I’m told I look good in hats

Some may be aware that I love a good Rocky movie.  Whenever I surf around the dial and see one on, I will actually stop everything and watch it.  “It’s not about how hard you hit.  It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep going”.  Surprisingly, the 6^th in the series (Rocky Balboa) has become one of my favorites.  A superbly written, insightful and wistfully shot piece of film that examines more than just a man and his demons.  Far greater than a study of love and loss, this film touches on the idea of a shadow being cast on another person and what it’s like to perceive yourself as having to live under it.  It also delves (as deeply as a Rocky film needs to) into the notion of pressing on with what makes you happy as opposed to the good opinion others.  I know this is dancing on flippant and a tad glib.  However, what makes me cry at the end of this movie is the simplicity of its message.  It takes me back to the notion of fear and how I hide from it.  It scrapes off layers of pride and exposes me as a man on a quest for cleverness, rather than bewilderment.  It shows that “winning” is a concept that will always be illusive.  Our pursuit of bettering each other is a vain exercise in futility.  I’ve always wanted to be Rocky, but I know that I’m more often than not Pauly.  A broken man bumbling about spitting forth bile and anger at a world he knows will never change, only to sink deeper into the mickey in hopes of what he feels the world owes him is somewhere near the bottom.  Nothing’s fair.  Someone always gets a head start on happiness, ergo someone is always behind.  That’s life.  To find beauty in it is to see Rocky as he truly is: smarter than all of us combined.  Also, I’m going hat shopping.  I’m told I look good in hats.