Once Joey decided she was making a sports movie, she didn't waste a single second. That's just how she rolls.
If you wanna win over women, you give them perfume, designer dresses, and diamonds. If you wanna win over men? You give them sweat on a green field and the wide-eyed heart of someone chasing a dream.
She was about to drop a sports movie that would conquer every red-blooded dude in North America. All that blood, sweat, and fire was going to shut up every guy who ever smirked and called her "the chick-flick girl."
From everything she remembered from her past life, the sports movies that absolutely crushed it (the ones that had the whole country talking and guys fist-pumping in the theater) all shared a few golden rules:
1. Based on a true story or real people. That "this actually happened" punch hits different. Think Remember the Titans or Rush.
2. The hero can't start out as some natural-born genius. He's gotta claw his way up from rock bottom (ridiculed, counted out, maybe even disabled or slow). Think Coach Carter or Facing the Giants.
3. You have to tackle racism head-on. The lead can't be another white guy. He's gotta be Black, Latino, Asian (something). Because minorities always get extra hate on the way up, and that struggle screams "American Dream" louder than anything else. See 42 or Invictus.
4. The sport itself has to be one that's been dominated by white dudes forever. That way the hero is storming a castle everyone said he didn't belong in. Think Glory Road or Miracle.
Hit even one of those points with solid filmmaking, and you've got a crowd-pleaser. Nail two or three? You're making a classic.
Million Dollar Baby checked two of those boxes and, thanks to Clint Eastwood being a genius, became legendary.
A few years from now, some little movie called The Blind Side is gonna come out of nowhere and clean up for the exact same reason: it hits all four points. Low budget, insane box office, turns Sandra Bullock into an Oscar queen overnight.
Joey wanted the same magic. So she started cooking.
She'd actually thought about sports movies in her past life, and one idea always stuck: baseball.
Football already has a million movies. Baseball (America's pastime, the number-two most popular sport) still had room to run. Plus, she actually understood baseball. Hockey and basketball? Not so much.
And baseball? Historically white as hell.
That's why a Black or Latino kid breaking through always felt revolutionary.
Enter Robinson Cano.
The guy's a second-generation star (his dad pitched in the majors), but Joey did her homework and realized the dude's early story was pure fire. Dominican kid from a rough background, gets overlooked because of where he's from, fights through every stereotype, and ends up an MVP for the Yankees.
She looked up everything she could, then cold-called the man himself.
She told him straight-up: "I want to make a movie about your life."
He laughed at first (thought it was a prank), then got super into it. Said he'd be honored and would help however he could.
They talked for hours. All the struggle, the doubters, the grind (exactly what she expected, but with details that made her eyes water).
She took pages and pages of notes and got to work.
Obviously she'd have to dramatize some stuff (movies aren't documentaries), but the big beats would stay true. She just needed to add the heart-tugging moments that make audiences stand up and cheer.
Title? She stole it from the future without shame: The Blind Side.
Because she wanted that same warm, triumphant, you-can-do-anything feeling.
Thanks to all the prep she'd done in her last life, the script flew out of her.
One month later: done.
The script followed a kid born in 1982, growing up dirt-poor in Nigeria (yeah, she took some creative liberties), falling in love with baseball in a place where nobody even knew what it was. Skinny, ragged clothes, no bat, no glove, no shoes (but ridiculous raw talent).
He shocks the world in some international youth tournament, earns a shot in America, then steps into the whitest sport in the country as a Black teenager. Teammates ice him out, fans boo him, scouts laugh… but one coach believes in him.
Cue racism, slurs, insane pressure, and our boy rising up to become league MVP and a walking middle finger to every bigot who said he didn't belong.
Joey leaned back after the final page and let out a huge breath.
It wasn't 100% factually accurate (Robinson Cano is Dominican, not Nigerian, and his journey was tough but not quite that cinematic), but it was close enough in spirit, and the emotional truth felt bulletproof.
Now came the hard part: casting.
If you want a Black leading man with universal heat in America, there's only one name at the top: Will Smith.
The dude's the only Black actor in the $20-million-club, killer actor, stupid handsome, and (most importantly) he loves sports movies. Ali, The Legend of Bagger Vance, Concussion… the man has a type.
He'd be perfect.
But… he costs a fortune.
Her whole budget for The Blind Side was maybe $25 million tops. That's indie money. Will Smith doesn't get out of bed for less than eight figures.
Sure, sometimes A-listers slash their rate for prestige passion projects… but Joey's never made a sports movie. She's the "rom-com princess" to half of Hollywood. Why would Will bet on her suddenly going full Friday Night Lights?
She was stuck.
Frustrated, she changed clothes, drove out of her Santa Monica canyon house, and cruised over to Beverly Hills to clear her head.
She stopped at a dessert place, grabbed a matcha ice-cream cone, and sat outside licking it like a tourist.
That's when a ridiculously expensive supercar roared past, the wind almost flipping her skirt up.
It screeched to a stop right in front of her.
A little Black boy hopped out of the passenger seat yelling, "Dad, I want ice cream!"
Then the driver's door opened, and one of the most famous faces on the planet stepped out.
Joey damn near dropped her cone.
Will. Freaking. Smith.