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 on Ice: Herb’s Warm Welcome

Ladies and gentlemen of the blog world, I’m pleased to announce that I’ve found some spare time between watching playoff hockey and working my rear end off for pennies to see the next segment of Miracle on Ice. Since I’m sure that you’re all quivering masses of excitement at the prospect, I’ll get on with the welcome the boys will be receiving to the trials, so hold onto your hats because this wagon doesn’t have any brakes and will be smashing through Colorado Springs.

In case you didn’t pick up on the subtle hint in the last sentence, these trials take place in Colorado Springs, which, as the name suggests, is in North Dakota, just as Baja California is in Mexico. Just kidding, of course. Colorado Springs is really in Colorado, unlike Baja California, which actually is in Mexico. Look it up if you think I’m a typical American who can’t navigate her way off her block with a GPS and a map.

A bus pulls up to the curb, and a stream of hockey players climb out, carrying their equipment. This river of hockey players includes Rob McClanahan, the guy I’m referring to as Steve Christoff until proof (which could be a long time in coming given this movie’s penchant to not give characters names) that he’s not arrives, and a blond dude I’m going to assume is Eric Strobel on the basis of hair color and age. What I mean by that is Rob, Steve, and Eric were all in the same class at the University of Minnesota, so, even if they weren’t friends, they still might find it somewhat reassuring to show up to trials together, because the devil you know is less scary than the one from Michigan, Wisconsin, or—God forbid—Massachusetts that you don’t know, right? Yeah, operating under that unassailable logic, the blond dude is definitely Eric Strobel until someone in the movie calls him by another name.

Rob, the guy who will be known as Steve for the time being, and the dude I’m presuming is Eric gawk at their surroundings for a bit, because Minnesota boys just don’t get out enough obviously, bless their hearts. While they drink in Colorado Springs, Eric says in a tone that sounds uncannily like a stoned skateboarder, “Wow, this is awesome! It makes me feel important.” Want to know one thing that isn’t awesome? This atrocious dialogue.

Getting beyond the fact that I’m cringing in embarrassment over dialogue that I wasn’t even born yet when it was written and so am in no way responsible for (so my audience should not point their pitchforks at me), Eric really should break his addiction before he’s subjected to a random drug test at the Olympics. After all, the only team allowed to have a drug-enhanced performance was the Soviet team. Should you think I’m being bigoted implying the Soviets cheated in international hockey competitions, check out Igor Larionov’s accounts of the suspicious injections members of the Soviet National team received annually leading up to the World Championships, which he insists that he, Krutov, Makarov, Fetisov, and Kasatonov all refused. The Soviet hockey program was so wacky that I don’t have to make stuff up for this blog to be exciting and scandalous.

Now that we’ve addressed the specter of suspicious Soviet injections, we can get back to the movie, where Rob, fiddling with his bag, tells his friends (who may or may not be named Eric and Steve) to “get over there for a second” so he can take a picture. Basically, Rob is that friend who you think you’ll have fun visiting the Lincoln Memorial with but who actually makes it so you never get to see much of the monument because you have to pause at every step to snap a photo.

Steve (or whoever he is) doesn’t think this is a Kodak moment, so he groans, “Come on, Robbie. Let’s stash our gear.”

Since Rob, like most tyrants with cameras, is not about to be dissuaded this easily, he responds, “No way. I promised your dad.” Jeez, so, basically, Steve’s dad is the ‘70s version of my mom, who always tells my friends (never me) to take a ton of pictures and post them on Facebook so she can admire them. I believe this is her method of monitoring my sobriety levels. Steve should be wary of such tricks from his old man, I think.

Steve snorts, “Well, that’s your problem,” and my problem is that this dialogue may have been written by a second grader. Seriously, if I hear a fart joke, I will take it as definitive evidence that the script writer never graduated elementary school, which would explain a lot about the relative maturity levels of everyone in this film.

Holding up his camera, Rob tells his friends to smile, and they actually cooperate. We can only assume that after this, Rob subjects them to about a million more pictures, because the lighting is never perfect and whatnot.

Fortunately, we are spared the ordeal of watching that as we move into an assembly room where Herb is going to give his idea of a welcome speech, which means, of course, that it will be about as welcoming as a mugging in a dark alley. In this room, the camera focuses on a knot of New England boys, including such notable personages as Ralph Cox, Jim Craig, Dave Silk, and Jack O’Callahan.

