When I was about six months old my parents took me to Sears or some such place to be professionally photographed...because that’s what you do with babies. They had me pose with a football and then printed wallet-sized copies of the photo and passed them out to their friends, who ooh’d and aah'd and said things like “Danny is gonna be a quarterback someday, YES HE IS!!!” Little did they know that this photo would mark the first and last time I would be spotted smiling in the vicinity of a football. There are 206 bones in the human body, and for me, not a single one of ‘em is athletic! I am, and have always been, just shit terrible at sports. A bowlegged klutz with an arm like a wet noodle. Last picked for anything and everything. Perpetually scorned by my high school gym teacher for letting “the broads” beat me at volleyball. Just how bad am I at competitive sports? A couple of years back I attended my buddy's bachelor party weekend where we played an entire afternoon's worth of Wiffle Ball. Everyone at the party took mushrooms...except me (don’t worry...I was doin’ all of the other stuff)...and everyone ended the day with a handful of hits and RBI’s...EXCEPT ME!! 0 for 18 on the day! Ten strikeouts against a pitcher who couldn’t stop giggling and who kept asking if we were in Medieval Times (note: I’m still not sure if he was referring to that cheesy restaurant where the waiters dress up in suits of armour and role play and shit...or actual Medieval Times. I should text him). Seriously, people don’t even want me on their Cornhole teams. I’m incapable of not ruining a game. I could bowl a gutter ball with the safety bumpers on!! I once gave myself Carpal Tunnel from playing an hour’s worth of Dutch tabletop shuffleboard and had to wear a brace on my wrist for an entire month! Now, given all of the things I just told you, you might be surprised to hear me turn around reveal that I actually played eight seasons worth of hockey, seven as part of a local intramural youth league and one more year in high school. How did that go? I would say mostly shittily. Because here’s the thing--I can actually lace up the skates and carve it up like a champ. It was the whole everything-else-about-the-game-of-hockey that was a problem for me: shooting, passing, puck handling, camaraderie, feigning interest for the sport of hockey? There, I foundered. I spent most of my playing years shivering in the cold during 6 AM games fantasizing about being back home in my heated waterbed watching Who’s Harry Crumb? One of my earliest coaches told me that I could actually be a decent player if I didn’t have my head “permanently buried up my own ass”...which was the first time I think I ever heard someone make reference to a human head going up an arsehole. I was 7. This was the same guy who would smoke Winston’s during the games and, when the refs would tell him to stamp it out, would do this thing where he’d put the entire cigarette, filter to cherry, into the inside of his mouth...and somehow continue smoking it in there!! I gotta admit...I begrudgingly respected that dude. I mean--I wasn’t THAT bad. I actually scored a Hatrick one season….in a game where we were accidentally scheduled to play children who were exactly half our ages. I think the final score was 24-0 or something. Why they let the game go on for a full three periods is still a mystery to me...but hey...I put up 3 and have still have the patch to prove it. One weekend, while my dad and I were en route to my grillionth Sunday night game in some bumfuck town that was nowhere near where we lived (hello Winchendon Mass!) instead of sitting at home watching Chuck Norris flicks on the couch, my dad turned to me and asked me if I even liked playing hockey. I told him that I did not, no. He pulled the emergency brake, spun the car around, and we sped straight home, where we watched Invasion USA and Delta Force and ate crab rangoons. And that was that!
