"This summer, Joey Grant took every guy who ever called her a 'chick-flick director' and shoved pure passion, sweat, and dreams straight down their throats!"
"Any dude still wanna say Joey's style is 'too soft' or 'too girly'? The Blind Side just conquered every man on planet Earth."
"Joey Grant proved she's not just a great female director; she's a great director, period."
After the movie blew up, Joey posted one line on her Facebook:
"Sometimes you have no idea how close your dream actually is. Keep going."
It got millions of likes, shares, and comments in hours. Became the top trending topic on the platform.
"Baseball + adrenaline = perfection."
"So freaking inspiring! I love you, director!!"
"The Blind Side had my blood pumping the whole time."
"Real-life story, perfect pacing, 10/10."
Joey couldn't possibly know yet just how deep this movie would cut. For decades to come, generation after generation of Black athletes would grow up calling The Blind Side their favorite film, the one that lit a fire under them when the world tried to dim their light.
Dream big. Fight back. Never quit.
While Joey was once again the center of the Hollywood universe, she was actually just chilling in Times Square with Renee, both of them demolishing ice-cream cones like normal people.
Renee was practically vibrating. "Girl, you did it. You shut every single one of those smug dudes up. You're a legend in the sports world now!"
Joey just smiled and kept licking her cone.
Renee kept going. "I heard locker rooms all over the country are showing your movie now. Whenever a Black player gets treated unfairly, somebody pops in the DVD like, 'Remember this? Treat us with respect.'"
Joey had seen the news yesterday: a Black hockey player marched into the head coach's office, slapped The Blind Side into the DVD player, hit play, and basically said, "Don't look at me through racist glasses." Dude got apologies from half the organization.
It felt good. Really good.
Then Joey noticed Renee texting like crazy; fingers flying, little smile on her face. She caught the word "dear" on the screen.
Joey snatched the phone with ninja speed. "Ooooh, who's this? In love and didn't even tell me?"
The contact name: Colin.
Renee turned beet-red and lunged for her phone. "Give it back, you gremlin! A girl can't date in peace?"
"Colin who? Colin Firth?" Joey teased.
Renee rolled her eyes so hard they almost fell out. "You wish. Stop it."
"Then spill! Who's the mystery Colin?"
Renee gave a sly little smile. "You'll know soon enough. And yeah… you definitely know him."
Joey's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, Hollywood Colin? There's like eight thousand Colins in this town."
"You'll see~" Renee sang, stuffing her phone away.
They finished their ice cream and headed back to Joey's fancy new NYC apartment.
Next morning, Joey rolled into the United Artists building and almost had a heart attack. Her office looked like a mail bomb went off. Fan letters were literally spilling out the door.
Her assistant had begged her to come in ASAP before the fire marshal shut them down.
She spent the whole morning opening envelopes. Hundreds of letters from fans, from Black and minority athletes, from kids who said the movie made them believe they could make it.
One basketball player wrote:
"I'm a Black point guard. Won state MVP, but I kept getting passed over for the national team because of the color of my skin. After watching The Blind Side, I realized sitting quiet wasn't the move. I started speaking up. Thank you for showing me how."
Another:
"Because of your movie, our club finally sat down with the Black players and actually listened. Things are changing."
Someone literally called it "our Bible."
The ripple effect was insane. Sports clubs nationwide were holding meetings about treatment of minority athletes. Guys who'd stayed silent for years were finally talking. A White House petition to protect minority athletes in sports hit the 100k-signature threshold; Congress had to review it. The U.S. Sports Administration actually announced they were drafting new anti-discrimination policies and wanted public input.
A movie changed the conversation so hard the government started rewriting laws.
Even The New York Times; the paper that usually only cares about politics; ran a front-page story with Will Smith's still from the film and the headline:
THE BLIND SIDE: The Movie That Changed an Era
"Joey Grant used profound human philosophy to shake the foundations of American sports law."
"This is a historic moment; when cinema altered a nation."
Then Roger Ebert; the granddaddy of film critics, the guy who can destroy careers with a single paragraph; dropped a blog post that instantly went viral with tens of millions of views.
Title: "The Joey Grant Tricks You'll Never Learn"
He dissected every technique she's ever used that nobody else can copy, then ended with:
"Is Joey Grant great? Yes.
Her talent has been criminally underrated. Mark my words; she will be one of the all-time Hollywood legends. She just needs the little golden statue to prove it."
In critic world, an Ebert love letter like that is basically a coronation.
And right in the middle of sorting the last stack of letters, her office door opened.
Tom walked in, stopped a safe distance away, hands in his pockets, voice cool. "Been a while."
Joey looked up. "Yeah. Couple months."
He didn't come closer. Same old deliberate distance he'd been keeping ever since… that night. "Few months apart and you go make another earth-shattering headline. Classic you."
Joey rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish. "It really was an accident this time. I didn't expect the reaction to be this huge."
Tom gave a tiny, half-smirk, half-scoff. "You've got a lot of accidents like that."
She laughed softly. "Guess God likes me."
He nodded once, turned to leave. "I'll let you get back to it."
His dress shoes clicked across the marble; cold, sharp, final.
Three steps toward the door and Joey called out, "Tom."
He stopped, turned. Hands still in his pockets, plain T-shirt clinging to every stupidly perfect muscle. Cool, unreadable eyes locked on her.
Joey suddenly felt underdressed in her orange off-shoulder crop top and low-rise jeans. She tucked a wave behind her ear, looked away, then forced herself to meet his gaze.
"So… you're really not gonna explain what happened that night in your suite?"
Tom tilted his head, expression giving away exactly nothing. "Explain?"
"Yeah. The… you know." She motioned vaguely toward her own mouth, cheeks heating. "The kiss thing."
He didn't answer. Just let his gaze drift down her body; slow, lazy, deliberate; then back up to her face.
A tiny smirk tugged at his lips. He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne. One finger brushed the thin strap of her top, feather-light, sending a shiver straight down her spine.
Then he stepped back, hands back in his pockets.
"You're busy. I'll let you work."
And he walked out.
Joey stood there, mouth open, brain short-circuiting.
She looked at the empty doorway.
"…He still didn't answer the damn question!"
She face-palmed so hard it echoed.
This man was going to be the death of her.