The 10 Best Sports Films of the Last 20 Years

As a sports enthusiast and writer I have taken it upon myself to hammer out the ten best films about sports from the last two decades. Feel free to chime in, agree, disagree, or note the films I have forgotten about. But I think I got it mostly right…So enjoy.



10. Dogtown and Z-Boys (2001)
A dozen bored surfers, mostly kids in Venice, California, not only reinvent the skateboard but remake a once-forgotten-about suburban fad from the 1950s into an action sports revolution.

Narrarated by Sean Penn, Dogtown depicts life in the more rundown “Locals Only” beach communities circa 1974, which consisted of mostly of surfing in the early morning tides and loitering. The Zephyr Team (or Z-boys as they are called) spend one summer combating the boredom by building their own boards with the help of a local who owns a surf shop. After they enter re-emerging skateboarding competitions in SoCal, they transfigure it all into their own scene; one that rouses a generation of skateboarders consisting of greats like Tony Hawk, Shaun White and the creators of the of X-Games.

Dogtown puts chronological perspective into skateboarding, and the up-from-the-bootstraps history you never knew it had.

9. Fever Pitch (The 1997 BBC version)
A London football-obsessed school teacher has spent the last 20-some years, and every day going forward, viewing life through the one lens: his favorite team, The Arsenal Football Club. Having sublimated the grief of his parents’ divorce through English Football, he views every week of his life as another football match in pursuit of fortunes always hiding.

Colin Firth, who usually plays the archetypical sullen Brit, is resounding as author Nick Hornby’s autobiographical noncommittal single man who’s really just a lad grown up. Hornby’s character then grows smitten a prim and proper English teacher who dislikes him at first but warms up to him and his enthusiasm for sport and life in general.

Fever Pitch is a nice portrayal of the struggles of an irrational sports lover reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that, to the rest of the world, there are more important things than Saturday’s game.

8. Jerry Maguire (1996)
Jerry Maguire, played by Tom Cruise, is a hot shot sports agent who gets fired from his job and questions everything he lives, says and believes.

While the film peers into exciting world of sports celebrity and the high life, it delves more into Maguire’s own superficiality and vanity unraveling in the wake of his own personal choices.

This Cameron Crowe film not only was Oscar nominated, but also springboarded the careers of Renee Zellweger, Bonnie Hunt, and Cuba Gooding, Jr., who himself won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

Moreover, this film familiarized us for the first time with terms like “Qwon”, “Show Me the Money”, and with precocious toddlers in glasses. Jerry Maguire is curriculum 101 and a must-see film for any sports enthusiast.

7. Invincible (2006)
I’ll have to admit bias on this one. Not so much because I grew up a Philadelphia Eagles fan, but because even more than that I am a huge fan or the underdog and outsider. Even better, Invincible is based on a true story of a man walking on to his hometown NFL team.

In the drab and recession-laden mid-1970s, the lowly Philadelphia Eagles are so bad that their new head coach, Dick Vermeil, announces team tryouts open to the public on live TV. While every Eagles fan and football-obsessed yahoo in town lines up, one standout athlete, a 30 year old bartender named Vince Papale is good enough to make the team and go pro.

In a style reminiscent of Rocky, the film’s character struggles not only with his past failures amidst a new challenge of making the cut day-by-day, but he also grapples with his new role as a star and outcast in his own microcosm of working class Philadelphia life.

Greg Kinnear and Mark Wahlberg are both convincing in their roles, and even if you’re a Giants or Cowboys fan, you will be inspired to root for Papale as the underdog that delivers on game day.

6. When We Were Kings (1996)
The “True Story of the Rumble in the Jungle” is another documentary which profiles Muhammad Ali’s ascent and domination of the world as sports hero and international icon.

Amidst the slow rise in the 1970s of African-American culture as mainstream, and African-Americans as welcome participants in a racially uncertain middle-America, Kings recounts Ali’s unconquerable spirit and beaming optimism for his craft and love for the people who cheer him as well as those who don’t.

Meanwhile, the new and presumably undefeatable George Foreman makes a play for Ali’s crown. It culminates with Don King’s Rumble in the Jungle, billed as the penultimate international heavyweight championship bout in the heart of Africa.

Overall, Ali’s rise as a heavyweight champion and sports personality has had a cultural impact on our country more than we realize. This film, more than any other, details the fascinating story from the beginning.

