Imagine walking into a party and making your way to the kitchen to find Bill Murray doing the dishes. Strange, you may say. Impossible, right? It may sound like an urban legend whispered in the back rooms of bars or told over a beer with friends who won’t believe you, but it’s not a legend.

“The Bill Murray Stories: Life Lessons from a Mythical Man” is a documentary directed by Tommy Avallone for Netflix that may sound like a bunch of party stories, but that would be just a sampling of what makes Bill Murray such a legend. At the root of it all is his profound mantra one could find in many of his movies: “It just doesn’t matter anymore.”

Yep, that one line chanted with hysterical reverie in the film “Meatballs” nearly fourty years ago (yikes) is the backbone to a philosophy by a very open and generous man. “The Bill Murray Stories” is a movie/documentary that will put a smile on your face.

The countless tales told by everyday people living everyday lives are striking. From making friends with strangers to being a background figure in a crowd, Murray lives with generosity and humility that break tradition with celebrity posturing. Can you imagine sitting on a bar stool and turning to see Murray sitting next to you? If that’s not enough, as you strike up a conversation with him, others who approach for Murray’s autograph are dismissed with a simple sentence: “Thank you, but I’m in a conversation right now.”

For all intents and purposes, Bill Murray (a household name by now) should be either an intensely private individual or ridiculously egocentric. Somehow neither is the case. Bill has moved through life making others feel better about themselves and creating an atmosphere of goodwill and fun.

Can you imagine setting up an after-show party with your band and in comes Murray helping carry in amps, drum kits, etc.? No one knows him and yet they do. Everyone whispers: “Is that Bill?” and he will carry on a conversation with you as if he were no one special. Can you imagine when the cops come to tell you to lower the volume of the party and Bill Murray dances a jig and bangs away with a tambourine in the cop’s face? It happened and it was caught on tape.

According to Psychology Today, the words “It just doesn’t matter” has been “ attributed to nihilists, existentialists, and absurdists as a mantra.” Those words indicate, for those few, that life is meaningless. That’s not how Murray sees it (despite being perhaps the quintessential absurdist). If you were to ask him what it’s all about, he would most likely smile without answering and fade into the crowd.

What it means, it would seem for Murray, is to not sweat the small stuff. Is that not what the ridiculous monologue in “Meatballs” is all about? To do your best, to make an impact on the world, to subscribe to passion and not to worry about the outcome? “It just doesn’t matter anymore. IT just doesn’t matter anymore. IT JUST DOESN’T MATTER ANYMORE!”

Who would have thought that the class clown of “SNL” would become the Dalai Lama of Hollywood socialites, a down-to-earth man who would be more likely to pull out a roll of bills to pay for the last round of drinks at a bar when no one else has a dollar to their name than to host a party at a swanky location of his choosing?

Maybe it’s more of a “going with the flow” type thing. Whatever the case, it’s a successful attitude that keeps everyone at ease. No armor, no fake niceties, no lavish parlor tricks. Why? Because it just doesn’t matter anymore.

Today we have a culture that struggles to grasp the concept of racism. We tend to make smaller matters larger than life. But real racism is alive and well to this day, and the latest season of “Hap and Leonard” from Sundance TV is quite the cautionary tale.

Surprisingly, Season 3 of “Hap and Leonard” (the final season from Sundance TV) defines what it means to live in a world of divide, segregation and basic human rights denied to someone of color. Certainly, other movies or shows take a stab at it, but not with the subtlety of a blunt instrument that embodies Joe R. Lansdale’s “The Two-Bear Mambo,” one of the many Hap and Leonard books the series is based on.

In a brief, but addicting, six episodes, we take a ride with Hap Collins (James Purefoy, “The Following,” “Solomon Kane”) and Leonard Pine (Michael Kenneth Williams, “The Wire,” “Boardwalk Empire”) as they search for Hap’s missing black girlfriend, Florida (Tiffany Mack), and end up in Grovetown, Texas. It is here where walking down a street while being black will not just garnish you dirty looks, but may risk your life as well.

If you are a fan of the show, you know Hap is a white heterosexual and Leonard is a black gay veteran. Both have known each other since childhood and consider each other brothers. These are not good traits to have in Grovetown.

