Everyone has their favorite Rocky moment. Mine? It’s the end of Rocky IV, when Balboa, having defeated the seemingly unstoppable Russian Ivan Drago in his own backyard, and won over the hardened Muscovites in the process, launches into one of the most remarkable speeches in celluloid history, where he ostensibly appears to be securing ongoing world peace in 37 words.

“In here, there were two guys killing each other, but I guess that’s better than twenty million. I guess what I’m trying to say, is that if I can change, and you can change, everybody can change!”

The Rocky series, amid its genuine highs and lows (I’d nominate all ofRocky V for the latter) has had a genuine significance, in terms of how sports movies are made, and in turn, what makes a good – or bad – sports movie. And with some very notable exceptions – includingHoosiers, We Are Marshall, Jerry Maguire and of course, the entire Air Bud franchise – most of the best sports films ever made are about boxing.

And, much in the same way that the noble art held an appeal for literary giants like Ernest Hemingway, some of the finest Hollywood directors – including Martin Scorsese and Clint Eastwood – have tried their hand at helming films about the fight game.

Possibly the most successful depiction of the brutality and unequivocal violence without any attempt to beatify or gloss up is Scorsese’s Raging Bull (1980). Robert De Niro delivers a signature performance as Jake LaMotta – the eponymous Bronx boxer – and it’s as much about the power and fragility of the American Dream as it is about uppercuts and bloody mouthguards. Raging Bull was nominated for eight Academy Awards with De Niro winning for Best Actor.

Eastwood’s Million Dollar Baby – where Maggie played by Hilary Swank escapes her trailer park roots by using boxing as a way out – is similarly bleak and indeed refreshing for it’s untypically non-Hollywood ending. Extremely resonant is the stark depiction of the spit’n’sawdust gym Eastwood’s character Frankie Dunn runs with sympathetic former boxer and cutman/janitor Eddie, played with all the authenticity and delicacy you’d expect from Morgan Freeman. Million Dollar Baby, deservedly, won the Best Picture Oscar at the 77th Academy Awards.

The fundamental implausibility of some of the Rocky films – other than each fight seemed to include 1038 direct hits to the jaw from each fighter – was that a heavyweight boxer of the size and build of Stallone would be able to win the world title. Fortunately, films based on real fighters have mostly avoided too much overtly Hollywoodian fantasyland.

Will Smith delivers the performance we was born to give in Ali (2001), Russell Crowe is likeable and convincing in the 2005 Cinderella Man as James J Braddock, set against the backdrop of the US depression of the 1930’s. The critically acclaimed The Fighter (2010) features Mark Wahlberg as Irish Mickey Ward, a blue collar made good fighter from Massachusetts who’s story echoes the fictional Balboa’s. Wahlberg is arguably the most convincing boxer in recent cinematic memory, but it’s Christian Bale who is remarkable as Ward’s brother Dicky – a crack-addled troublemaker, once a capable boxer himself, headed for oblivion.

Other big names have tried their hands (and gloves) at securing celluloid greatness via the ring. Bugs Bunny’s seminal Rabbit Punch (1949) sees our favorite carrot chomper fighting dirty – including at using a cannon. Jason Bateman, a long time before Arrested Development was, of course, the star of the remarkable TeenWolf Too, which, somewhat unsurprisingly Michael J Fox passed on. In this 1987 film, the college-bound Todd Howard (Bateman) discovers he’s not only a fine boxer, but also a Werewolf. As one does. Genius.

An honorable mention must go to weepiest of weepy film ever-devised – The Champ (1979) – a remake of the 1931 movie starring Jackie Cooper. Any man that doesn’t watch the final scenes of either film without crying doesn’t have a soul.

And finally, the remarkable The Superfight: Marciano vs. Ali (1970) a fictional boxing match between the Real ‘Real Rocky’ and The Greatest where they were filmed acting out every possible scenario in a fight. The result was determined using probability formulas entered into a computer. Way ahead of its time; and fascinating – much likeTeenWolf Too. I won’t spoil the result. For either.

Some tasks seem insurmountable, whichever way you look at them. Like convincing a gaggle of screaming teenage Jonas Brothers fans of the merits of Bob Dylan’s Subterranean Homesick Blues. Or persuading sportscaster Joe Buck – as comedian Sarah Silverman tried to do – that more MLB players should take LSD whilst playing; as Dock Ellis freely admitted to taking before pitching a no-hitter in 1970. Let’s just say Buck was less than impressed with the argument.

