A sports comedy with balls

I started watching the HBO series Eastbound & Down for the simple reason that there was nothing else to watch on a recent flight from Manila to Heathrow Airport. And I ended up watching most of Season 2, not because soul-searching, foul-mouthed baseball pitcher Kenny Powers (played by Danny McBride) is such a fun or cool guy to hang out with in 30-minute stretches. His character’s actually kind of an a-hole. But the details of his trek through the cockfighting dens of Mexico (in Season 2) struck home for me. And sure, there is more casual nudity and rough language on the HBO series than you’re likely to see on cable back home. (HBO airs it in the Philippines, but in a sliced-and-diced version.)

I liked the show because it spoke to me, an American trying to find his way in a foreign land. (I’ve been trying to find my way for over a decade. I really should invest in a decent map or GPS system already.) In Season 2, Powers, an obnoxious, corn-rowed jackass who used to pitch in baseball’s major leagues, sets off for Mexico, hooks up with a pair of cock keepers (who eventually betray him) as well as a lounge singer with a very round derriere (Vida, played by Mexican telenovela star Ana de la Reguera, a.k.a. the chick who looks like Penelope Cruz in Nacho Libre) before “finding himself” with a Mexican minor league team called The Charros. The season is billed as a cross between “Amores Perros and The Bad News Bears.” That pretty much sums it up. Powers comes on like a trash-talking, coke-snorting, mullet-sporting hotshot, but beneath that layer, he’s really just a big idiot; but beneath that layer, he actually has some moments of insight. And they come out of nowhere, both to the deserving and undeserving. Just like in life.

In the latest season, Powers is given a “second chance” at the game by Charros coach Roger Hernandez (Marco Rodriguez), but this leads to a resurgence of classic hubris from the larger-than-life Powers. His trademark call from the mound after a sizzling throwing performance? “You’re f**kin’ out!” Powers goes bananas down in Mexico, entering the stadium on top of a donkey (Messiah complex, anyone?) and setting off fireworks before taking the pitcher’s mound, where he’s known as the “White Flame” (“Llama Blanca”).

After whipping the Charros into shape, all it takes is the appearance of gay American baseball scout Roy McDaniel (Matthew McConaughey) to lure Power back to the States with promises of a comeback.

Life’s a pitch: Danny McBride is Kenny Powers, the major league ego in HBO’s Eastbound & Down.

The show — at least set in Mexico — has a gritty, dust-strewn feel that does resemble Amores Perros — that grimy flick about dog-fighting below the US border. It’s up to Powers to put things in perspective. Loudmouthed, racist, sexist and occasionally homophobic, he still does manage to speak the truth at times. He’s ostensibly writing his “memoirs” (typical hyperbolic passage: “Undaunted, I knew the game was mine to win. Just like in life, all of my successes depend on me. I’m the man who has the ball, I’m the man who can throw it faster than f**k. So that is why I am better than everyone in the world. Kiss my *ss and suck my d*ck. Everyone.”) while being catered to by fan boy Stevie (Steve Janowski) who follows him down to Mexico, apparently to escape the “armpit” of Selby, North Carolina by offering to become Powers’ personal errand boy and bodyguard. With its quirky, sometimes grotesque characters, the feel of Eastbound & Down is reminiscent of director Jared Hess (Napoleon Dynamite, and especially Nacho Libre); but the other name that comes up a lot is David Gordon Green, who directs a handful of episodes and was the dude responsible for Pineapple Express and Your Highness. McBride, who appeared in both those films, also co-writes the show.

The other familiar name in the credits is Will Ferrell, who executive produces Eastbound & Down and has a recurring role as salesman Ashley Schaeffer.

Since leaving Saturday Night Live, Ferrell has carved out a small dynasty of films about losers in the sports world. Making up Ferrell’s “sports trilogy” are Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, Semi-Pro and Blades of Glory — all of which, oddly, gain a few points when watched on transcontinental flights (which is probably the best place to look for them, other than post-midnight cable surfing). If I could, I’d ask Ferrell what it is about sports’ fringe characters that appeals so much to him, but I think I know the answer: they’re people who claw their way back from degradation, disillusion, drunkenness and rock bottom to manage some kind of redemption or comeback. But not a schlocky redemption with hugging and learning; they’re pretty much as uncouth at the end as when they started. (The message is clear: Don’t try to change us guys. We’re change-proof.) This is pretty much the template of most of Ferrell’s comedies: a guy who happily loses himself in failure, decadence and partying — much to our vicarious amusement — then is compelled by some kind of goal to aim a little higher. Eastbound & Down kind of fits the template, though it’s not exactly clear whether or not Powers is going to succeed or have some kind of redemption. Anyway, it’s definitely more fun watching him screw up.