself ten times, although it’s not as if Neal isn’t in the real one. Twice: with the 1980 Olympic team and by himself. All right. I’m over this snub now, because hockey hindsight is a beautiful thing that makes people like these scriptwriters look like morons all the time.

Getting past the insult of nobody knowing how to spell Neal’s name, the real drama in this scene begins when Paradis realizes his name isn’t on the list and confronts Patrick, channeling Victor Meldrew and saying, “Hey, Patrick. I don’t believe it. I mean, I just don’t believe it.”

Trying to be firm and sympathetic at the same time, Patrick replies, “Paradis, we warned you; you just weren’t putting out. I’m sorry.” That’s an actual piece of dialogue. I’m not making this up, even though it sounds like a bad break-up line that a coach should never in a million years be caught saying to a player for fear of sexual harassment charges.

At this point, Paradis completely loses his composure, ranting, “Don’t be. You’re just wasting your time. I mean, the Russians are going to beat you so bad!” His shouting prompts several of the boys in the hallway reading the list to turn around and stare at him. Poor Paradis. I’m sure he just needs a hug from a Tickle Me Emo.

The scene shifts to Rizzo talking to his girlfriend on a payphone, saying, “Donna, I swear I’m terrific… No, I haven’t seen the list yet.”

Rizzo’s romantic moment is interrupted by Les Auge bursting in, hollering about how they both made the team.

In a manifestation of their rapidly developing hockey bromance, Rizzo drops the phone and charges over to hug Les, who babbles something about the font size their names are written in, acting like an excitable toddler on sugar high.

While Les and Rizzo are embracing, a stream of boys races into the hallway and begins clutching at the payphone, since apparently everybody wants to be the first one to tell everyone they know that they made the team. There was definitely a much higher risk of trampling during the days before cell phones.

Rizzo rushes toward the phone, but by the time he grabs it, his call to Donna has already been disconnected, and he has to beg a dime of a teammate.

The scene shifts to a dorm room where Rizzo and some other guys are packing. Walking out of the room with a duffel bag in hand, Les taps Rizzo on the arm, commenting, “Come on, Rizzo. Let’s go.”

Rizzo responds that he’ll see Les outside, and then Dave Christian remarks as Les leaves, “I still can’t believe this is happening. I think my family has been waiting for this since I was born.” What’s this? Is this a subtle reference to the fact that Dave’s dad and uncle were members of the 1960 team that won gold in Squaw Valley? I think it is. I’m such a happy panda right now. Nobody touch me. The feelings are too electric.

“Yeah,” Jim answers from his perch in the corner. “My father’s going to be real happy.”

At this point, Thompson enters and interrupts the powwow by declaring, “Well, at least I don’t have to put up with you any more, Craig.” Thanks for sharing that classy sentiment, Thompson. Please let the door slam on your finger when you leave.

Standing up, Jim demands, “Thompson, got anything else to say?” No, Jim. Don’t feed the troll. Ignore him, and maybe he’ll retreat back under the Bridge of Death from whence he came.

For once not being a jerk just in time for his departure so we have to feel a tiny bit sorry about him leaving, Thompson replies as he shakes hands with Jim, “Yeah. Good luck to you. Good luck to all you guys. I wish to hell I was gonna be with you.” On that final note, he turns around and exits the room, and this is probably the last time we’ll ever see him, so take out your Kleenex if you need them.

After some melancholy music plays in the background, the scene switches to a bank in Boston, where Jim walks into an office, saying, “Dad?”

Looking up from his paperwork and holding onto his glasses, the banker (who is not Jim’s dad), answers, “Hi, Jimmy.”

His dad’s welcome is less warm, asking, “Jimmy, what are you doing here?”

Jim responds that he was told his dad is taking out a loan, and his dad attempts to assure him that “it’s nothing big” and just to tide them over. Unconvinced by this, Jim counters that he can’t let his dad do that, and his father insists that it’s none of his business. Jim wants to know if his father is taking out a loan so he can play in the Olympics, and his dad answers while the banker looks on with wide eyes, “Look, it’s what you want. It’s what the family wants for you.”

“The family can’t afford it,” Jim argues.

Lifting a hand, Jim’s dad replies, “That’s between your mom and me.”

Jim points out, “You can’t speak for Ma.”

Standing up, his dad says, “Yes, I can. She was there when you dreamed it, she was there when we planned it, and she’ll be there when it’s done.” Then he shakes the banker’s hand, thanks him, and leaves the office.

As soon as his dad is out of earshot, Jim states, “I can’t let him do this.”

The banker shrugs, and asks, “What can you do?”

Jim wants to know if he can use the banker’s phone and is told there is a payphone in the lobby. While Jim moves toward the payphones, the camera zooms in on the banker’s bewildered face.

The scene shifts to Herb’s kitchen, where he is working late at night on line combinations for his Olympic team using the photos, when the telephone rings. Picking it up, he snaps, “Yeah? What’d he say? Well, it’s a pity! It’s a damn pity! Bye!”

As Herb hangs up the phone in his typical terrible temper, Patty appears in the doorway, and Herb greets her with a terse, “Phone wake you up? I’m sorry.”

Patting Herb’s shoulders as she crosses the kitchen to take a seat, Patty assures him that it’s okay and remarks that it’s after two o’clock.

Herb relates that he’s “never given up hope” in his life, a statement that is at blatant odds with the pessimism he’s displayed in every scene that he’s shown up in to date. The Herb of this film is clearly in denial. Being his usual miserable self, Herb continues to vent about how all the problems facing him are just too depressing because he doesn’t know who he is still going to have around in February, so he just keeps wishing that the Olympics were over.

When Patty inquires what happened, Herb informs her, “That was a lawyer on the phone. Craig’s family is stretched for money. He wants to turn pro. He feels that’s his only choice.”

Sipping her coffee, Patty asks, “Can I tell you what I think?”

Waving his hand at her, Herb growls, “Go ahead! Shoot! Tell me.”

“Stop worrying about next year,” Patty suggests, all earnestness and passion. “Make a team out of these kids. Take it moment to moment. Craig can’t be the first boy in Olympic history to face money troubles. There are solutions.”

Not wanting to listen to the voice of reason, Herb scoffs, “Oh, it’s that simple, huh?”

“Yes, if you’re determined,” Patty insists before throwing down the gauntlet. “If not, quit.”

“Quit?” Herb rumbles. “Well, at least you’ve given me my alternatives, haven’t you? Quit!”

Turning to address her husband one final time as she exits the kitchen, Patty adds seductively, “The third choice is to come to bed now that I’m awake.”

Showing that testosterone levels are indeed lowered in men of a certain age, Herb stares after her for a moment and then resumes toying around with line combinations. Patty is a lovely, kind, and intelligent woman who deserves better treatment than this, so Herb has earned all the boos in the world here.

Next scene, Herb is sitting in front of a desk, making a case to a suited man busy studying a pamphlet. Herb contends, “You see, the Russians make all their players army officers, while we in turn, we…” Trailing off, he makes a hand gesture indicating nothing.

Yes, Herb, state-sponsored athletic systems are always wonderful institutions. That’s why KGB guards monitored the Soviet teams to ensure none of them defected. That’s why players like the Stastny brothers and Fedorov risked their lives and futures to flee to the Western world and the NHL. That’s why Fetisov and Larionov fought tooth and nail for the freedom to leave the Soviet team and play in the NHL at the twilight of their careers. You might want to come up with a better argument than that, Herb, since America isn’t a Communist country.

