I came home today with an hour-long window to tune in to the latest skanky, self-absorbed "reality" that Bravo can offer, only to find my favorite network--gay or otherwise--had been hijacked by the Rocky franchise. I was unaware until today that watching Sylvester Stallone train and lose and train and win and train and bleed and run A LOT in gray sweats and yell "Adrienne!" would appeal to the 18-49 year old female demographic. Wonders never cease.
Nonetheless, I found myself (ha! IN the demographic. Way to go, Bravo!) sucked in to the original Rocky, back when he was pounding the meat (stop it, you dirty-minded readers! He was literally boxing the carcasses of cows in the meat locker...yum) and hoping to conquer the boxing world and wooing his girl with whom he would not engage in any sort of tomfoolery whilst training for glory.
Anyhoo, I note this Rocky afternoon for two reasons:
1) When Drew was 2 months old we stood atop the steps Rocky passionately climbed in search of his boxing dream. Together Drew and my ten 2005 national qualifiers and I reenacted the seminal moment of the film, when the entire city of Philly followed Rocky on his cardio journey...except we didn't run and Drew was strapped to my chest in one of those Scandinavian harnesses and there was no inspirational music in the background. But I felt the big moment. And honestly, it WAS a big moment: I was standing with some of the smartest and most talented kids on the planet and I was 2-months postpartum with the sweetest little boy content to be dragged along wherever and whenever. It was one of my favorite moments as a debate coach and as a mom. Remarkably, the two roles often intersected, overlapped, fed and deprived each other. It was what it was. And it was a gift.
2) There is a moment when a worn-out Rocky comes home to his Adrienne. He has a piece of meat from training (ala the meat locker) and Adrienne takes it to the kitchen to prepare when Rocky refuses her affections in deference to his prep for Apollo Creed. Realizing he has hurt her by rejecting her tame advances, he walks to the kitchen. All we see is him standing in the doorway as she walks to him, looks up at him, and melts into his chest and arms. That's it.
It's a teeny moment in a big film, but it is among the most romantic and precious I've seen on the screen. Rocky isn't the brightest bulb, but he knew to go to the kitchen. Adrienne is not the most forthright or needy, but she needs him. She needs him, he needs her. It is beautiful when the needs are there...and when they are met.
I assume the "meat got made" (Adrienne's words, not mine) after all the tenderness and hugging. I do love that movies can omit the minutiae of life but that I apparently cannot.
Hours later, I'm finding that Bravo has fully committed to the Rocky franchise. Mr. T is in the house!
Time for Netflix.
But before I click away: Rocky-- thanks for an unexpected Friday afternoon that made my heart beat a little harder. That's the goal. Every day.
My guy and a squinty me up on Rocky's perch.
My crew at Philly Nationals. They still occupy a hunk of my heart. Always will.
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