“My kinda team, Charlie. My kinda team”
A collection of misfits, brought together to lose, turn the tables on their owner and Major League Baseball. Lou Brown, who has never managed in the Major Leagues, leads a team of has-beens and rejects to an unlikely pennant.
Major League is the funniest baseball movie of all time.
Rachel Phelps: Spring Training begins in two weeks. Here’s a list of the players we’ll be inviting to camp.
Indians Executive: This guy here is dead.
Rachel Phelps: Cross him off then.
Rachel Phelps: I want to put together a team that’ll help us relocate to Miami.
Charlie Donovan: This is Charlie Donovan, the new GM of the Cleveland Indians. We’d love for you to come to spring trainer for a shot at this year’s club.
Jake Taylor: Is that you Tolbert? This isn’t very funny, you know. I’m hung over and my knees are killing me. And if you’re gonna pull this shit, at least you could have said you were from the Yankees.
Charlie Donovan: Hello, Lou? This is Charlie Donovan of the Cleveland Indians. How would you like to manage the Indians this year?
Lou Brown: Uhhh, I don’t know.
Charlie: What do you mean you don’t know? This is a chance to manage in the big leagues.
Lou: Let me think it over, will you, Charlie? I got a guy on the other line about some whitewalls. I’ll take to you later.
Willie Mays Hayes: What the hell you been playing in?
Ricky Vaughn: California Penal.
Willie: Never heard of it. Well, how’d you end up playing there?
Ricky: Stole a car.
Pedro Cerrano: Hats for bats. Keep bats warm.
Cerrano: Bats, they are sick. I can no hit a curve ball. Straight ball, I hit very much. Curve ball, bats are afraid. I ask Jobu to come, take fear from bats. I offer him cigar and rum. He will come.
Eddie Harris: You know, you might think about taking Jesus Christ as you savior, instead of fooling around wit all this stuff.
Cerrano: Ahhhh, Jesus. I like him very much, but he no help with curve ball.
Harris: You trying to say Jesus Christ can’t hit a curve ball?
Vaughn: I look like a banker in this.
Jake: Sorry, Rick. Those are the house rules.
Harry Doyle: Just a reminder, fans, about Die Hard Night coming up here at the stadium. Free admission to anyone who was actually alive the last time the Indians won the pennant.
Harry Doyle: Just a bit outside.
Indians Fan #1: No way, too high. Too high.
Indians Fan #2: “Too high”? What does that mean. “too high”?
Indians Fan #1: Too high, I thought. Because of the trajectory of the ball, it looked way too high.
Harry Doyle: For the Indians, one run on, let’s see. one hit. That’s all we got, one goddamn hit?
Monte: You can’t say “goddamn” on the air.
Harry: Don’t worry, nobody’s listening anyway.
Arthur Holloway: Well, what team do you play for, Jake?
Jake: The Indians.
Claire Holloway: Here in Cleveland? I didn’t know they still had a team.
Jake: Yeah. We got uniforms and everything. It’s really great.
Tom: Stay away from her.
Jake: Suck my dick.
Harry Doyle: Vaughn, a juvenile delinquent in the off season, in his major league debut.
Clue Haywood: Taylor, what are you doing back up here?
Jake: I couldn’t cut it in the Mexican League.
Haywood: How’s your wife and my kids?
Jake: Uh-oh, Rexie. I don’t think this one’s got the distance.
Jake: Well, then I guess there’s only one thing left to do.
Roger Dorn: What’s that?
Jake: Win the whole fucking thing.
Cerrano: Pissed off now Jobu. Look, I go to you. I stick up for you. If you no help me now, I say, fuck you, Jobu. I do it myself.
Lou Brown: Forget about the curve ball, Ricky. Give him the heater.
Harry Doyle: The Duke leads the league in saves, strikeouts per inning and hit batsmen. This guy threw at his own son at a father-son game.
Harry Doyle: The Indians win it! The Indians win it! Oh, my God! The Indians win it!