Bad Ass vs. Boxer

A lot of people think boxing is just about two brutes going at each other till one drops or gives up. The video above features two guys of approximately the same weight, height and build. One is an amateur who has received a modicum of training, the other a street hard ass. It doesn't take very long, nor require a trained eye to see who's who (ie- calmer, more poised, in control)- and although both seem in relatively good shape, it's also pretty apparent who is expending far less energy for far greater results... But yes, no mistake, it is a vicious, brutal "sport."

Good Question!

One top (Black) female Olympic athlete is banned for using a mild recreational, non performance enhancing drug, another top (White) female Olympic athlete is allowed to compete despite using a performance enhancing drug. No, two different, separate sets of rules definitely not in play here!

"If I Die Tomorrow, I Was Overpaid."

 

The Destroyer

 

I used to be a BIG fight fan- ravenous! Lightweight, Welterweight, Middleweight, Heavyweight- didn't matter! All of life's trials and tribulations contained within and unleashed by and upon the two individuals within that squared circle. One wild, testosterone fueled joy ride of semi civilized savagery. And, the ultimate drama, those rare occasions when highly skilled opponents would counter each other's strengths not through raw physicality, but through sheer smarts and mind set. The epitome of sports, or so I used to think, where one man literally tries to prevent the other from winning by inflicting direct physical punishment... Until you see how it can completely unravel when my age.

Mike Tyson was one of the very best, so good that you knew the only person that could beat Mike Tyson was... Mike Tyson. He was blessed (cursed?) with the rare combination of incredible strength and speed, a burning, searing rage from a life of early neglect and abuse, and... a PhD's intense knowledge of ring theory and tactics. He existed to destroy whatever set before him, and did it so well, he became the youngest heavyweight champion of all time! He was... in effect, The Destroyer.

Of course, all did not go well for young Mike. The two people closest to him, those that nurtured and guided him (Cus D'Amato and Jimmy Jacobs) died in quick succession. Rudderless, he quickly and predictably succumbed to his inner demons, as his career, life and very sanity quickly spiraled out of control and into a jail cell.

That downward spiral is a well worn path in "the sweet science," but the thing that struck me most about Tyson, that was written all over him- was just how deeply damaged, and yes, vulnerable, he was behind that raging ferocity. It was the same look I saw in many of my "at risk" students, a hurt worn on the sleeve- a look that also hinted that it also just... possibly, disguised an intense curiosity, a thirst for knowledge that betrayed a keen intelligence and humanity. But chances were, as so often is the case when one originates from said void, that that very vestige of humanity would only implode, self immolate and die before ever set free. 

Years went by, I disassociated from the tangled mess that boxing had become (and no doubt always was), and so it came as a welcomed relief (and joy, really) to stumble upon videos of an older, calmer, more reflective Mike Tyson who seemed to have exorcised, or at least committed to confronting and working through his life long demons. He was sober, apologetic to those he had harmed, eager to reclaim his life anew- and yet, insightful enough to realize he is a work in progress. You can see the blinding rage has cleared, substituted with that thirst for knowledge and a yearning to reconnect on the most basic of human levels. Yeah, this is the fight Teddy Atlas was really talking about...

Who Knew?

 

Back in the early/mid Seventies, the height of Kung Fu fighting, I briefly contemplated joining an Aikido dojo- not from any desire to go about kicking shit outta people (an unlikely scenario no matter how well trained), but as a street wise, keep my ass in one piece, self defense shield. Aikido seemed just the ticket- kinda like the intellectual's martial art where smarts and quick, unforeseen moves overpowered and neutralized the over blown, over grown bullies that life inevitably throws one way...

I never did make the move, primarily because I full well realized that to get half way decent at it, you'd have to commit, practice and dedicate oneself as with anything else worthwhile- college, photography and a P/T job left little time, save for the requisite, age appropriate partying. Still, I've wondered to this day- would it have actually been worth it? Would I have been able to effectively neutralize the brute before me, or someone with a different martial art, skill set?

Seems sheer laziness can pay off! This guy was a certified, bona fide Aikido master, knew all the moves- in fact, he taught them at his very own dojo! And yet, he had nagging self doubts about his own real world confidence- not a good place to be as a martial arts sensei. And so, being true to oneself, he decided to find out; and long story short- his doubt was well placed. Even an intermediate MMA student could kick his ass in a NY minute! No Contest! Over a decade of hard core dedication and commitment, only to discover you were little more than a self delusioned fraud... Your religion was little more than a scam, a fraud, a cult!

