Picking a fight
Blake. That was Baldwin’s character in Glengarry Glen Ross. Where the hell is that guy today? Where’s Ricky Roma (Pacino’s character)? They didn’t need a Youtube video with a gay guy talking about a Honey Badger to show you they were badasses. In fact, those guys would have given you a “did you really just say ‘Youtube’? you loser” look, and you would have apologized, embarrassed. Blake, Roma - those guys ate what they killed. And they ate well. They were the heroes.
Who are our heroes today?
There’s this void right now with nothing to look forward to and no one to look up to. Who is my icon? Who is my inspiration?… Mark Cuban? Dude sold a dogshit internet radio company to some blind retards – luckier than getting struck by lightning. Zuckberberg…combined Friendster and MySpace then built a better website – that’s not inspiring. Donald Trump – he’s been bankrupt more times in his life than I’ve been laid in the last six months. These are supposed to be my heroes?
I don’t think you can blame me or my male 30-something peers for being so completely fucking bored.
The pussification of America is just all around us. Jordan replaced by a guy who actually likes his silly nickname (Bron Bron) and this athlete we’re supposed to “Witness” collapses at the first sign of any adversity because he has never had to work for anything in his life.
Politics aint any better. Ronny Regan made the bold decision, against the judgment of counsel, to push the country into recession in 1981 because he thought it was the right thing to do (he turned out to be right)…Obama can’t decide whether or not to take a leak without forming a committee.
And then today – in what might be one of the saddest moments in the history of American sports, in our last gladiator sport – Brady Quinn, with his #2 position on the QB depth chart in jeopardy, decides to fly home to be there for his girlfriend’s surgery (torn Achilles).
What. The. Fuck. …I just hope they also fix Quinn’s torn labia while he’s up there.
Soft. Lethargic. Unmotivated. And mostly just really bored. This is what has become of my male peers. I’m 34, so by “my peers” I mean anyone who is recently married, recently had kids, recently got to a comfortable and sustainable income level, recently got a mortgage, recently stopped getting laid as a result of this bullshit con they call parenthood…or all of the above.
Here’s how I’m going to fight it:
I’m going to compete again.
Before I became middle aged with a family and a mortgage, I fought the fight every day. The juices from competitive sports seeped into my professional life and I really gave a fuck. Every day was a battle. Someone was trying to take something from me. And I was trying to take something from them. It made me tough. It made me hungry. It gave me energy. I used to get that same jolt of energy you get when your plane lands in Vegas and you can see the Strip. That insatiable appetite that washes over you and for 36-48 hours makes you a superhuman, better version of yourself….
I used to get that professionally and personally when I had some level of success at a competition. Competing kept my testosterone levels elevated and I was better – at everything.
So get out of my way. I’m going to the gym. Not because I need to look better to get laid (it ain’t happening either way), not because I have a game on Saturday (I am on no teams), and not because my first workout in three months is going to do anything but make me sore.
It’s because I need to pick a fight. The first one is with myself.