With his hands in his pockets, Silk confesses, “These guys make me nervous.” He’s going to be wetting his pants when Herb makes his grand entrance, in that case…

Jim says that he recognizes a lot of the guys from the Moscow tournament and they’re all right. My inner Miracle geek is doing cartwheels right now, because that ’79 World Championship team Jim alludes to did contain Jim Craig, Jack O’Callahan, Phil Verchota, Bill Baker, Rob McClanahan, Steve Christoff, Eric Strobel, Mark Johnson, and even this random retired NHL player named Craig Patrick. In other words, the 1980 Olympics was totally an awesome remix of the ’79 World Championship team.

Cox argues that there are “too many of them and not enough of us.” I feel like I’m watching the beginning of an after-school special on tolerance and diversity.

OC drawls, “Ah, it’s a big country, boys, we’ve got to make room for some of them—like maybe two.” OC is a riot. He gets some of the best lines in this movie, just like he does in Miracle. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.

The New Englanders take their seats, and we move over to a knot of Midwesterners in time to hear Ken Morrow say, “Hey, I’ve never seen most of these guys before.”

This results in some supposedly witty but actually painful banter about most of the guys not having seen Kenny before either, and how the other guys are Easterners who never leave concrete streets. By this point, I fully believe that Herb did his honest best to take the most annoying cast of characters possible to Lake Placid, perhaps theorizing that the Russians would capitulate instantly under an onslaught of their terrible jokes.

We have to listen to more agonizingly unnatural dialogue trying to convince us that it’s humor as the Midwestern boys discuss how the gold medal ’60 team was loaded with Easterners and how much they don’t need a history lesson. Can Herb make his grand entrance soon because this is getting to be excruciating?

The camera now shifts over to the Coneheads, who are sitting in a row diagonal to the other group of Midwesterners. Pointing across the room as if he were raised in a barn, Bah asks Buzz and Pav, “Hey, did you see McClanahan’s jeans?”

Yep, this is definitely an after-school special, all right. Now we’re getting to the point where people are being mocked behind their backs for their clothing selections. I eagerly anticipate the incoming anti-bullying sermon where we’ll be taught that we can all be buddies no matter what our socioeconomic status.

Buzz replies that he doesn’t check out guys’ jeans, and Bah continues to obsess over Rob’s pants, claiming that Rob’s wearing a fancy brand that costs “sixty bucks at least.” Presumably, he’s bitter because that money could have fed a starving child in the Iron Range for a year or something.

Pav decides not to be a bystander, and demands, “So what? He plays good hockey?” Here, a cynic could certainly speculate that Pav has a vested interest in creating a team atmosphere where nobody cares what anyone else is wearing, so that he could show up to his medal ceremony looking like a total ragamuffin, and nobody would be able to taunt him into dressing as if he had actually spared a thought to his appearance.

Bah dismisses this point, scoffing, “Yeah, I know, but what’s a rich kid doing playing hockey?”

Okay. I’ve got to give this movie props for courage here, even if I make fun of the rest of the script. Rob McClanahan was raised in North Oaks, an affluent suburb of St. Paul, while most of the team was from more blue collar origins, so he got a lot of ribbing about his upper-crust background.

Many sources, like the Miracle movie, decide they aren’t going to poke that class grenade with a ten-foot pole, and most of the sources that do touch it do so in a pretty blundering way, basically asserting that Rob was fine because while he might have seemed like a snot like all the other lazy, arrogant upper-middle class jerks in their gated communities driving their elegant cars, he wasn’t actually a snot unlike all those other rich snobs who really are arrogant, lazy jerks. In a nutshell, most of the sources just end up affirming the stereotypes about upper-middle class people instead of confronting them, so we’ll see what the movie does with the class issue. Either way, I’ll applaud their bravery for trying to deal with the issue even if I can’t approve of their execution. So far, though, I think that they’re doing pretty well, since I believe the audience is intended to identify Bah’s remark as a sort of reverse snobbery and not be sympathetic toward it.

The camera switches to Les Auge, who, when asked how he is doing, admits that he’s feeling a little nervous. I’m kind of overjoyed to see Les Auge in this film, since I’ve only ever read about him in books before. It’s nice to see him get some attention for a change.

Now that Les Auge has prepared us for Herb’s entrance by alerting us to the fact that we should all be nervous wrecks, Herb strides in and marches up to the podium to deliver his welcome speech to his crowd of Olympic hopefuls.

