SNYDERMANIA: The Funky Bunch

Showing posts with label The Funky Bunch. Show all posts

Thursday, December 30, 2010

THE FIGHTER - Gatti v Ward 1 Round 9

The Fighter is an outstanding film. Mark Walberg's portrayal of Micky Ward is the best thing he's done since he was a member of The Funky Bunch. And Christian Bale's portrayal of Ward's crack addicted brother is also pretty impressive. It's the best Bale performance I've seen. Come to think of it, it's the only Bale performance I've seen. Seriously, this flick is worth the ten bucks. And you don’t need to be a boxing fan to appreciate this movie
I did a little YouTube surfing and found some of Ward’s old fights. The Sanchez fight in my last posting was reenacted in the film. The filmmakers didn't need to exaggerate the drama. The actual footage of Ward's fights with Arturo Gatti, who recently passed away, was more exciting than the bloody fights of the Rocky films. Check out this clip. Both of these men had hearts of lions.

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

FIELD OF DREAMS

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. Chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?