My father's name was John Kinsella.
It's an Irish name.
He was born in North Dakota in 1896
and never saw a big city
until he came back from France in 1918.
Settling in Chicago, he learned to live and die
with the White Sox.
Died a little when they lost the 1919 World Series,
died a lot when eight White Sox
were accused of throwing that Series.
He played some in the minors,
but nothing came of it.
Moved to Brooklyn in '35,
married Mom in '38,
was already an old man at the naval yards
when I was born in 1952.
My name's Ray Kinsella.
Mom died when I was 3,
and I suppose Dad did the best he could.
Instead of Mother Goose,
I was put to bed to stories of Babe Ruth,
Lou Gehrig,
and the great Shoeless Joe Jackson.
Dad was a Yankees fan then,
so I rooted for Brooklyn.
In '58, the Dodgers moved away,
so we had to find other reasons to fight.
We did.
When I chose a college,
I picked the farthest from home I could find.
This drove him up the wall,
which, I suppose, was the point.
Officially my major was English,
but really it was the sixties.
I marched, I smoked some grass,
I tried to like sitar music,
and I met Annie.
The only thing we had in common
was that she came from lowa,
and I'd once heard of lowa.
After graduation, we moved to the Midwest
and stayed with her family as long as we could...
almost a full afternoon.
Annie and I got married in June of '74.
Dad died that fall.
A few years later,
Karin was born.
She smelled weird, but we loved her anyway.
Then Annie got the crazy idea
she could talk me into buying a farm.
I'm 36 years old, I love my family,
I love baseball,
and I'm about to become a farmer.
But until I heard the voice,
I'd never done a crazy thing
in my whole life.
If you build it, he will come.
Hey, Annie!
Annie, what was that?
What was what?
That voice just now. What was it?
We didn't hear anything.
All right.
If you build it, he will come.
O-OK, you must have heard that!
Sorry.
Hey, come on in to dinner.
Let's go, pumpkin.
Is there, like, a sound truck on the highway?
Nope.
Hey, Karin, dinner's ready!
Kids with a radio?
Nope.
Hey, are you really hearing voices?
Just one.
What did it say?
"If you build it, he will come."
If you build what, who will come?
He didn't say.
I hate it when that happens.
Me, too.
If you build it, he will come.
Build what?
What is this?
Ray?
It's OK, honey. L...
I'm just talking to the cornfield.
Anyway, I was walking down along the street,
and l... I heard this voice saying,
"Good evening, Mr. Dowd."
Well, l... I turned around,
and here was this big 6' rabbit
leaning up against the lamppost.
Why did you do that? It was funny.
Trust me, Karin. It's not funny.
The man is sick.
Very sick.
Karin, honey, get your book bag.
Let's go!
Hon, I'll take her today.
I've got errands to do in town.
Far out.
Hey.
What if the voice calls while you're gone?
Take a message.
Ha. Bye.
Bye.
In all those years,
did you ever...
It's just I've heard
that sometimes farmers in the field...
They hear things. You know, voices.
You hearing voices?
No. It's just I heard some farmers do.
I, of course, don't,
so I was wondering
if I was doing something wrong.
Did you... Did you ever hear voices out there?
Who's hearing voices?
Ray is.
Out in the fields.
No, I'm not.
I'm...
Ha ha ha.
Noises.
That darned tractor...
I'm just going to get some 3-in-1 oil.
That ought to do it.
It was nice...
Nice talking to you.
[Rooster Crows]
[Birds Singing]
If you build it, he will come.
All right, that's it!
Huh?
Who the...
Who are you, huh?
What do you want from me?
Son of a...
If you build it, he will come.
If you build it...
he will come.
You don't suppose
this is like an acid flashback, do you?
I never took acid.
Maybe you will someday.
It's like a flash-forward.
Annie, there's more.
Honey, why don't you eat a little bit?
L...
I think I know
what " If you build it, he will come" means.
Why do I not think this is so good?
I think it means
that if I build a baseball field out there,
Shoeless Joe Jackson will get to come back
and play ball again.
You're kidding?
Uh-uh.
Wow.
Yeah.
Ha! You're kidding.
Boy, I thought my family was crazy,
but this is the craziest thing ever.
I know.
I mean, Shoeless Joe!
He's dead. Died in '51.
He's dead.
They suspended him, right?
Right.
He's still dead?
As far as I know.
Did you know Babe Ruth copied his swing?
If I did, I've forgotten it.
He was supposed to be so graceful and agile.
I'd actually like to see him play again,
to let him play...
to right an old wrong.
Wait.
Wait a minute, Bosco.
Are you actually thinking of doing this?
