Best to slug this one straight off the bat: you do not need to be a baseball fan to enjoy this movie. I'll put it like this : if you've played rounders with a tennis racket at some naff summer camp and have experienced the euphoria of a judicious home run, you're good to go.  If, like me, you're a bit far gone on sport and have read Michael Lewis' book, and are aware of the potential for the Moneyball cachet emerging in football: you're gold. 

Happily, the film refrains from excessive statistical jargon and instead presents the narrative through the lens of Oakland A's General Manager, Billy Beane. As a player, Beane was marked out for the top from the very beginning, but a flaky temperament and a perpetual knot in the chest conspired to prevent him from fulfilling his potential.

He is convinced that baseball remains his raison d'etre, setting out on a crusade to win against the odds as General Manager of the A's and go some way to achieving redemption. His failed career chiseled him into a stone; he is in fact the epitome of the alpha-male, and Pitt plays the role to a t.

The film opens with Beane sitting disillusioned in a scouting meeting, with his team of crusty Old Boys spouting the same old romantic bullshit about finding "The Good Face". Beane is there only in body, as he ponders to himself just how the A's are going to break out of the same vicious cycle of losing their best players to the big sharks.

Enter Peter Brand (Brand is not an actual person and is more of a loose representation of Paul De Podesta, who did not agree to be portrayed in the film), played by Jonah Hill. Beane meets him by chance and becomes instantly besotted by his statistical nous. He is just the malleable little geek he was looking for. Hill, though, is miscast; the real person being represented is not even overweight (it actually looks like Hill intentionally gained weight for the role, which is just a gratuitous waste of food if you ask me).

Hill doesn't do anything especially wrong, it's just he doesn't convince as an uber-nerd. Maybe that's because I can't dissociate from his ''cock-pussy-cock'' ramblings in Superbad. That said, Pitt and Hill do strike up some chemistry and a useful partnership emerges, Brand's stuffy geekiness working as a foil for Beane's sheer charisma.

Hill doesn't do anything especially wrong, it's just he doesn't convince as an uber-nerd. Maybe that's because I can't dissociate from his ''cock-pussy-cock'' ramblings in Superbad. That said, Pitt and Hill do strike up some chemistry and a useful partnership emerges, Brand's stuffy geekiness working as a foil for Beane's sheer charisma. 

Initially Brand essentially occupies the role of ''bitch'', waddling around after Beane and producing statistics from memory when pointed at, but as Beane becomes ever more convinced with the new departure, he gradually allows Brand closer into his circle of trust, to the point where he becomes his one and only confidante.

Midway through the season Brand is exalted to acting assistant GM much to the incredulity of the crusty old scouts, who heap scorn on Beane's iconoclastic plans. Brand's remit soon extends to cutting players from the roster, which offers some of the film's funnier turns, of which there are many. The A's coach, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, isn't having any of it however. He's an old school, tobacco spittin', darn tootin-in' Southna', and can't begin to fathom the Moneyball concept. 

No matter to Beane; he effectively relegates his coach to the role of a patsy, and along with his geeky sidekick, takes over the dressing room in yet another unprecedented move. The film is by now moving seamlessly from one scene to the next as the team embark on a record-breaking winning streak, with Beane and Brand running the show.

All the while, Pitt deftly plays the eccentricities of Beane's character; his superstitious outlook sending him to the gym during the games to pump the guns, and smashing inanimate objects when he learns of defeats. In the end, Beane manages to reconcile the Moneyball concept with some of the soppy romance he so disdains, as he realises the folly of applying the philosophy so dogmatically. Maybe he doesn't even disdain it, maybe he's been trying to suppress his emotions in his terrible fear of failure.

What shines through more than anything is the singular trailblazing life of Billy Beane; a man who became so consumed by the game that he nearly shut himself off entirely from those around him, and cocooned himself somewhat in the sport to shelter him from his solitude. Stats are minimalised and what transpires is an enjoyable tale of sport's capacity to give definition to life. 8 balls out of 10

Paul Morrissey

Appendix: Moneyball Concept

For the 150 year history of the sport of baseball, the recruitment policy practiced centered on scouting players based on their experience to date, as well as a combination of intangibles bound up in a player's ''make-up'' - their family background, their off-field behaviour (baseball attracts the feckless types, given to the procurement of hookers and mild narcotics), and even their facial features.

Yes, that's right : baseball scouts are forever on the look-out for The Good Face. The thinking goes that an attractive face with good jaw/bone structure equals attractive spouse, equals happiness, equals confidence to perform in the Big Leagues. This is all bupkis to Billy Beane, GM of the Oakland A's. He's had it up to his tits with the same annual rigmarole. It's clearly not working. He knows The Oakland A's can no longer compete like that against the Red Sox; they haven't got the means and need a new approach.

That approach is going to rely on statistics, such as batting averages, to provide them with the information they need to recruit players. In a word, they no longer care about what a player has done, nor what he looks like; they want to know what he still can do based purely on the mathematics of his vital career statistics, thereby producing a more cost-efficient team.