Friday, April 29, 2011

An open letter to young Zechenelly whose brother ran a 39.3

“You’re a bum. I liked you better when you were carrying spit.”
-Burgess Meredith as Mickey Goldmill in Rocky II

You tell that kid he ain’t nothing. That medals on walls and ribbons around necks don’t mean spit. You bust his chops every chance you get, older brother. You break him in half and remind him that championships are what we carry in our heart when our cleats are caked in dried mud and thrown out in the trash. That the only thing that matters is the work. The desire. The broken hope. The fear of losing. You tell him to carry those things in his heart for the rest of his life. That’s glory. You remind him that he stands in the middle of a long line of men in front and behind that are watching, waiting, ready to kick his ass if he breaks.
And you tell him I wish him God speed.


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