Herb opens with a declaration that “some of you have had the pleasure of playing on my teams before.” Way to go, Herb. When the tension between different groups in a room is thick enough to need a knife to slice through it, it’s great to crack a joke to set all the warring factions at ease. I hope he continues his standup routine with a quip about the pleasure of getting a root canal.

Sadly, Herb elects to go into serious mode instead of making any more wisecracks. He attempts to assure his audience’s attention by asserting that this isn’t a case where a player can look to his right and to his left, and then know that one of the three of them will make the team, because the odds, according to him, aren’t that much in their favor. Instead, Herb tells them to look two places on either side of them and assume that maybe none of them will make the team.

Since the boys who do ultimately make the team are organized in bunches, a more accurate version of the speech would point out that there are also some people who could look two places on either side of them and know that all five of them would make the team. Really, Herb could have glossed over the formality of a trials process and just pointed at clumps of players, announcing which ones passed muster and which ones didn’t.

Herb then talks about how the twenty boys who will make the team will be the best skaters, the bravest players, and the guys who believe in themselves and each other the most. This is all music to my ears as this team over the years has somehow been stigmatized as a talentless bunch, so it’s a wonderful change to hear them being called good.

After this, Herb waxes romantic about how he’s not looking for winners, since winners are a dime a dozen, but rather for people prepared to sacrifice for the chance to become winners. This line rings very true, since Herb once defined winners as those who are willing to make sacrifices for the unknown.

Herb concludes with a declaration that he doesn’t know what brought his players there, but he knows what can send them home, and that he’s not interested in their questions, only their answers, so if they have any questions, they should direct them to Coach Patrick, who seems astonished by Herb’s abrupt speech.

As Herb walks by him, Patrick remarks that the boys look eager, and Herb counters that they are a “bunch of cliques” that are “a long way from a team.” In other words, this Olympic team sounds like middle school.

Patrick walks up to the podium and makes a sorry excuse for a jest by commenting, “Welcome to Colorado Springs, where the atmosphere isn’t just friendly and warm; it’s downright hot.” That terrible joke may be the reason the facepalm was invented.

There is an outbreak of polite, pitying laughter from the boys who probably want brownie points from the assistant coach who apparently just wants to be one of the guys.

Coach Patrick asks if there are any questions, and everyone raises a hand. That’s good. Patrick deserves to answer stupid questions for the next century as atonement for his awful joke. On that note, we’ll end this post with Herb’s pleasant words of welcome ringing in our eardrums like a merry wedding bell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Movie: Meet the Guys

As anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time probably has figured out I have a slightly overzealous interest in the Miracle on Ice, so when I had a chance to buy a VHS (those tapes that are a pain in the neck to rewind and flash forward that we used to watch back in the ‘90s before DVDs were invented to spare us the agony if you can remember those technological Dark Ages) of the 1981 made for TV movie called Miracle on Ice at a garage sell, I had to spend the two bucks it took to purchase the relic. Of course, the fact that I even go to such garage sales is a source of eternal embarrassment to my family, as is the fact that we still have a VHS player hooked up to one of our TVs. To make my family’s humiliation complete, I decided to watch the Miracle on Ice VHS that I bought nice and cheap at a garage sale on our antiquated VHS player and then blog about it in ten to twenty minute segments.

Now to give my audience fair warning, I’m so excited about this rainfall from heaven in the form of a Miracle on Ice VHS that I might not be entirely coherent throughout this viewing and writing experience. Seriously, the last time I was flailing so much over something Miracle related was when I ordered a book about the Miracle on Ice used on Amazon and it arrived with Eric Strobel’s signature in it, making me feel like I had just committed the online equivalent of highway robbery since I would have paid a lot more money for the book if I had known it had Eric Strobel’s John Hancock in it. Gosh, that was like the pinnacle of my Miracle fan glee, and the only way it could have possibly been improved was if the signature had been Mark Johnson’s or Rob McClanahan’s, because those two are my absolute favorite Miracle boys. Okay, that’s more than enough about me and my freakishness. Let’s get on with the show, ladies and gentlemen of the blog world…

The movie opens with a rather impressive declaration that it’s based on the events leading up to the USA men’s hockey team winning gold at the Lake Placid Olympics, but some characters and events have been compressed for dramatic purposes. With all these fancy words, it sounds like the beginning of those forensic shows on the Discovery channel. Maybe Herb will commit a murder in this film, and we’ll have to go on a journey to find DNA evidence to convict him by confiscating his Coke can or something.