Or how about telling a tailback-guzzling linebacker turned wannabe TV host that his performance in front of the camera was more wooden than the cast of The Bold & the Beautiful trying their hand atKing Lear?

Well, that’s exactly what the teachers on the NFL Broadcast Boot Camp – where various players past and present sign up to learn the tricks of the broadcast trade from a faculty made up of leading TV & Radio hosts & analysts – have to do.

According to Robert Morrissey, the NFL’s Manger of Player Development, rather than throw a diva fit that Mariah Carey would find uncomfortable to watch, the players are receptive to direction. “The players are very humbled. Our faculty features some of the best in the industry and it’s unfamiliar territory for all the participants. Plus they’re accustomed to being coached. It doesn’t take many reps for them to adjust”

The Boot Camp – so named because it’s a “sun up to sun down curriculum” – is an intensive three-day course where 25 or so players (who this year included Super Bowl winning receivers Amani Toomer and Antonio Freeman) learn about different aspects of sportscasting – including calling play-by-play in a simulated broadcast, understanding tape study and experiencing a studio environment, both as an analyst and an anchor.

Surprisingly, Morrissey explains that the players’ expectations change during the course of the camp. “Most are initially excited about being game analysts, but often their perspective changes as they find out more about the different skill sets required for various roles”

The players that Morrissey and his team welcome into the camp have already gone through a screening process, which establishes those that are serious from those that aren’t.

Applicants are recruited primarily via word of mouth; with the player development manager at each of the 32 NFL franchises working the roster “tapping guys on the shoulder” that they think may be interested in a career in radio or TV. The 25 students are whittled down from 70 or so applicants – with typically two thirds of that number made up of current players.

Most have to demonstrate a proven interest in broadcasting, submit an audio/visual sample and provide a compelling personal statement in order to make the cut.

But what precise qualities do Morrissey and his colleagues want to see? “We look at authenticity and for people that don’t try to be someone they’re not”

Once they have made the first cut, players receive instruction from the likes of Ron Jaworski, Mike Mayock and Solomon Wilcotts. Of the 90 players who have taken part in the program since its inception in 2007 encouragingly 36 have already earned broadcasting jobs.

The Boot Camp is one of several NFL Player Engagement Programs that prepares and supports players for their post playing careers – which often end more abruptly than many had anticipated, though there is some disagreement about just how long a player lasts in the big leagues. According to a recent NFL Management Council analysis of players who entered the NFL between 1993 and 2002, the average career length for a player who is on his club’s opening-day roster as a rookie is 6.0 years.

Yet NFLPA Executive Director DeMaurice Smith – I figured I’d include him as he hasn’t had much publicity recently – claimed in a forum with MBA students at the University of Virginia that “every player only plays for an average of 3.2 years”

Whichever is the more accurate figure, it clearly indicates a need for players to consider their next professional move within just a few years of making the grade. Not least because of their reliance on a regimented, ordered approach to their day that’s been drummed into them from Junior High, through High School to College and the Pros. And there is one undeniable parallel between the two vocations.

“We continually remind them about the importance of preparation” says Morrissey “We hammer day in day out, how much work that preparing for a game entails”.

t’s not surprising really, that the likes of Toomer or QB Tim Hasselbeck (another former Giant & alumni, fast rising up the ranks of ESPN) respond so well to this aspect of broadcasting, having spent half their lives or longer studying playbooks, their opposition and tape of their own performance to identify nuance with meticulous attention to detail.

Coupled with the savvy on camera experience (admittedly as interviewees than the other way around) that many NFL athletes already possess, and you realize there’s a logical synergy, and progression at play here. The ones who have enrolled in such a scheme are the ones who realize they can’t just waltz in and wing it in front of camera. And, much as I’d love to see the likes of Albert Haynesworth waltz anywhere, this is precisely the kind of self awareness they’ll need to succeed, and is consistent with everything they’ve had to adhere to, to get to the top.

Indeed when I think of current players who I’d love to see on the screen (as long as they don’t nab my gig, naturally) I’m tempted to send Mr. Morrissey a list and encourage a “tap on the shoulder” over the next year or two. Yes, Ray Lewis, I’m talking about you.