“Yes, yes, yes,” answers the man behind the desk in the typical tone of someone trying to brush somebody else off, “this isn’t quite my department, but I’ll see what our Mr. Sears says. He’s in advertising and publicity. Corporate.”

See, Herb, America is a capitalist country, so we have departments for advertizing and publicity. If you want to fundraise for your team, you should look into advertizing deals. Perhaps your team can be featured on a Wheaties box or something.

In another office, Herb explains, “Craig will be living with the team’s doctor, so he won’t be paying any rent, but without corporate help we can’t compete. Like the ad says, America doesn’t send athletes to the Olympics, Americans do.”

Once again, Herb, who finally seems to be learning what it means to live in a capitalist society, is shunted to another department after being told by Mr. Sears that this is more a matter for Anderson, the Vice President of Community Relations, to handle.

The scene shifts to Anderson’s office, where, rifling through photos of the boys, Anderson asks, “Are you sure these players will make the team? It’s never easy to dismiss personnel, but sometimes…”

“The 1960 squad—the one that actually went on to win gold—I was the last man cut from that team,” Herb responds. “They didn’t handle it to well. Now, if these players weren’t sure bets, I’d let them know right now. I wouldn’t be running around looking for a sponsor for them.”

Cracking a smile, Anderson comments that the president of his division was a varsity player at Duluth, so they should all sit down to have lunch together. This is how things get done in a capitalist country, Herb. You network over lunch based on common connections in the hope of getting someone richer than you to fund your project. It’s sickening, but at least you don’t have to spend all day waiting for handouts in the Toilet Tissue line as you would in a Communist country. Misery is always relative, and on that note, I’ll leave you to stew in the relative injustices of Communism and capitalism until the next installment…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Film: Don’t Quit Until You’re Fired

When we left off last time, Herb threatened to cut some of the boys if they caused any more trouble. Moving along with the theme of scratching some people off the team, Patrick exits the training center to be greeted with the following shout from the guy I believe is Dave Christian, “Hey, Patrick, you’ve got the names?”

It should also be noted that when he poses this inquiry, he throws his arms about so much that it would be tempting to include this moment in any top ten hockey goal celebration collection. Overacting was definitely the bread and butter of the actors in this movie, I assure you.

Obviously able to hear Dave’s shout, a tangle of boys including OC, Rizzo, Jim, and possibly Silk if my recognition skills aren’t hilariously subpar, stops tossing around a football and charges over to hear Patrick’s answer for themselves as Patrick explains, “Twenty-six names on the bulletin board in the morning. Rizzie, Herb wants to see you.”

Jim and Rizzo swap scared, startled glances, and then Rizzo, handing the football to Jim, replies, “Okay. I’ll see yous later.” Yous? Seriously, scriptwriters, didn’t we learn in third grade not to ever use the word “yous”? Then again, maybe the scriptwriters are still in second grade, which would explain a ton about the dialogue in this film.

I hate to be the grammar police, but what is this garbage assaulting my eardrums? In English, the word “you” functions as both a singular and plural noun. To avoid confusion, I understand the urge to use informal “you” plural addresses such as “you guys” which I’ve been known to indulge in myself in casual conversation or even “y’all” if you’re from the South, but “yous” just sounds ten times more ignorant than either of those even if it’s technically no more wrong. I maintain that college-educated people like Rizzo shouldn’t use the word “yous” unless they want to have their degrees revoked.

As Rizzo disappears to inflict more grammatical errors on Herb, Jim asks, “What? Is he cutting Rizzie?”

Wearing a slyly obtuse smile reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat’s when giving Alice directions in Wonderland, Patrick says, “Hey, I just work here. Who’s buying the beers?”

When the boys shake their heads in disgust and drift away, Patrick, demonstrating that he cannot pick up on non-verbal cues even when they hit him in the face like a sledgehammer, calls after the guys, “Hey, you telling me I’m not welcome?” Yeah, Sherlock, that’s exactly what they’re telling you, because if you came along for drinks, the scene would probably become as awkward as a dinner of semi-phallic food with a family of nudists.

At his most whiny, Patrick tries to mend the fences again, yelling, “Hey, where you guys going to be in case Herb wants to see you later on?” He is informed that the boys will be across the street at Cecil’s, having a few drinks before the cuts. We are spared the sight of any more Patrick wimpiness by a merciful scene transition.

The scene shifts to Herb’s office, where Herb is telling Rizzo, “Think it over, Rizzie. That’s my best advice.”

When Rizzo asks what will happen if he refuses, Herb responds enigmatically, “We’ll see, but if I keep you, it’s going to be for the good of the team.”

Apparently forgetting how to knock, Patrick bursts in, announcing, “I need you, Herb. In private.”

Plainly irritated at the abrupt interruption, Herb demands in a sharp voice, “Can’t it wait?”

With a shrug, Patrick answers, “Just trying to do the job you gave me.”

As he leaves, Rizzo tells Herb that he’ll have to let him know in the morning, which is a perfectly legitimate and sensible response to whatever Herb could have been proposing to him, but since rationality and Herb are like oil and water in this movie, Herb, of course, replies, “You’re making it hard on both of us.”

The scriptwriters decide that we don’t deserve to see the conversation between Herb and Patrick even though it was important enough for Patrick to barge in on Herb’s discussion with Rizzo, so, instead, the scene shifts to a diner, where Rizzo and Les Auge are chatting in a booth.

As we join them, Rizzo confides to Les, “Les, maybe I’ve got no future in hockey. I’m just average, and I’m too small. Maybe I would be better off coaching than playing.”

It’s interesting that this movie chooses to address the idea of Rizzo being an assistant coach for the 1980 team rather than a player on it, because shortly before the Olympics, when Rizzo was in a scoring slump, Herb basically threatened to bring Rizzo along as an assistant coach instead of a player, explaining to Rizzo that he would tell the media that Rizzo had gotten injured in training. Here, obviously, the timeline is altered and Rizzo is given at least the pretense of a choice, though if he refuses, I’m sure he’s wondering how astronomically high the odds of him being cut from the team are.

Not letting Rizzo wallow in the tough market that faces small hockey players, Les Auge points out that Herb has given Rizzo a choice, not cut him. Not exactly encouraged by this, Rizzo argues that Herb could very well end up cutting him later, but if he accepts Herb’s offer of an assistant coaching position, he’ll have the guarantee of being with the team through the Olympics.

Les Auge scoffs, “Yeah, as assistant coach. That’s terrific. That’s a once every four year job.” Actually, it’s not even that. If you’re an assistant coach for one Olympics, there’s no guarantee that you’ll be an assistant coach for the next. The coaching staff can undergo a complete makeover between one Olympics and the next. Being an assistant coach in the Olympics is a one time job, but if you’re savvy you could probably parlay that experience into another more permanent coaching job elsewhere.

Rizzo expresses this last notion, claiming that if he accepts the position of assistant coach for the Olympics, he could probably get a job as an assistant coach at some college when the Olympics are completed.

Aggravated, Les Auge explodes, “Oh, come on. Wake up! You’re a hockey player! Let me tell you something. Smart guys hang in until the end. If you have any hope in hell of playing, just stay with it.” Geez, I’m feeling inspired myself now. Perhaps Les Auge was the one who should have pursued a career in motivational speaking…

Leaning forward, Les Auge continues, “You know, baseball and football. There you’re talking about big business. There’s lots of opportunities. You’ve got a chance here. Don’t give up.” I’m glad that someone is around to encourage Rizzo to try to take one of the few opportunities open to American hockey players at this time.

