The Dink, The Hawk and a sports comedy micro-genre which tells us men are desperate for a second act

The middle-age former sports dudes are not OK.

At least not the fictional ones. Probably not the real-life ones too, but for the purposes of this, we’re only concerned with the fake guys. Because there are just so many of them.

This week is the release of The Dink, a comedy movie about a former tennis pro who is forever trying to hold onto the glory days. Don’t confuse that with The Hawk, a comedy series about a former golf champion who is forever trying to hold onto the glory days.

And you shouldn’t mix up The Hawk with Stick, a comedy series about a former golf champion who is forever tying to hold onto the glory days.

You get the point.

The former sports champ trying to remain relevant and maybe even stage a comeback has become its own micro-genre in recent years.

The Dink stars Jake Johnson as Dusty, who was once a junior tennis champ with great potential until he choked in a match against Andy Roddick, and now teaches at the club run by his disapproving dad (Ed Harris).

After an injury, he’s forced into taking up pickleball and finds that not only is he into it, he may also be crushing on his new partner, played by Mary Steenburgen. It’s an affable movie that largely satisfies.

Which can’t be said for The Hawk, a Will Ferrell-led series which is generously labelled a comedy despite being criminally unfunny. He plays a golfer who was one putt short of a career grand slam on the PGA tour, now languishing in the minor tiers, until a tremendous run puts him back in the top tier where his main rival seemed to be his son.

Stick was released this time last year, with Owen Wilson in the lead as a washed-up golfer who discovers a young talent and contrives to be his mentor/coach/manager and in the process, find his own self-respect again.

The convergence of the release of The Dink (this Friday) and The Hawk (last Friday) has really brought into stark relief, but you don’t have to look very hard for the others.

The Fall and Rise of Reggie Dinkins takes place in the world of football and documentary-making, featuring Tracy Morgan as a former footballer who was banned after being found out about his gambling habit (his defence was he only ever bet himself as extra motivation to win).

He’s not trying to walk back onto a field, but he wants his contributions and legacy recognised by the hall of fame.

There was also the 2025 series Chad Powers, which is a slight outlier in this group only in the sense that Glen Powell is the star here and he is in his mid-30s, but the broad strokes are similar – a former college football star who sabotaged his career at a pivotal moment and is now looking for a do-over by disguising himself as a rookie.

And, of course, there was Happy Gilmore 2, also out last year, which put Adam Sandler’s iconic character back on the green, not because he wanted to, but because he needed the money to pay for his daughter’s Parisian ballet school tuition.

When six different projects with similar beats and themes are released within a year of each other, that’s definitely a trend. If you throw in there Brad Pitt’s F1 movie (a former driving champ who returns to the sport as a veteran) that makes seven. That’s a lot.

Sports movies and TV shows have long used the template of underdog story because it’s a simple set-up, a clear conflict with a defined and satisfying resolution.

You want the audience to identify with the protagonist, and characters who start off already on top and exceptional are not easy to relate to. Other than deluded egoists, few people see themselves as undisputed and unchallenged winners.

The added thematic element of the washed-up athlete is that it’s about the second act. Everyone wants to believe they still have a second act in them, which makes these characters doubly resonant.

It’s also not a surprise then that these screen projects are led by men. The obvious one is that the realm of professional sports continues to be male-dominated, especially when it comes to the commerce of it all (sponsorship, prize money, advertising, broadcast fees).

Plus entertainment executives are constantly chasing male audiences, so the think the combination of sports and recognisable stars such as Ferrell, Pitt and Wilson will be an attractive package.

And let’s not underestimate the Ted Lasso factor, with everyone chasing their own sports comedy project to recreate that lightning in a bottle, which you almost never can.

But the other thing is that these characters, with the exception of Powell’s millennial Chad Powers, are middle-aged at a time when many men believe the world is no longer made for them despite the actual fact that men are still the prevailing force in politics, economics, media and, uh, yeah, everything else.

These narratives are tapping into those feelings of insecurity and maybe even resentment, and offering a story where a marginalised character, years on from their peak, can reclaim their power and self-respect.

It’s no coincidence that the actors who lead these projects are either in a state of perpetual arrested development (Pitt) or are known for playing characters who refuse to grow up (Sandler, Ferrell and Johnson).

But these projects are a healthier outlet than the online manosphere which foments those fears into something bitter and destructive.

They usually feature moments or arcs of self-realisation that these characters can – and should – be better fathers, friends, husbands, partners and just people. Ferrell’s Lonnie (kind of) realises he’s been an absent dad and Johnson’s Dusty learns to stand up to his dad. They can be a force for good.

But if the proliferation of this micro-genre tells us anything, it’s that everyone wants to believe in the possibility of the second act.