_____________________________________________________


Above, Lance Armstong gives Peter LeFleur flack for not seeing "Cinderella Man" (or should have) and busts his nut for being a quitter in Dodgeball.
_____________________________________________________

5. Hoop Dreams (1994)
Hoop Dreams starts off in the late 1980s when two local Chicago boys are scouted for their basketball talents. One gets a scholarship to a prestigious private high school in the suburbs while the other roughs it through the public school system and an unstable home life. William and Arthur, both inner-city kids, dream of becoming NBA superstars like their idol, Chicago’s own Isaiah Thomas.

Following the kids over four years of life in high school and pursuit of college, the makers of Hoop Dreams weave together an eye-opening story about inspiration and triumph amidst the difficulties of city life and scant opportunity.

The film, which Roger Ebert regards as one of the best films he ever saw, is a refreshing look at sport on the street, removed from the glitz, glamour and marketing mash up of the professional big leagues.

4. Don King: Only in America (1997)
The great Ving Rhames plays a local Cleveland bookie and some time ex-con maneuvering his way to the top of the nascent and dynamic world of pro boxing.

Rhames, best known for his role as Pulp Fiction’s gang thug Marcellus Wallace, plays a different type of tough guy and hustler in the form of an animated and verbally combative Don King; a persona he nails. Only in America also cameos Bernie Mac, Jeremy Piven and the late soul singer Lou Rawls.

For as much as other films like Any Given Sunday and Jerry Maguire have endeavored to depict the perceived evil, cutthroat and slimy nature of sports promoters, Only in America does so not by belaboring its players as bad people. Rather Don King’s character is flamboyant, very human, and so exciting that, as he puts it “If you didn't have Don King, you'd have to invent him.”

3. Cinderella Man (2005)
In the last few decades there has been a drought of good films about the Great Depression, or at least ones that weren’t about bootleggers and Italian mobsters. Cinderella Man recounts the true story of an on-his-way-out boxer and longshoreman whose family is down to their last penny.

James Braddock’s unlikely last hope is his boxing career. While slumming it to the dock every single day to find scarce work, he hides his injuries to take a crack at the younger up-and-coming professional fighters at first just for the pay. But his stamina and heart, and ability to withstand a beating (both in life and boxing) gifts him with a few knockouts and an underdog’s chance to challenge the great killer champion Max Baer for the title.

If you ever have spent a day of your life feeling useless or defeated, watch this film and it will put your attitude and your head straight.




2. Seabiscuit (2003)
In another riches to rags 1930s-era film, a half-blind jockey too tall and a horse too small, wild, and lazy team up to recreate themselves as the new juggernaut in horse racing.

Based on another true story, the film starts with a narrative by the documentary voice of great historian David McCullough. In the way that Sputnik caused Americans to fear communism and the rise of the Soviet Union in the 1950s, Seabiscuit, a mere race horse, inspired an America sorely beaten down by The Great Depression. No one exactly knows how this horse achieved what it did, but the story is all about heart.

Tobey Maguire does well as an unsure and improbable jockey while Jeff Bridges plays the race team’s promoter and personal coach in an enthusiastic style reminiscent of champion football man Vince Lombardi. Likewise, another must-see, whether or not you care about sports or horse racing at all.




1. Invictus (2009)
Whether or not wins an Oscar or any other accolade, the film is, in my view, the best sports film since Rocky, which I believe was the greatest sports film ever made. Invictus is as good as Chariots of Fire, better than Raging Bull, and blows Hoosiers out of the water.

You need know nothing about rugby, and you need know nothing about South Africa. Clint Eastwood directs, as Matt Damon, perhaps for the first time in career, acts so well that you forget you’re watching Matt Damon.

Damon portraits François Pienaar, the captain of the South African Rugby team; a team that is talented but in a wholesale state of disarray. The team’s players are listless and unmotivated, while their level of play is evocative of the Bad News Bears. Meanwhile, the nation’s black rugby fans cheer not for South Africa but for England.

At the same time, newly elected Nelson Mandela wrestles with the task of running the government and uniting the country while reconciling black aspirations with white fears.

With South Africa hosting the soon-approaching World Cup, the rugby team’s management is fired while the new black government coalition tries to change the team’s mascot and team name, The Springboks, in attempt to erase all memory of Apartheid.

