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New York Times
12-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Ron Washington ran me through his famous infield drills. It was … incredibly hard
ANAHEIM, Calif. — You know that scene in the movie 'Whiplash'? The one from the 2014 Academy Award-winning drama, where an intimidating band teacher, played by J.K. Simmons, berates a young drummer, played by Miles Teller? Eventually, Simmons' character hurls a chair at Teller's head and screams in his face, spittle flying everywhere. Advertisement As I stood on the grass at Angel Stadium earlier this month, I couldn't help but fear I was about to end up like the drummer. I had an infielder's glove on my right hand but little idea how to use it; my main concern was trying to not make a fool of myself while an intense, legendary instructor oversaw my every move. A few days before, I'd asked Los Angeles Angels manager and renowned fielding coach Ron Washington to go through his patented infield drills. I wanted a more hands-on perspective on him and his team. He agreed, on one condition: I must take it seriously. That was no problem, but my ability might be. I am 31, but my baseball experience ended after Little League. Washington is no Simmons. He's not nearly as mean. But he does demand the same level of pinpoint precision. And his vocabulary is equally blue. 'You've got things in your mind that you think about the way s—'s supposed to go,' Washington told me. 'What you're doing right now is, you're with a f—in' expert. I'm a mother—-ing expert.' There's no denying that. He coached the Braves infield that won a World Series in 2021. He taught six-time Gold Glove winner Eric Chavez, who actually gifted him his third trophy as a thank you. And it all stems from this routine, one that Angels players go through before every game. It's designed to create instinctive habits for fielding ground balls from every possible angle. It couldn't be that hard, I'd thought. And yes, I am aware of the line most famously associated with Washington, from a different Academy Award-nominated movie, one that exposed him to a non-baseball audience: 'Moneyball.' And I should have known that it would, in fact, be incredibly hard. There was a towel set up on the grass, folded on the ends to give a little extra padding where my knees were supposed to go. There were three baseballs sitting in front of me. 'What is your idea of what those three balls are for?' Washington asked. Immediately, I was flustered. We hadn't even started. Advertisement 'Reaction time,' I guessed, praying he'd quickly correct me without further prodding. Instead, he let me continue. I filled the silence: 'I imagine I'm supposed to field them in some capacity.' 'What they do is they line your hands up,' he said, having heard enough. That is, in essence, the entire purpose of the drill. To work on mechanics for backhands, glove hands and up the middle. The drill forces you to take the most direct route to the ball, field it in the center of your glove and follow through properly to finish the play. Eventually the drill transitions to fungos, where footwork becomes paramount. I was a mess from the start. Using two hands to field, when back-hands and glove hands only require the glove. Then using one hand to field balls up the middle, when two hands are required. 'Just relax, Sam, you're good, just me and you,' Washington told me. 'Anything you do that's wrong, I'm going to correct it.' When I got it right, Washington's positive reinforcement was off the charts. Every rep done correctly was met with increasingly loud words of affirmation. 'There you go,' he'd say every time, his inflection rising and rising. 'Woah!' 'Beautiful.' After one stretch of strong plays he ran over and gave me a hug. The exact opposite, however, occurred just 14 minutes in. I'd been flipping the ball back to him with my glove, a huge no-no that I was unaware violated a key unwritten rule. Suddenly, he'd had enough and decided to enforce it. 'Don't be flipping that motherf—er to me out of that glove,' he said, noting that it was disrespectful. 'Put your hand in that mothef—er and flip it to me.' The intensity (both positive and negative), the cursing, the cackling laughter — it's all part of how he operates. You know that his compliments are not patronizing, because he's happy to let you know when you're doing it wrong. Advertisement 'This is the way I work,' he said. 