We had just left Wakeeney en route to Lawrence on day 10 of our Yellowstone journey. With 260 miles to go, our iPods exhausted, and the M&M’s mysteriously missing from the trail mix, morale was low.

It was time for “Rudy.”

“Not a sports movie!” our oldest teen protested, unaware of how little impact her opinion has on our decisions.

“I want a cartoon,” Luke whined. I told Luke that, as a rookie football player this fall, a movie about one of the most inspirational players at one of the most legendary programs might give him the mental edge he needs to compete with the other, more experienced (and, I would find out later, much larger) fifth-graders on the field.

We popped in “Rudy” and headed east. Tired of fighting over the XM radio, my husband and I opted to listen to the movie through the Flint Hills.

But after 30 minutes of watching Rudy get beaten both physically and emotionally by teammates and teachers, lose his best friend and face a life sentence in a steel mill, my kids were bored.

I explained the structure of movies not involving a sponge in a pineapple under the sea. “Rudy is a little guy with a big heart,” I said with reverence, “who has been bullied by everyone, and now he’s going to try to live his dream and play football for Notre Dame.”

Blank stares.

“It moves faster from here,” I sighed.

We rolled along listening to Rudy apply over and over to Notre Dame, befriend a groundskeeper, deliver Knute Rockne’s famous speech to an empty locker room and get his rump kicked daily on the practice squad.

Unfortunately our players were a little too heavy on the “fight, fight, fight” as we buzzed past Abilene, prompting Coach Dunlap to deliver a pep talk of his own.

“We are NOT stopping until this movie is over and you have all liked it!” he was serious. “Pay attention or we’ll watch it again all the way home!”

We passed Fort Riley just as Rudy’s teammates selflessly persuaded Coach Devine to dress Rudy for the final game. My husband and I had chills as glimmers of “The Irish Washer Woman,” weaved brilliantly into Jerry Goldsmith’s lump-inducing score, flooded our ears, our minivan speakers chanting, “Ru-dy! Ru-dy!” We pulled into Junction City with tears streaming down our cheeks, exiting the highway as Rudy was carried off the field. Red-eyed, my husband turned to the back of the car. “What did you learn from the movie?” he asked.

No one spoke. Fearful that the wrong answer would land them back on 70 without a pit stop, they sat uncharacteristically silent until Luke finally cleared his throat.

“That football is fun?” he squeaked.

And the stage is set for Luke’s rookie season. He might not have Rudy’s heart or determination or even a clue about perseverance, but if the cornerback is willing to pummel him every week, then he is in for a load of fun.