Since I was a hockey player in practice, I was forced to watch every hockey-adjacent film on an endless loop, which, as of 1989, was approximately three movies; Slapstick, Youngblood, and the one with Michael Keaton, the name of which I cannot recall. In 1992, though, the floodgates opened-ish and we got The Cutting Edge AND The Mighty Ducks, the latter of which was such a cultural juggernaut that it inspired an entire NHL franchise, which I was aware of, and birthed a cinematic trilogy, of which I was only fleetingly aware. Kind of like Lord of the Rings but with less Hobbits and way, way easier to understand. We already talked about how The Cutting Edge is an ice cold classic a few years back (two words: toe...fuckin’...pick!) so today we’re gonna check in with the OG Mighty Ducks and see how that one holds up. What happens is this: we open at a Minneapolis hockey rink in the 1970’s, where the GAME IS ON THE LINE!!! It’s also, like, pitch black in this rink. Is that just how they played hockey in the 70’s or is the darkness supposed to let us know that the events we’re witnessing are in the distant past? Hawks Coach Coach Reilly (the dad from Pauly Shore’s Son-in-Law), grabs his star Hawk Gordon Bombay and tells him the entire game, as well as the fate of all mankind, is resting on his little 10 year-old shoulders. It’s the end of the game and the kid has to take a penalty shot, which is a fairly rare occurrence. I’m already super confused about how the game can possibly come down to this one shot as the shootout rule wasn’t adopted until 2005. Right, so assuming the game is already tied and he misses the shot, wouldn’t they just go into overtime? And if they lose in overtime, won’t the blame be spread around?? It would be REALLY helpful if you told us the score of the game, dudes! Anyway, the kid squares up and takes his shot and it bounces off the goalpost. He muffed it! Gordie muffed it! The poor kid buckles to his knee pads and weeps. The coach looks at him like “you worthless sack of shit” because that’s how coaches roll. Coaches are the absolute worst.
We flash forward to 1992, where Gordon Bombay has morphed into a smug ass hotshot attorney played by Wisdom director and significantly less troubled Esta/Sheen sibling Emilio Estavez. He’s so cocksure in the courtroom, this Bombay cat, that he basically tells the judge that he doesn’t know how to judge and the judge is all “you actually make a solid point. YOU WIN!” Gordon returns to his law firm and stalks the hallways pumping up his fists, stinking up the joint with his noxious braggadocio. He boasts that his latest courtroom victory brings his record to 30-0. He also talks about banging one of the court reporters and is rude to his secretary. I already don’t like gloating prick one shit. Gordon is summoned to meet with the head of the law firm, Mr Ducksworth, expecting the old man to crack out a bottle of Asti Spumanti and make him a full partner. Instead, he tells Gordon to tone it down about a million percent. Says that life isn’t all W’s and L’s. So what does Gordon do? He hops in his fancy sports car (license plate: mustwin) and goes tearing ass around town, slugging hard booze straight from the bottle. For god’s sake man, at least pour that shit in a travel mug or something! He gets stopped by the fuzz, who can already smell the Crown Royal before dude even rolls down his window. More like Gordon Bombed-bay, amirite?? They ask him to step out of the vehicle but he’s all “heyyy...dontcha seen me in ssssaint elmoses fire??” They put him on the ground and pump 18 bullets into his torso. Just kidding...he’s a white lawyer! He doesn’t even have to change out of his clothes or see the inside of a holding cell. The judge from earlier is like “who’s the asshole now, asshole??” The judge brings up the fact that Gordon has 12 prior moving violations on his record aaaaaand then immediately releases him on his own recognizance. Gordon immediately returns to work in search of that 31st dubya but Mr Ducksworth has another set of plans in mind. He feels like Gordon needs to eat a slice or two of the old humble pie. He says he’ll let Gordon skate (heh) on the whole DUI thingy, which is awesome. But he will also have to take a leave of absence from the firm and complete 500 hours of community service that will involve him coaching a District 5 pre-teen Pee Wee hockey team, which is less awesome. It’s cool, though--they’re giving dude complimentary 24 hour limousine service and his own private chauffeur during his forced sabbatical. I have SO MANY questions!! Like how does Gordon’s boss have the power to vacate his DUI conviction?? Isn’t attending substance abuse counseling an important part of the reconciliation process or is the DUI just for laughs? Also--are people sentenced to community service for felony drunk driving typically placed in situations where they will be responsible for the supervision of large groups of children?? Furthermore, does Mr Ducksworth know that Gordon carries deep psychological hockey-related scars?? If so, this whole hockey coaching assignment is a total cock move!