No.
I mean, I can't think of one good reason why I should, but...
I'm 36. I have a wife,
a child, and a mortgage,
and I'm scared to death I'm turning into my father.
And I'm scared to death I'm turning into my father.
What's your father
got to do with all of this?
I never forgave him for getting old.
By the time he was as old as I am now,
he was ancient.
I mean, he must have had dreams,
but he never did anything about them.
For all I know, he may have even heard voices, too,
but he sure didn't listen to them.
The man never did one spontaneous thing
in all the years I knew him.
Annie, I'm afraid of that happening to me,
and something tells me
this may be my last chance
to do something about it.
I want to build that field.
Do you think I'm crazy?
Yes.
But I also think
if you really feel you should do this...
then you should do it.
What the hell is he doing?
He's plowing under his corn.
Why?
Ty Cobb called him
the greatest left fielder of all time.
He said his glove
was the place where triples go to die.
Could he hit?
Lifetime average.356... third highest in history.
Why'd they call him Shoeless Joe?
When he was in the minors,
a new pair of spikes hurt his feet.
In the 6th inning, he took them off
and played in his socks.
The players kidded him,
called him "Shoeless Joe," and the name stuck.
He's going to lose his farm.
Damned fool.
Then in 1919, his team the Chicago White Sox,
they threw the World Series.
What's threw?
It means they lost on purpose.
Gamblers paid them to.
Except Shoeless Joe.
He did take their money,
but nobody ever proved he did one thing
to lose those games.
If he threw it,
how do you explain he hit.375 for the Series
and committed no errors?
I can't.
12 hits including the Series' only home run,
and they said he's trying to lose?
It's ridiculous.
The commissioner of baseball
suspended eight of the players,
including the great Shoeless Joe Jackson,
for life.
What's suspend?
It means they never let him play the game again.
My father said he saw him years later
playing under a made-up name
in some 10th-rate league in Carolina.
He'd put on 50 pounds,
and his spring was gone,
but he could still hit.
Dad used to say nobody could hit like Shoeless Joe.
I think that's the first time
I've ever seen you smile
when you mentioned your father.
Well...
I have just created something totally illogical.
That's what I like about it.
Am I completely nuts?
Hmm?
Not completely.
It's a good baseball field, Ray.
It's kind of pretty, isn't it?
Mm-hmm.
Any sign?
Something's going to happen out there.
I can feel it.
So, for the veteran southpaw,
his summer of woes continues.
That's four straight hits in the inning.
Daddy, what's a southpaw?
Um, it means a left-handed pitcher, hon.
So how bad is it?
Well,
considering how much less acreage
we have for corn,
I say we'll probably...
almost break even.
We used up all our savings
on that field, Ray.
Daddy?
Just a minute, Karin.
So what are you saying?
We can't keep the field?
Makes it real hard to keep the farm.
Daddy.
In a minute, Karin!
There's a man out there on your lawn.
I'll put up some coffee.
Why don't you go on outside?
Sorry.
I'll get some out there.
Hi.
Ray Kinsella.
Joe Jackson.
I bet it's good to be playing again, huh?
Getting thrown out of baseball...
was like having part of me amputated.
I've heard that old men wake up
and scratch itchy legs that have been dust for over 50 years.
That was me.
I'd wake up at night...
with the smell of the ball park in my nose,
with the cool of the grass on my feet...
the thrill of the grass.
Can you pitch?
Yeah...
not bad.
Don't we need a catcher?
Not if you get it near the plate.
Right.
I'm pitching to Shoeless Joe Jackson.
Nice hit.
See if you can hit my curve.
You can hit the curve ball.
Put one right here, huh?
Right.
Right... you're a low ball hitter.
Man, I did love this game.
I'd have played for food money.
It was the game...
the sounds, the smells.
Did you ever hold a ball or a glove to your face?
Yeah.
I used to love traveling on the trains from town to town.
The hotels... brass spittoons in the lobbies,
brass beds in the rooms.
It was the crowd...
rising to their feet
when the ball was hit deep.
Shoot...
I'd play for nothing.
[Screen Door Closes]
It's my family.
What's with the lights?
Oh, all the stadiums have them now.
Even Wrigley Field.
It's harder to see the ball.
The owners found that more people can attend night games.
Owners.
Mr. Jackson, this is my wife Annie
and my daughter Karin.
Ma'am.
Hi.
Are you a ghost?
Karin.
She's kidding.
That's OK.
What do you think?
You look real to me.
Then I guess I'm real.
Would you like to come inside?
Uh, thanks. I don't think I can.
Can I come back again?
Yeah. I built this for you.