Before even reaching their destination, Hap and Leonard come upon an elderly black couple selling food on a dirt road. When they tell the couple where they are heading, they reply, “Oh, they’ll love you” and wave them away with a rousing laugh. “Love” is not the word that comes to mind. Upon entry to Grovetown, they are met with those dirty looks. The basic tropes are used to imply subtle racism, such as ordering food in a diner and being forced to order that food to go, or a “no vacancy” sign being suddenly lit up when you ask for a room. The basics are simple and evil enough, but the show doesn’t stop there.

Real racism is coming to find your car with slashed tires, an American flag thrust through the front windshield and the words “N----- go home” emblazoned in spray paint on the door. Real racism is being chased down the street by an angry mob on one side and hooded figures with burning crosses on the other. Real racism is getting hung by a noose from a bridge for doing the right thing.

These are just a few of the violent racist acts, which can still be found in the deep South, that both Hap and Leonard must endure. The latest season isn’t completely about racism, but it is the main theme and one that is not shied away from. Even the town sheriff (brilliantly played by Corbin Bernsen) pays a price for showing the slightest amount of justice for a man of different pigmentation.

There is much to like about this latest and last season. It is a story of myth, love and devotion as much as it is about hate, racism and death. The acting is on point, the writing is superb, and the content is sometimes appalling to watch. It’s not every day you hear someone refer to another person as “not human” while struggling to understand that person as anything other than an “animal.”

“Hap and Leonard: The Two Bear Mambo” is a hard look at a hard subject, and if you don’t walk away frustrated by the racial divide, you might have missed the point. Racism is at its most evil when violence is accepted as a way of life and those with a conscience look the other way. Don’t look the other way. Watch “Hap and Leonard” on Netflix, available now.

In 1972, the Portland Beavers left the town of Portland. Professional baseball was considered a waning sport and attendance dipped to the point of unsupportable. The stadium, once filled with rabid fans, was left standing, but empty. The sport of baseball was no longer the draw it once was.

Then along came a Hollywood star by the name of Bing Russell, best known as the Deputy Clem Foster on “Bonanza,” who turned the sport of baseball on its collective head. Bing was well-known for his acting, but what was not known was his love of baseball. Russell grew up in St. Petersburg, Florida, the home of spring training for the New York Yankees. Russell watched from the other side of the fence as greats like Lefty Gomez and Joe DiMaggio practiced ball. Before too long he was noticed and was asked to be the unofficial mascot for the team. He even inherited Lou Gehrig’s bat upon his retirement.

So, it’s easy to see the blood of baseball roared through Russell’s veins. He was a true student of the game, going so far as to create his own series of training films staring his son, Kurt (yes, THE Kurt Russell). When the day came, and the Beavers moved from Portland, Russell saw an opportunity. Back then professional baseball had all but eliminated minor league baseball. Once a thriving sport of independent teams, there were none left by the time 1972 rolled around."

Bing Russell forged ahead with the idea that the town of Portland could use something different and sought to reinvigorate the independent baseball category known as “Class A.” He met with all the capable players that professional teams had given up on, players considered too old or past their prime, and developed the legendary team the Mavericks.

The Mavericks dominated the sport of baseball as the only independent team, destroying every professional team out there starting with a no-hitter game on their first outing. They were considered the misfits of baseball. The team was not just there to play the game but to have fun at it as well. Antics on the field were best compared to professional wrestling or a circus.

The Mavericks were unprofessional professional misfits who had earned the moniker “The Battered Bastards of Baseball.” If you are not a fan of sports, this documentary will make you wish you were one in the ’70s.

For the next five years few teams could compete at the level the Mavericks were playing. But they weren’t just a talented bunch of ballplayers. They were a talented bunch of jokers as well. Portland suddenly was alive with baseball. Nowhere else could you find a dog, an official member of the team, on the field. Nowhere else could you find props like brooms being brought by fans as they “swept” the competition. Nowhere else could you find on-field antics akin to Harold Lloyd or Abbot and Costello. Hell, even the bat boy was thrown out of a game for profanity.

The professional teams absolutely hated the Mavericks and did everything to stop them. Five years later they succeeded. But not before showcasing some of the most entertaining baseball to ever be played. By the end, Russell single-handedly brought the minor division back to baseball and taught the professionals not to give up on their players.

The Mavericks were unprofessional professional misfits who had earned the moniker “The Battered Bastards of Baseball.” If you are not a fan of sports, this documentary will make you wish you were one in the ’70s. Netflix (and Sundance) hits a home run with this documentary and it’s entertaining as hell.