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Time Out says
Less a baseball movie than a romantic comedy based around the sacred diamond. Each season, Annie (Sarandon) - devout believer in the Church of Baseball - favours one member of the Durham Bulls minor league team with her patented instruction in the subtle arts of baseball and love-making. Selecting young acolyte Ebby (Robbins), she initiates him into the secret of 'breathing through your eyelids', encourages him to wear a suspender belt while pitching, and ties him to a bed to read him extracts from Whitman's erotic poem 'I Sing the Body Electric'. The seasoned Crash (Costner) meanwhile grooms the youngster for a shot at the major league, concentrating on his fast but undisciplined pitching, because he throws like he fucks, all over the place. Paradoxically, writer/director Shelton's intimate knowledge of baseball allows him to convey the feel of the game, its esoteric mythology and quirky superstitions, without losing sight of the real issue: when will Annie and Crash get it together? The film's delicious charge stems not from a rush towards a big game climax, but from the aching pleasure of Crash and Annie's potential consummation. Exuding easy charm, Costner confirms his status as the romantic leading man of the late '80s; Sarandon is sexier reading Emily Dickinson's poems fully clothed than most actresses would be writhing naked on a bed; together, they are indeed the bodies electric. Marvellous stuff.