Discovering a celebrity has changed their name is nothing new. Stage names are almost old as the concept of fame itself. Many A-listers across the globe consider a fake name as essential to the blueprint of fame as owning a sausage dog, a portable vial of botox and a regularly belittled personal assistant called Todd who isn’t allowed to make eye contact (except on Thursdays).

But just when you thought it wasn’t possible to be surprised anymore by the exploits of the rich and famous, along comes Mr. Ron Artest, L.A.Laker and card carrying elite maverick.

You remember Ron, right? The first round draft pick who was banned for no less than 86 games (still a record) after almost single-handedly instigating a fans/players brawl during a game whilst he played for the Indiana Pacers.

The thing is, referring to him as Ron Artest isn’t factually correct. Because Ron has changed his name: to Metta World Peace. Nope – that’s not a typo. Metta World Peace.

A number of questions spring to mind. Is Metta his first name, and World Peace his surname? Or is it all meant to be “as one,” like Beyoncé, or perhaps more appropriately Lady Ga Ga. What do we call him? If Kobe playfully calls him “Met” in the locker will it kick off?

What’s he going to have on the back of his shirt? Will they have to make the letters really small to fit them on?

And perhaps most importantly – what does Metta World Peace actually mean?

Yes, the first word is derived from the Sanskrit – and by extension has Buddhist origins, so maybe it’s Ron’s display of loyalty to that benign way of thinking. It obviously has nothing to do with his reality TV show Last Second Shot - the appearance of which at the same time as this is purely a (karmic) coincidence.

I’d lay even money that Ron isn’t entirely sure what it means either, like 91% of the people travelling the globe with oriental lettering tattoos.

But this remarkable piece of Artestry (see what I did there?) has placed Ron automatically in my Top Five left-field athletes. And by “left-field”, I mean so out there the elevators stopped between floor 1 and 2, not the position that Carl Crawford plays.

Here are the other Four Crazies …

TERRELL OWENS
Love him or hate him, Owens is one of the game’s all time great receivers – who may be nearing the end of his career having announced, at the age of 37, that he requires surgery for a torn ACL. His performance credentials are there for all to see but it’s his behavioral antics that have set him apart from the pack just as much as his on field skill.Like when he ran 50 yards to celebrate a TD against Dallas (a team he was later to play for) and jigged around Michael Flatley style over the famous Cowboy star on the halfway line. Or the improvised press conference he held in his driveway (whilst on suspension from the Eagles) where he fielded questions from reporters whilst doing sit-ups. As you do. Or his teary defense, behind Jackie O shades, of Tony Romo – “that’s my quarterback man” (in case we weren’t clear) – refers to himself as both Terrell Owens and TO. As you do.

EDMUNDO

The controversial Brazilian was a frustrating whirlwind of impressive skill and shocking indiscipline. Once sent off seven times in one season, nicknamed “Animal,” reprimanded regularly for frequent fist fighting on the pitch, and supposedly bared his genitals at opposing fans. Walked out on Fiorentina at a crucial time of season to attend the Rio carnival. Photographed feeding beer to a monkey.

THE BUSHWACKERS

Part of the vintage era of 1980’s WWE wrestling, the Bushwackers were as crackers as they come. Often seen rubbing their heads manically or licking each other (for luck apparently), the Whackers (sometimes known as the Sheepherders) brought a giant kangaroo with them to the ring and walked like manic chickens. 300lb chickens. One of them, Cousin Luke was missing most of his front teeth, but that didn’t stop him running up to the camera to show the world his unique oral hygiene on a regular basis.

DENNIS RODMAN

The Godfather to Artest’s Carlito’s Way, Rodman’s crazy creds are second to none.

In no particular order he has: turned up in a wedding dress to promote his autobiography (called I Should Be Dead By Now), dyed his hair green, appeared in an action film with Jean Claude Van Damme, been pushed into a portable toilet whilst wrestling the late Macho Man Randy Savage, frequently dressed in women’s clothing.

I’m on Twitter - www.twitter.com/natcoombs

Note to self. Pitch Lord Coe the following idea for the opening ceremony for the Olympics at London 2012 :

-MC Hammer

+ 14 female hammer throwers

+represenatatives from Olympic stadium heirs West Ham Utd

+ man dressed as Pat the Hammer (from Handy Manny)

+ a giant ham rotating on a spit

all singing “Too Legit 2 Quit” in the hammer throwing circle. (Other than the ham on the spit, naturally, that presumably can’t sing.  It can dance instead)

In fact, let’s get Lord Coe to record the song w/ Hammer as the official Olympic Theme Tune.