'And I'm not demeaning you or downing you. This is just the way I teach.' Washington is a manager, yes — but he is a teacher first. Over the offseason, he'll open his doors to players from all levels, from high school to the big leagues, to go through a seven-day lesson. Often, for amateurs, he'll do it pro bono, knowing the family already paid for travel and a hotel. Washington's mettle has been tested in this job. After a decade out of the managerial chair, he took this position because he wanted one more shot. The Angels were the only team willing to give it. He captained the worst team in franchise history last season, finishing 63-99. The start of 2025 hasn't been any better: our drills came just hours after his team blew a two-run lead in the eighth inning the night before, the sixth straight loss in what would become a seven-game streak. None of that, however, changes his standing in the sport after 55 years in the game as a player, coach and manager. He came within one out of a World Series championship as manager of the Texas Rangers in 2011. 'Wash' is universally known throughout baseball circles. Watching Angels infielders perform Washington's fielding routine before games, I've often wondered about the purpose. Over time, it's become clear these drills are about more than fielding mechanics. This speaks to who Washington is, his identity as a coach. However much the Angels might struggle, no one can take this away from him. After 51 minutes of drills, I found myself in my worst nightmare. I'd intentionally asked to schedule this session long before players arrived at the park. It was set for noon, nearly seven hours before first pitch. I'd gotten there 15 minutes early, and Washington already had it set up, awaiting my arrival. This was a good thing, I thought. I didn't want living, breathing major-league ballplayers to get a glimpse of me doing this. Especially since I've typed my fair share of words about their poor play over the last five seasons. Advertisement Then Zach Neto appeared. He'd seen me from the press box — up where I normally sit — where he was recording a podcast. The Angels shortstop spotted me doing what he usually does. 'Hi Zach,' I said, ripping the band-aid off about a minute after he'd approached. 'Hi Sam,' he responded with a smile on his face. I told him I was tired, and that this was for a story I was working on. 'You gotta get it done first,' he countered, clearly enjoying this. With Neto watching, something interesting happened: the dynamic changed. Washington's positive reinforcement and understanding evaporated. 'You're writing about baseball, and you don't know what a f—n' backhand is,' he said as I struggled to line my feet up properly. Neto's presence also meant that everyone else would find out. Mike Trout, who had been placed on the IL a day earlier, made sure to let me know he'd acquired video of the excursion. 'Infield drills, I don't know about that,' he said with a chuckle. Logan O'Hoppe said that I should have to catch the ceremonial first pitch instead of him. 'How are your legs feeling?' Neto joked after the game ended. It wasn't until I woke up hours later that I realized why he'd asked. I've run five marathons, but soreness from just more than an hour of these drills rivaled next-day pain. 'That means you did it right,' Washington would tell me. Cold comfort. At least the players feel it too. Neto said it takes a few days into spring training for the aches to subside. After the drills ended, Washington went back to where he was sitting when I arrived. The seat where he's perched for every pitch of every game. He started talking about the difference between symptoms and causes. A bad play, he said, that's a symptom. That's what we see. But Washington believes he can spot the cause almost immediately. Advertisement 'You have to be able to listen, you have to be able to learn, and you have to be able to apply,' he said. 'If you can't listen, how the f— you gonna learn? And if you can't learn, how the f— are you going to apply?' This is what we on the Angels beat refer to as the 'Wash Cycle.' A de facto vent session that can go on for a while, the topics zig-zagging between anything on his mind — his team, the game at large or his life's story. Today, it was defense. And at this point, it was clear that he was no longer talking about me or our drills. His focus was on his ballclub, though he didn't say so. He pulled out a cigarette and began to smoke. I was ready for a nap. For Washington, the day was just getting started. Soon, more of his players would arrive. Everything we'd done for the last 75 minutes would be repeated many times over. The Angels might not be a winning team. Heck, they might be one of the worst teams in baseball. A 162-game season has a way of letting you know. But good, bad or somewhere in between, it won't change who Wash is. And what I came to understand on that early afternoon at Angel Stadium, as I was rushing, dragging, and bumbling the ball around, is that these drills are what define him. (Illustration: Dan Goldfarb / The Athletic; Courtesy of the Los Angeles Angels)
