The only thing I wanted for my fifteenth birthday was a photograph. I remember my parents taking me to the mall, to a store that specialized in Hollywood memorabilia, where I flipped through a binder filled with thousands of photos until I found the one I was searching for.
“Are
you sure that’s the one?” my dad asked. “Because once we order it, you can’t
change your mind.”
“That’s
the one,” I assured him. “I’m positive.”
We
ordered it, and every day after that I rushed home from school and asked, “Did
they call? Is it in yet?”
It
wasn’t. It never was. It was taking forever!
“It’s
only been two days,” my mom said. “Give it time. They have to ship it all the
way from Hollywood, after all.”
I’m
still not sure how the Hollywood memorabilia industry works, but it seemed to
make sense. Hollywood was on the
other side of the country. Plus, it would take numerous employees several days
to comb Hollywood’s vast archives for this one particular photograph. Wouldn’t
it?
After
two weeks of anguish, I decided to call the store. “Yeah, it’s here,” the voice
on the phone assured me. “It’s been here for over a week. We’ve been waiting
for you to come pick it up.”
Why
didn’t they call? It didn’t matter. Off to the mall!
“Your
sister has gymnastics tonight. We’ll go tomorrow.”
Would
I ever get my birthday present? The odds seemed to be stacked against me, just
like the figure in the photograph that I so desperately needed. Coincidence?
The
next day I finally received my gift. And it was glorious—an 8x10 colored photo,
encased in glass, framed in black. And not just any photo. The greatest photo ever. A photo of Rocky Balboa. Rocky Balboa
striking a side of beef with his bare hands.
I hung it next to my bed,
so it was the first thing I saw when I woke each morning and the last thing I
saw before I went to sleep each night. My life was finally complete.
Okay. Okay. Perhaps my
life wasn’t actually complete (is life ever?), but I did possess an awesome
picture of the greatest character in the greatest franchise in the history of
motion pictures. I only needed to look at it for a quick jolt of whatever I was
lacking at the time, whether it was motivation, inspiration, ambition, drive, hope,
desire, purpose, or any other word that carries the same weight as those. In essence,
I needed that picture of Rocky because I was Rocky.
Eighteen years later and
I still feel the same way, maybe even more so. Sure, I don’t have the photo
hanging near my bed anymore, but that doesn’t mean the character of Rocky doesn’t
embody my life as much now as it did then. Just as Rocky had to overcome adversity
in Rocky, Rocky II, Rocky III, Rocky IV,
and Rocky Balboa, my life has often felt
like a rollercoaster of adversity that I’m constantly fighting to overcome. Just
as Rocky was an underdog in Rocky, Rocky
II, Rocky III, Rocky IV, and Rocky
Balboa, I sometimes feel like an underdog myself. Just as Rocky loved
Adrian, I love the woman in my life. Just as Rocky mourned the deaths of Mickey
and then Apollo, I have mourned those in my life that have gone too soon. Just
as Rocky was scared of Clubber Lang, I sometimes find myself scared. And just
as Rocky singlehandedly defeated Communism, I…well…I guess I’ve never done
anything like that. But, if given the opportunity, I would, just like Rocky did.
And it’s not just Rocky
that I relate to. It’s also the supporting characters from the films. I know
what it’s like to worry about a loved one, just as Adrian did during each
fight. I know what it’s like to find redemption, just as Mickey did by training
Rocky. I know what it’s like to be jealous, like Pauli. I know what it’s like
to be a drunk, also like Pauli. And I know what it’s like to warn people of the
dangers of smoking, just like that robot from Rocky IV.
Believe it or not, I can
even relate with the villains. I know what it’s like to be overly confident,
like Apollo, and then Clubber, and then Drago, and then Mason “the Line” Dixon,
only to discover that my cockiness was also my Achilles heel. I know what it’s
like to feel that you have something to prove, just as Apollo did in Rocky II. I know what it’s like to have
the spotlight on someone else even though you know that you’re clearly superior
to them, just like Clubber Lang. And I know what it’s like to want to do
something for yourself, and not because somebody else expects you to, just like
Drago.
I can even find
similarities in my life to the actual filmmaking itself. Just as Sylvester
Stallone refused to sell his script to any studio that wouldn’t let him portray
the title character, I understand what it’s like to be stubborn, and to have
faith in your own artistic abilities. And just as Stallone made one of the
biggest mistakes in the history of storytelling by making Rocky a punch-drunk
idiot in the repulsive Rocky V, I
understand what it’s like to screw up once in a while. But I also understand
that there are ways to make up for horrible atrocities like Rocky V, just as Stallone proved by
making Rocky Balboa.
It’s easy to connect with
the Rocky films. Perhaps that’s why the franchise has prevailed for so long. I
mean, what other series of films has ever been so popular without the aid of
special effects, or high body counts, or fast cars? The Rocky movies are not
boxing films that happen to have characters. They are character films that
happen to have boxing. Hollywood has never portrayed the human condition
better. Maybe that’s why I keep watching, even though I’ve seen each film
dozens of times. Maybe that’s why I’ll give up an entire Sunday to watch a
Rocky Marathon on television. Maybe that’s why I was at the first showing of Rocky Balboa a decade ago, and will be
at the first showing of Creed next
week. Maybe that’s why, when I’m done writing this “love letter” to the Rocky
films, I will put on my running shoes, a winter cap, and a grey hoodie, and go
run stairs while listening to “Going to Fly Now” on my iPod. Maybe that’s why,
when I reach the top, I will throw my arms in the air and jump up and down.
Just like Rocky.
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