Bill (son of Burt) Lancaster's script takes an aloofly adult, isn't-that-cute view of a Little League pennant race. (And the use of Bizet's music as counterpoint to the kids' struggles is something that might have been thought up by the pompous CBS sports department.) No matter how condescending the treatment, the subject is hard to botch completely. Laughs come readily in sports comedies because proper form and execution are so clearly defined, and deviations are so clearly undisguised. The busiest laugh-getter is a hot-headed, bigoted infielder, a little squirt who's not afraid to mix it up with anybody. Director Michael Ritchie isn't willing to get a few laughs and let it go at that, however. He has been reading his reviews. He knows that his pet theme is the American obsession with winning (Downhill Racer, The Candidate, Smile). And as the end approaches, he starts to lay on the moralizing a little heavily: one rabid coach cuffs his son in full view of the bleachers and sends him sprawling to the pitcher's mound. Walter Matthau, as a boozy ex-minor leaguer who is paid under the table to coach a ragtail team sponsored by Chico's Bail Bonds, is best early, before his bleary-eyed apathy turns into pennant madness. Tatum O'Neal is also best in her early scenes, quite a knockout as a roadside vendor of Maps to the Stars' Homes; once she is recruited as the team's ace grease-ball pitcher she finds little to do on this squad of unintentional buffoons. (1976) — Duncan Shepherd