Invincible
Mark Wahlberg, Elizabeth Banks, Greg Kinnear

It takes some doing for your name to become a profanity to more than a handful of people. I mean, I have worked long and hard and am still not up to that level. You usually have to be a king, president, or something important like that. Yet, if you happen to be driving through certain areas in New England, you might hear the name of a sawed-off, banjo-hitting New York Yankees shortstop tossed around as if it were synonymous to one of those words that your minister warned you to avoid; the kind of word that causes even a seasoned sailor blush. “Russell Earl O'Dey Dent… career .247 hitter… “Bucky” Dent… hit only 40 home runs in twelve big league season… Bucky “F#$&ing” Dent. Not one of the overpaid, pinstriped sluggers like Reggie Jackson, Thurman Munson, Graig Nettles, Lou Piniella, or Mickey Rivers… but #%@$ Bucky #@%#@ Dent, the one hitter in the entire Yankee lineup who even a Little Leaguer would smile with confidence facing.” This guy nicknamed Bucky cost the 1978 Boston Red Sox a chance at World Series glory. The year was 1978 and everything appeared to be going Boston’s way. Led by 38-year-old future Hall-of-Fame outfielder Carl “Yaz” Yastrzemski, a pitcher could get seriously hurt facing the likes of Carlton Fisk, George Scott, Fred Lynn, Dwight Evans, and Jim Rice. Dennis Eckersley, Luis Tiant, Mike Torrez, and Bill “The Spaceman” Lee were as good as any starting four out there, and closer Bob Stanley could shut the door with the best of them. In the middle of July, they had a 14-game lead on the defending World Series’ champion Yankees in the American League East. The Bronx Bombers were in such disarray that manager Billy Martin was fired and replaced by affable Bob Lemon. Then it was as if God had stepped in and decided to load the dice against Beantown. The Yankees went on a tear, winning 52 out of 73 games, while Yaz’s team wilted in the summer heat. At one point in the last month of the season, they lost 14 of 17. With 2 weeks left to go in the season, they were 3½ games behind the Yanks. It was a sure thing that Don Zimmer, maybe the ugliest man alive, would be looking for a new team to coach. In the midst of the darkness, a miracle happened – maybe it was all the prayers by all the faithful; maybe God took compassion on the town that hadn’t seen a World Series’ trophy in 60 years – the Red Sox won their last eight games. When the dust cleared, the regular season was over, and they were tied with the Bombers. On October 2nd, there would be a one-game playoff between the two teams at Fenway Park in Boston, 24-game-winner Ron Guidry vs. Torrez, winner take all. The old man, Yaz, seemed to take matters into his own hands early on, poking one into the right field seats, 1-0. Big Jim Rice drove home shortstop Rick Burleson to put Boston up 2-0. In the 7th, Chambliss and outfielder Roy White reached base on a pair of singles. With 2 down, up to the plate stepped Dent. Normally, the Yankees would have replaced their light-hitting infielder with a pinch-hitter off of their deep bench; but regular second baseman Willie Randolph was hurt, and the only remaining middle infielder on the bench, Fred Stanley, was already designated to replace fill-in second baseman Brian Doyle, who hadn’t even reached the Mendoza line of a .200 average (.192) and had be pinch-hitted for earlier in the inning. Across New England, a sigh of relief could be almost heard. It looked as though Torrez was going to escape by the skin of his teeth. Dent dug in. Torrez’s first pitch was just outside the strike zone, ball one. The next pitch was right down the heart of the plate, Dent swung, connected, and fouled the ball right off his foot. Time was called; the Yankee trainer ran out to examine Dent’s wheel. Five minutes passed, an injured Dent stepped back up to the plate, dug in, and then suddenly noticed that his bat was cracked. He had brought the wrong bat up to the plate with him. It was as worthless as swinging a wet noodle. Time was called again, and a new bat retrieved. Dent dug in again. Torrez fire a bullet at the plate, Dent swung, connected, driving the ball towards the 37-foot wall in left field… going… going… gone, home run. The little man who only hit four other dingers all year long had just crushed the hopes and dreams of thousands of New England fans. Countless Boston supporters were left, jaw-opened, their world in shattered because of Bucky “F’ing” Dent.
Americans love the underdog story. The little guy with pluck, guts, and little else that overcomes the odds to do the impossible or the lovable band of losers and misfits that pull together to win the big game. We thrill to the Mr. Smith that takes on the political machine. We identify with these stories. We are the little guy going out into the world, and if Rudy or Rocky can do it, maybe we can too. The formula works almost every time - Hoosiers, Miracle, The Rookie, Cinderella Man, Fear Strikes Out, The Stratton Story, Bad News Bears, Breaking Away, The Longest Yard, Karate Kid, Major League, Slap Shot, Phar Lap, Seabiscuit, The Natural, Victory, Dodgeball, Wimbledon, and Kingpin, just to name a few. It worked in 1925 when the hilarious Harold Lloyd strapped on a football helmet as nerdy college student trying to become popular in The Freshman, and it will work until the earth rids herself of humanity like fleas being shaken off a dog’s back. The newest installment in this genre is Invincible, the story of Vince Papale.
If you had met him on the streets of Philadelphia in 1976, you would probably not have given much thought to the 30-year-old, 5-9, 176-pounder whose life seemed to be going nowhere. He had just suffered from a divorce and had been laid off his teaching job, finding his lot in life as that of a bartender. One of his few joys was watching the Philadelphia Eagles take to the gridiron. Growing up, he loved watching Hall of Fame wide receiver Tommy McDonald play. Yet, the football team from the City of Brotherly Love was experiencing hard times. In 1975, the Eagles, under head coach Mike McCormack, had limped through a 4-10 season, finishing in the cellar of the NFC East. It had been a decade since the birds had even sniffed a winning record. So no one thought much would change when new owner Leonard Tose talked fiery workaholic UCLA college coach Dick Vermeil into taking the helm of the hapless franchise. Deciding that he needed to shake things up, Vermeil decided to hold an open tryout. With nothing left to lose, Papale, who had never play college ball, but had played a few snaps as a wide receiver for a local minor league football team called the Philadelphia Bells, decided to tryout for the team. At least the former college track athlete could tell friends and family that he tried. Vermeil drove the recruits into the ground and when the last whistle sounded, Papale was the only one left standing. In training camp, his new teammates did not take kindly to what they considered a publicity stunt; and they decided to show him how brutal professional football could be. Yet, when the final roster was posted, Papale named was on the list. At 30-year-old, he was the oldest rookie who was not a kicker in league history. Realizing how improbable and unbelievable was Papale’s accomplishment, teammates and fans nicknamed him after a movie that was sweeping the nation that year, Rocky. While the former high school teacher and bartender never became a star in the league, he became a special teams player and was such an inspiration to his teammates that they elected him as one of the team captains. Then came the unbelievable, in the second game of the season against the New York Giants, the little wide receiver ran down the field so hard on a punt that he caused two defenders to collide with the punt returner, leading to a fumble, which Papale promptly recovered and led to a quick score by the Birds a few moments later, helping Vermeil to his first win as an NFL coach. Papale lasted 3 seasons with the Eagles and had the privilege of playing on the Philadelphia’s first winning season in the 1970s in his final season as a player and felt that he helped contribute to the only Eagles’ Super Bowl win in 1980.

Verdict: A Nice Little Inspirational Movie