In between changing diapers of my two-month-old son and intermittent bouts of crying (mostly from me) I’ve been watching a ton of TV. IFC has played “A League of their Own” nonstop over the past week, and I’ve found myself watching chunks of it at a time to keep the nagging thoughts out my head that all new parents experience (such classics as: Why did I ever want a kid in the first place? Will he ever stop crying? Could I make it to the Canadian border before my wife notices that I’ve abandoned her? You know, harmless things like that).

It’s a great movie. The gals play some baseball, everyone has a grand old time, the Americans single handedly win World War II and the girls show that a sister’s love conquers all. Great stuff. The women come from cities near and far. There are Canadians, Irish ones and Swedes. They were all for one, and one for all, they’re all American.

Tom Hanks also plays a delightful, drop-dead drunk, who if we’re being real here, probably would have smacked a few of the women around for dropping fly balls, but Hollywood just wasn’t ready to go there yet. Thank you very much, Penny Marshall.

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