Gordon hops in the stretch and heads out to the bad-ish part of town...the part where they filmed Untamed Heart...to see what fresh hell awaits him. He rolls up on a practice session, which is taking place OUTSIDE on some random patch of pond in the middle of downtown. Jesus man--we practiced in some janky rinks growing up but they always had roofs! And...like...a Zamboni and shit. Gordon instructs his driver to pull the limousine right out on the ice. He jumps out to greet this nameless team, who are naturally a ragtag assortment of unruly menaces (and one menacette). Gordon tells them that the only thing he hates more than hockey is children. Tells ‘em kids are subhuman. The kid from People Under the Stairs tells him to get his sorry vanilla booty outta there. Gordon tells him he’s there under court order ‘cuz he’s a crazy alkie so they’re just gonna have to learn to live with him. He tells them he’s gonna luxuriate in the warmth of his limousine while the kids conduct their practice. Says if they need to get into touch with him, they should send him a fax, which is funny (to him) because these children are poor and the fax was the ultimate symbol of wealth in the early 90’s. The kids hit the ice and they just can’t fucking play AT ALL. They can’t even skate! They just keep screaming and falling on top of each other. Like, whyyyy would these kids even bother joining a hockey team?? Gordon’s afternoon tea time is rudely interrupted when the kids decide to bum rush the limousine. They dogpile into the backseat and try to hotbox the vehicle with kid farts, prompting Gordon to scream “get away from me, you monkeys!”....which....eeeee. The overloaded limo falls through the ice and everyone dies. The rest of the movie is a mournful tone poem that follows Ian Holm as he visits the bereaved parents of the drowned hockey players like in that Sweet Hereafter movie. I mean—I wish! Speaking of parents—this scrum is broken up by the arrival of Casey Conway, the mother of Charlie Conway (the kid who plays Percy on Dawson’s Creek). She balls Gordon out for endangering the lives of children. Hey lady—that’s what happens when they put a narcissistic alcoholic in charge of ya kids! I’m thinking he’ll eventually end up balling her out, though, because she appears to be the only adult female character in this film...and you know Emilio Estevez gotta SMASH!
Gordon and the Whatever Whoever’s go straight from practice to a game against, you guessed it, The Hawks, who are still being coached by that Reilly dude 20 years later. He looked about 50 years-old in that flashback and he looks about 49-years old in the present day. I guess aging and deaging technology was not on the Mighty Ducks budget sheet. Coach Reilly is all grah hah hah good luck with your team, Sir Whiffs-a-Lot. Gordon’s kids hit the ice and they’re just a total disaster. Like—they aren’t even wearing proper gear! They’ve out there wearing ripped up Philadelphia Flyers jerseys and toy football helmets and shit. Not only are they unable to perform the fundamentals of the sport, their poor goalie (Goldberg) is terrified of people shooting pucks in his direction. He’s no Andy Moog, this kid. This game sequence goes on and on and we get it—they suck. After about 25 minutes Gordon slowly emerges from his catatonic state and starts paying attention to the game. I mean—there isn’t shit else to do there so might as well participate in the movie, right? Gordon offers a few halfhearted pointers and gently chastises the kids for their extreme absence of any and all hockey skills. “I thought we came here to play hockey! Why won’t you listen to me?” he shouts. “Why SHOULD we listen to you?” asks one of the kids. This kid is 100% on point. Respect is a two way street, dude. I don’t see anything like respect coming from this Gordon clown. The No Names lose horribly and the Hawks call them pansy and wuss breath and ask if their mom’s are banging the mailman. The same mailman?? Gordon decides the only way this team has a snowcone’s chance in hell at winning is by cheating. At the next game, Gordon tries to convince Charlie and some of the other kids to stage some falls to try to draw penalties and, I guess, try to bang out mad goals on power plays. In other words: play basketball?? This plan is popular with exactly zero people. The kids are even more embarrassed than they usually are. A couple of the parents come to the locker room to call Gordon a stupid asshole.