Les Auge concludes his grand speech: “Listen, if you can’t find your name on that list tomorrow, then come to me and tell me about your coaching jobs, but until then, just keep running them into corners. Don’t quit until he fires you.” I’ve got to say that my affection for Les Auge is growing. I’m getting sad that he’s going to be cut, whereas I can’t wait to see the back of Thompson.

Switching scenes again, we’re in a living room with a lot of the guys from the team including OC, Bill Baker, Rob McClanahan, Ken Morrow, and Jim Craig talking amongst themselves while an agent tries to hold court about the upcoming game schedule, saying with varying notes of pathetic desperation, “Okay, fellows. All right. Hold it. Listen up. Listen up now, fellows. Listen, it’s a good schedule. Some games in Europe. Some exhibitations against the NHL. You’ve got sixty-one games in all. That’s in five months. Only the fittest survive this.”

I hope this is meant as a not-so-subtle info dump for the movie audience, since it would be really pathetic if the boys needed an agent to tell them what they could easily garner from a schedule for themselves. These guys shouldn’t need an agent to read off a paper what teams they’ll be facing and how many games they’ll be playing. If this Olympic squad has even half the organization of a recreational beer league, they’ll already know all this basic information.

Placing his drink on the coffee table, Ken remarks, “Yeah, that’s the point. A guy could get injured right out playing hockey with a schedule like that.” This hurts my heart, since it was untimely injuries that forced Ken Morrow out of the NHL early. At least he got some Stanley Cup rings with that Islander dynasty first, though…

With a meaningful glance at Morrow and the other boys, Kaminsky leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and counters, “Not if he stays on top of his game. Okay, you can’t prevent bad luck, but cheap injuries, that’s something else.”

This is so wrong that I feel the dumber for even considering for a millisecond the possibility that such an absurd premise could be true. Cheapshots are so terrible precisely because they are unpredictable and illegal. Check out this compilation of NHL cheapshots to see what I mean. Yes, I’m aware those all come from a more recent era, so here’s a collection of cheapshots from the 1980’s, and you can bet that injuries sustained during the 1970’s would probably be even worse, since hockey was more physical in the 1970’s than the 1980’s and safety gear was more primitive and optional. Just good Lord. Is Kaminsky really going to contend with a straight face that the victim of every cheapshot in hockey history could somehow have prevented the injury by being “on top of his game”? That’s like saying every robbery victim who ever existed deserved to be stolen from just for not looking after possessions properly.

Fortunately not falling for this drivel, Jim points out, “Yeah, but a pro gets paid for the risk of bad luck.”

The guy (whose face I can’t recognize) next to Jim chips in his two cents, adding, “Yeah, and a pro’s insured.”

These are legitimate concerns, since an athlete’s livelihood depends on his body’s health, so if there are questions about where the money to treat an injury would come from, I could definitely see that as something that could scare guys with other options away from the Olympic team.

Kaminsky answers, “We’re working on that.”

Then there is a knock on the door, and OC opens it to reveal Herb, who enters and glares around the room to put all the peasants who had the gumption to worry about their medical insurance in their place. This is just like Peterloo.

OC cracks his fingers together in a signal for all the boys to leave, which they do, leaving Herb alone with the agent and Kaminsky.

The agent dons his jacket and announces that he’ll be leaving for a drink, gesturing at Herb and Kaminsky before saying, “With you two, it’s personal. If you get past that, call me. We’ll talk business.”

Once the agent leaves, Kaminsky clears his throat and offers Herb a drink, which prompts Herb to vent, “You said you’d keep away from my kids.”

Not responding to this, Kaminsky asks, “How come you get along so well with my partner?”

“Leave him out of it,” Herb snaps. “Who invited you here?”

Kaminsky answers that it’s just common sense for him to be here and a rumor that Herb needed him.

As the Rumor Weed Song from a childhood of listening to Veggie Tales echoes in my head, Herb goes into full snide mode, asserting that of all the things he needs, Kaminsky is the least and that the rumor Kaminsky should have listened to was the one detailing how much he didn’t care for Kaminsky. I have observed that, thus far, Herb is the only character in this film who is allowed to have even halfway witty put-downs.

Not descending to Herb’s level, Kaminsky remarks, “Well, as I see it, Herb, you are caught between a rock and hard place. That tends to make a man nervous, tight. Sometimes makes him look for something to focus it all on, and something tells me that I’m your Patsy.” Kaminsky is so dramatic here. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear him break into this catchy tune about how much of a Patsy he is.

Shaking his head, Herb comments, “You’re nobody’s Patsy. A guy doesn’t get to be big and important in pro hockey circles by being a Patsy.”

Kaminsky admits that’s true, but argues that he did whatever was necessary to advance in pro hockey circles in order to further the cause of young American hockey players, because, according to him, he’s the only one who believes in them and wants to give them the chances that Canadian junior players usually had first dibs on as he is convinced that American players can be as good as Canadian ones. He’s also adamant that this approach isn’t making him rich.

Unmoved by this, Herb sarcastically suggests, “You ought to register as a charity. I’d send you a couple bucks myself.”

Kamisky responds that would be just fine, and then goes on to make the following appeal, “Now, listen. If you’re going to cut fifteen of the best that we represent, would you please tell me now? I’ve got pros sniffing around every one of them, Herb. These kids need my advice. If I believe you’ve got half a chance at a good showing, I’m going to tell them to stay. If I believe that the Russians are going to humiliate you, my advice is going to be to split, to get them out before they make laughingstocks of themselves.”

As I noted in the previous section, this is about as straightforward and fair a deal as you can expect from an agent, and it’s a pity that Herb is too stubborn to cooperate, because, no matter how much he tries to paint Kaminsky as a villain here, I don’t perceive him in that light. Kaminsky is just trying to do his job by looking out for his clients. He wasn’t hired to be the Olympic team’s GM, after all.

In this vein, Kaminsky continues, “Herb, give me room. Maybe I can help you. You keep playing God, you’re going to find yourself with an empty locker room. Now I’m doing my job as a lawyer, as a player’s rep.”

Herb volleys back, pointing at his chest, “Maybe in your head, but what about here? What about your heart?”

Game, set, and match to you, Herb. You said the secret word. I’m sure that if Kaminsky digs deeply into his masochistic heart he’ll realize that he really does want to see as many of his clients embarrassed on the Olympic stage as possible.

Pressing on, Herb demands, “Law or athletics? Kaminsky, I’m inviting you to join the squad as an honorary member. Put it on the line for the team. Just as though you were wearing the skates yourself. This is no ego trip for me. You know as well as I do that no athlete ever made it without sacrifice for the game, not for meat.”

When Kaminsky says that he’s not questioning Herb’s motives, Herb retorts, “Just my sanity, right?” Well, at this point, given how manic you’ve been acting, Herb, that would be a totally justifiable thing to doubt…

Before Kaminsky can answer, Herb states, “Let’s play it straight. This whole thing as far as I’m concerned is a fantasy.”

Kaminsky looks about as startled by this revelation as the first caveman who discovered that wood ignited. The overacting really makes every scene extra unbelievable.

Getting past the almost comically horrid acting, Herb throws all his cards on the table, observing, “And you know what? I’m beginning to doubt your sanity, too.”

Again with that incredibly fake expression of shock, Kaminsky asks, “Why me?”

Herb fires back, “You coming all the way out here. You, the fastest telephone in the East, coming out here. I’d like to see your cost analysis of this trip.”

Kaminsky confesses that Herb is right, and this wasn’t a business trip, as he came out to see for himself whether Herb was obsessed because Herb was the last man cut from the ’60 gold medal team and that could cloud Herb’s judgment. When Herb presses for Kaminsky’s verdict on his obsession level, Kaminsky sums the situation up perfectly by explaining, “I think you’re crazy like a fox.”