But give the guy his props. Undaunted, he picked himself up, dusted himself off and started his journey anew...

Hammerin' Hank

I knew that Henry Louis Aaron went through hell when he approached The Babe's record, but when you heard him say that he'd actually have to think twice about whether it was worth it- his tone left little doubt that it wasn't. The stress of the record alone was enough- ask a guy called Maris. But it was the constant kidnapping and death threats to him and his family that obliterated what should have been the proudest, happiest days of his life. It was the sheer, naked hatred of racism that made it... "the worst two years of my life."

All About The Green...

I grew up on Soul and Rock 'n Roll, I can appreciate Hip Hop just like I can appreciate most other music- but I dislike most of it, just like I dislike most Rock, current or otherwise.

I also hate football, not because it's violent, and damn dangerous to your head and general well being; shit, I grew up a rabid boxing fanboy. And I grew up loving it because of the man who transcended it. Ali was a hero, in the ring- outside of it. He was a hero not because of all the times he would so dramatically dig into that well of resilience to overcome whatever foe placed before him, but because of the challenges he himself raised and defeated outside the squared circle, challenges that ultimately robbed him of a good portion of his life and livelihood. And still he stood steadfast- even when, and especially when, the easier option was offered. 

Jay Z talks the talk, but walks it only when the road leads back to him. He doesn't serve a higher goal, though he's not afraid to play it...

Pain In All Colors

 

Photo: Panoramic

I started riding a bike again 'round about the same time ol' Lance started winning Le Tour de France. And while Lance turned out a major fraud (if not, the biggest fraud in sports history), The Tour itself remains one of the genuinely ultimate tests of physical and mental stamina, conditioning and endurance. You ain't ever gonna get on any tourist expedition to accomplish the completion of these summits! The Alps and Pyrenees are an unprecedented commitment to pain writ large- I've struggled on many a San Franciscan... hill. Which is why I always gave those skinny White boys (and that's no dig, disguised or otherwise- I'm a skinny non-White guy) their due props! This is not an elitist sport per se, rather, one very much rooted in working class origins. And yet, it has transitioned into a sport, an industry, well rooted in well monied equipment, finance and training.

And for those very reasons alone, it is exactly why we haven't seen athletes of all colors and socio/economic backgrounds competing in a sport that does require such extensive commitment, monetary and otherwise, from all involved. That long history of exclusion was finally broken this weekend when a very distinctive, brown pair of Columbian legs powered by one very determined 22yr old Egan Bernal managed to doggedly pursue and overtake the maillot jeune worn by Frenchman Alaphilipp, who proved no slouch himself! What did Bernal have to say? "I love to ride, I love the feeling to suffer in the mountains..."

I, TONYA Rules!!!

You're representing our country, for fuck's sake. They need to see a wholesome American family.  -Skating judge

But I don't have a wholesome American family. -Tonya Harding

I, Tonya is one of the best movies of this, or any other year! I suppose for brevity's sake, one could call it a "black comedy," but it succeeds on so many levels (eg- docudrama, social satire and commentary, etc)- which is exactly what a really good black comedy can do, should do... and this most certainly does!

Several reviews have criticized it for not knowing what it wants to be or trying to do too much- and not anything, very well.  That would pretty much be my wrap of The Shape of Water, a sentimental ball of confusion that indecisively meanders between hardcore Disney and attempted adult situation fantasy. Any retelling of a tale so inherently insane with characters so fundamentally flawed can easily divert into parody or lecture, but Craig Gillespie hits the right tone for this multidimensional dive into American class structure, aspirations and insanity. And Margot Robbie, who looks a helluva lot more like Nancy Kerrigan than Tonya Harding, pulls off an amazing performance as the self professed red neck who would not be denied; but then, that's the other thing about this flick- each and every actor does such a bang up job, you actually anticipate and look forward to their reactions and appearances! Tonya's mother literally steals the first third of the movie with a tour de force portrayal between her nips and drags of booze and cigs.

The intrigue, betrayals, pathos and bathos galore is all quite Shakespearean to say the least. And Gillespie not only manages to make a most compelling commentary on the American class system, he also manages what I thought previously impossible- portray Tonya Harding as a genuinely sympathetic character! This is someone who was abused by her mother, brother, husband, and skating judges alike- and as she rightly points out, by a society (ie- us) that was more than eager to demonize her. And (ironically enough) you get to both marvel and laugh throughout the entire spectacle...