Credits are rolling, and I want to get on with the actual film. I’ve got all the patience of a sugar high toddler here, basically, and I’m remembering how hard it is to fast forward a VHS.

All right, the credits are finally over, and we’re at Herb’s house near St. Paul, Minnesota. The camera focuses on the Coach of the Year Award and assorted honors that Herb has received that are hanging on his bedroom wall. It’s a good way of subtly establishing his character as a decorated college coach, and the fact we don’t see any coffee mugs with “Number 1 Coach” written in bright colors is probably a sign that he’s not a touchy-feely guy or else that he coaches the most ungrateful brats ever.

The camera drifts over to Herb’s face, and if I don’t make a crack about Karl Malden nose right away it’s going to be distracting me the whole movie, which will hinder my enjoyment of all things Miracle on Ice, so, on that note, Karl’s nose is so big that it looks like they got two actors to play Herb.

Patty’s awake, and she’s fretting about Herb being up all night like the obsessive nut that he is. Herb comes over to their bed (and the fact that they are allowed to be on the same bed and not have to sleep in twin beds shows that this is an ‘80s film not a ‘50s one, since the ‘50s were so prudish that not even husbands and wives were allowed to share beds) and protests that he had to decide which players he was going to invite to the Olympic try-outs.

Patty is sassy, pointing out that was Herb’s excuse for not getting any sleep last night, and he can’t use the same one twice. Nice to see her given some personality in this film.

Herb explains that he delayed sending out the invitations until today (since he’s such a terrible procrastinator) and then provides a little bit of an info-dump, describing how he’ll have to cut forty-two of the sixty boys at the Olympic trials, and then he’ll have six months to narrow the roster down to twenty. I’d probably be a sarcastic jerk about Herb flipping out this much over sending out invitations if I didn’t just think about how miserable an experience mailing a million Christmas cards can be, but since I remember that I’ll graciously hold my fire.

Of course, in the modern era, mailing invitations isn’t a concern for USA hockey. They just send out text messages to players, and if that sometimes means accidentally inviting a sixty-seven-year-old Canadian to the Olympics instead of Ryan Kesler since Kesler changed his number that is just the price of doing business. Anyway, the lesson in all this is that the technology may have improved, but inviting players to the Olympics still remains a messy process because USA Hockey is a marvelously inefficient organization, as most bureaucracies are.

Since Herb sounds like a ball of stress, Patty points out that Herb didn’t need to take the job, and when Herb worries about what will happen if he can’t succeed, she reassures him that she’ll still be there for him as always. This is a pretty sweet scene, to be honest.

Herb hops into Craig Patrick’s car and begins acting as if he has the social skills of a rhino on a rampage. In response to Patrick’s question about how he’s doing, he just demands to know where the list of the boys they’re going to invite is, and Patrick whips out a clipboard. It’s interesting that the film has Herb treating Patrick like a clod of dirt, since Herb was actually known for treating his assistant coaches and trainers with a lot of respect. He was just mean to his players mainly.

Being a complete thunderhead, Herb grouses about how even if he had twenty of the best players in the world, he couldn’t build a team in less than seven months, and this is why the Russians don’t take American hockey seriously. I guess he would love it if he were named a commander in the army who could draft hockey players to his unit and force them to live in barracks away from their families for eleven months of the year since that was what the Soviet team success was rooted in. I hope that he doesn’t continue in this vein all the way to Lake Placid, because that would just be annoying.

Patrick makes a valid point about hockey being more important to Russians than it is to Americans.

Herb snarls at Patrick to mail out the invitations and then slams the list down like a toddler having a tantrum over Mommy not buying the Oreos at the supermarket. He tops the rant off with a statement that Patrick should start praying that enough of the boys to make a team will feel like showing up, but if that’s really a concern shouldn’t he send out more invitations to more players instead of whining about a potential lack of turnout?

We’re in Boston now, and Rizzo is walking through a park filled with historical statues as all Boston parks are legally required to be with his girlfriend. As they stroll along the path, Rizzo’s girlfriend asks Rizzo if he’s nervous.

At first, Rizzo tries to scoff off the question, then he mans up enough to admit that he is nervous because he’s a hockey player and he needs to get noticed. It should be noted that Rizzo’s Boston accent makes “Donna” sound like “darling.”

Donna gives Rizzo a look to let him know she’s not impressed by this logic, and he says that the pros know where he is, but he needs to prove himself to them if he wants them to give him a real opportunity. He feels that the Olympics would give him that chance to prove himself.