On that note, I’ll leave you until next time to speculate on how Herb will sneak into the chicken coop and which chickens in the coop he’s after anyway…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Movie: Beers and Brawls

After Herb and Patrick’s heated discussion about agents, the scene transitions back to the arena, where Patrick is putting the boys through a skating drill that involves him blowing a whistle every couple of seconds at which point the guys performing the drill come to a hockey stop.

Since a hockey stop is one of the first things a player should learn, I find it vaguely amusing that any significant Olympic training is devoted to honing what should be an automatic reaction by now. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t laugh, because the Florida Panthers have been known to have more men on the ice than on the bench as a hilarious result of a routine line change, so perhaps Herb is prudent to return to the basics, and not assume that his players were ever taught the fundamentals of hockey. Just because you have skill doesn’t mean you were educated in technique, after all.

Watching the hockey stop drill from his perch on the bleachers, Herb shakes his head and makes notes on a clipboard. Then the scene shifts to his office, where he is seen removing pictures from the wall and tucking them in an envelope containing photos of the guys to be cut.

After that, we’re in a bar, and a tender is placing a drink in front of Jim Craig. I think Steve Guttenberg actually looks better in the dim light. I guess for Steve Guttenberg moonlight is becoming, and total darkness even more, but I digress. Let’s focus on the fact that some curly-haired girl is with Thompson but obviously bored because he’s ignoring her, so she saunters over to Jim, giving a radiant smile, as she says, “Hi.”

Jim glances over his shoulder to check that she’s talking to him, and then answers with a grin, “Hi.”

Leaning closer to Jim, the girl asks, “You a hockey player?”

Jim replies that he’s a goalie, and then the girl jumps to the question that really interests her, wanting to know, “You alone?”

His mouth twisting, Jim responds, “Well, if you don’t count the twenty-odd hockey players roaming around this place, yeah, I guess you could say I’m alone.”

The girl and Jim share a laugh at that, but I’m not really amused. Jim Craig actually had a fiancée during this time, so unless their engagement involves some wacky beliefs about only women needing to keep their virtue or a provision about one night stands with strangers just met in bars being completely acceptable, I cannot approve of what’s going on here.

Thompson, who is also not a fan of the road this conversation is speeding down, steps out of the shadows and demands, “Hey, Craig, shouldn’t you be in bed?” Jeez, Thompson, beds might not be the best objects to bring up when your girlfriend is hitting on another guy, but the jealous male is clearly not a rational creature, so I will give a partial pass.

When Jim responds with a half smile that it’s a thought, Thompson continues in an even more belligerent tone, “Well, uh, Mary’s my friend.” What a nice depiction of female empowerment by the script writers: having the girl be argued over by two hormonal guys like the last cookie in the jar would be quarreled over by Kindergartners. Maybe the boys can reach an agreement to share her or something, since what she wants doesn’t factor into this territorial squabble at all.

Pointing between Mary and Thompson, Jim seems to have an epiphany, saying, “Oh, oh.” Then he drops the gauntlet with, “Well, any friend of yours, Thompson, is a friend of mine.”

This just doesn’t feel like Jim at all, honestly. I have trouble imagining him as the kind of guy who would want a one night stand with a random girl he met at a bar, and I don’t think that he’d wish to meddle into other people’s relationships like this. He seems like the type to seek out deep connections, so this whole conflict just is wildly inconsistent with his character, as far as I’m concerned.

Thompson, drawing on a retort common among elementary students, snaps, “Get lost, Craig.”

Raising his eyebrows suggestively at Mary, Jim asks, “Shall we?”

Obviously on the verge of losing whatever reign he was keeping on his temper, Thompson snarls, “Move it, or I’ll move you.”

This is a textbook example of a menacing threat, so Jim can only respond with a classic insult: “Thompson, you’re such a jerk.”

Deciding to make this whole situation even more childish, Thompson hurls a drink in Jim’s face, and Jim bolts to his feet to take a swing at Thompson. A brawl ensues, but we don’t get to see any more of it, since the scene switches to Herb’s office for about the umpteenth time in this film.

Herb begins haranguing the boys about the fight: “Let me tell you guys something. I think it’s time for a pep talk. All this stuff that you guys are up to is—no, forget it. You guys are already acting like big time. I know. Some of you have big time lawyers, and some have big time offers, so I guess a college coach’s pep talks won’t work. “

Oh, so now you understand about agents and contracts, eh, Herb? Do you have selective memory loss or something?

Rizzo pipes up, “Mr. Brooks, I think this is all just a misunderstanding.”

Respect and rationality don’t have any effect on Herb, who growls, “Mr. Brooks is my father’s name. I’m Herb.” Ha. I actually like that line, because I remember reading an article where Rizzo described how when he first introduced himself to Herb, calling Herb “Mr. Brooks,” he got basically the same answer. Something is somewhat accurate in this film. I feel like doing cartwheels.

Put in his place, Rizzo replies, “Yes, sir.”

Getting up to put marks under pictures of Jim and Thompson, Herb threatens, “One more X, and you boys are going right back where you came from. I could lose a lot of good players that way maybe.”

Basically, Herb is disciplining these boys like an elementary school teacher would, warning that if you get two marks next to your name you don’t get to go to recess, which, in this case is the Olympics. This is a reasonable course of action, since everyone knows that the average hockey player has a maturity level of a six-year-old. I mean, otherwise stoic Rangers like Ryan McDonagh get excited to add a piece to the Stanley Cup puzzle in the locker room and don a weird hat probably coated with Leetch’s sweat and Messier’s lice because it marks them as their team’s MVP for the game. In a nutshell, coaching hockey players is like running a daycare center with toddlers who cuss a lot.

Going on with his admonishment, Herb states, “But you’re already making a name for yourselves that will keep you out of pro hockey forever. Understand me and understand me good, nobody is indispensable. Nobody. I want a winning team, but more than that, I want a team that I can be proud of. I want men on that team that have character. I would rather cut you all, and be embarrassed, and be shipped down to my old job than to win with a bunch of kids who would dishonor me and themselves. Nothing is worth that. Now get out.”

For the most part, that rings true to Herb’s philosophy, so hurrah for a speech that actually makes sense in this film. May it not be the last.

After the boys make their awkward departure, Patrick comes in, shuts the door, and points out, “Herb, some of them are barely old enough to vote. They’re just kids.” Come on, Patrick. Don’t be a softie. Everyone should be perfect by age twenty-two if not sooner.

Herb, demonstrating a remarkable ability to read the minds of strangers on the other side of the globe, counters sharply, “That’s exactly what the Russians think about them, so that’s one surprise we can give them. Show them some kids with character. Might take the edge off losing.”

Ugh, this movie drives me crazy. Why does that last sentence have to exist? Is it really necessary to ruin a good bit of characterization with a complete sabotage of it in the next sentence? It makes perfect sense that Herb would want to surprise the Russians with how his boys could play with the discipline of men, but it makes no sense to me at all that Herb would already be bowing his head and envisioning utter defeat. It’s been his dream since the Sixties when he first saw the Russians play at World Championships to come up with a team that could match their speed and cycling plays, so he isn’t going to give up about a week into the process after all these years of working to earn a chance to coach an Olympic team.

At this rate, I expect that, instead of the stirring speech he delivered in the locker room before the game against the Soviets, the film version of Herb will just declare: “Well, guys, we can count this game as lost without even playing it, but if we keep the score close, we should be able to beat out the Finns for bronze on point differential. Go for the bronze, because that’s really the best America could ever hope for, but if we don’t get the bronze, at least we made it to the medal round, which is more than anyone could expect from a bunch of idiotic college kids.”

