The Sweet and Timeless Tao of Smalls

Happy 30th to The Sandlot, which taught us some things

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Don’t ever stop killin’ me, Smalls. Stay as you were in the movie’s imagination, the tender and shy Scotty Smalls, infinitely sweet and tragically unaware of how to build a proper s’more.

Remind me forever of the joy of being 12 years old, when all the world’s possibilities are in play and your biggest worry is how to fetch a lost baseball from the jaws of an ornery dog.

There’s always something to be said for the magic of childhood, only now no one’s saying it much. The Sandlot arrived 30 years ago, in 1993, screaming magic to the rooftops. Every scene in the movie evokes the sort of errant-wish wistfulness that comes from recognizing a better time that no longer exists.

The director, David Mickey Evans, said this recently about his movie:

“I’ve been asked many, many times if I think “The Sandlot” is a defunct American institution. You know, when I was a kid every neighborhood had a sandlot, every kid got on their bike when the sun came out, didn’t come home till the street lights came on, that kind of thing. Who does that today? Nobody.’’

The movie is of a particular time and place, 1962, when America was ripe with Baby Boomers, close to sending men to the moon, its eyes not yet haunted by a looming war in Southeast Asia. Kids were kids, and kids played baseball. In vacant lots, on elementary school fields, by happenstance. We just showed up. Anybody with any years on him will tell you a key to life is Just Showing Up.

It’s a baseball movie, sort of, in the way that M*A*S*H was a movie about doctors in the Korean War. What made The Sandlot special was not baseball, though the game is its timeless presence. What owned the movie and made it beautiful were the very human notions of acceptance and belonging. Evans, the director, said when casting The Sandlot, he sought kids of all different athletic abilities, not just 12-year-olds who could throw 90 miles-an-hour.

That wasn’t an accident. It allowed for any kid with a glove and a bike to play the game. In that summer of ‘62, Scotty Smalls’ family had just moved into the neighborhood. He’s an uncertain kid, achy and a little forlorn. His first attempt at making friends at the sandlot is a disaster. When he goes home and asks his dad to help him catch a baseball, the session ends with Scotty taking a lob off the eyeball.

It gets better, because Scotty overcomes his shyness. More, the guys in the ‘lot help him along. Everybody helps everybody in the sandlot. They are, in the real-est sense, a team.

Hamilton Porter, aka The Great Hambino, is the team’s catcher and center of the movie’s universe. In one especially memorable scene, Ham’s exasperation with Smalls crests when he has to not only explain to Scotty how to make a s’more, but also tell him what a s’more is.

"You're killing me, Smalls’’ comes Hambino’s response.

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I have a T-shirt bearing Ham’s face, inscribed with that line. Every time I wear it, I get comments.

This is a movie without cynicism, as pure and possible as a baseball pulled fresh from the box. The Sandlot is true to its mission, without being sticky-sweet about it. It takes us to a time and place we thought we’d lost, until Smalls and the Great Hambino showed up. I’m so glad they did.

Don’t ever stop killin’ me, Smalls. Your humanity reminds me why humanity matters.

In honor of The Sandlot’s 30th birthday, The Banks will screen the movie outdoors. WCPO.com:

Baseball and movie lovers can bring some lawn chairs, pick up food at a nearby restaurant and set up outside the Great American Ball Park video board at 8:30 p.m. Thursday, Aug. 17.

Before the movie starts, fans can also meet some of the original cast members. Grant Gelt, who plays Bertram; Victor DiMattia, who plays Timmy Timmons; and Shane Obedzinski, who plays Tommy "Repeat" Timmons will appear at Moerlein Lager House as celebrity bartenders during the happy hour before the screening.

Now, then. . .

THE REDS LOST AGAIN, MOSTLY BECAUSE THEIR OVERWORKED BULLPEN COULDN’T HOLD A LEAD.

Meanwhile, Michael Lorenzen pitched a no-hitter Wednesday for the Phillies, who deadline-acquired him from Detroit, even though they already had Aaron Nola and Zack Wheeler in their rotation. To get Lorenzen, the Phils traded 20-year-old infield prospect Hao-Yu Lee, who’s currently in his third season of pro ball and is now a member of the Tigers A-League team, the West Michigan Whitecaps.

Trades shouldn’t be judged quickly. Lee might turn out to be a stud. But until my crystal ball is fixed, all I can know is what I can see. I see what you see. Team A acquires a legit SP in the midst of a pennant race. Team B loves its prospects.

To be continued. . .

I USED TO LOVE PHIL MICKELSON. Every major I covered, I’d always make time to follow Phil around the course, hoping he’d attempt shots that ranged from sublimely heroic to epically goofy. He was the most entertaining player on the course. He was also a seemingly pleasant alternative to the regal and regally dour Tiger Woods.

Now?

Now, he’s a LIV greed-monster. And then there is this, a new book claiming that Mick’s gambling led him to try to bet $400K on the 2012 US Ryder Cup team.

Phil, Pete. Pete, Phil.

ESPN.com: Phil Mickelson bet more than $1 billion on football, basketball and baseball over the past three decades and even allegedly attempted to place a $400,000 wager on Team USA in the 2012 Ryder Cup in which he participated, according to an upcoming book by renowned professional gambler Billy Walters.

According to the book excerpts, in September 2012, Mickelson called Walters from Medinah Country Club during the 39th Ryder Cup and asked Walters to place a $400,000 wager for him on the U.S. team to win.

Walters responded by scolding Mickelson: "Have you lost your %&*$ing mind? Don't you remember what happened to Pete Rose? You're seen as the modern-day Arnold Palmer. You'd risk all that for this? I want no part of it."

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TAKE A LOAD OFF, ROBBIE. . . Robbie Robertson, front guy for what has always been seen as a collaborative group, died yesterday at 80. The Band was as varied and interesting as the sum of its parts. Its music reflected their individual talents and interests.

Robertson always claimed he wrote one of their best-known tunes, The Weight. Band-mate Levon Helm says it was a collaboration. I don’t care who wrote it, I just care that someone did. We named our dog after The Weight.

“Crazy Chester followed me, ‘til he caught me in the fog. . .’’

Here’s another rarely heard gem, from The Last Waltz soundtrack. Simply lovely.