042218 — Little 500 - Spring is sputtering in like an old jalopy - Conor McGregor killed boxing.
So I have this other story going in a separate piece and it’s kind of nice and I think it works well…not too weird, just grazing the surface. I think I will put it out in a couple of sections because it is getting long and that’s what she said. Sorry could not be helped. Now—I think I will put it out in two pieces. It kind of feels like a chapter of something. Maybe it will be and who knows and I just like to tappy tap tap the keys. I just ate a whole quart of blueberries plus a pint of ice cream and some other stuff. I guess I was hungry so, uh, why not just Go for it? So, yeah, I will put that story out in a couple of blog pieces and you all can tell me what you think. If you care. I don’t expect many of you do.
Little 500 was, for “my boys”, in a word—heartbreaking. These men had trained so long and so hard to be in the best shape of their lives in order to deliver a superior performance on race day and it just didn’t happen. It was not in the cards. Cutters won, again..., and as some consolation, Gray Goat got second (and I am actually very happy for them and some of their riders will be riding for Zone-6 / Gray Goat devo this road season). We made some mistakes calling the race at key moments and we did not utilize our resources as well as we could have. I feel such a sense of responsibility to these guys and it just sucks that they didn’t get the result that they deserved. And they did deserve better. Four solid riders followed my training plans and did the workouts I prescribed for seven months. SEVEN MONTHS!! Seven months of living like monks among monkeys in the Sigma Chi house and keeping their eyes on the prize. I just cannot believe it’s over. These guys lived the life of a bike racer. They ate well, slept well, tracked their metrics and used the training software so I could analyze their rides. I think they didn’t even drink! And we didn’t get it done. And we are all bummed. Super bummed. But…life goes on and they will get over it and we will have another strong team next year. Plus I get three of them riding for me on the Zone-6 / Gray Goat team this road season. They are so feggin strong and I imagine they will dominate all of the races they enter as Cat 5 and 4 racers and cat up quickly (most of the team is comprised of Little 500 riders and they typically do not have much experience with crits or road races). Enough about that for now. I plan to write a piece about Little 500 wherein I write about the race (of course), the track, the equipment, our Super Hubs, the riders, the dynamic between the riders and the relationships that form between the riders and the coach (me). I am still learning it but I find it fascinating the more years I go to this race. Look for that in the next couple weeks.
So on now to the the vexing fact that it is clearly still February outside even though it is really April and I have to wear leg warmers on every ride, plus arm warmers or a full jacket, plus gloves, plus ear warmers, plus shoe covers, plus a small can of spray paint with which I intend to mark the CHICANE LOOP!! This would be such a great circuit race if we could get the permissions. It’s the Bo Jackson of loops. It really is. If the Chicane Loop could stand up, shake off all the soil and grasses and road debris, and talk, it would taunt and deride riders like the French knights in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. And it is mine -- and you shall not pass.
Anyway why can’t I wear shorts and a short sleeve jersey? These goddam 35 degree mornings are starting to piss me off. Also I had to mow the back yard today due to all of the “fertilizer” that gets put in the ground at our house. So I mowed in a sweatshirt which breaks one of my rules. While mowing the lawn, a man shall wear the following attire: running shoes, preferebly trail running shoes that are old and dirty, long black socks that rise to just below the calf, no shirt, shorts, athletic, preferably very short, Magnum P.I. short, in order to let the boys dangle without hindrance so as to breathe the fresh, yet fleeting air of freedom! Trust me, they will love you for it and if you are very, very good, you may find one morning a shiny new Susan B Anthony dollar under your venerable giblets. (Some of you may only fine a nickel, or a dime, or even a penny…these little gifts generally correspond to the diameter of your very own rocky—mountain—oysters). Aaaanyway, so it’s been cold and I’m not as fit as I would like to be right now. But I’ve been hitting it pretty hard the past few weeks. Those of you who saw me at Marian saw a shell of the racer I was last year. But no worries…I’m taking care of business. I’ll be good to go shortly.