Mandela quietly calls on captain Pienaar to reset the tone of the team and prepare the Springboks for the unlikely feat of winning the World Cup at home and uniting the nation.

Invictus gets its name from a poem by William Ernest Henley that Mandela holds dear as something that made him stand up when, imprisoned for 26 years, “all he wanted to do was lie down”. Like the poem, which speaks of the ability to take responsibility for one’s destiny, the film tells the story of South Africa’s steps forward in the work-in-progress of setting free the nation, both psychologically and socio-politically from its checkered past.

Invictus has so many important facets at work in a brilliant, exciting, but well-tailored storyline, that you’ll digest it for days. Do yourself a favor, and go see it.

Honorable mentions:
Big Fan, Green Street Hooligans, Rudy, Rocky Balboa, Bend It Like Beckham, Mean Machine, Field Of Dreams, A League Of Their Own, Murderball, Searching For Bobby Fischer, Radio, Remember The Titans, The Fifa World Cup Movie, Goal: The Dream Begins, The Rookie, Unforgivable Blackness: The Rise And Fall Of Jack Johnson, Million Dollar Baby, and (of course) Dodgeball.

Andy Frye lives, breathes and writes about sports and life on MySportsComplex.blogspot.com and on the Facebook page of the same name.

Pictures borrowed from imdb.com

No pain, no game

When you play sports or games of any kind, acquiring aches and pains--if not outright injuries-- is part of the deal. Your turn comes eventually.

I used to work with a jolly old 71 year old life insurance salesman. He was the stereotypical life insurance salesman—the friendly, mildly hilarious, super-persistent, slightly maddening kind.

He was probably well suited for his work, not only because he’d been doing it for 40 years, but that persistence seemed to be a genetic trait for this guy. “The Dartman”, as he called himself, had had his second hip replaced right when I met him, and still spent every weekend playing tennis.

Dart is in mid-70s now, and as far as I know he still plays. The last time I saw him, on the train about a year ago, he was on his way to his basketball league game on a Thursday night. My guess is that he must be a point guard. Where else would your coach put a 5 foot 5, 70-something with the energy of a 17 year old?

I had met my friend Dart back in 2003. He was pretty open about the pending hip trip to the hospital, even though I barely knew him. Among other things, he joked that he might come of out it a few inches taller. Being the nosey person I am, I asked if he had heard about what had happened to Dick Schaap and what he thought.

Dick Schaap was my all-time favorite sportscaster, and I know a lot of sports fans who thought he was the Ace of Spades among top quality sports journalists. A year and a half earlier, Schaap had gone in for a hip replacement and didn’t make it out, having passed away due to complications that arose in surgery, a couple days before Christmas.

Schaap had spent a couple of decades in sports television journalism after his days at Cornell’s powerhouse Lacrosse program; an experience that seemed to shape his perspective on life and love for sports. He not only knew what he was talking about, but also had a down-to-earth demeanor in the days long before sportscasting was made up of bantering big guys in big suits with big rings, and Stuart Scott boo-yahs. His gentle candor was one that was more common in the 1970s and 1980s, but a rarity now.

The type of class Schaap demonstrated and lived out has somehow gotten lost among today’s aggressive tactics. Nowadays, the Jay Mariottis see their craft as a little more than a means to openly bad mouth what and who they don’t like about everything. Other knobs, like Bob Costas and Jim Gray, tend to psychoanalyze, badger, and denigrate athletes the way that Maury Povich does of his own nutty guests.

Like this old life insurance salesman, Schaap had a great talent for disarming people, and I remember Schaap asking quirky questions that would often bring big time sports stars back down to earth, almost forcing them to talk about their love of the game.

My friend Dart, had no fear heading into hip surgery and seemed to take it like a champ. Much to my liking he remarked about Schaap’s great work and how he seemed like a great guy to have a beer with.

Once you get past 30 you naturally begin to fall apart, and that’s no way to conduct a past-prime sports career.

In the give and take of that conversation I also muttered that I spent the summer with my leg in a cast because of a sports injury. Without hesitation, Dart took with me the same liberty he probably has taken with his own doctors, and against their orders. He dictated to me, “Don’t ever quit. Don’t ever let them tell you that you can’t go on playing.”

