If you’re a Boston Red Sox fan of a certain age, you know exactly who Bucky Dent is, and you’re sworn to hate him eternally. (If you’re not, short version: Yankees and Sox finished the 1978 season in a tie, there was a one-game tiebreaker at Fenway, the Sox were leading, and then New York shortstop Bucky Dent, batting ninth for a reason, came up with a home run. The Yankees won, the Sox wailed about The Curse, and life went on, sort of.) Ted writes novels for his footlocker; to pay the bills, he sells peanuts at Yankee Stadium. His ailing father is one of the few Red Sox fans in the Big Apple. When in that crazed year of 1978, Ted notices that his dad perks up markedly when the Sox win, he contrives to make sure that the Sox win — at least, as far as the old man can tell. There’s a lot going on here about love and loss and poetry, and baseball is perhaps the only sport that can legitimately incorporate all three. David Duchovny tells this tale as though he were planning to film it; think of it, not as a screenplay, but as the collision of several biographies, and it works so much better.