There are others, you know.
There were eight of us.
It would really mean a lot to them.
Yeah... anytime.
They're all welcome here.
Hey, is this heaven?
No.
It's lowa.
Where's he going?
I don't know.
We're keeping this field.
You bet your ass we are.
You're going to lose your farm, pal.
How can you lose something so big?
He misplaced the house once.
Yeah, but it turned up.
Ray, come on. Ray? Ray?
This stupid baseball field's
going to bankrupt you.
If you default on your loan,
you're going to lose everything.
My partners will give you a fair price.
Thanks, Mark. Thanks, Mark, but no.
No.
What are you holding onto this place for?
You never liked lowa.
That's not true.
You don't know the first thing about farming.
I know a lot about farming.
More than you think.
Well, then how could you plow under your major crop?
What's a crop?
Come on. That is funny.
What's a crop?
Daddy, the baseball game is on.
Excuse us.
Annie, I don't believe this guy.
I'm trying to bail him out,
and he leaves to watch television.
He used to be normal.
Yeah.
Buck!
Whoa!
All right.
Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!
All right! Home base!
Watch Joe's feet.
A good left fielder knows what pitch is coming.
He can tell from the bat's angle
which way the ball's heading.
Show off!
Stick it in your ear, Gandil.
If you'd have run like that against Detroit,
I'd have won 20 games!
For Pete's sakes, Cicotte,
that was 68 years ago.
Give it up!
Hey! You guys want to play ball or what?
Muscle-bound jerk.
At least I got muscles.
At most you got muscles.
Come on, asshole! Pitch!
Weaver... be nice.
Sorry, kid!
It's OK. I don't mind.
All right, Karin.
Hey, hey, hey!
Ray?
Honey, Mom and everybody's leaving now.
OK.
Oh, well, it was... you know.
Thanks for coming.
Ray, think about what I said.
I'm just trying to help.
I know.
Thought you were watching some game.
It's not really a game.
It's more like practice.
There's only eight of them.
They can't play a real game.
Eight of what?
Them.
Who them?
Them them.
You don't see them?
Karin, honey, what are you watching?
The baseball men.
Baseball men?
Do you see the baseball men right now?
Of course I do.
What... you really don't see them?
It's not very polite
to try to make other people feel stupid.
Mom, w-wait a minute.
Mom! Wait a minute.
Dee. Dee, wait. You don't see these people?
It's not funny, Annie.
They couldn't see it.
This is really interesting.
Hey, Ray, look at this.
68 years since I wore this uniform,
still fits me like a glove.
You must keep in pretty good shape.
Now let's see, I died in '70.
That means I haven't had a cigarette in 18 years.
You don't smoke, do you?
No.
Karin!
Ray... dinner!
Ray, dinner.
Dinner, Ray.
All right, all right.
Come on. Let's hit the showers.
See you later.
See you, guys.
I'm melting! I'm melting!
Come on, you knucklehead.
That is so cool.
Ease his pain.
What?
I'm sorry. What? I didn't understand.
What?
Ease his pain.
Ease his pain. What...
What the hell does that mean,
ease his pain?
What pain?
All right. Whose pain?
Thanks a lot.
Come on, honey, wash up.
We got the PTA meeting after dinner.
Talking about banning books again...
really subversive books,
like The Wizard of Oz, Diary of Anne Frank.
What happened to you?
The voice is back.
You don't have to build a football field,
do you?
He said, "Ease his pain."
Ease whose pain?
I asked him. He wouldn't say.
Shoeless Joe's?
I don't think so.
One of the other players?
I don't think so.
This is a very nonspecific voice out there,
and he's starting to piss me off.
I was having a fun day today... a good day.
Want a fry?
And I say
smut and filth like this
has no place in our schools.
Fascist. I'd like to ease her pain.
Mrs. Kessinik, Mrs. Kessinik.
That book you're waving about
is hardly smut.
It's considered by many critics
to be the classic novel about the 1960s.
It's pornography!
No, no. The Supreme Court says it's not.
And it's author, Mr. Mann...
Is sick!
Terence Mann is a Pulitzer Prize winner.
He's widely regarded as the finest satirist of his time.
He's a pervert!
Probably a Communist, too!
What planet are these people from?
Mr. Harris,
the so-called novels of Terence Mann
endorse promiscuity, godlessness,
the mongrelization of the races,
and disrespect to high-ranking officers
of the United States Army.
And that's why right-thinking school boards
all across the country
having been banning this man's s-h-i-t
since 1969.
Terence Mann?
Y-Y-You know why he stopped writing books.
Because he masturbates.
Excuse me, madame.
