Rocky and me

As I anticipate the theatrical release of "Rocky Balboa" -- the sixth in the Rocky series spanning 30 years -- I hope our fictional boxing hero finds a new generation of worshipers. I suspect, however, that the film is targeted at the very audience it's always been: me and those of my now middle-age ilk.

From Apollo Creed to Clubber Lang, to Ivan Drago, to Tommy "Machine" Gunn and, now, to Mason "The Line" Dixon, Rocky has always been fighting for us. According to early reviews, he still is.


From the Dec. 18 issue of Newsweek:
"A lot of people said, 'Just sit down, don't embarrass yourself'," Stallone says. "There is this incredible resistance to anyone who seems to want a second shot: 'You had your moment, now f--- off'." But there's a sweet twist to this story: the movie, written and directed by Stallone, is not only not embarrassing, it's a provocative exploration of heroism and aging, and provides a poignant exit for a character that has become a baby-boomer icon of American manhood.


"Rocky" burst onto the cultural landscape in 1976, the summer between my elementary and junior high school years. I saw the film in the theater at least a dozen times that summer, and probably half as many times since on television. Curiously, I don't yet own the DVD.

I remember one Saturday afternoon when the guy with whom I walked to and from school -- me as Starsky and him Hutch -- were planning to hit the late matinee. Before I could go, I had to mow our acre-and-a-half lawn with a push mower. Typically a three-hour job, it was completed in half the time as I ran behind that mower, the Bill Conti theme ringing in my head. I also ran through the nursery that separated my house from the Stage 4. The theater is long since gone, the nursery more recently so, but the house still stands, though vacant.


Three years later came "Rocky II," a sequel before sequels were so common, and I traded tennis shoes for a moped as my mode of transportation to the opener. Me and my moped gang sat in the third row of the packed theater when nature called and I made a mad dash to the restroom. My friends made a scene for the sold-out audience, greeting my 10-second return by humming the Rocky theme, out loud!

"Rocky III" followed me through high school, and probably should have stopped there. While Mickey's death, Mr. T, Hulk Hogan, and, yes, even "Eye of the Tiger," signaled the end, it was an entertaining film for this high school junior. My posse had since traded mopeds for automobiles -- mine a yellow Ford Pinto -- and we celebrated my 17th birthday at the theater where I would later work as assistant manager. At the time I was shining brass and confiscating beer at the nearby single-screen theater, back when such things used to exist.

So extreme was my fanaticism that I got my first and only perm so my hair would look like Rocky's. That girl on the avenue that night was impressed, even if no one else was. I even tried to adopt the name "Sly," but learned that you can't give yourself a nickname. (Someone should have taught that lesson, among countless others, to The Decider.)

I also portrayed Rocky at a high school pep rally. My buddy -- portraying Hulk Hogan -- took great pleasure in making me look foolish. Fortunately, a water main break had canceled school for the day and, while the assembly went on as planned, attendance was not what it might have been.


Flash forward to 1985 and "Rocky IV," released during my vaguely familiar college years. The film won five Razzies (including Sylvester Stallone for worst actor and worst director and Bridgitte Neilson - now of Flava Flav fame -- for worst supporting actress) and contributed nothing to the movie industry. Chances are I saw the opener with my Italian roommate from the Chicago suburbs, but it pales in memory to Iowa football games of the era.

Come 1990 and "Rocky V," I'm married and back in Iowa after a post-college California sojourn. I probably dragged Lisa to this loser -- seven Razzie nominations, no wins! -- but Tommy Morrison's performance is truly unmemorable.

Sixteen years later we get "Rocky Balboa" and "It ain't over 'til it's over." While I mainly hope it doesn't suck, I'll be there opening night. The line will probably be shorter than I remember from my youth, but so what? Once the lights go down and theme music plays, it'll be Rocky and me, together again, just like old times.

"It nags me that I took the easy way instead of the high road," Stallone says. "But everyone makes mistakes. I look around at people my age, and I can see it in their eyes—a kind of bittersweet reflection: 'I didn't live the life that I wanted, and now I've got all this stuff I want to say, but nobody wants to hear it.' I was feeling that, and if you don't get it out, it can become a beast that tears you apart."

After all these years, Rocky still speaks to my heart.