I’ll leave you all to stew in that sacrilege until next time…

 

 

 

Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Movie: Not-So Secret Agents

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.

 

 

 

 

 

Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Movie: Smile at the Camera

Since I have the night off from watching playoff hockey (funny how the elimination of more teams from the playoff picture correlates with an increase in the time I can devote to other leisure activities), I decided to fulfill my promise to watch and blog about the next installment of the 1981 Miracle on Ice film. This section focuses on part of the trials process associated with selecting the Olympic team, but since this movie centers around the trials more than its twenty-first century counterpart does, I will continue to examine the trials process in the next blog post as well, as the trials process appears to extend beyond the portion that I’m being for this post. With that caveat, wagons ho! We’re about to depart on the next part of our wonderful journey to gold in Lake Placid.

When we last left our boys, they were besieging Patrick with a million and one questions. Apparently having received answers to all their manifold inquiries, they are now giving their names and getting their photographs taken. This is probably intended to serve as our introduction to all the boys—providing us with a way to place all the faces with a name—but it feels like too little too late, since we’ve already been thrown into the deep end without a life vest, and, anyway, most of these actors (a term I employ here in the loosest possible sense) bear an uncanny resemblance to one another. Basically, this is my disclaimer that at some point in the movie I might end up saying something about how Mark Johnson has this great line when really it was Rob McClanahan who said it, because casting makes everyone look the same. In real life, though, I would never in a million years confuse those two, so I can still keep my real Miracle fan badge, right?

While the Miracle fan board reviews my case, the first guy to come forward to get his picture taken is Rizzo. He strikes a pose that is more arrogant than outgoing, and I’m not sure that’s really him. I’d believe he’d give off a confident but also friendly vibe. Once Rizzo is done with his photo op, OC steps forward to have his picture taken while chewing a wad of gum just like Brett Connolly did in the 2010 NHL Entry Draft when he went to the podium to shake Steve Yzerman’s hand, and we just had to be grateful that he didn’t spit or pick his nose since neither his parents nor his agent had coached him in how to meet a GM and Hall of Famer. Unlike Brett Connolly, OC does not seem as if he is operating under the influence of horse tranquilizers, and he puts on this cocky smirk that I believe is perfect for his character. So far he’s one of the better portrayed guys in this film, though that may be damning with faint praise.

Jim’s up next, and he needs to be told to look at the camera, which I guess could be the filmmaker’s way of trying to establish that he was something of a loner. After giving his name, he gives this horrible half smile, and I cringe in disgust. Why, oh way, did casting think Steve Guttenberg was a perfect fit for this role? You could torture me like in that graphic and only appropriate for adult audiences scene in Braveheart, and I’d still refuse to believe that Guttenberg was Craig, until the bitter end shouting, “Freedom!”

After Jim, Ken Morrow follows, and he gives his name so quietly that Patrick asks him to repeat it, which is a reasonably clever and relatively subtle way of showing how reserved Ken was. Kudos to the script writers here.

Buzz is up next, and all I can think is that at least he’s better looking than the guy who plays Jim Craig in this movie. His smile is a bit more smug and less kind than I would have imagined, but maybe that’s just me.

Les Auge follows Buzz, and, like OC, he’s chewing gum. It’s a gum-chewing pandemic. I hope that none of them gets attacked like Hugh Jessiman by their suddenly sentient gum when celebrating a goal. I mean, it’s a sure sign that you’re basically a total bust as a professional athlete when you can’t even celebrate a goal without some hilariously ungainly malfunction, and you don’t want to give Herb that sort of insight into your failings.

Next up is Rob McClanahan, who seems pretty regular and inoffensive, which is about all you can ask from this film at this point. Then we have Pav, who is totally blank for the camera, and that goes well with his hating-the-spotlight personality. Pav is followed by John Harrington, who seems normal though plumper than he looked in earlier shots of him. It must be the light…

We shift over to the rink, where some guys are performing a warm-up skate after having their pictures snapped. Les Auge skates up to Rizzo and introduces himself before remarking about how there isn’t much competition. In response, Rizzo observes that is a good thing because he’s still tired from the trip. Since Rizzo mentions jet lag, I’ll just point out that many of the boys who tried out for the ’80 Olympic team actually arrived in Colorado Springs many days in advance so that they could adapt to the higher altitude.

On that note, we’re back to Patrick taking a picture of a guy named Steve Thompson. I admit that unlike Les Auge, Cox, and Hughes, I don’t remember reading a word about this Thompson fellow in any of the books or articles I’ve studied about the Miracle on Ice, but it’s still interesting to have a face to go with one of the names that Herb will (spoiler alert) end up cutting in this movie. Thompson is followed by some other dude with the surname Parides that I’ve never read about either. It’s weird and vaguely sad how some names are utterly lost in the annals of hockey history.

After those two guys who are the merest footnotes of history in this movie, we have a dude who I have heard of: one Bill Baker, who gives a slight smile and nod at the camera. He’s pretty cute, even though he is apparently not Eric Strobel after all.

Following Bill, we have Mark Johnson, who has dark hair and white skin but other than that really does not look at all like Mark in terms of facial structure or eye color. He also has this arrogant expression on his face that isn’t at all suitable for Mark to be wearing. Why did the director allow this to happen?

When Patrick is done taking Mark’s photo, the scene shifts to focus on all the boys skating around the rink, and then zones in on the bleachers, where Patrick joins Herb, who is watching the warm-ups like a hawk, and asks, “Now what?”

Herb replies that Patrick took the words right out of his mouth, and Patrick looks aghast at his rudeness. I predict that Patrick will spend about half of his screen time going into cardiac arrest because of all the nasty things that emerge from Herb’s irritable lips. Proving me right, Herb, being his blithe self, continues, “What’s this—a hockey camp or a rehearsal for the ice companies?”

That’s actually a good bit of dialogue (or else my standards have just been lowered by the abysmal quality of the rest of the script, because I can’t even tell any more), and I have some time to appreciate it before Patrick responds with a chuckle, “Relax, Coach. There’s got to be twenty great ones in that line-up.”

Being a total boar, Herb counters, “Good. When you find out who they are, let me know.” Again, Patrick looks astonished by Herb’s terseness. I see this conversation is going nowhere, and maybe the emotionally stunted Herb actually senses the same thing, because he goes on, “Meanwhile, would you get them started? Sprints and everything. Work ‘em. Work ‘em hard.”

Patrick stands up and blows his whistle, but we are left to imagine the horrible paces the boys are put through, since the next scene transpires in Herb’s office, where we are looking down at a pile of the pictures Patrick has just taken on Herb’s desk.

Herb, who presumably was using the phone to attempt a call to his wife, puts it down, stating that she must have taken the kids to a movie. Switching from the personal to business, he scoops up the pile of pictures and begins to rifle through them, asking Patrick, who is seated in the chair opposite his desk, what on a scale of one to ten he thinks of Grazier.

Patrick estimates a nine, and then bumps it up to a nine-and-a-half, reasoning that Grazier is dependable in clutch situations.

Herb demands who would back Grazier up, and Patrick, looking pensive, says Johnson and Parides could. I’m assuming from the fact that Grazier’s and Parides’ names are linked with Johnson’s that these guys were seen as talented, top prospects in 1979, but since I’ve never heard of them, I’m guessing that they busted. That’s the interesting thing about prospect development. Sometimes a late round pick blossoms into a Chara, Pavelski, or Lundqvist, and a first overall pick can be a disappointment like Alexandre Daigle or Marc-Andre Fleury.

