BY GEOFF BOUCHER

Los Angeles Times

LOS ANGELES

--Mileage and misadventure leave their marks, but we don't always notice the damage right away. One recent day, for instance, Clint Eastwood had a realization that stopped him in his tracks just outside his bungalow on the Warner Bros. lot.

"Son of a gun," the 82-year-old muttered as he leaned over his beloved 1992 GMC Typhoon and dragged an index finger over the mysterious inch-long scratch marring the forest-green paint just above the grill.

Later, sitting among the brown-leather shadows of his office, Eastwood seemed considerably less concerned about any dents in his reputation after his eccentric, meandering speech at the Republican National Convention late last month.

"I didn't want to do the usual teleprompter thing. I didn't know what the hell I was going to do," the genial star said of his spur-of-the-moment decision to use an empty chair as a prop representing President Obama. "If I had more time I would have organized more. Maybe, but I don't know."

As Eastwood related tales of Tampa he nodded to the couch next to him for effect even though it wasn't empty--it was occupied by Robert Lorenz, director and co-producer of "Trouble With the Curve." They have worked together since 1994 and when Eastwood said the Republican leadership "probably had a little apoplexy" during the speech, a winking Lorenz said he could feel their pain.

"That kind of sums up what it's like to direct Clint Eastwood," Lorenz deadpanned. "You never know what's going to come out. But at least you have an advantage of having an editor afterwards."

The two laughed together, but there were moments Lorenz's tight grin looked suspiciously like silver-medalist smiles at the Olympics. If that was the case it would be understandable--Eastwood's screwball speech might be a strike against "Trouble With the Curve" before it gets up to bat.

The movie, opening today, stars Eastwood as cantankerous Gus Lobel, a baseball scout who may be in the last inning of his storied career as his eyesight goes out. Help comes from the most unlikely source: his estranged daughter, Mickey, played by three-time Oscar nominee Amy Adams.