Excuse me.
Terence Mann was a warm, gentle voice of reason
during a time of great madness.
He coined the phrase "Make love, not war."
While other people
were chanting "Burn, baby, burn,"
he was talking about love
and peace and understanding.
I cherished his books,
and I dearly wish he had written more.
Maybe if you had experienced
even a little bit of the sixties,
you might feel the same way, too.
I experienced the sixties.
No, you had two fifties
and moved right into the seventies.
Annie, look at this.
Your husband plowed under his corn
and built a baseball field.
Now, there's an intelligent response.
The weirdo.
Annie...
Honey, it's all right. I'll be cool.
At least he is not a book burner,
you Nazi cow.
At least I'm not married
to the biggest horse's ass in three counties.
All right, Beulah, do you want to step outside?
Fine!
Annie.
All right, honey.
I've got a better idea.
Let's take a vote. Who's for Eva Braun?
Who wants to burn books?
Who wants to spit
on the Constitution of the United States of America? Anybody?
All right.
Now, who's for the Bill of Rights?
Who thinks freedom is a pretty darn good thing?
Come on! Come on! Let's see those hands!
Who thinks we have to stand up
to the kind of censorship they had under Stalin?
All right. There you go.
America, I love you.
I'm proud of you.
Let's go.
We got to go.
This is great!
I figured it out.
Was that great, or what?
I figured it out.
It's just like the sixties again!
Step outside, you Nazi cow.
I know whose pain I'm supposed to ease.
I figured it out.
I just halted the spread of neofascism in America...
Terence Mann.
What about him?
That's whose pain.
You sure?
I was right about building the field, wasn't I?
Well, what's his pain?
How are you supposed to ease it?
Well, Ann...
Look, he's my favorite writer, too,
but what's Terence Mann got to do with baseball?
Annie, it's incredible.
By the early seventies,
Mann decides people have become either too extremist
or too apathetic to listen.
So he stops writing books,
he starts writing poetry about whales,
and then he starts fooling around with a computer.
Know what he does now?
Writes software for interactive children's videos.
They teach kids
how to resolve their conflicts peacefully.
God... what an amazing guy.
What's that got to do with baseball?
In the April 1962 issue of Jet Magazine,
there's a story called "This Is Not A Kite."
It's not his best work,
but the story's hero is named John Kinsella...
my father.
Wow.
What do you mean, "Wow"?
Big wow! What's it got to do with baseball?
You drive.
OK, the last interview he ever gave was in 1973.
Guess what it's about.
Some kind of team sport.
Mann was a baseball fanatic.
Listen to this...
"My earliest recurring dream
was to play at Ebbets Field
with Jackie Robinson and the Brooklyn Dodgers.
It never happened.
The Dodgers left Brooklyn.
Ebbets Field is gone,
but I still dream that dream."
That's sad.
The man wrote the best books of his generation.
He was a pioneer
in the civil rights and the antiwar movement.
I mean, he made the cover of Newsweek.
He knew everybody. He did everything.
He helped shape his time.
The guy hung out with the Beatles.
It wasn't enough. What he missed was baseball.
Oh, my God!
What?
As a small boy, he had a bat named Rosebud.
Give me that.
Sorry.
The guy hasn't been to a baseball game since 1958.
So, in order to ease his pain,
you're supposed to take him to a ball game.
Yes.
Ray, this is nuttier
than building the baseball field.
No. No, it's not.
It's pretty weird,
but building the field was 5-10% weirder.
I'm going to have to nip this one in the bud.
We're having moderate-to-heavy financial difficulties here.
You can't take off for Boston
while we're going broke in lowa.
This is really new territory for us,
but we're dealing with primal forces of nature.
The prudent thing is not to quibble over details.
Yeah, but why do you have to go?
Why can't the voice send somebody else?
How about Shirley MacLaine?
Is she too busy?
What does this have to do with you?
That's what I have to find out.
Ray, we are behind on the mortgage.
That field ate up all of our savings.
I'll sleep in the car. I'll beg for food.
No. No! Now this is too much!
Now look. I understand your need
to prove to yourself and to the world
you are not turning into your father, but you've done it.
You believed in the magic.
It happened. Isn't that enough?
It's more than that.
I know this is totally nuts,
but I'm supposed to do it.
I feel it as strongly as I've felt anything.
There's a reason.
What? Just tell me what it is.
Something's going to happen at the game.
There's something at Fenway Park.
I got to be there with Terence Mann to find it out.
Is Fenway the one
with the big green wall in left field?
Yeah.
I dreamt last night
you were at Fenway with Terence Mann.