Without even knowing me that well, he read into my own irrational sports passions. Like many of us, I always had the urgency to keep playing the game even when good sense and prudent practice of sports medicine might tell me to stop.

Plus, once you get past 30 you naturally begin to fall apart, and that’s no way to conduct a past-prime sports career.

Racking up the numbers, I have two bad knees, and had a blown out patellar tendon on the left side. I’ve had the same shoulder dislocated three times, twice in open play. I’ve had sprained wrists, sprained fingers, and have taken a ball of every kind in the face at least once including a baseball in the chin and a racquet ball square in my eye. Don’t even get me started about my wrestling days.

Like most men, I have taken hits in the groin too, and I have fallen on my head a few times. The last part might explain my own gripping compulsion toward this whole sports racket.

But it wasn’t soccer or baseball, or even my stint as a defensive end on the pee wee football team that handed me my first injury. The insanity goes back way further than that. My first sports injury and only time I ever broke a bone in my whole life was playing a game of a different nature. It was Duck-Duck-Goose.

At age 5, I had spent one day nagging my mother to take me to preschool, at The Hobby Horse even though it wasn’t my day to go. It was all because I had a crush on this other five year old named Laura, who attended the school every day, and I had to see her.

Mom eventually buckled, but to my chagrin Laura left just as I was arriving. Bad Karma, now what? Nothing much else to do saw my way into this kiddy game I had played a couple times before.

The Duck-Duck-Goose basics were simple even for a 5 year old. A bunch of kids sit around in a circle, while a designated lead-off kid taps every kid on the head one-by-one, and says “duck”. Then he picks out a “goose”. Goose has to chase the lead-off guy before he makes it around the circle to then sit in Goose’s space. This whole game, when you think about it, runs counter to the “no running” rule that children are forced to observe in every other facet of life.

Anyhow, on this day, the problem was that the lead-off batter was the biggest kid in the class, the token fat kid. He hit “goose” on the kid to my left, forcing normal play to send the kids running around the circle. Unfortunately for me, this all concluded with the big fat kid crashing down on my hand, breaking my pinky finger to bits.

It was an interesting way to call a rain delay, since, screaming my head off, I abruptly put an end to this game. I never would have thought back then or now of Duck-Duck-Goose as a contact sport.

A long time ago I once heard someone joke that if synchronized swimming could be an Olympic sport, then both food fights and pie throwing should be too. After all, who’s ever been injured during synchronized swimming?

Then there’s that streamer-on-a-stick gymnastic activity and a lot of other hokey activities that make up Olympic competitions. Just the same, Duck-Duck-Goose could fit right in there too.

Sure, it’s not like injuries make up what constitutes the difference between a true sport or a bogus one. Or that one sport trumps any other in terms of importance. I’m sure there is someone out there who gets as pumped up about synchronized swimming (or pie throwing) as I do about my favorite sports.

I can’t put words in the mouth of the late Dick Schaap, but I think he’d chime in on one thing that dwells in my mind. That is that sports or any recreational competition --whether it involves throwing a ball, shooting an arrow, or even if it is a Tex-Mex chili cook-off—is worth your effort and every minute of your time if it stirs your soul.

Often enough, the best part is not winning the game or the victory lap afterward, but perspective we gain by our persistence in playing the game. Moreover, we get to enjoy major dividends doing something because we love it, and for no other reason.

The games we play, whatever your flavor, are always well worth life’s aches and pains. But then again, you knew that.

Why We Like Brett Favre

When I first came to Chicago, a co-worker of mine referred to the state to the north as “The Peoples’ Republic of Wisconsin”.

This guy was from downstate (way downstate), and I haven’t heard that moniker since. Besides wondering what kind of tractor my co-worker drove as a kid, it made me wonder what the average Joe thinks about neighboring sports fans.

Why not ask?

So, a few days ago I asked a life-long born and bred Chicago Bears fan what he thought about Packers fans, our cheese headed friends up the lake. It could have been taken as a loaded question. After all, the Bears season is long over after a dull, dismal run.


After a soft pause, this mouthy Chicago Irishman said, “Actually I kind of like them”.

They’re friendly. They know their sport. Lambeau Field is a comforting, top quality sports venue. Lambeau has a great beer selection, which you would only expect if you have ever been to Wisconsin. When the Packers win, they aren’t obnoxious about it.