A thoroughly dejected Gordon decides to visit his mystical skate sharpening mentor, Hans, who operates a pro shop out of an enchanted mansion in the middle of the city. Real estate must’ve been real reasonable in the Twin Cities back in the day! They launch into a heavy duty therapy sesh. “Yes you are lawyer, vat are you happy?” asks Hans in his non-specific Eastern European accent. Hans reminds Gordon that he was straight fire on the ice. Says he scored 198 goals in his best season...which is 198 more goals than I scored playing at the high school level. Gordon says that he never got over missing that penalty shot, which we learn occurred just four months after the unexpected loss of his father (seems like a real missed opportunity for a Martin Sheen cameo right here. Must’ve been too busy filming his Hot Shots: Part Deux cameo with his hot garbage other son ). Hans pulls the whole “it’s not your fault” routine and calls Coach Reilly an “eejit.” Man, where were all of the skate sharpening life coaches when I was growing up?? The only thing the guy who sharpened skates at our home rink hated more than sharpening skates was children. You know what he did like? Meatloaf (the singer). Bat Out of Hell blaring out of his tiny vestibule during all operating hours! Anyway, Hans hands Gordon a brand spanking new pair of skates gratis because rich people should never have to pay for anything and tells him to “teach zee children how to fly!” Bro—maybe teach them how to skate first? Gordon heads outside and laces up and starts slicing away and...you know...the dude can shred! Now if only he can just teach those lovable misfits how to play hockey and start winning games and take it all the way to the Pee Wee equivalent of the Stanley Cup and OH MY GOD DO YOU THINK THAT’S WHAT’S GONNA HAPPEN. I will literally shit my pants if it doesn’t...and yes...I know what “literally” means.
With his personality fully retooled, a chastened Gordon heads straight for Charlie’s apartment to apologize to his moms, which seems extraordinarily unnecessary at best. When Casey tries to slam the door in his face, Gordon jams his foot in the door. Just a court-mandated boozebag hockey coach forcing his way into the home of a single mother and child...nothing to see here! Moms is like ok apology accepted dude BYE but then the kid asks him if he’s hungry and he’s all “I do like to eat dinner now and then!” Does this man not have a home?? The next day he shows up at the law firm where he’s not technically welcome and straight up asks Mr Ducksworth to bankroll his craptastic hockey team to the tune of $15k. Shit, I don’t think my hockey team had a budget of 15 DOLLARS! I do remember that when tournament season rolled around they always brought in an unlimited supply of free oranges for us to chow on...which was nice. Mr Ducksworth is hesitant until Gordon offers to name the team after him. Not The Ducksworths, which would be a way better name if you ask me, but simply, The Ducks. The adjective “mighty” is never used in association with the team in this film. At least...I don’t think it was. What happened was: I bought a 4 pack of IPA to drink with this movie not realizing it had an ABV of 9.8%. Oops! The old man opens his checkbook and Gordon takes the team on a shopping/training montage set to “Good Vibrations” by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch...which means that I have now unintentionally referenced this song in 3 out of the last 4 reviews! Gross! I think the idea is that if the Ducks have the same gear as the rich kid team they’ll suddenly start playing like a bunch of little Mario Lemieux’sssses. Gordon teaches them the basics. They try to assuage Goldberg of his intense flying puck fear by tying him to the net and blasting him with slap shot after slap shot. Or as it’s also know—child abuse! Poor kid who played Goldberg ended up with a monster drug habit. Looks like he might be on the mend though. I wish him well....truly. They pick up a figure skating girl for the team but don’t even bother giving her any lines. Sup Figure Skating Girl? Gordon also comes face to face with this mysterious slap shot-adept street urchin who had been lurking in the background for the entire movie and..oh shit....it’s my college buddy Elden Ratliff! Let me clarify—I did go to college with Elden and we lived in the same dorm and, although we weren’t buddies, we DID hang out like 3.5 times. I can tell you that he has the Cadillac El Dorado symbol tattooed on his left arm and that we all called him...you know...El Dorado. His room was a good place to go if you wanted to have a smoke. A jazz cigarette, you dig? Last time I saw him he was coming off She’s All That and he told me he’d always have a career as long as people needed an “unfuckable fat buddy” for their flick. Solid guy, that Elden. I hope he’s well too! Anyway, Elden’s shot is so gnarly he could put a puck through a concrete barrier. Gordon wants him on the team like yesterday but the kid says he doesn’t know how to skate (note: unlike all the other kids?). He buys Elden a pair of rollerblades and sets him loose in the Mall of America, where he checks an elderly lady into the fountain. Ha.
