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A Roarer recently wrote an article listing the greatest fictional sports characters of all time.
A specific character mentioned in the comments got me thinking: in an incredibly crowded market, what could be the worst sports film of all time?
Cast your mind back, if you’re able to, or were around at the time, to 1983.
If, like me, you’re of a certain age, you were probably an excitable youth back then, eagerly awaiting the cinematic release of Return of the Jedi.
It had been three long years since Empire Strikes Back, the Star Wars trilogy’s previous chapter. I, and pretty much everyone I knew, was keen to find out if Han Solo was to escape from his frozen carbonite prison, and if Luke Skywalker had come to terms with the knowledge Darth Vader was his father.
With the Empire on the ascendancy, the Rebel Alliance scattered, and most fans’ favourite character having been shipped away to Jabba’s palace by the uber-cool bounty hunter Boba Fett, expectations ran high for what we thought would be the final film in the series.
Needless to say, most viewers’ expectations were met, as long as we overlook the fact a bunch of teddy bears with slingshots were able to bring down an entire army of stormtroopers equipped with high-tech weaponry.
But imagine for a moment if George Lucas and his colleagues had decided upon a different storyline.
There wasn’t going to be Luke battling Darth Vader with lightsabers, no audacious attack upon a “fully operational space station”, no Ewoks, no escape from Jabba’s palace, no “It’s a trap!”
Instead, all the fans around the world are presented with an entirely different film, where Luke makes a cursory appearance in the opening scenes, chatting with a couple of X-Wing mechanics at a rebel base in some new location.
A space station, perhaps. Or a moon.
One of the mechanics mentions he’s been asked to deliver an X-Wing to a dangerous and volatile planet in the Outer Rim and instead of rescuing Han, or completing Jedi training, or whatever, Luke offers to go along too.
Y’know, because it’s not like he has much else to get on with.
But… on the way they crash into a rogue nerf herder (and maybe his herd of nerfs too) and Luke is injured!
Where to now for our heroes?
Nowhere, that’s where.
Rather than finding out what Leia, Han, C3PO and the rest get up to, they’re never mentioned again. Instead we follow the adventures of the two X-Wing mechanics.
There’s laughter! As they dodge dim-witted Imperial Stormtroopers (possibly without retroactively dubbed Kiwi accents).
There’s romance! As one of our new protagonists falls for a glamorous actress while she’s modelling ostentatious headwear on Coruscant.
There’s danger! As they assist the Rebel cause and stall the destruction of the second Death Star by ensuring some building materials go missing. From an Imperial hardware depot on the other side of the galaxy. Or something.
Just as long as they’re nowhere near the Death Star or the Moon of Endor itself.
The only connection to the previous films is the occasional scene where Luke pops up to tell everyone his leg is still a bit sore, but hey, how are you two guys getting on?
Sound terrible? You’d be right.
Well, that’s pretty much what the third film in the Goal series is like.
I’m not going to say the first two Goal films are on a par with the original Star Wars trilogy – maybe the prequels, but definitely not the originals – but they’re decent enough films for anyone with an interest in football.
The trilogy follows the trials and tribulations of a young Mexican lad – Santiago Muñez – as he progresses from life as an illegal immigrant in the US, to the English Premier League, La Liga, then the World Cup.
Littered with cameos from big name players, and with the actors taking the field alongside them, the first two films were entertaining, lightweight froth that provided many ‘ooh, it’s him!’ moments.
Goal! (their exclamation mark, not mine), the first in the series, sees our hero living in Los Angeles when his ability with a ball is spotted by a holidaying scout from Newcastle United.
Over the course of the film he overcomes temptations and setbacks to become a regular player for the Premier League club.
Spurning the advances of many of the local floozies (we’ve all seen Geordie Shore right?), he meets a nice local girl and settles down.
He also finds time to help straighten out the club’s errant star player – a man who couldn’t be more of a tabloid journo’s dream if he tried: drugs, sex scandals, fighting with teammates, losing his touch in front of goal…
Goal II: Living the Dream was more of the same, but this time ‘Santi’ and his formerly scandal-prone friend had been transferred to Real Madrid.
And this time it’s our hero’s turn to go off the rails.
Surrounded by fawning acolytes and glamourous WAGs, and with more money and fame than he can cope with, Santi begins to believe his own hype.
From being the typical nice guy, he undergoes something of a personality change, and as a result nearly loses his girlfriend, his best friends, his career…
But this is a film series that thrives on cliches.
It’s not long before Santi has a chance encounter with someone from his past that causes him to see the error of his ways, mend his relationships with everyone, and find himself back in Real’s squad and on the bench during the Champions League final.
As the ‘plucky underdogs’ of Real Madrid (don’t laugh!) find themselves 2-0 down against a dominant and nasty Arsenal (I said no laughing!) – and being tormented by the Londoners’ star player, a man who bears an uncanny resemblance to Mr Mariah Carey – the coach orders Santi to warm up.
Well, you can guess how that turns out…
And so we come to Goal III: Taking on the World.
Produced during the 2006 World Cup, Goal III still included many appearances by well-known players, but rather than have them interact with the actors on the pitch, the on-field action was created with the kind of green screen effects that would embarrass the makers of Sharknado.
None of the other major characters from the series make an appearance: Santi’s girlfriend, his family members, his manager, his best friend. Not even a mention of them.
Even Santi himself is reduced to a supporting role, injured in a car smash in the first few minutes and unable to play – and, so it appears, to do anything else of note either.
Meanwhile, two of his Real Madrid teammates, a pair of oafish England internationals, neither of whom appeared in the first two films, take centre stage instead.
We follow these two players en route to the World Cup, and through a succession of implausible escapades.
How likely is it that Real Madrid would allow three of their players to travel unescorted into an unspecified Eastern European country so they can appear in a bizarre arthouse film, as happens here?
How is it that two internationals, on the eve of the biggest tournament of their respective careers, are able to drop out of training to make multiple trips around Europe on a whim?
And how are they permitted to do this without repercussions or recriminations from club, country or the media?
And how is it that, despite both being incredibly out of form they’re still regulars for Real Madrid, are the subject of continual transfer speculation, and still get called up to the England squad for the World Cup?
The only part that seems to not warrant a suspension of belief is when England eventually do get knocked out of the World Cup. In the quarter-finals. On penalties. By Portugal.
An event that not only reflected England’s actual demise during the World Cup proper, but something that seems to happen at every other tournament England get to.
All in all, this is one car crash of a movie (pun intended) that managed to make the previous two films look like works of genius and cheapen them simultaneously.
It’s also one of the few films I’ve ever seen that when tragedy does strike one of our ‘stars’, actually had me cheering.
So there you have it my fellow Roarers: Goal III, the dénouement of a trilogy that bears no relation to its previous parts, and my contender for the worst sports film ever made.
Although The Other Half, a risible romantic comedy set during Euro 2004 and starring Danny Dyer (Dyer by name, dire by nature?) runs a close second.
What are your thoughts as to the worst sports film ever made?
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