Kenny Powers is a god. Or at least, that’s what he’d tell you if you bumped into him at a Myrtle Beach dive bar while he’s inhaling a chili dog and nursing a lukewarm Mexican lager.
When people talk about the Danny McBride baseball show, they usually mean Eastbound & Down. It’s the HBO masterpiece that basically redefined the "difficult man" trope by making the protagonist an absolute dumpster fire of a human being. Honestly, if you haven't seen it, you’ve missed one of the most unapologetic character studies in TV history. It isn't just a comedy. It’s a tragedy wrapped in a mullet.
Why Eastbound & Down Still Matters in 2026
The show follows Kenny Powers, a former Major League pitcher with a "thunder" arm and a "flame" ego who loses it all. We’re talking a total career implosion fueled by steroids, bad behavior, and a lack of self-awareness that borders on a superpower.
He ends up back in his hometown of Shelby, North Carolina. He's teaching PE at his old middle school. He's living with his brother's family. It’s pathetic. But Kenny doesn't see it that way. In his head, he’s just on a "temporary hiatus" before his inevitable return to glory.
Most people think the show is just about vulgarity and 2000s-era cringe humor. They're wrong. It’s actually about the American Dream curdling. McBride and his frequent collaborators, Jody Hill and David Gordon Green, used the world of professional sports to look at how we idolize toxic winners.
The Real People Who Inspired Kenny Powers
You can’t talk about this show without mentioning John Rocker. McBride and Rocker were actually born in the same hospital in Statesboro, Georgia. Kinda wild, right? Rocker was the infamous Braves closer who became a pariah after a 1999 Sports Illustrated interview where he insulted basically every demographic in New York City.
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But Rocker isn't the only ghost in Kenny's machine. There's a bit of Mitch Williams in that haircut. There's a bit of the "Gambler" Kenny Rogers in his volatile temper. The creators also pulled from the 1980s "bad boy" era of baseball—guys like Steve Howe, who blew his career on repeated cocaine suspensions.
It’s this grounding in reality that makes the show work. Kenny isn't a cartoon. He’s a composite of every athlete who thought they were too big to fail until the gravity of their own choices finally dragged them down.
Breaking Down the Four Seasons
The structure of the show is actually pretty brilliant. It wasn't meant to last forever. McBride originally thought it would be a one-season-and-done deal.
- Season 1: The Return. Kenny is back in Shelby. He’s obsessed with his high school sweetheart, April Buchanon. He treats his assistant, Stevie Janowski, like a human footstool. It ends with a fake-out comeback that leaves him stranded at a gas station.
- Season 2: Mexico. Kenny flees to Mexico, adopts the name "Sebastian Ciccone," and starts playing for a local team called the Charros. This is where the show gets weird and experimental. It’s also where we see that Kenny’s toxicity isn't localized to North Carolina—it's portable.
- Season 3: The Minor Leagues. Kenny is in Myrtle Beach playing for the Mermen. He’s closer to the big leagues than he’s been in years, but he’s also saddled with a baby he doesn't know how to raise.
- Season 4: The Aftermath. This was the "bonus" season. Kenny is finally a family man, living a boring suburban life. But then he gets a taste of fame again via a sports talk show called The Mainline.
The finale is polarizing. Kenny fakes his own death. He moves to Santa Fe. He writes a screenplay. It’s a meta-commentary on how these types of men never truly change; they just find new ways to narrate their own legends.
What Everyone Gets Wrong About the Humors
People think Danny McBride is just playing himself. He isn't. If you watch his later work like Vice Principals or The Righteous Gemstones, you see the pattern. He plays men who are terrified of being insignificant.
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Kenny Powers uses arrogance as armor. Underneath the Jet Ski and the "You're Fucking Out" t-shirts, there’s a guy who knows his best days happened when he was 24 years old. That’s the "human-quality" part of the writing. You almost feel bad for him. Then he says something incredibly racist or sexist, and you remember: "Oh yeah, he's a monster."
The Legacy of the Mullet
So, why does a show about a washed-up pitcher from 2009 still get searched for in 2026?
Because the world is still full of Kenny Powers. We see them in politics, in tech, and especially in the "influencer" era. The show predicted the rise of the un-cancelable anti-hero. It showed us that as long as you have a loud enough voice and a shred of charisma, people will follow you into the abyss.
Also, Steve Little’s performance as Stevie Janowski is legit one of the greatest supporting turns in TV history. The way he allows Kenny to dismantle his soul—and his eyebrows—is comedy gold.
How to Revisit the World of Kenny Powers
If you’re looking to dive back into the Danny McBride baseball show, here’s how to do it right:
- Watch the "Chapter" Format: Don't think of them as episodes. Think of the show as a long, messy novel. The creators literally titled the episodes as chapters.
- Look for the Cameos: Will Ferrell as the Ric Flair-inspired car dealer Ashley Schaeffer is a highlight. Matthew McConaughey also pops up as a scout.
- Check out the "Rough House" Vibe: This was the first major project from Rough House Pictures. It set the tone for everything McBride, Hill, and Green did later.
If you want to understand modern comedy, you have to understand Kenny Powers. He's the guy who threw a 100-mph fastball at a child's head and expected a standing ovation. He's a mess. But he’s our mess.
Go back and watch the pilot. Pay attention to the soundtrack. It’s mostly classic rock and Southern grit. It captures a very specific type of American desperation that most shows are too scared to touch. Just don't try the "Kenny Powers workout" at home. It mostly involves light beer and poor decision-making.
You should start by streaming the first season on Max. It’s only six episodes. You can finish it in an afternoon. See if the humor holds up for you—most find that in the current era of "safe" comedy, Kenny’s raw, unfiltered idiocy feels more refreshing than ever. Once you finish that, look into McBride’s other HBO projects to see how he evolved this specific brand of "the delusional man" over the next decade.