Referring to Parides and Johnson, Patrick says, “They’re both talented.”

Hurling down the pictures, Herb wants to know, “But are they tough? Will they stand up?”

My immediate reaction to this line is that the scriptwriters are trying to be all philosophical and whatnot, but are actually betraying the fact that they’ve never drawn up a hockey roster or even contemplated doing so for more than six seconds. Toughness probably isn’t within the top five qualities that coaches and GMs look for in a first line center. Things like stickhandling, skating speed, playmaking abilities, shooting strength, and overall hockey sense are all more important. You look for skill in a first line center, and toughness in a fourth line center, because, a fourth line goon considers it a great triumph to get a star center to drop the gloves and earn a coincidental penalty.

That’s my reaction if it’s physical toughness being questioned here. However, if it’s mental toughness, that’s much more valid a concern, but still a slippery slope, since the hockey world tends to overrate the toughness of players who are chirpy on the ice but then delve into full turtle mode if anyone actually raises a fist while underrating the bravery and endurance of quieter leaders like Steve Yzerman whom Scotty Bowman said had the highest pain threshold of any player he ever coached.

All I can say is we better not be headed down the path of “Mark Johnson was a talented player but a weak one,” because Mark Johnson got his shoulder speared in the Czechoslovakia game and returned to the line-up in the next one even though he had to have his arm in a weird sling under his equipment. It was like playoff hockey, and, on that note, tune in to NBC tomorrow to watch Jonathan Toews, who wears number nineteen just like Steve Yzerman, lead the Blackhawks against the Kings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breaking Down a Miracle: Part V

Introduction:

This post (read it and weep) represents the conclusion of my series on the games played by the 1980 US Olympic hockey team and their journey to the gold medal. It, of course, focuses on the match against Finland, as well as the post game interviews with Rizzo, Vice President Mondale, Herb Brooks, Jim Craig, Mark Johnson ( aka my munchkin) and Rob McClanahan ( aka my Eternal Favorite Miracle player whom I only tease because I love). Fair warning: this post contains an unpardonable amount of fangirling over Mark Johnson and Rob McClanahan because I might never get another chance to flail over them so publically. I’ve got to seize the day in that regard.  Still, I’ve compensated for that mushiness by including a great number of snide remarks about the media and President Carter being an idiot on the telephone in particular and as a national leader in general. Hopefully, that creates an interesting blend of the sweet and salty reminiscent of a chocolate-covered pretzel.

Notes on the US versus Finland Game:

