I don't want to give away a spoiler, but if you need a warning, here it is: The U.S.A. whips Commie butt in the end.

Now, for the five of you in the Congo who hadn't heard about this, I apologize. But you're more concerned with ethnic cleansing and finding a workable toilet than getting to a movie about hockey, anyway.

	Coach Brooks' decision to play midgets was a major reason the U.S. was an underdog to the Soviets.

I was 4 ½ years old when the "miracle on ice" took place, so I have no memory of the game itself, only what I read and hear in historical terms. So this movie served two fronts: Education and entertainment.

Like Seabiscuit, Miracle portrays the event as part of American morale. In the former, the Depression had the country, well, depressed. In the latter, the 1970s stunk, and the Carter administration was stinking more, with Americans needing a victory, any kind of win, especially over Commie pinkos, even if it was in sport. It was the impossible dream, to beat the unbeatable Soviets, winners of the Winter Olympic Gold Medal in '64, '68, '72 and '76. The U.S. last won it in '60, when 1980 coach Herb Brooks was cut a week before the event.

Snake Pliskin (Kurt Russell) is the late coach Brooks, strong in his opinions and goals, has seven months to turn a ragtag bunch of college kids into the best crew in the world. He's not looking for the best players by the 'right' players to constitute a team worthy of competing for the Gold medal, not just for a respectful showing.

Brooks plays plenty of mind-games, trying to get the players to hate him more than they hate each other, calculating every tidbit to win. There are tons of motivational words, platitudes and clichés, all of which work because this is a sports movie, and any sports flick is a cliché already.

But this is a true story, making it that much more inspirational in that Hoosiers sense of David slaying Goliath.

Patricia Clarkson, who has made a nice run of critically acclaimed movies, is Brooks' wife, Patti, a strong and supportive wife not afraid to tell Herb to get his head on straight and stop being an ass. Women. Can't live with them, can't win the Olympics without them.

Wooden acting is to be expected from the younger novice actors, hired for skating skills more than on-screen talent, so that's a minor point. You got over it in Hoosiers and BASEketball, and you'll let it slide in Miracle in favor of an All-American story.

Most of the hockey guys played in college, but strangely a few studied drama, which seems a little fru-fru for a sport of tough guys. You might recognize a few from small roles in other films or TV series, but I didn't, and that's what counts. I did like that Billy Schneider played his father, Buzz, a player on that 1980 squad.

Most of the time with the guys is spent with the players cemented in the sports books: Goalie Jim Craig (Eddie Cahill), Captain Mike Eruzione (Patrick O'Brien Demsey), Jack O'Callahan (Michael Mantenuto), Rob McClanahan (Nathan West), Mark Johnson (Eric Peter-Kaiser), et al.

The only real complaints I need to voice have to do with the filmmaking by director Gavin O'Connor, who has helmed only two films before: Tumbleweeds (1999), a chick flick that garnered several award nominations, and won the Sundance Filmmakers Trophy; and Comfortably Numb (1995), which was rated NC-17 for drugs and sex, and most certainly not near a family film as Miracle.

In fact, Miracle is just that for modern Hollywood, little to no foul language and not a whiff of sexual hijinks. Refreshing, for sure.

Back to my complaints, though, with O'Connor. There are far too many close-ups, so much so that I was identifying constellations on the actors' pores. Also, the action is fast, sure, but edited to shots so quickly and close-up that you have no idea of the big picture. I'd rather watch like they did on TV, from ten rows up via a camera on center ice moving back and forth with only occasional close-ups during stops in the action. I couldn't tell who was where, what was when and who did what much of the time with O'Connor' style.

He also could have edited it tighter. At over two hours it is stretched through a few slow spots, even though overall the story is powerful enough to overcome this. Most of the credit for staying interesting in the sluggish bits is reserved for Russell who overwhelmingly owns the film, which revolves around Herb Brooks and how he molded the team to a world champion.

The movie has a quiet sense of humor, and offers up plenty of smiles as we experience the team's emotional roller-coaster. When it came time to play the Soviets in the medal round (remember, the U.S. had to beat Finland for the gold later), many in the audience clapped and cheered every goal as if they were watching a real game in Philips Arena.

There's nothing like a world-beating hockey team to lift the country out of its doldrums one-hundred times more powerful than anything wussy President Carter could come up with. Then again, if such a victory occurred under a Republican's watch, the liberals would say it was a unilateral shame that inspired jingoism and nationalism damaging to the nation's First Amendment. Hippies suck. I'd go on about how proud of my country I am, but I'm afraid Tim Robbins will egg my car.

In closing, U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! All the way, baby!

I believe in miracles, but this was anything but; the coaches and players had the talent and heart to win all along, and made the dream reality.