SNYDERMANIA: Micky Ward vs Alfonso Sanchez Round 7

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Micky Ward vs Alfonso Sanchez Round 7

You can download THE EIGHT-FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON at Amazon.com for a measly 5 bucks by clicking on this link:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Eight-Fingered-Criminals-Son-ebook/dp/B005NWH8L4

Round seven of the Ward Sanchez fight is dramatized in the new film, The Fighter. By round seven, everybody had counted Micky Ward out – except Micky Ward. This footage proves that boxing is a metaphor for life. Nobody gets to count us out. It’s really not over until we say it’s over. And I don’t know about you guys, but I think I have a vicious kidney shot or two left in my arsenal. I’m in the late rounds so I’m going to need to launch my best punch real soon.

2 comments:

JJ said...: God, I love the fight game!; December 30, 2010 at 3:04 PM
Clif said...: Best wishes for the new year!; December 30, 2010 at 10:41 PM

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?