Rizzo’s Boston accent is so excessive that it’s difficult to take him seriously even when he is being so intense in this scene. His actor could have followed the less is more philosophy when it comes to portraying an accent in film.

Donna smiles and asks Rizzo how long he’s going to wait. Rizzo slings an arm around her and says he’ll tell her after the mail comes.

With that as a transition, we move over to North Easton, Massachusetts, where Jim Craig lives. He enters to find an opened invitation to the Olympics on the mantle next to a picture of his mother, who, of course, died of cancer but dreamed of her son going to the Olympics.

As he reads the letter, his dad comes into the room and tells Jimmy not to be angry with his brother who tried to get to it first. Yeah, as someone from a large family, let me tell you that if a sibling was snooping through my mail, I wouldn’t be angry—I’d be searching for a knife. In large families, you shouldn’t get mad; you should just get even.

Jim tells his dad that he wasn’t trying to hide the note and that he just was waiting to see what offers he could get from the pros. Jim’s father says there will be time to speak with the pros later, and Jim counters that it costs money to keep playing amateur, and he feels like his family has spent enough already. Many families do struggle to cobble together the money to give their children a shot at the Olympics that I applaud this film for examining some of the tension that results from that. I imagine it puts a ton of pressure on the athletes knowing how much their family sacrificed to give them a shot at the Olympics, and then for the families it has to be stressful to because they feel like they should be doing everything possible to give their talented kid the best opportunity to succeed but that’s so hard to do when you money is tight.

During the course of this discussion, the camera really zooms in on Jim’s face, and let me tell you, the actor who plays him looks absolutely nothing like the actual Jim Craig. He’s about as far from objectively good-looking as it’s possible to be, he doesn’t look remotely Irish, and his peepers aren’t a dazzling blue. Was this the best casting could do because it’s kind of pathetic?

We’re back in Minnesota, and some guy who I assume is Steve Christoff is watching some reels of himself getting slammed into the boards in awkward ways. Thankfully we are distracted from these frankly weird poses by Rob McClanahan materializing in the doorframe and saying like the obnoxious know-it-all that he is, “Don’t tell me. Slapshot.” No, Robbie, it’s the Three Stooges.

The guy who I’m just going to call Steve until proof that he’s not comes along says he’s actually watching a play of himself getting nailed into the corners.

Rob replies with a joking, “You never give up, do you?” This script is quite terrible, since half of what people say isn’t very related to what was offered in the previous comment. It’s as if everyone in this film has never engaged in an actual conversation with other human beings before.

Steve (or whoever he is) responds that “we can’t all be naturals.” That’s definitely true about the acting in this movie, let me assure you.

Rob, deciding to hop onto the next topic and get to the real point of his visit, asks if Steve “got one.” This forced dialogue that’s trying to sound organic and bantering is quite grating to listen to in case you’re wondering.

Steve (or whatever his name is) answers that he hasn’t checked yet, and Rob crows that he saved him the trouble and they’ll be going to camp together. In other words, the script writers have a fetish for people committing the federal offense of opening mail not addressed to them. I mean, seriously, this is the second time in less than five minutes that someone has nosed through a letter that doesn’t belong to them. Come up with a new way of revealing information. This is already getting old, and we aren’t ten minutes into the movie yet.

I can’t help but picture other conversations Rob might have engaged in with friends in the past, though, and it’s rather amusing. I can just envision him strutting into a friend’s living room during his senior year of high school and announcing all smugly, “I saved you the trouble of getting your mail and opening it. You got that letter from the admissions office of that university you really were dreaming of going to and that you thought was so perfect for you. You were outright rejected. What a bummer, but let’s focus on what’s really important in life. Do you want to watch Slapshot? Wait. Why are you crying and hurling blunt objects at my head?”

Getting beyond the fact that Rob doesn’t understand human emotions too well in this movie, we’re moving up to Eveleth, Minnesota to meet some Coneheads at a bar.

We get some shots of the mines because Eveleth is in the Iron Range of Minnesota, so mining iron ore is what the economy of that whole region is based on. Good to get some local flavor.

We follow Pav as he dashes into a bar, glances around at the patrons, and then takes a seat at a table with Bah Harrington and Buzz Schneider.

Buzz makes a wisecrack about Pav only being an hour late this time. Pav would be the dude who couldn’t arrive on time to anything, since he is the exact opposite of a social butterfly.