Was I sitting on the first base side?
Yes.
About halfway up on the aisle?
- Yeah. Eating a hot dog. - Eating a hot dog.
I had the same dream.
I'll help you pack.
Hi, I'm...
Hi, I'm Ray Kinsella.
Hi.
No.
Hi.
Hi, I'm Ray Kinsella.
It's a great pleasure to finally get to...
Hi, I'm Ray Kinsella. I'm a big fan of yours.
Hi.
How do you do, Mr. Mann?
I have to take you to a base...
All right, stupid,
put your hands up and get in the trunk.
Good.
He lives right around here.
Do you know him?
He's sort of a tall black man.
I'm a friend of his.
If he was much of a friend,
he could give you the directions himself.
That's a good point.
Thank you.
I don't know where he lives.
Get away from me!
I ain't going to tell you nothing.
Go away!
You're a pest!
Two blocks down, right-hand side.
First door that don't have a chicken in the window is his.
No chicken.
Who the hell are you?
Sir, my name's Ray Kinsella.
We got a learning disability here?
If I could just have one minute, please.
Look, I can't tell you the secret of life,
and I don't have any answers for you.
I don't give interviews,
and I'm no longer a public figure.
I just want to be left alone, so piss off.
Wait!
Look, I've come 1,500 miles to see you
at the risk of losing my home
and alienating my wife.
All I'm asking is one minute.
Please.
One minute.
OK, I understand your desire for privacy,
and I wouldn't dream of intruding
if this weren't extremely important.
Oh, God.
I don't do causes anymore.
This isn't a cause.
I don't need money or an endorsement.
Refreshing.
You once wrote, "There comes a time
when all the cosmic tumblers
have clicked into place
and the universe opens itself up for a few seconds
to show you what's possible."
Oh, my God!
What?
You're from the sixties.
Well, yeah. Actually...
Out!
Hey!
Back to the sixties!
No place for you here in the future.
Get back while you still can!
You've changed,
you know that?
Yes, I suppose I have.
How about this? Peace, love, dope.
Now get the hell out of here!
You've really pissed me off.
Hold it.
I was hoping I wouldn't have to do it this way.
What the hell is that?
It's a gun.
It's your finger.
No, it's a gun.
Let me see it.
I'm not going to show you my gun.
I'm not going to hurt you.
I need you to come with...
What are you doing?
I'll beat you with a crowbar until you go away.
Whoa! Wait! You can't do that.
There are rules here?
Oh, no. There are no rules here.
You're a pacifist!
Shit.
Thank you.
So what? You kidnapping me?
What's the deal here?
I was...
I was hoping
I could just convince you to come with me.
So you are kidnapping me?
I have to take you to a baseball game.
You what?
Tonight's game.
Red Sox, A's.
Why?
Something will happen there.
I don't know what, but we'll find out when it does.
My name's Ray Kinsella.
You used my father's name
for a character in one of your stories.
John Kinsella.
You're seeing a whole team of psychiatrists,
aren't you?
I don't blame you for thinking that,
but, no, I'm not.
I swear to God,
I'm the least crazy person I've ever known.
Why are you kidnapping me to a baseball game?
May I s...
Oh, please. Want a cup of coffee?
No.
Want some cookies?
No.
I read an interview you gave a long time ago
about how you always dreamed of playing at Ebbets Field
and how sad you felt when they tore it down.
I never said that.
You didn't?
I don't even recall thinking that.
Weird.
This whole...
This whole thing is so weird.
Then why go through with it?
It's a long story.
But it's a really good story.
I'll tell you on the way.
I'm not getting rid of you, am I?
Come to this game.
I'll never bother you again,
not even f... not even a Christmas card.
So what do you do with yourself these days?
I live, I work.
I learned how to cook.
I take walks and watch sunsets.
Don't you miss being involved?
I was the East Coast distributor of involved.
I ate it and drank it and breathed it.
Then they killed Martin and Bobby,
they elected Tricky Dick twice,
and now people like you think I must be miserable
because I'm not involved anymore.
I've got news for you.
I spent all my misery years ago.
I have no more pain left for any of you.
I gave at the office.
So what do you want?
I want them to stop looking to me for answers,
begging me to speak again,
write again, be a leader.
I want them to start thinking for themselves.
I want my privacy.
No, I meant what do you want?
Oh.
Dog and a beer.
Two.
10 bucks.
OK, I understand you.
You should be entitled to as much privacy as you want,
but why stop writing?
I haven't published a word in 17 years,
and still I have to endure lunatics like you.
What do you think would happen
if I suddenly came out with a new book?
They'd bleed me dry.
Go the distance.