These were a few of the reasons that a Bears fan or any fan could like Packers fans and the Frozen Tundra. And it seems that Americans in general like the Packers too.

We’ve heard time and time again, to annoying degree, about how the Dallas Cowboys are supposedly “America’s Team”. This was thought up by a Dallas Cowboys marketer, I am convinced. If anything, it is more likely that America’s team, if you had to pick one from pro Football, would be the Green Bay Packers.

For one, they are the only small town team in a league with big city teams. Green Bay’s population is around 100,000, which is less than a third that of Cincinnati and one twelfth the size of San Diego.

The fact that Green Bay has had a major pro sports team for 80 years is a major anomaly. Sure, in the UK and Italy provincial cities have grown major sports teams, mostly in Soccer. But, this doesn’t usually happen in America. To top it off, Green Bay won the first two Super Bowls and holds 12 World championships, the NFL’s highest number.

The small town becoming the champ rings a bit like the film “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”. The film, starring an aw-shucks Jimmy Stewart, reminds us that what we like best is the underdog –the little guy—who takes on adversity and a challenge, only to triumph enormously with a little effort and a good attitude. If a sports team could audition for that role, the Packers have already nailed it

And only a week ago, I walked into a business office, like many across America, with a framed picture of Vince Lombardi and a notable quote. I don’t see SkyMall or QVC selling any inspirational frames of Tom Landry or Bill Parcels.

But for all the motivational accolades that Lombardi may have inspired in many a business seminar, I think we’re seeing something equally inspiring in the Packers’ other marvel, Brett Favre. At age 40, the year old Packer legend, now with the Vikings, is knocking on the Super Bowl’s door again.

The last time the Vikings made it to the big one was in 1977, the last of four Super Bowls the club lost in a decade. Plus it hasn’t been since the 1970’s since we saw a forty-something --George Blanda, who was mostly a kicker then at age 48-- compete in the NFL semi-final round.

Favre has prepared to retire once or twice. No one is exactly sure of the details. Some of us joke year after year that this year he will retire, hopefully. But the fact that Favre has transformed the Vikings into a potent force this year says something.

This is a club with only one post-season in the last several years, despite having a good quarterback before his arrival. Yet after years of barely getting through the season, Favre’s Vikings had twelve wins before the post-season.

But stats and achievement aside, there is a lot to like about Favre in the context of today’s pro sports. His durability in the game over the years is especially inspiring, while being only one of five NFL quarterbacks to start 100 consecutive games. Favre has long been a committed top level team player and has never taken his stature as an opportunity to brag. Maybe that’s how is should be.

Consider what other pro Football players have been up to over the years:

-Michael Vick (Dog fighting felonies)
-Randy Moss (Bumping an old lady with his car, being generally obnoxious)
-Rae Carruth (Conspiracy to Murder)
-Billy Cannon(Counterfeiting $50 Million)

True, no player should be given special praise for not being a criminal.

But it is refreshing once again to see an apt player and true professional make it so long, and so successfully in NFL Football, a game not kind to or built for old men.

Certainly there are better quarterbacks than Favre and better teams than the Vikings. But none of the others playing this weekend have the experience and the staying power to draw on, one step from the Super Bowl. And its fair to say that along the way Favre may very well have the whole chilly Midwest behind him.

Frye writes weekly about sports and life. Updates can be found here at MySports/Complex, from Twitter and on the Facebook page of the same name. With a Leinenkugel in one hand and cheese in the other, he’s taking a crack at his first book.

A** Ball: Lessons for the Mind and Behind

CYA is one of my favorite acronyms. It means “cover your ass” and is a sentiment widely disseminated throughout the business world not only from boss to drone, but from one peer to another.



The mood behind CYA, most of the time, isn’t literal. Specifically, you don’t need to cover your behind like a quail during hunting season. But every day, many of us realize that life --whether in business, family affairs, conversations, or in dealing with humans in any capacity-- consists largely of taking responsibility for what’s yours and covering your back so that you don’t get blamed for messes that are not yours. Yes: CYA is life, basically.

Probably the only thing Sarah Palin ever said that I agree with (and I’m paraphrasing) is that many of the lessons we learn in life we can learn through participating in sports. This is particularly true, I believe, during our journey from childhood to adulthood.

This whole thing about CYA came back to my mind during a walk though the playground of my old elementary school in PA called Blair Mill.

