I am not a fan of anti-piracy ads on DVDs. Comparing the downloading of Delta Farce to ransacking the Kremlin is overwrought and misleading. Even though I can’t stand this type of scaremongering, I’ll admit that the maker of Bottom of the Ninth do a fairly decent job of it. Instead of accusing downloaders of committing heinous crimes, they present a title card that basically says, “This documentary was produced and financed independently. DVD revenue is a major source of our income. Please don’t steal from us.” That I can respect. Mild begging is far more effective than sensational accusations. In fact, the anti-piracy message in Bottom of the Ninth was so impressive, I have decided to give up my dream of become the world’s foremost purveyor of pirated short documentary DVDs.
Piracy warnings aside, Bottom of the Ninth is a great documentary. Director Chuck Braverman, who helped bring us TV classics such as “Sledge Hammer!”, “Baywatch,” and “Hercules: The Legendary Journeys”, documents the historic season of an independent league baseball team. But this is not just any independent league baseball team have just any historic season, it’s the Somerset Patriots of the Atlantic League, the home team of the county where I used to live in New Jersey. I attended a handful of Patriots’ games over the years, but mostly to see Rickey Henderson and Jose Lima play for the Newark Bears. I never made any effort to follow or root for the Patriots, but Bottom of the Ninth provides a fascinating, albeit brief, view of life on an independent league baseball team.
For those of you who don’t follow baseball much, independent league teams are not the same thing as minor league teams. Minor league teams are affiliated with a major league franchise. Independent league teams have not such affiliation. It’s very easy to look down on teams like the Somerset Patriots. In fact, it seems like everyone who attends independent league games thinks of the teams and players as something of a joke; a bunch of scrubs who couldn’t even make it in the minors. You sit there in the stands and wonder how these players could delude themselves into thinking that they have talent, that they may still have a chance of making it to “The Show.” And that’s really the focus of Bottom of the Ninth, as most of the players featured had some major league experience.
Although I attended a few Patriots games, I knew nothing about the players, mostly because the team makes no effort to market the players, or even the games. It’s all about the experience of taking the family to a baseball game for a reasonable price and getting the kiddies some Captain Underpants swag. But the Patriots have their fair share of interesting players. A pitcher who made it to the majors, only to have his career derailed by the strike. A player who set the professional baseball record of 66 consecutive stolen bases. A player who was promoted to the AA Birmingham Barons in the White Sox organization, only to be immediately demoted to make room for Micheal Jordan. (As a consolation, Mike gave him some sneakers.) And the one player I actually remember, the tiny DH Micheal Warner, who, when standing on a stool, is barely taller than most of his teammates.
The interviews with these players are suspect to the usual athlete cliches: taking things one day at a time, playing for the love of the game, the importance of team camaraderie and the like. The players all seem like fairly bright guys, well-spoken, with a realistic understanding of their place in the baseball world. They all want to get another chance in the big leagues, but most seem resigned to the fact that this will probably never happen. The only exception to this is little Mikey Warner, who goes around making “motivational” speeches in the locker room of the “Let’s go fuck up those fucking mother fuckers!” variety.
By far, the best thing about Bottom of the Ninth is the game footage. Seeing manager Sparky Lyle smoke in the dugout during a game or pitching coach John “The Count” Montefusco talk about how he loves to bet on horses or how no teams wanted to hire him, just because he was accused of rape, spousal abuse and 18 other felony counts, brought back so many memories. I got chills when I gazed upon the iconic facade of historic Commerce Bank Ballpark. I stood and saluted when I saw the majestic majesty of General Admission’s tri-corner hat. I wept when I saw the Patriots’ victory parade roll past the Somerset Hotel, the classiest place in all downtown Somerville. If you’re not moved by such images, either you’re not human or you’ve never lived in Central Jersey.
Although it’s only 50 minutes long, Bottom of the Ninth provides a lifetime of insight into independent league baseball. What I once thought was a joke, I now respect as a legitimate form of sports entertainment. I expect the film to have the same affect on anyone who witnesses its depiction of the Patriots’ historic season (they clinched a playoff spot by the All-Star break) and the Shakespearean in magnitude championship series comeback against Pete “Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde” Incaviglia and the hated Newark Bears.
Lacking in the documentary is some information about the military career of mascot General Admission. He looks very young to be a Revolutionary War general. There’s also nothing about Bobby B’s Bar-B-Que stand, which provided the best pulled pork sandwich in all of Somerset County, which is really saying something, as Somerset County is the pork sandwich capital of the Tri-State area. But I suppose that those things go against the primary focus of Bottom of the Ninth. The documentary is about the players and coaches, not the wacky mascots or delicious concessions.
Bottom of the Ninth is the type of film that makes me want to go out in the 100 degree summer heat and root for the local independent league team. I hope that all you idiots will get a chance to see it and then also choose to support your local independent or minor league baseball team. On my scale of one to five tiny heads of Sergei Eisenstein, I give Bottom of the Ninth five tiny heads of Sergei Eisenstein.
When you hear someone complain about not getting a job because of rape accusations, what exactly does that remind you of?
Hearing The Count tell his tale brought back bittersweet memories of my idyllic mid-twenties, a time when I could drive down to the local multipurpose sports field and bask in the wholesome glory of a classic, All-American game of baseball, complete with the tobacco-addicted manager and a pitching coach who says things like, “Teams knew I spent two years in prison, but they didn’t know the whole story.” Also, when The Count was in the dugout, talking to a player about how he had no furniture in his new apartment, it brought back memories of a time when I had no furniture in my apartment. Oh, if only I could return to those simpler times, when I had no dining room table. I really hate my dining room table.