All you horny MILFs, stay away from former Scottish football star George (Gerard Butler). I mean, you can try to bed him with your minxy wiles, but very few of you will succeed. That's because George has been to party central and already enjoyed its many sports-nymphs. And after that he made a left turn at sorrow's kitchen where he licked out all the pots. Then he hit bottom and sold his own memorabilia to make ends meet, eventually becoming super-focused on rebuilding his life, all in the service of wooing back his former wife (Jessica Biel), an untouchable goddess with permanently annoyed dead-eyes. She took their toddler son and left George for the security of leafy, suburban Virginia, only to hook up with George's polar opposite, a boring guy whose name nobody can remember, a man whose only lines in the film are, "Hey there, George." This means, for better or worse, George still has a shot and he's not going to ruin it by sexing any of you soccer moms with your fresh-baked divorces and your giant Real Housewives wine glasses and your hungry eyes.

You ladies need to be extra sensitive to George's plight because he has other issues, too. Like, for example, he's clearly disoriented from all that soul-searching and Biel-longing. Proof: the man is from Scotland but the word "soccer" just flies from his mouth like he's been calling it that his entire life. Except for maybe Madonna, this kind of linguistic over-enthusiasm for a new country is not what people do. Ever. I spent six months in London once and I never did start calling cookies "biscuits" or pronounce "aluminum" in that weird way they do over there. Do you think Posh and Becks call it "soccer?" Not on your life, and they pretty much bought all of Los Angeles when they moved there. Those are people who know themselves. George, on the other hand, is a sad, scruffy, confused pile of hair. Unless, of course, the reason this is happening is because Gerard Butler, as producer of this film, just forced Gerard Butler, the star of this film, to sell out his own national honor in case one mouth-breathing audience member fails to recognize that the sport with the round ball is called football to people from the U.K. and every other country on Earth that isn't the United States. Whatever the reason, is this a stable man, the kind of person you want raising a child? No, it's not. And Jessica Biel is right to forsake him now and forever.

And then there's George's movie-problem. He wants to take an on-air job with ESPN but it's in another state along the eastern seaboard. How will he handle joint custody of a child and also have a job? If only someone would invent a really efficient rail system that could connect all the states along that corridor where almost all the major media jobs in the country are located so that people could live in one place and work in another. You can see, surely, how troubling this nightmare scenario is for our hero. Well, a man can dream of having it all, can't he?

Sorry if this didn't feel like much of a movie review. On second thought, I'm not sorry at all. It's not much of a movie.


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