Blair Mill was a great primary school. Teachers were good. The atmosphere was gentile and nurturing. We even had a puppy dog, The Blair Mill Beagle, as our mascot. But what I remembered first, passing by the broad arch-shaped wall of the school which faced the playground, was the treacherous daily game of CYA we school kids played, known as Assball.

More frequently we called it A-ball, for the simple fact that we didn’t want to tip off recess ladies to what we were doing. We didn’t want to risk the game being banned for the bad words inherent in its name. The truth is that they had no idea what we were doing, and probably didn’t care, even about the most violent parts.

As Upper Classmen of the school, the 4th and 5th graders got claim of the big wall for whatever suited them. Previously, kids might kick a rubber kickball off the wall without much of a competitive game in mind.

What started out as a simple activity of several boys throwing a ball against a wall and trying to win the next catch, transformed itself into a more cutthroat meta-sport that consumed the later years of my childhood. As such:

The rules of A-ball:
1) Whoever has the ball (usually a tennis ball) throws it against the wall.
2) Anyone one can attempt to catch it on the rebound.
a. If you catch the ball or gather it off the ground, you get the next throw.
b. If you touch the ball but fail to catch it, you must run to the wall and touch the wall before another player can gather the ball, throw it, and hit you.
3) If you get hit with the ball before touching the wall, that’s one strike
4) If you get three strikes, here’s what happens:
a. You must go to the wall.
b. Crouch down, head touching the wall, with your rear facing the area of play.
c. Every other player lines up, and, one at a time, gets a turn to beam you in the ass with the ball.
d. Sit tight. There are about 20 to 25 other boys playing this game.

A-ball must have blossomed out of either suburban boredom or our pre-adolescent need for competition and one-upps-manship on the way to middle school. I’m sure some social scientist out there might say the game had its own Darwinian significance.

Being both a risk taker and a poor athlete at the time didn’t suit me well. I would run and try to catch the ball but my hands weren’t very good for that.

I probably spent more time crouched at the wall with three strikes than any other boy on the playground. A few times I took the ball in the face thanks to the gifted guys who could use their baseball skills to land it accurately between my feet, under my torso and into my hidden face.

Playground games like these are probably one of the reasons some boys and many girls grow up to dislike sports or be indifferent altogether. Like those who are teased, school represents something a time and a place they wished to break away from. I certainly get this.

The Blair Mill Beagle, unofficial mascot of A-ball.

Nonetheless, I had fun playing A-ball, despite the minor pains and embarrassment. But I am not 100% sure why. Perhaps this game represented some thrill and danger in the lives of sheltered and protected youths like us. Maybe on those lucky days without three strikes, I enjoyed the achievement of eluding capture.

What I probably learned, to the best of my recollection and bruises, was the ability to adapt to any situation, even adverse one, like getting pelted 25 times in the rear with a tennis ball. More than anything, I learned the value of CYA; in this life experience the fundamental value of covering your ass in everything you do, for fear of unsavory consequences.

Also, I learned about the consequences of taking a risk; in this case the simple risk was playing a game for social acceptance or even enjoyment. All in all, good training for the greater problems with greater ramifications that one must face as an adult.

I like to think that our game of A-ball was unique. But I am certain kids elsewhere with a wall and a tennis ball might have played a similar game, learning similar lessons.

And, whether you like sports or not, care or don’t care about who’s in the next Super Bowl, it is hard to deny that our playful activities as children have as much to do with shaping us as people as our work activities do now a grown ups. Hopefully along the way our experiences shed on our character not only a little humor and humility, but some important things to take away for another day.

What the world has seen in the last year and a half seems to suggest that not enough of our leaders have had adequate tests of their character, or even their CYA skills, out on life's playground.

With the world economy in the balance, CEOs of financial giants like AIG, Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers threw up their hands amidst their failing companies as they walked off with fortunes.

We could criticize our governments too for their screw ups and not having the foresight to anticipate financial chaos borne from recklessness. It seemed, for a while that incompetence was spreading like H1N1.

Maybe looking back, we could have helped our leaders earlier with their journey through life. Or better yet, there are still lessons to be learned with the help of a little playground fun of pelting à la A-ball.

Frye writes weekly about sports and life. Updates can be found here at MySports/Complex and on his Facebook page of the same name. Just watch your behind.