Now I want to briefly touch on boxing. I was, and still am when the mood strikes, an ardent boxing fan. I love the history of the sport and all the wacko personalities that came along with the title holders. I even love Mike Tyson. I love Joe Frazier and Prince Naseem Hamed (what a fucking train wreck he turned out to be). I love Sugar Ray and Roberto Duran. Arturo Gatti had more heart than any other boxer I’ve ever seen. I even love de la Hoya, though he could be a downright wanker sometimes. Larry Holmes is a piece of crud that you pick off the bottom of your shoe. but, by far my favorite boxer of all time is Muhammad Ali. Pre army controversy, when he was still Cassius Clay, well...holy shit he was fast. He has to be the fastest heavyweight of all time (remember, we are talking PRE draft refusal Ali). Mike Tyson was very fast in the late eighties when he was in his prime but in a different way. Anyway i would have loved to have seen them fight. If only that were possible. If it was 1989 Mike, he probably would have won, but Ali would have found a way to get under his skin and I think it would've gone the distance.
Ali was so smart. His ring intelligence was unmatched and his spatial awareness and anticipation of his competitor’s punches were preternatural. And he always gave a great interview. He stood up for what he believed in and has, since his diagnosis of Parkinson’s, used his fame and influence for the good of humanity. He was simultaneously a trash-talking, spontaneous poet in the ring, a very serious activist for human rights and a conscientious objector during the Vietnam war, yet at times, a playful, clown-prince who told jokes and held high court whether at a press conference or simply in his hotel room. I think it is a sign of excellence in a man if he can, at once, be very serious and dedicated to whatever it is that he truly loves to do in life yet take the time to kneel down and clown around with a child for a few minutes. Ali was always keen on bringing something positive into the world. We need more men with character like that.
On to the state of boxing as it stands right now: boxing sucks. MMA has taken over the pugilist market like a Sith Lord taking over the Jedi Temple. It is completely amazing. And let me tell you this: boxing cannot be saved. That other distinct species of the human race of which Mencken spoke needs a blood-sport to be sufficiently entertained. MMA is the ultimate pugilist sport. No holds barred, nearly gloveless, and a mix of basically any and all martial arts in the world. Just people beating the shit out of each other until the floor of the cage is very nearly covered in blood. Boxing is a Nokia flip-phone and MMA is the iPhone X. Boxing has most of the same buttons and speakers as MMA but MMA has a shitload more color and sound quality and storage and complete tib/fib breaks. Boxing had its chance with Hamed and Pacquiao and Iron Mike and de la Hoya, and high-powered personalities can sure make or break an organization, but boxing has a fatal flaw; it is too safe. Also it can be quite boring in the upper weight classes. but yes…it is too safe. People do not want to see bruises or small cuts above the eye inflicted by 10 ounce gloves with a ref always ready to step in if one fighter appears to be on the brink of unconsciousness. They want to see and hear immediate and steady punches, kicks, takedowns, and submissions. They want to hear the crack of bone on bone and see and feel and taste that acrid mixture of sweat and blood as it sprays off a fighters head. They want faces out of EA Poe’s The Masque of the Red Death. They want to ponder the fact that death or at least serious permanent brain damage or maybe paralysis could occur as a result of these fights and they want the raw, ancestral excitement that goes along with it.
I must admit that I have watched some MMA and yes, it is exciting and yes, I do like Conor McGregor because he is an Irish hooligan who doesn’t give a crap about playing life safely. He just goes out and does what his heart tells him to do! BUT…I do miss boxing’s glory days. it is a strange thing to think that I like to watch people intentionally hurting each other for money and glory. Because, let’s face it, that’s all it is…two guys desperately trying to inflict enough blows to their opponent’s head to cause a serious concussion or possibly a cerebral hematoma in order to win a funny looking oversized belt covered in satin frills and medals and an enormous, shiny belt buckle. And maybe 20 million dollars. So……ah hell. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.
Later, C
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