Pav explains that he was fishing. This feels so in character, since Pav loved nature and hunting, so I could totally see him blowing off his friends for an hour or more to catch some fish.

I think the scene with the Coneheads is the best yet, because Bah actually sounds natural when he gives Pav a hard time about fishing instead of hanging out with his friends, and Pav does to when he responds that if it’s between Bah and fishing, fishing is going to win.

That natural feeling kind of fades away though when Bah and Buzz want to know if Pav got an invitation to the Olympic trials, but at least this gives Pav a chance to show his prankster side by putting on a blank face for a few seconds, and then whipping out the invite with a slight smile.

After this, there is some manly hand-shaking and celebratory shouting from the Coneheads.

Then we shift scenes to a cemetery where Jim and his father are standing over his mother’s grave. It’s a poignant touch to have them both offering the Sign of the Cross at the end of their prayers, since it’s annoying in films when Catholics act like evangelical Protestants and don’t make that gesture. Really, it’s almost as bad as when a Catholic priest decides to lead his congregation in the Protestant version of the Our Father, because Hollywood just doesn’t understand Catholicism at all and doesn’t realize that’s just as unbelievable as a backwoods Baptist chanting a Hail Mary. They don’t mess this bit up, though, so props to them.

As they walk away from the grave, Jim’s dad asks him how it feels to being going to the Olympic trials, and Jimmy sighs before answering that it’s what he wants to do. The poor guy needs a hug, because he’s making me a very sad panda right now.

When his dad asks if he’s doing okay, Jimmy responds that he is but it’s still hard for him to believe that his mom is gone. Way to snatch my heart out of my chest and stomp on it, Jimmy. I hope you’re happy about that now.

Some of the touching melancholy of this scene is squandered when Jim’s father just responds that it’s hard for everyone in the family. It just seems like there would be about fifty more comforting things he could have said at this juncture, so it sort of rips me out of the moment and reminds me of the vexation I experienced when I vented to a friend about how upset I was when I got a C on a test I thought I aced and instead of sympathizing she took the opportunity to wax poetic about an F she’d gotten on an exam several years ago. She was so determined to prove that she had suffered more than me, while I was thinking that I was sorry she had a bad day years ago, but I was having a bad day now and some consoling might be in order…

Jim worries aloud that him pursuing his Olympic dream is asking too much of the family, and Jim’s dad points out that it is really Jim’s mother who is doing most of the asking. The scene is back to being touching now.

Jim’s father tells him to just make his mom proud and repeats that instruction as if to pile on the pressure. If I were Jim, I’d probably feel like the weight of the world was on my shoulders after those words from dear old dad.

Jim’s father slings an arm around Jim’s shoulders, saying, “Come on. Let’s get you to the plane.” This serves as our transition to an airplane that’s taking off.

Aboard this plane, we are introduced to Jack O’Callahan gambling with some guy named Graser. Graser loses the card game for what seems to be the umpteenth time and takes out his temper by smacking OC’s mouth with a hand of cards. OC gasps and clutches his face, which seems rather inconsistent with the fact that OC had hundreds of stitches and no teeth. He’s tough guy. He’s not going to find some paper hitting his lips painful.

In another row, we have Silky and Rizzo talking about how many of the boys will go pro before Lake Placid rolls around. Silky remarks that he can’t blame anyone for choosing to go pro when that’s where all the money is. Rizzo suggests that Silky should leave the pros alone for now since he still has a year of college eligibility left.

In a comment that doesn’t directly respond to what came before, Silky says that his family wants him to become a doctor but he prefers performing surgery with his stick. From the row up front, someone chips in that Herb would want to see him playing the body not the stick, and Silky retorts that is why Herb’s not coaching in the NHL.

Rizzo points out that maybe Herb doesn’t want to coach in the NHL, and Silky scoffs that the NHL is where all the money is. Rizzo flares up and snaps that Silky still has other options and that he should finish school to give himself something to fall back on. I think that Silky’s allusions to the fact that the best play and coach in the NHL because that’s where all the money is poked a raw nerve with Rizzo, don’t you?

Flashing back to OC, we learn that Graser is three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in the red to OC. Adjusted for inflation, that’s a ton of money. Good Lord, did Graser think the plane was Las Vegas or what? If you’re going to lose that kind of money, at least do it in a snazzy casino.

That’s all for now, folks. We’ve met the boys, and next we’ll get to watch them partake in the trials. Oh, and OC wants me to tell you that the over/under odds on Graser making the team are really great, so bet on it with him…