• Unlike the Soviet game, the Finland game is actually televised live.
• The broadcaster, proving that Olympic coverage was just as infuriatingly condescending back in 1980 as it is today, tells his audience to go wake up anyone they are afraid might have overslept but who wouldn’t want to miss the game. Sheesh. Does he really think large numbers of Americans are sitting dithering on their sofas, moaning indecisively, “Golly, Jake talked a lot about wanting to see this game, but all I hear from his room is earth-shattering snoring. I won’t wake him, though, unless a random TV broadcaster suggests that’s a wise move”? Get over yourself, buddy. You aren’t that important.
• The broadcaster emphasizes that if the Americans win the game against the Finns, the gold medal is theirs, but if they lose, a variety of outcomes are possible depending on the outcome of the Sweden-Soviet match. The broadcaster doesn’t go into it now, but if the US lost, it would have been possible for them to beat the Soviets but not medal. Insane, you say? Yes, but this is the Olympics, and anything but pigs flying can happen.
• Al Michaels compares the situation to Squaw Valley. According to him, everyone remembers the 1960 team beating the Russians but forgets that the team still had to win another game to take the gold. He says that the current American team is now in the place of, having defeated the Soviets, needing to get a last win for the gold medal.
• Ken Dryden points out that while in Friday’s match against the Soviets the Americans had the freedom of playing as underdogs, against the Finns they have the weight of going in as favorites who are under the responsibility to win.
• There is a ceremonial exchange of gifts between Rizzo and the Finland captain. I never heard of this custom before. I mean, what ceremonial gifts do teams exchange? Deodorant as a hint the other side stinks? That’s all I can think of. Jeez, I feel ignorant and will be going to the penalty box for being a bad fan.
• These commentators define the word negativity. Every chance possible, they put a bad twist on the situation. They spend the first few minutes yammering on about how the US needs a strong start since they haven’t had any in this tournament. I guess the commentators haven’t figured out that this was a third period team. Obviously, strong starts are nice, but this team prefers the final push to the opening rush. That is just how they roll, but it’s worked for them thus far. They haven’t lost yet.
• Gosh, for a second I’m empathizing for the Finns. This game is all or nothing for them. If they lose, no medal. If they win, a chance at bronze. I just feel bad because their country has never medaled in the Olympics before. I just have sympathy for hockey underdogs.
• Ramsey has a slapshot that almost goes in the net but is deflected wide. This game is already doing some damage to my poor heart.
• Rizzo has a dramatic shot on goal that involves him falling to the ice, and I pout because the Finnish goaltender has a good glove save.
• One of the Finns is sent to the penalty box for two minutes for hooking. Let’s see if the US can capitalize on this power play opportunity.
• There is a minute stretch where the commentator utters the phrase “Johnson to McClanahan” about four or five times. Yeah, these two passed to one another a whole heck of a lot.
• Apparently, people misused the word “literally” as egregiously back in 1980 as they do today, because the commentator (wanting to sound like a moron on national television, I suppose) says that the USA chant has literally become part of the building. Um, no, unless the chant has become a wall or the roof, the word you are searching for is “figuratively.” Do not pass go and collect a hundred dollars. Just go straight to jail.
• Okay, there have now been two shots in this period of Mark Johnson and Robbie McClanahan sitting next to one another on the bench. Basically, if this were the NHL they’d be the line mates who actually look for each other on the bench instead of just sitting wherever. (It is, of course, adorable and hilarious when line mates do that.)
• The Finnish goaltender’s glove save is ruining my life right now. I was so convinced that Neal Broten’s shot was going to find the back of the net. I’ll just console myself with the fact that Broten was the first American player to have a 100 point season in the NHL, so clearly some of his shots managed to land in the net based on that evidence.
• On the bench, Broten looks like a dejected puppy. Cheer up, Neal. We all love you.
• There is a fluff piece on Rizzo. He talks about the support his massive Italian family has given him and about how he learned the value of hard work from his father. He also mentions that he primarily sees himself as a captain on a team of captains and who has a lot of heart even if he isn’t the best skater or goal scorer. He’s not even one of my favorites, and he’s still tearing at my frayed heartstrings. I’ll blame it on his Boston accent.
• Ramsey gets a two minute minor penalty for roughing and is not happy about the call.
• Steve Christoff gets a backhanded goal just as Ramsey leaves the penalty box. This team is made of win and perfect timing.
• Buzz Schneider is sent off for slashing. It’s going to be a long two minutes.
• The Finns score again, and the commentators proceed to rip into Christian and Baker for not being close enough to the net more effectively than a school of piranhas.
• Broten skates down the ice for a solid scoring opportunity that sadly does not result in a goal.
• Buzz Schneider, who is back in the action, gets in a strong shot on goal, but it doesn’t find the back of the net. So aggravating.
• A Finnish player gets a penalty for delaying the game by trying to freeze the puck along the boards. Can the Americans pretty please with a cherry on top score during the power play? Thank you in advance, Cosmic Wish Service, if this comes true.
• Silk comes painfully close to scoring. This game is producing real tension in my muscles. I need a massage.
• The power play is over, and there is no scoring on either side.
• Christoff fires a shot that goes through the crease instead of into the net. Bad luck there, pal.
• Jim has an awesome glove save for those keeping track of such flashes of brilliance.
• Verchota scores off a beautiful pass from Christian. The Minnesota boys are showing their value today. Way to be, boys.
• Back on the bench, Verchota gets his helmet stroked by his teammates. All is now right in my universe.
• Rob McClanahan scores a five hole off a gorgeous pass from Mark Johnson, so to continue with our NHL comparisons from last game (because that joke is not a beaten enough dead horse), Rob is a steady player during the regular season (the pool games) who does a vanishing trick during the playoffs (Soviet game), but then remembers that scoring the Stanley Cup winning goal is on his bucket list, so he does that during the Stanley Cup Finals. Then he probably becomes an unrestricted free agent at the end of the season, and it costs a boatload of cash to re-sign him.
• Seriously, though, this is an excellent moment to watch repeatedly on YouTube to psych yourself up for Sochi. It’s the game winner for the last time the American men’s hockey team won gold, so what’s not to love except for the fact that it was so long ago?
• Mark and Robbie need to be fined for creating too much adorable. When Rob scores, they both throw up their arms in celebration at the same time. Then they hug and bounce around like they can’t contain their excitement. I sympathize. I mean, I can’t contain mine, and I wasn’t even alive when this happened.
• The whole team joins the hug fest, the crowd goes wild, and the camera pans over to Herb as if the network expects him to be impressed but all he does is take a deep breath and glance up at the scoreboard, because this is all just in keeping with his master plan, and the network should have gotten the memo that he wasn’t doing spontaneous displays of positive emotions this game unless someone gets a shorthanded goal.
• The commentary on the replay of Rob McClanahan’s goal provides me with a marvelous opportunity to rant about something in the American coverage that has been bothering me throughout the games but that I’ll bring up now just because I might never have another chance to grind this particular ax, and what a pity that would be. My gripe, in a nutshell, is that, whenever a member of an opposing team scores or has a brilliant maneuver, it is almost always attributed to the foreign player’s talent (and I’m totally fine with that as I always hope that the Olympics promotes international respect through competition), but when a member of the US squad scores or has a breathtaking maneuver, it is almost inevitably credited to luck rather than the player’s skill. This especially irks me when the footage of the goal or move the American in question makes directly contradicts the commentary.
• To apply this logic to Rob’s goal, the commentary essentially asserts that he was lucky with his goal because if the Finnish goaltender had not dropped, it would have been much harder for the puck to go into the net. The problem with this statement is that when you watch the footage of the goal, it is clear that he waits for the goaltender to drop before he fires a shot, and outlasting a goaltender is a valuable skill for a hockey player. Also, Rob plainly has a plan about where he wants the puck to go and how he wishes for it to get there. Then he just manipulates the situation to suit his plan. Therefore, his goal is about as lucky as me not spilling juice all over the counter when I pour it into a cup I took down from the cabinet for the express purpose of filling with juice. I mean, if that glass hadn’t been there, gosh, what a sticky mess I would have, right?
• Before I get rotten tomatoes hurled at my face, I’ll get off my soapbox now, but I just wanted the world to know that the Miracle boys are a lot more talented than the commentators give them credit for, at least in my not so humble opinion.
• Broten is called for hooking, and he slumps so much in the penalty box that you just want to give him candy or something even though that would probably give him a sugar high his teammates would not appreciate. It’s okay, Neal. Everyone loves you. You’re such a sweetie pie and a baby.
• Broten is free. Hooray for the US penalty kill!
• Christian is called for tripping nearly a second after Broten returns from his stint in the penalty box. Guys, why are you torturing me like this? You really don’t need to prove how effective your team’s penalty kill is. I’ll just take your word for it, I promise.
• The teams are at equal strength again. Now I can breathe normally. Please no more penalties for Americans. My heart can’t handle the stress.
• The commentators fanboy over Mark Johnson so now I feel a bit guilty about raking them over the coals about their coverage of everyone else on the team. They compliment him for his all-around play and his subtlety, which makes his myriad contributions to the team easy to overlook. Tell me about it. You can just be reading a hockey thread about the Sochi men’s hockey team roster and get bombarded by a comment about how Mark Johnson is overrated, and you’ll be like, “What are you on? If anything, he is underrated, and how many Olympic gold-medal winning teams have you been a lead scorer on? Jeez, how can you be so wrong on the Internet with all the information you need to not sound like a complete moron a mere Google search away?” Not that I know this overwhelming desire to burn a forum to cinders from personal experience or anything.
• Another shot of the bench with Rob and Mark sitting next to each other. What a surprise. They need to find new bench buddies before I die, and the cause of death is listed as excessive flailing, because I don’t think my family would ever recover from the shame.
• Phil Verchota is called for a two minute roughing penalty that is not earned since he was the one being roughed more than doing the roughing, as far as I could see. I find it interesting that a Czech ref would call an unjustified penalty against the Americans during the final minutes of a game where the Americans have a one goal lead. Is this perhaps vengeance for the US thrashing the Czechs during their second pool game?
• Phil is not a happy camper. He goes to the penalty box, but he makes a point of throwing off his gloves. Rizzo skates over to say something placating, I presume
• The replay of the alleged foul just makes me take Phil’s side all the more, honestly. If the ref was interested in being remotely fair, the Finnish player would at least have received an offsetting penalty for holding.
• Mark Johnson decides now is a perfect time to score shorthanded, so he skates in on the Finnish net to do just that off his own rebound. He raises his hands in the air in jubilation and so does Herb. This kid is pure gold, and he’s got a gold medal to prove it.
• The crowd is ecstatic, and Mark disappears in a massive hug from his teammates.
• Rob dives to the ice to block a shot on goal. So dramatic.
• Phil winks at the camera from the penalty box. Mark’s goal has completely changed his mood, obviously. He may seem like a tough guy, but he still makes me want to hug him. I’m going to marry a hockey player from Minnesota, and, no, that plan is not complicated by the fact that I’m from New Jersey, so don’t you dare suggest that.
• Too much winking in too short a time. The camera flashes over to Mark on the bench, and he smiles, winks, and gives that little nod guys do. I’m going to faint.
• Oh, and it goes without saying, but yet again Rob and Mark are next to each other on the bench. I’m so glad they took some time out of their busy sitting-next-to-each-other schedule to go out and do things like score game-winning and shorthanded goals.
• Phil is back and probably better than ever.
• The crowd takes up a chant of “We’re number one!” Can this happen in Sochi, too, please, hockey gods?
• Broten is too precious to be believed. As the two are next to each other waiting for the final seconds of the game to end, he pats Rob on the head and pulls him into a one-armed embrace under his shoulder. Keep it up, Neal. Robbie deserves all the hugs in the world. This adorableness can be watched here.
• The Americans end with a blitz on the Finnish goal.
• The American bench is a madhouse in the best possible way. The boys are hugging and pounding their sticks against the boards in exhilaration.
• The commentators are finally admitting the Americans have talent, having played on college all-star teams and stuff. It was like pulling teeth but the media got to the truth in the end. I guess they can have a gold star to match the US hockey team’s gold medal. I’m a big supporter of coordinated accessories, after all.
• Al Micheals’ famous call to conclude the game, “This impossible dream comes true!” Woohoo!
• The team piles onto Jim as Herb makes another one of his swift exits. Presumably, he doesn’t want to be beaten to death by the sticks his boys have been banging on the boards.
• The teams exchange the traditional handshakes. No medal for the Finns; gold for the Americans. That’s the final score.
• The classic image of Jim Craig draped in the American flag brings tears to my eyes but I’m going to blame them on the light.