So Gordon finally has his Ducks in a row but there is still a missing piece of the puzzle that he’s just THIRSTY for. Gordon learns that the Hawks’ star player Banks is residentially prohibited from playing on the Hawks thanks to some unexpected youth hockey Gerrymandering. He actually lives in the Duck’s district and Gordon insists that he pack up his shit, say his goodbyes, and start playing for Ducks post haste, which is an amazingly cruel plot twist! You know who else feels this way? ALL OF THE DUCKS!! They don’t want this friggin’ carpetbagging cake eater on their team! They also overhear Gordon say that the team can’t possibly win without Banks. They confront Gordon about this before a game and bring up his ignoble Hawk history. Gordon says “what do you want from me? I missed the penalty shot and we lost in overtime!’ AHH HA!!! See, now that finally makes sense! So Gordon Bombay is the Billy Buckner of the 1973 Hawks. All anyone remembers is the little roller that went through Buckner’s legs, giving the Mets the W in Game 6 of the ‘86 World Series. Nobody ever talks about the fact there was a Game 7 that was the Red Sox’s game to win but that they did not. Hell, Buckner even hit one out in game 7! Poor dude. I would say I hope he’s well too but I know that he is recently deceased. The kids are so adamantly opposed to playing with Banks they decide that they will simply refuse. They stage a mass walk out, leaving a forfeited game in their wake.
The next day, Gordon is called into Mr Ducksworth’s office, where he finds the old man sipping brandy and hearty white man chuckling with Coach Reilly and Banks’s dad. Turns out Ducksworth is country club buddies with Mr Banks and is hoping they can make their little redistricting issue disappear and allow Banks to return to the Hawks (wink). Hey...shit...they made this dude’s fucking DUI diappear...is anyone really gonna crow about some mild Pee Wee hocky malfesence? Gordon says he absolutely positively will NOT allow Banks to return to the Hawks. Says that the whole point of the forced sabbatical was to teach him about fair play and that Banks remaining a Hawk would be the opposite of fair play. I’m not sure I completely follow...but...it doesn’t really matter. Ducksworth tells Gordon that if he doesn’t relinquish control of Banks he’s gonna fire him. From the law firm!! Do these men not have more important, lawyering-type things they need to be doing?? Gordon continues to refuse and is quickly out on his ass. This cannot possibly be legal grounds for termination! I would have a strongly worded grievance filed with HR before you could say “quack!” But no--that’s all Gordon does. He starts quacking maniacally in Ducksworth’s face. That’ll show him...for sure. Question: does this mean he loses his chauffeur too?? Because that would be the pits! Gordon heads over to the school to try to save face with the kids. Even though these kids live in a major city and range from 10 to about 15 in age they all attend the same school and share the same classrooms. Gordon apologizes and tells the kids that they have a genuine shot at making the playoffs...because all but two teams in the entire league get to compete in the playoffs. Excitement reigns. The kids immediately go on an absolute tear, steamrolling teams from near and far. Their championship run is breathlessly reported by the local newspapers, who feature the Ducks on Page 1 for weeks on end. Hey, our hockey team was regularly written up in the Grafton News (circulation: your mom). I never saw much action but the dude who wrote the articles clearly felt bad for me and would try to give me a shout out every once in a while. My mom would tape articles to our fridge that always said something like “...and Danny Tebo pitched in with some tasteful stickwork.” Tasteful stickwork: that’s me!
When Gordon isn’t busy coaching, he spends all of his time hanging out at Charlie’s mom’s piece in his ugly ass Coogi sweater, scamming free suppers. I swear to god...this man does not have a home!! One night, Gordon takes Casey down to the magical holiday market that’s ceaselessly occurring in the town square. They gaze up at the castle that houses Hans’ pro shop (I think it’s the same building anyway. Also--what the hell happened to Hans??). Casey says she has long fantasized about living in this castle and points to the window of the room she’d like to live in. Gordon says “oh yeah? And where is MY ROOM!?” Casey is like not so fast, psycho! We haven’t even frenched and you’re moving into my fantasy castle??” Really what she says is that she hasn’t fallen in love with him...but that Charlie has...and if they get together and it goes south then the kid will be shit out of a strong male figure…..uhhhhhgain!!!” Gordon says he’s not going anywhere. Casey reminds him that Charlie isn’t going anywhere either and that children tend to live anywhere from zero to 101 years. He says he can get down with that. I already told you that I haven’t seen either D2 or D3 but I checked the cast sheet and she’s on it sooo...I guess maybe Gordo stays true to his word. They start to suck face. Seconds later they’re pants-around-the-ankles-balling up against the dumpster in the alley outside of her building. I’m just messin’ with ya...this flick is rated PG!!! Get your minds out of the gutter, ya friggin’ pervy bastards.
