The first of the summer’s five big sports movies, “Kicking and Screaming,” is a soccer movie that feels like it was shot in a week, on a Nickelodeon budget, with the actors mostly making it up as they went along. But it stars Will Ferrell, and sometimes that’s all you need.

Mr. Ferrell plays Phil, a suburban soccer dad who sells vitamins, drives a minivan, and keeps the white-hot glow of his impotent rage buried deep beneath his rubbery love handles and back hair. His alpha-male father, Buck (Robert Duvall, in “Great Santini” mode), lives down the street and sees life as an endless series of competitions that he is determined to win at all costs.

When Phil announces he’s getting married, Buck announces that he’s getting remarried. Phil’s wife gets pregnant, and Buck’s wife not only gets pregnant as well, but delivers a son who’s exactly one ounce heavier than Phil’s. Phil coaches the soccer team on which both of their sons play, and the breaking point comes when Buck trades his grandson to the local loser team, the Tigers. Phil becomes their coach and realizes that Little League soccer will be the arena where he can battle Buck for his self-esteem.

Such films being what they are, we all know that the Tigers will win the Big Game, that Phil will learn a valuable lesson about competition, and that the director will do everything as cheaply and crudely as possible. Eminently bland, the movie is redeemed by two good performances.

Neither of these comes from Mr. Duvall; he can do this kind of role in his sleep. Instead, it’s Chicago Bears coach Mike Ditka – playing Chicago Bears coach Mike Ditka – who goes out a chorus girl and comes back a star. When Phil goes to war with Daddy, he turns to the monstrous Mr. D. to help him whip his multiculti team of losers into shape. Mr. Ditka wields his whip with brutal brio.

Mr. Ferrell’s performance as Phil is hit and miss, but the hits are so palpable that they wash the stale taste of his recent DOA Woody Allen flick, “Melinda and Melinda,” right out of your mouth. I’m not sure what young children are going to get from this movie, but for adults there are just enough doses of Mr. Ferrell’s absurdity to keep you going. He manages to make all the wrong physical choices when executing basic slapstick, turning a tetherball challenge into a freakish ballet of middle-aged body failure. The highlight is one excruciatingly unfunny moment when he presents his losing team with pet finches.

This film was directed by Bob Dylan’s son, Jesse Dylan (who, presumably, has his own daddy issues), and it is not done particularly well. The fourth time someone gets nailed in the crotch by a soccer ball you’ll find yourself feeling pathetically grateful that Mr. Ferrell is never off screen for more than 30 seconds at a time.