Herb, Rizzo, and Mondale Interview:

• Rizzo and Vice President Mondale are next to one another in the locker room.
• Lampley, the interviewer, mentions that Mondale is a Minnesotan like lots of members of the Miracle team. The difference is that the Miracle boys are made of win, and Mondale is made of lose. He could only have beaten the Finns by putting them asleep first with that monotone of his.
• Herb passes through the shot but tries to duck out of the way. Your humility makes you the best and the worst, Herb.
• Asked if the win today is a bigger deal to him than his Soviet goal, Rizzo says yes because if the US hadn’t won today, his goal against the Soviets would have just been another goal. Then he gushes about how proud he is to be a member of this team.
• Asked if he is proud of the three penalties his team killed in the third period, Herb actually makes a joke, quipping that sometimes his team likes to make things harder than they have to be. Then, being all deep, he suggests that maybe the penalties were what his team needed to win and to gather all their determination.
• Vice President Mondale comments in his annoying monotone that watching this team play was amazing, and then he puts Carter on the phone to congratulate Herb.
• Herb waxes poetic about the American way of life being the best for awhile. Anyone who says he wasn’t a bit of an idealist is wrong, lying, or permanently damaged from crack.
• Carter says nobody at the White House could get business done because they were too busy watching the game. I say that Carter’s failure to be productive, as it was chronic, should not be blamed on anyone but himself. Good job trying to pin your laziness on a bunch of college kids, Carter.
• Carter can’t wait to meet the boys at the White House, because he’s probably hoping their ability to be victorious at something will rub off on him. (Spoiler alert: it doesn’t, and the country elects Reagan instead.)
• Carter tells Herb to pass on to the boys how proud everyone is of them. Herb is probably internally cringing at all these gooey emotions.
• Carter wants to speak to the captain, so Herb puts Rizzo on the phone.
• Carter basically tells Rizzo to pass along to the team the message he just gave to Herb to give to the boys. Does Carter think Herb is senile or just a liar?
• In response to some other question that I can’t hear properly no matter how many times I rewind this scene, Herb talks about the good Lord working in mysterious ways. Now, of course, we would stone him for mentioning God on national television, but in 1980, that was perfectly acceptable and lovable.
• Lampley forgets the difference between left and right. (Helpful tip: If it’s the hand you place over your heart when you say the Pledge of Allegiance, it’s your right. If it’s the one where the fingers make an uppercase L when you hold them up, it’s your left.) In the end, though, he figures out which side of Herb Jimmy is on and drags the goaltender forward to be interviewed.

Jim Craig Interview:

• Jim’s red shirt has the top two buttons undone, showing some nice bare chest. How many girls back in 1980 do you think fell asleep dreaming of that?
• Jim just has an outpouring of emotion, talking about how amazing his team is in the third period of every game, and how he hopes he was able to keep them going with his performance in goal, since he had such faith in them, and he wants them to have felt the same way about him. My feelings are going to overwhelm me, and we haven’t even gotten to the Mark and Mac interviews. Where did I put the paper bag I set aside to hyperventilate into?
• Jim just unabashedly talks about how he loves all of his teammates. I would replay this moment forever, but then I would never get to see a 1980 Mac interview, so that is not an option, after all.
• When asked if he was worried about his team’s performance after the first period, Jim says he wasn’t because he felt like the boys had time to think and then played their hearts out in the third, getting the gold medal to prove that.

Mark Johnson Interview:

• It’s happening. The reporter is calling Mark out of the crowd of boys to be interviewed. I’m quaking so much that I can’t hold a pen properly to take notes.
• Mark is obviously embarrassed to be singled out for adulation, rubbing his ear and looking down. It’s hard to remember, but this modest creature destroyed Finland’s hope for a medal by driving a nail into their coffin with that shorthanded goal off his own rebound.
• Rizzo pets Mark Johnson on the head as he passes. Adorable overload.
• After basically being asked how it feels to be the star player, Mark launches into this answer about how one player doesn’t make a team, all twenty of them were necessary for the team’s success, and how happy he is for all his teammates. He is so sincere about every word and is essentially a flawless human being here.
• The reporter is just so awkward. He unnecessarily reaches out to grasp Mark’s shoulder for no real reason. Did he cut the class in journalism school about personal space or what?
• Asked about the climate in the locker room after the second period, Mark explains that everyone felt confident that they could win if they put their best effort into it. With every word, a smile just grows across his face, so by the end of his reply, it’s massive and totally dominating his face.
• Lampley congratulates Mark, and then starts looking around for Rob McClanahan behind him, which is kind of hilarious because the only thing behind him really is a wall, and in order to get behind Lampley, Rob would essentially have needed to cut through the middle of the interview in a totally awkward way. I just don’t know why in a packed room the first place to search for a person is the wall…

Rob McClanahan Interview:

• Rob does not materialize from the wall, but he does emerge, looking bashful, from a cluster of teammates, so Lampley will have his chance at being a hotshot investigative reporter.
• Lampley congratulates Rob for scoring the tie-breaking goal, and Rob says thank you and that it feels great.
• Robbie has this angelic grin on his face the whole time, and could he just stop being cute for five seconds so I could have a chance to sing my feelings? The pause button doesn’t even help because it just freezes him in a sweet pose. I am going to die of glee before this interview is over.
• Lampley asks if Rob saw the puck coming out to him in front of the net before he scored. Some journalists are paid to ask the difficult questions; others the easy ones. Lampley was plainly a case of the latter. If Lampley were in the army, his name would be Captain Obvious.
• For those who might have been getting popcorn not only during his goal but during the four or five replays, Rob describes his goal. He explains how he was standing in front of the net, and Mark was standing behind it. Then he and Mark looked at one another for what he claims felt like a few seconds although he admits that it might not actually have been that long. The rest, of course, is history: he slides the puck under the goalie’s legs, and the Miracle boys have their gold medal.
• This moment is one of the high points in my life, because it proves that the director of the movie Miracle was not making stuff up when he had Mark and Mac exchange entire sentences with their eyeballs in that scene where the boys tell Herb that Tim Harrer needs to take a hike. Apparently, Mark and Rob did that sort of thing all the time like the obnoxious line mates they are.
• Lampley asks if at the time before Rob scored with fifteen minutes left in the game whether he felt the team was becoming anxious, which is all the excuse Rob needs to launch into serious hockey analysis mode with a furrowed brow and widening eyes to emphasize important points. Don’t let the quiet Minnesota voice fool you. This dude is intense and would probably love to analyze stuff all day long, because it is a challenge.
• Rob relates how the team told themselves after the second period that all year, especially in this tournament, the third period had been their strongest one, and as long as they kept that in mind, they would be able to play their best hockey.
• Lampley congratulates Rob again and then pulls Rizzo forward for a final word. I want Mac back, but I guess Rizzo is okay, though Bill Baker would be even better, because his post-Sweden interview was awesome.

Rizzo Interview:

• Lampley askes Rizzo if he could have imagined this moment six months ago. Rizzo responds that he couldn’t have, because even though six months ago the team felt they had a shot at a medal, they didn’t believe they had a chance for the gold one. However, he says that after one game against the Russians and one against the Finns where they played with so much pride, they now have the gold medal.
• When asked what point the team started to believe they could take the gold, Rizzo answers after the game against the Czechs. After hammering the Czechs, the team felt they just had to defeat the Soviet union and the gold medal would probably be theirs.
• Rizzo agrees that the crowd was wonderful and supportive of the team, which was great, since the team was hoping to have the crowd behind them.