All Life is Pugilism

My mom decided that watching 'Rocky' was the perfect New Year's Eve activity. She was right.

Mom recognized that this specific New Year's Eve was kind of awful.

"Lucky you," she said. "You get to ring in the new year before 9:00pm with your old parents!"

We ordered some BBQ. I went and picked it up. We ate and laughed about the possibility of the Kansas rednecks shooting their guns in the air and potentially having the bullets come down on me in bed.

I anticipated going up to my room and watching the NYE festivities online, Mom had a different idea, "Let's watch Rocky," she declared. There was no question in it. We were going to watch one of my favorite movies within one of my dearest franchises ever. I thought "Why not?"

I'd watched all six of the Rocky films in July. Mom hadn't seen them in years. My dad was fine with it but probably would've preferred something with cowboys. We got comfortable, dad in his recliner, mom and I on either ends of the huge 'L' shaped couch, and dove into the world of 1976 Philadelphia and Rocky Balboa.

I never get tired of this story. It occurred to me that movies these days are missing the earnest optimism of the Rocky saga. At its heart it is a narrative of resilience despite loss, fighting because that's all you know how to do, training because you have to, and standing toe-to-toe with an opponent and doing all you can to be standing at the end.

It is a perfect movie to watch on the night before a new year. We watched Rocky II as well. The folks went to bed. I went upstairs and watched both Rocky III and Rocky IV. Turns out I needed the inspiration.

In a group text on the first day of 2023 I wrote:

"Cast 2022 into the fire and let it burn to ash. Wake with a sense of new. Clean slate. New chances, new opportunities. Stand toe-to-toe with 2023 and dance with it."

I'm relieved that 2022 is done and in the can. It was shitty year for me and, while December 31st is just a night like any other, it isn't just a night. We are moved by those incandescent rituals, those traditions, those beliefs like holding onto your cryptocurrency as the market for it falls. Optimism. In most cases these days (and, let's be perfectly frank, in most days past) it is a greedy optimism, a soiled, selfish sort of hope.

Rocky is about proving yourself to yourself. In the first film, he runs up the stairs of the Philadelphia Art Museum alone; in the second, he is accompanied by hundreds of kids in celebration of him. I prefer the first because that's how it is in reality. We run because we have to, we dance on the top of the steps by ourselves, we bask in that Bill Conte score solo.

Likewise, when we get geared up for the fight—whatever form that fight takes—we have moral support from those in our corner but the punishment and defeat or victory is a solitary thing. The idea that Balboa shares his victories and keeps his defeats for himself is a remarkable example to recognize. Yes, he is a character created by a guy looking to make it in the world of cinema but that character will outlive its creator for generations to come and that has significance as well.

For 2023, I'm cautiously optimistic. I still stare into the void, wondering what other blind spots I'm missing, which of the many other shoes may drop, what new failure I have to get back up from but I'm up nonetheless. If you're reading this, you are, too.

Now, go eat lightning and crap thunder because, toe-to-toe, you need to be a very dangerous person.