Yahoo
05-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Netflix has engrossing Adam Scott movie that proves truth is stranger than fiction
When you buy through links on our articles, Future and its syndication partners may earn a commission. Meteoric success is more of a rarity than it seems. J K Simmons had already been a familiar face for almost three decades when he won his long-overdue Oscar for Whiplash, wryly observing he was "an overnight sensation at 60". Severance's Adam Scott has trodden a similar path. Now listed by Time magazine as one of the world's 100 most influential people, he's been perfecting his craft for more than 30 years, and the last 10 have seen him become one of the most in-demand actors around. And Netflix is currently showing a movie that helped him get there. A classic example of truth being stranger than fiction, The Most Hated Woman In America (2017) is the story of the rise and fall of Madalyn Murray O'Hair, a vocal anti-religious campaigner and founder of American Atheists. The combination of her legal battle to remove prayer books from schools and the money she made through her organisation earned her the nickname that gives the film its title. The movie, however, concentrates mainly on the strange events of 1995, when she, her son Jon and granddaughter Robin were kidnapped and held for ransom. With the police ignoring the demand for $1 million — Murray O'Hair had a history of publicity stunts — it was down to one of her colleagues to investigate, so he approached reporter Jack Ferguson (Scott), who, agreeing that things didn't add up, started running stories about her disappearance. The bizarre kidnapping also allows us some insight into Murray O'Hair's past and, with a cast that includes Melissa Leo as the potty-mouthed grandmother of the title, alongside Juno Temple, Peter Fonda and Rory Cochrane, there's some engaging acting on show. Best movies on Netflix Leo, who won an Oscar for The Fighter (2011), is on especially fine form, even if she's not helped by some clumsy old-age make-up, and for Scott, coming off the back of Parks And Recreation, it was an opportunity to for him to stretch his dramatic talents after a run of comedy roles. His journalist, who knows he's on the verge of a big story and doggedly pursues it, despite an unenthusiastic editor, had just the right mix of dedication and cynicism to bring that all-important element of truth to an extraordinary story. Big Little Lies launched some months later. His latest and biggest hit, Severance, arrived in 2022 and was a favourite with both critics and viewers from the start. With a Rotten Tomatoes rating of 96%, the efforts of the office workers at the intimidating Lumon Industries to get to the heart of its unique approach to the work/life balance captured a huge audience. They tuned in for a second season, which drew to a close just weeks ago with the show having taken over from Ted Lasso as Apple TV Plus's most popular series ever. And a third season was announced just as the end credits rolled. But mystery is what Severance is all about, so it's no great surprise that only a limited amount has been revealed about its third outing. And, although followers had to wait three years for season two, it's a fair assumption they won't have their patience tested to the same extent by number three. It does, however, have a reputation for attention to detail, so creator Dan Erickson and his team won't be in a rush to start production. It's a reassurance for the fans, as is the knowledge that answers are on the way to the many questions posed in season two's final episode, "Cold Harbor". Aside from the lingering philosophical conundrums, Mark's (Scott) relationships with his real wife, Gemma (Dichen Lachman) and his love interest, Helly R (Britt Lower), were left hanging precariously in the balance. In a show where the characters are even more important than the mysterious machinations of a big corporate company, who will and will not be returning is the number one question on every fan's list. The set-up at the end of season two means that many, if not all, of the main cast — Scott, Britt Lower, Zach Cherry, Dichen Lachman, Tramel Tillman and Patricia Arquette — are more than likely to be back. The future for Christopher Walken's Burt and John Tuturro's Irving is less than clear, even though Tuturro has already indicated he's hoping to be in the third season. But this is a workplace where loose ends are the norm, so we'll have to join the Lumon Industries team in waiting to see what comes next. The Most Hated Woman In America is on Netflix in the US and the UK. Seasons one and two of Severance are on Apple TV Plus in the UK and the US.
