Get A Grip

On the set of Mark Wahlberg's new football flick, our man tries to prove he's invincible. (He's not)

I remember the invitation to Northeast High in Philly. I remember being asked to go through a training camp with extras on the movie Invincible, a Disney flick about ex-Eagles special-teams wacko Vince Papale. I also remember suiting up in '70s-era NFL equipment, meeting the star of the film, Mark Wahlberg, and taking my place in line for live contact drills. I actually recognized the guy charging at me with the football: it was Kevin Ingram of the LA Avengers, moonlighting from his job as the 2005 Ironman of the Arena Football League. As he got closer I even made a mental note about the look on his face, which I'd describe as "Call Mama, 'cause I'm about to make SportsCenter."

After that, well, things went a tad fuzzy. There was a thud, a crack and, I'm pretty sure, a gurgle. Then something that sounded and felt a lot like lightning. A snot bubble formed … in my ear. And I was off to La-La Land. Just not the right one.

I'm told it was a pretty good hit, and that when I reached the sideline, the real Vince Papale, shaking with delight, screamed into my loosened face mask, "Oh man, I love it. YOU'RE REALLY EFFING CRAZY! YOU KNOW THAT?!" According to my notes (which also included the reminder, re: Ingram, check for Whizzinator) I shook Papale's hand and replied, "Well, so are you. I guess that's why we're all here."

In 1976, Papale was a 30-year-old South Philly bartender and teacher with minimal football experience. When a frustrated Dick Vermeil held an open tryout to infuse his listless 4-10 Eagles with some heart and guts, Papale, a track star at St. Joseph's, gave it a shot. He made it, lasted four years, was a special-teams captain and is credited by Vermeil with creating the underdog 'tude that propelled the Birds to Super Bowl XV.

I reviewed this information with Papale while standing on the sideline waiting for my brain to reboot. He said being at rehearsal was like having an out-of-body experience. I could relate. Then I believe I tried to order a Philly cheesesteak from him. He just laughed and put a protective arm around my shoulder pads.

And just as he had done with Vermeil's Eagles, Papale had saved yet another lost cause. Inspired by the gesture-or just morbidly curious-Wahlberg and some other actors/extras came over to check on me. While stretching together before practice, Wahlberg had brushed me off, telling me I looked like a kicker, even though we're both about 5'8'' and my collegiate wrestling career lasted two years longer than his stint as a bubblegum rapper. Now we were like Drama and Turtle. "Great job, man," he said as we bumped shoulder pads. "All I'm gonna hear the rest of the shoot is how you hit harder than me."

It no longer mattered that I could put the phrase "multiply concussed" in my bio; that there were four hours left of rehearsal and the A-Turf was already hotter than a microwaved sponge; or that three cockroaches, each big enough to pull a chuck wagon, had wiggled out of my shoulder pads during prepractice film study. (I held it together, though, because how lame is it to cry over shoulder pads?) I had just won over an AFL Ironman, an NFL legend and Dirk Diggler. Yes, it's true that I recently missed a shift in my rec hockey league after squirting Gatorade up my nose on the bench, but at that moment I felt like freakin' Mike Ditka, minus the erectile dysfunction.

"You're ready, man," Ingram said later, recalling my debut.

"For pro football?" I asked.

"Naw, Hollywood."

For most of the day, though, it was hard to tell the two apart. That's because ReelSports Solutions, the South Carolina company that had previously choreographed the game action in The Replacements, The Rookie, Miracle and The Longest Yard, made sure we weren't pathetic. And if Keanu Reeves can pass for a pro football player, surely so could I. For this film, ReelSports president Mark Ellis hired mostly Arena Leaguers, whose size better matched the players from 1976. You know, back when offensive linemen considered fondue a meal and not a halftime snack. Ellis paid each extra $150 for four-hour rehearsals like the one I attended, $300 a day for actual filming and a little extra scratch on the side for getting jacked up on cue.

Which means somebody owes me $8,000, a star on Hollywood Boulevard or a roster spot in the AFL. With my nerves gone and testosterone surging through my veins like Mountain Dew, the rest of practice--er, rehearsal--was a blast. I rotated in on kick returns, where I was clotheslined by Wahlberg. I gained four yards during one drill before a linebacker (name withheld out of spite) hit me so hard I began thinking Drew Rosenhaus was a quality dude. I played the role of Vince Papale on kick coverage and returned the favor to Ingram, turning Mr. Ironman into an ironing board. I also filled in as the gunner in the movie's signature moment, Scene 188, when Papale steamrolls the Giants punt returner, picks up the loose ball and runs it in to secure a win.

I even got to take part in the time-honored tradition of taping the loser rookie to the goalpost. 'Yeah, where is that geek, let's get him,' I thought when I heard what was going down. Then I realized that, sonofabiscuit, I was the rookie. As my crewmates wrapped my legs in tape, I begged for a moment to speak and told them, "Fellas, I know football, and I want you to know, the extras in The Replacements were waaaay better than you guys." That's when Wahlberg told them to get the Gatorade jug off the bench.

After the trainers finally cut me free, I was soaking wet, exhausted, exhilarated and in excruciatingly yet oddly life-affirming pain. It would be a week and 53 Advils before I'd be able to turn my neck enough to switch lanes while driving.

But I didn't care. I knew I'd have a lot of fond memories. Eventually.

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