Semi-Pro is one Will Ferrell Afro-sized disappointment. I'm just putting that out there, because of course there are clever, even redeemable moments; but the truth is, I didn't laugh out loud. Not even once. Will Ferrell is the only one presenting any kind of enthusiasm for his role, and even Woody Harrelson's Celtic-turned-Tropic point guard is more played out than his role in Kingpin. But, as is my inclination, I'm going to dig for the Nuggets (pun intended) in this flat basketball of a movie.

Ferrell plays the Mark Cuban kind of owner that would make Dan Snyder proud. There's a lot of socio-economic commentary that could be had here: a singer buys a team and decides he's the best one to coach AND play power forward. Thank goodness we don't have to watch Cuban feeding Dirk the ball in the post or watch Snyder trying to throw downfield for Santana Moss, although if Todd Collins can do it&ellips; but I digress.

The truth is that this owner-coach-player has no idea how the game is meant to be played. He's even worse than Cuban, he's pre-2005 Donald Sterling, the owner who doesn't care if the team wins, he just wants to be the center of attention and he wants to own something. The benefit of Harrelson's pg is that he actually knows how the game should be played: he has a real love for the game. Unlike Ferrell's stooge, there's a desire to play the game the right way, to make sacrifices, and strive higher.

Unfortunately, all of the relational aspects of the movie lack the development that the basketball players find on the court. Harrelson's pro has an affair with his married ex-flame, unabashedly, even "coolly." To make matters worse, her husband takes great pride in the fact that his wife is having sex with his favorite player. Like much of the foolishness of Talladega Nights, it's intended. How much idolatry and hero worship do we engage in? Granted, it's probably a stretch for most fans to see their loved one having sex with a sports hero or celebrity and like it, but we go to insane ends to pursue those heroes, placing them on a pedestal where even their missteps are glorified.

From a faith perspective, I see Ferrell's Afro-laden figure as that of some Protestant churches. We think we have what it takes to make church happen, we fuel it with our will and enthusiasm and pursue worship blindly, figuring we have what it takes to make God proud. Unfortunately, too often, it becomes about us, about who we are and what we can do for God, rather than making it about God (or in Ferrell's case, about the game.) Then, along comes the Holy Spirit or someone the Spirit inspires, and we're reminded that it's not about us, it's about the game, or real worship.

In the end, there are lessons aplenty in Semi-Pro, but it wasn't enjoyable for me, and I found myself realizing why I was sitting alone in the darkened theater. Apparently, other fans had already heard: it's March Madness, and that beats watching a comedian try too hard and still not be funny, as the air hisses out of the ball he's been playing with. For real inspiration, go rent Elf, and celebrate Christmas in March. Better yet, go cheer on your favorite team, whether it's college or Little League: you'll lift your own heart and maybe, just maybe, you'll become part of the game, for real.