“Trouble With the Curve” Carves Out A Role As Anti-“Moneyball”

I used to love baseball. I really did. I used to lay awake at night listening to Mets games (*fill in your own joke here*) on WFAN, following guys like Hojo and David Cone and Strawberry and Gregg Jeffries Mackey Sasser and Kevin McReynolds and Mookie Wilson.

Under that premise as a one-time fan (jaded by years of steroid abuse, player strikes and juiced balls), I was pitched on “Trouble With the Curve.” The presence of a rambling Clint Eastwood was offset by the presence of an adorable Amy Adams, so with a sigh and a beer, I settled in.

Immediately—well, after a highly disturbing opening involving Eastwood having a conversation with his penis that reminded of his speech to an empty chair at the RNC—this flick was billed as an anti-“Moneyball” vehicle. Eastwood is depicted as the stereotypical Luddite, past-his-prime scout, fending off a New Age of analytics, metrics and evaluation by computer.

John Goodman was (as always) a tremendous add, but the rest of the cast was interesting, though mixing in Justin Timberlake was a poor choice (as always). Set in Asheville, N.C., the film relied on a cliché, though arguably accurate, version of North Carolina.

“Trouble With the Curve” was certainly a bit cliché and trite, but it also had a heart, neatly tied up in a cute bow with a predictable ending. Not exactly thought-provoking or groundbreaking territory, but a guilty pleasure on a late-summer evening with memories of what the former national pastime once meant to so many ... one could do worse.