Anyway, the day of the big championship finally arrives and the arena is packed with a hundred THOUSAND people. The Ducks are facing off against the Hawks because of course they are. Coach Reiley only has one thing on his agenda at the outset of the game--putting Banks in a body bag. He wants to go full sweep the leg, Johnny on this poor son of a bitch, who has continued to be ostracized by his new teammates and who has worn the expression of a kid waiting to hear about his latest foster home assignment ever since he was forced to leave the Hawks. Sure enough, as soon as the puck drops, one of Banks’s former teammates executes a dirty hit from behind, sending Banks careening into the goalpost headfirst. He lays motionless on the ice, thoroughly concussed. I want to root for the Ducks but I just can’t stop thinking bout how bad I feel for this fuckin’ kid! What a punching bag of a character! They should’ve called this movie The Maltreated Banks. Anyway, the Ducks get a few good licks in. Elden hits the puck so hard that it goes THROUGH the netting of the net, which is not a thing that happens. Reilly tells his kids that, should they lose, he’ll personally see to it that none of them ever sets blade on the ice again. I know I already said this earlier...but coaches are the worst. The Hawks go up 4-2 but Figure Skating Girl does a couple of pirouettes and puts one in the net, bringing them within a goal. Thanks for playing, Figure Skating Girl. Elden tries to beat up all of the Hawks at once and gets 86’d from the game, depriving the Ducks of their not so secret weapon. The Ducks somehow scored again when I was scrolling through Facebook and temporarily ignoring the movie. Someone trips Charlie at the final whistle with the game tied, allowing him to take a penalty shot. The EXACT same situation Coach Gordon Bombay faced as a young man decades earlier. WHAT ARE THE CHANCES!?? Gordon tells Charlie that if he misses the shot he’s gonna tear off his skate, slice open his juggler, and watch him bleed out on the ice with a huge smile on his face. Just kidding--he tells Charlie that it’s NBD if he misses the shot. That he should just go out there and have fun. Gordon also says “who would’ve thought we’d make it this far!?” Ummm...how about EVERYONE WATCHING THIS MOVIE!!!! How about everyone who has ever watched a movie!?? We’re not stupid, man. So yeah...Charlie puts the puck in the net and the Ducks are the champions….of the worrrllllddd!!! Or, you know, the champions of Hennepin County at least. The Ducks pile onto the ice and hoot and holler and wail in ecstasy. Even Hans materializes from Deutche Neverland to tell Gordon that he’s real proud of him. The kids skate the championship trophy around the ice while Queen’s “We Are the Champions'' blasts from the arena’s soundsystem. I’m thinking that, between this flick, Wayne’s World, and Warrant’s career-ending cover of We Will Rock You from the non-Russell Crowe Gladiator, Queen must’ve made a FORTUNE in licensing fees in 1992. Small consolation after losing their legendary frontman in the waning weeks of 1991, though. Goddamn I miss Freddie Mercury.
Since Gordon still doesn’t have a job (or a HOME) he decides to accept an invitation to try out for the Minnesota North Stars minor league team. How you packed your cowboy boots, homie, ‘cuz the Stars moved to Dallas like six months after this movie came out. Also, this dude is thirty years old and hasn’t played hockey in almost twenty years...so you do the math. I’m thinking the existence of two sequels means that he does NOT make it in the bigs but I have yet to see either film so I really can't say. If someone has a VHS copy of either D2 or D3 and has a hankering for a review DM me and I’ll allow you to send me a copy. I’ll even send you my Hatrick patch from 1987 in return. Deal?? The end.