Dear Billy Beane’s Fake Daughter in Moneyball,
I hate you. I hate you so much that I’m almost foaming at the mouth right now just thinking about you. Like I have rabies.*
On one hand, it’s not really your fault. I’m blaming you more for what you represent than what you are. You are Hollywood’s worst instincts. You are an appeal to our lowest common denominator. You are the dumbing down of every movie, TV show, album and book so that the maximum amount of people will enjoy it, even if that means nobody will enjoy it a lot. You are America’s decline. You are pop culture’s AIDS.
There is no need — none — for you to exist in the world of this film. You are ostensibly there to humanize the character of your father, to make him likable for the ladiez. But the ladiez were going to like him anyway because he is Brad Pitt. So when he drives around listening to your retarded song and gets teary-eyed, that helps nothing while undermining the character, the narrative and the entire goddamn movie.
Moneyball isn’t a bad movie — the creative team did a better job than I thought they would do, given the constraints of the story (such as it is). Yes, there are flaws (the demonization of Art Howe, the simplification and misrepresentation of the complicated ideas in the book, the absence of the draft scene), but it’s watchable and entertaining enough. Pitt is indeed likable as the cocky Beane, the baseball action is filmed well, and Jonah Hill is at his best as Fake Paul DiPodesta. But oh, how you ruined things. Unfortunately, you are my lasting memory from this movie and you taint and tarnish all the good stuff.
Your very existence is flawed. I know that Beane has daughters in real life, but you should not exist in this movie. You are not a character, you are a device. A cynical, focus-grouped device to make us feel in a movie about objectivity and the quest for knowledge. You are anathema to the ideas in Michael Lewis’s book and most of the ideas in the film. You are rotten to your non-existent core.
Beyond that, you’re fucking annoying. You’re supposed to cute and precocious, but you’re cloying and unrealistic. You are a hateful little girl, and I hate you. Most of all, I hate your fucking song. I hate your guitar, I hate the scene where Beane takes you guitar shopping, and I hate that your song becomes a recurring motif in the fucking movie.
Let’s take a closer look at your vile little ditty, which sounds directly ripped off from that annoying song in Juno and then dipped in a vat of cavity-causing syrup:
I’m just a little bit caught in the middle
What are you caught in the middle of, exactly? Your divorced parents? (And why is Robin Wright in this movie? She’s only in one scene!) Old and new ideas of how to evaluate baseball talent? OPB and batting average? Gym class and recess?
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
You’re five years old. Shut the fuck up.
I don’t know where to go, can’t do it alone
Go to school. Then go to bed. Repeat.
I’ve tried and I don’t know why
You’ve tried to do it alone at the age of five? Wow, very brave of you. So you’re not married yet? Very brave to be a strong, single woman in this complicated, demanding world. Kudos.
Slow it down, make it stop or else my heart is going to pop
A) What? B) You’re five. C) Your stupid fucking lyrics don’t make any sense.
Cause it’s too much, yeah it’s a lot to be something I’m not
SO MUCH PRESSURE ON YOU! Your life is so hard!
I’m a fool out of love cause I just can’t get enough
I’m just a little girl lost in the moment
You know what I like the most about you? You just get it, you know? You know what’s important in life and you really have your shit figured out. You don’t get bogged down in all the day-to-day bullshit. You have your priorities straight. You’ve very zen.
I’m so scared but I don’t show it
Again….so brave. So adorably brave. Also, “moment” doesn’t rhyme with “show it.”
* Disclaimer I wish weren’t necessary: I am obviously addressing a fictional character, and have nothing against the actress who plays her or Beane’s real-life daughter. Got it?