That’s One Way to End a Game

If you have ever been to any sort of high school game (speed chess matches are the worse) then you know tensions are high right from the start. Players grow up hating these rival schools, and if there was any good blood left that’s quickly erased once the chants break out (I can still hear the Bloomingville fans screaming; “Patzer, Patzer Patzer” as I took on Elliot Cromwell III in the New Hampshire Speed Chess Championship- Small School Division).

However, once the game gets underway nothing more than a few icy stares and perhaps a couple of punches are exchanged (or in the case of my championship chess match my rook for his bishop was just one of the many pieces which changed hands).

It seems though, these boys in Indiana never got the message. Take a look at the video below between the Griffith Panthers and the Hammond Wildcats:

After a little research it appears it was the first quarter when these two decided to go after each other. The two teams did not finish this match as the game itself was immediately canceled once the punches started flying. Yes you read that right; a game had to be canceled in just the first quarter after the boys were more interested in doing their best Rocky impression then balling out.

Really Indiana? I though the self proclaimed basketball mecca of the world would have sacrificed a puppy before letting a basketball game end prematurely. I’m shocked we didn’t see Larry Legend himself magically appear, start a drum circle, and explain to them; basketball is gift from the gods and they should cherish the mere fact they are even on the court. I’m truly disappointed in you Indiana and I mean isn’t that worse than any punishment the cops (who are looking to arrest people) could impose on you?

(Oh to wrap up my speed chess story I was down to just my king and two pawns before I stormed back to beat Elliot Cromwell III. I pride myself on not licking people but I was not about to pass up the opportunity to taste Cromwell’s sweet tears of defeat.)


Rocky 7: The Rocky Road to Dementia

Rocky 7?  Really?  Say it isn’t so!

What once was considered one of the greatest stories of sport and spirit has truly (well, for the 3rd or 4th time actually) spit in its own aging face.  Now, without having read or viewed anything except this nebulous trailer, I can only assume that Rocky only plays the role of manager/trainer in this film to some young spawn that wants to enter the fight game (appears to be of the Apollo Creed lineage).

I really don’t want to know the sure-to-be pathetic plot.  Rather I want to imagine this next installment in the storied series with Rocky, circa age 70, actually entering the ring to do battle.  More so, I would like to see the Southpaw battle the demons of growing old.

Rocky with early onset Alzheimer’s…

Picture the Champ running up those infamous City of Brotherly Love stairs wearing only his ugly wool cap, taped up hands and his championship belt. I imagine all those kids would be running in the opposite direction as Philadelphia’s finest receive the call over the radio, “We have a naked and confused old man running toward City Hall.  Please proceed with caution.”

Rocky with a prostate issue…

Round 1.  Ding ding.

“As the Medicaid-elible former champion makes his way to the center of the ring, he is met by a challenger 50 years his junior.  A stiff jab to Rocky’s face followed by a left hook to the body and, oh my goodness, Stu, what has happened?”

“It appears as if Rocky has lost control of his bodily functions and urinated all over the ring.  127 year old referee Lou Phillipo is going to have to stop this one before somebody slips in this tremendous puddle of Italian piss.”

Rocky with Type 1 diabetes…

149 year old Trainer Mickey Goldmill has miraculously risen from the dead (why not, right?) after being murdered more than 30 years ago by Mr. T.  He is back in the Tough Gym training the aging Italian Stallion.  A rigorous session ensues when the Champ faces the ultimate adversity; keep training or get his insulin.  His no-quit attitude, and incredibly low IQ, inspire Rocky to fight through the pain and delusions.  After a grueling 6 minutes of the workout, Balboa hits the canvass and sends longtime gym gofer, Mike, to get his medicine from his locker.  A newly-alive Mickey reminds Rock that he gave his locker away to contender, Dipper, since Rocky is a no good lousy bum.  Rocky goes in to diabetic shock and enters the hospital in a coma.  In an ironic twist, he is assigned to the same room where Adrian delivered that monkey baby 40 years before.

Rocky with osteoporosis…

Rocky has lost everything.  His beloved trainer, wife and son.  He has lost his money, his wits, his cognition.  Yeah, like I said, everything.  Everything EXCEPT his will to box.  In a truly unimaginable scenario, he is challenged by the heavy weight world champion.  Rocky decides resting his old bones (wait for it) is the best training strategy and forgoes the gym.  Come fight day, he laces up the gloves, dusts off those red, white and blue Larry Bird -esque boxing trunks and slaps on (the now defunct business) Shamrock Meats robe.

Enters the ring full of confidence to do battle with the new champ.  The bells sounds and Rocky charges the across the ring.  Throws a right jab – breaks his hand.  Throws the famous left hook – breaks the other hand.  In a sad and pathetic twist, Rocky tries to the kick his opponent and breaks his leg.  The fight is stopped and they put Rocky out of his misery like any true stallion; by a gunshot to the head in the middle of Madison Square Garden (strangely they asked Father Carmine to do the honors)

Now, those are some story lines I could get on board with.  Otherwise, I am afraid I will continue to consider Clubber Lang your “final” fight, Rock….and simply look the other way.