Daily Mail
24-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
BRIAN VINER reviews The Accountant 2: More bad news for Ben Affleck as his first film since J.Lo divorce is branded 'wildly convoluted' with 'no credibility'
The Accountant 2 (15, 132 mins) Verdict: Less boring than it sounds As if to make up for arguably the most boring title of any film in the history of cinema, pipping even Ordinary People (1980) and The Commuter (2018), The Accountant 2 begins with a blaze of action, incongruously enough in a bingo hall. If you made it through the 2016 original, you'll recall that Ray King (JK Simmons) of the US Treasury's Financial Crimes Enforcement department was about to retire. Now he evidently has retired, which is exactly the kind of dull storyline you might expect from a movie called The Accountant 2. However, something doesn't add up. There are baddies converging on the bingo hall where Ray is sitting inoffensively at the back, doing some calculations on a paper napkin, and soon they're trying to bump him off. Ray is getting on a bit (Simmons is 70) but still manages to out-muscle a few super-fit young assassins before they get the better of him, neatly presaging the many absurdities yet to come. Most of these feature Ben Affleck, returning as autistic number-cruncher Christian Wolff, whose remarkable skills as a mathematical savant are usefully complemented by an awesome talent for punching and shooting his way out of any perilous situation. Ray is getting on a bit (Simmons is 70) but still manages to out-muscle a few super-fit young assassins before they get the better of him, neatly presaging the many absurdities yet to come (Daniella Pineda and JK Simmons pictured) Unfortunately, he's not so hot at relating to other people. We see him at a speed-dating event, where he has cooked the algorithms to attract more single women than anyone else, only to muck up his chances by trying to chat up each of them with a line about tax returns. This is quite funny, but it's a one-note joke that soon runs out of steam. Christian used to deploy his talents for criminal purposes, laundering money for mobsters, but now Ray's former underling Marybeth Medina (Cynthia Addai-Robinson) needs his help smashing a callous people-trafficking operation. The key to toppling the bad guys lies in the disappearance of a family from El Salvador, whose fate seems to have something to do with a stony-faced hitwoman (Daniella Pineda). That makes the plot sound just about accessible. The truth is that you'll need more than a ready reckoner to work out the wild convolutions of The Accountant 2. Only neurodivergent Christian can get to the bottom of them, and even he needs the help of his younger brother Braxton (Jon Bernthal), who similarly is as hard as nails and can shoot a glowering Central American thug between the eyes from 150 yards. Director Gavin O'Connor and writer Bill Dubuque, the same team as last time, extract some fun from the uneasy relationship between the two siblings, and at least Affleck and Bernthal look vaguely as if they might share the same square-jawed parentage. But if you prefer your action thrillers with a modicum of credibility, you'll need to look elsewhere. The Accountant 2 is in cinemas now. Havoc (18, 105 mins) Verdict: Spectacularly violent Rating: Don't expect it from the Netflix thriller Havoc, though — or not unless you can believe in scenes of violence so relentless and extreme that it's a wonder anyone makes it alive to the end of the film. Havoc stars Tom Hardy as that most hackneyed of characters: the maverick American detective with a messy personal life. It's one of the great film and TV paradoxes that these cops, meant to be fiercely idiosyncratic, in fact submit to every single screen-writing convention. How often have we seen the likes of Walker (Hardy)? He's usually saddled with a junior partner for whom he acquires a grudging respect (tick). And there is quite often an only child for whom he hurriedly buys a cheap Christmas present, just to make up for being a rubbish dad (tick). In a way it's a shame that Hardy must abide by these humdrum cliches of the genre, because he's actually pretty terrific in Havoc — as good at being Walker as Clint Eastwood was at being Harry Callahan and Al Pacino was at being Frank Serpico, just to name two other non-conformist cops from the zillions we've seen. As for the story, it involves police-department corruption, a nasty mayor (hammed up outrageously by Forest Whittaker), a drugs deal gone wrong, and ruthless mobsters from the Far East. The director is Gareth Evans, the Welshman whose Indonesian gangland films, The Raid (2011) and The Raid 2 (2014), didn't just choreograph violent carnage but practically fetishised it. He does the same here, most memorably in a nightclub dust-up that turns an ice-bucket into an instrument of death, along with more obvious weapons (though less obvious nightclub accessories) such as a meat cleaver and a machine gun. If you like that sort of thing, it's a heck of a scene. But you've been warned.
