Middle age doesn't have to suck. But it might wear tight pants.
It's the least sexy male revue you didn't know you needed.
Once, they were Friday night legends-carved out of muscle, drowning in swagger, and fully convinced the glory days would last forever.
Fast forward a few decades, and the only thing still carved is their credit score. After a global pandemic, a couple of divorces, and careers that flatlined harder than their metabolism, these five former football stars are broke, unemployed, and sharing a rental house that smells like regret, protein powder, and the ghost of last week's questionable takeout.
Meet The Dad Bods.
When the options run dry, they do the only logical thing left: throw on some spandex, crank up the disco, and reinvent themselves as middle-aged "performance artists."
(Not strippers. God no. That's their line. It's a blurry line, but it's there.)
What begins as a half-baked plan to survive turns into a full-blown spectacle-with packed venues, rabid fans, and a shot at the Vegas stage they never saw coming. Along the way, they find something better than their abs (which, let's face it, were already on borrowed time): purpose, brotherhood, and the confidence to make complete fools of themselves-in the best possible way.
It's not a comeback. It's a reckoning embrace.
A celebration of the new reality: middle age will make you reconsider every life choice... like believing sneezing is still a low-impact activity.