End of note.

There’s a certain irony in the fact that in the week that the Red Sox were written off more quickly than Hulk Hogan’s mid-90’s foray onto the silver screen (Mr. Nanny, notwithstanding) Kenyan Geoffrey Mutai broke the world record for the fastest marathon ever run (by a human) in Boston.

However much we try and fight it, and assume a reactionary, austere stance, there’s no stopping it. Most things in our world just get faster and faster. How fast a man can run 26 miles, the rate at which Twilight films are released and, of course, how quickly an all-star baseball team tipped as pre-season shoe-ins for the Series turned into the worst team in the history of the majors … ever.

This whole Red Sox implosion thing is, frankly, absurd. Of course, they haven’t become a bad team overnight. Of course, even in the hyper competitive AL East they are still bona fide contenders. Of course, Daisuke is one of the greatest pitchers we have ever seen. Well, ok … but two out three ain’t bad, right?

When it comes to sports, the proclivity of our generation to hysterically overreact is getting out of control. One of the Sox two big money signings in the offseason (along with first baseman Adrian Gonzalez)  Carl Crawford [right], gets moved in the batting order – from leadoff to seventh – two games into the season. Suddenly he’s a $142 million bust. The fact that Terry Francona – wise to the frenzied existence that running a team in a market like Boston engenders – was suitably calm and pragmatic, explaining that the logic behind the decision was to take the spotlight off Crawford, slowly releasing the pressure valve for one of the most expensive players in the history of professional sports, to let Carl be Carl, to “just let him sit down there.”

Presumably the media and fan reaction reciprocated that sensible, balanced approach right? After all, this is a five-tool player who has consistently performed at the top of his game season after season, since he appeared as a 20 year old rookie back in 2002. The same guy who was whisked away from under the noses of Boston’s nemesis the New York Yankees, having been, along with Cliff Lee, the most desirable player on the market this past year.

Er … maybe not so much. Ask anyone with even the slightest whiff of interest in baseball and they’ll tell you: Crawford’s a dog. Look – he’s batting under .150 for goodness sake. My cousin Marty could hit better than that and he hasn’t been able to sit down for the past three years. Those Sox? Done for? No way they’ll make the playoffs. What’s that? We’ve still got over 90% of the (regular) season to play? Who cares? It’s over. He’s over. They’re over.

By the same token the Cleveland Indians have their best chance of winning the World Series since Sheen, Berenger and Bernsen’s magical side of the late 80’s; the Cubs’ Carlos Zambrano is a lock for the Cy Young award, and Tony La Russa has gone mad because he got slightly irritated at a press conference.

The reason the great TLR [right] got irked was the same thing that’s getting my goat. Under fire from beat reporters demanding to know why the world was falling in on the Cards, here’s what he said:

“For everybody listening out there, you think I’m being unreasonable? It’s the first week of the season. I mean you guys are … I don’t understand this. Are you going to tell me Yadier doesn’t drive in big runs? Are you going to tell me Albert can’t hit? Are you going to tell me the second baseman and shortstops haven’t hit? David Freese? You don’t think he’s going to hit? You think Matt’s gonna to hit? You think Colby’s going to hit? You think Berkman’s going to hit? The answer is ‘no’ to all those things?”

Of course, he’s right. Sure, you can identify trends early in the season. Crawford is trying too hard to hit – and maybe Francona added to the pressure by dropping him in the order too fast. Yankees’ pitcher Phil Hughes’ velocity has been down this year – and perhaps the Yankees should be concerned with an already subpar (for them) rotation. The Rays are looking surprisingly strong – but will they really be competing come September? The Red Sox are clearly underperforming, but does anyone really think that they will will finish with only a 65 win season?

I’m not suggesting that any of these things should be ignored, discounted or brushed under the mound. But a sense of perspective needs to be applied to all of these things. Players, managers – teams – are being given less and less time to perform. A blip and they’re not the player they were two weeks ago. Months of mediocrity run into a hot streak and they’re suddenly Ty Cobb. As much as we can, we need to counter the need for speed that our world demands.

As a bard* once said, “I refused to blow a fuse, they even had it on the news” followed by that classic warning about the reactionary sports media … “Don’t believe the hype!”

*Public Enemy, not Tony La Russa