What's The Big Deal About Rocky?

Last night my friend Tom came over to have dinner and watch the Sugar Bowl with us. I spent the first half of the game enjoying the vegetarian chili I'd made, offering up Hail Mary's and promising God that I'd be good for ever and ever if Notre Dame beat LSU.

Somewhere in the third quarter, it became apparent that my praying and bargaining with God was not making a difference. Notre Dame's quarterback, Brady Quinn, was too focused on showing us his skill in throwing the ball both into the ground and into the hands of the LSU players.

Since a Notre Dame win was clearly not going to happen, Tom and my husband pretty much stopped watching the game. Put the two of them together and they can debate for days about anything under the sun. Last night, they ended up yapping about all sorts of random topics, including whether Halle Berry and her scene with Billy Bob Thornton deserved an Oscar for Monster's Ball and whether it's wrong for a rapper to swear on a record if it's not gratuitous cussing but instead adds to the artistic merit of the song.

In the midst of the swearing on records debate, a commercial for "Rocky Balboa," the latest in the series of Rocky movie came on. They got to talking about the film series and about Sylvester Stallone. I couldn't really contribute much to the conversation since, as I shared with them, "I don't get the whole Rocky thing, but that's probably because I've never seen any of the movies."

I might as well have admitted that I drink bleach for fun.

"You've never seen a Rocky movie?" Much spluttering and falling off the couch ensued in reaction to my response, "No."

More confusion and then looks of pity as they repeated over and over, "Oh my God. You've never seen Rocky!!"

Maybe this is a guy thing, but honestly, I've never wanted to see Rocky. I hate boxing and I've never thought Stallone is particularly hot. I mean, I know a little about Rocky. I know his girlfriend was named Adrian and the "Eye of the Tiger" song came from the movie. I just didn't realize that not seeing the actual film was such a big deal.

They were so shocked that I figured it was probably the wrong time to also admit I've never seen Purple Rain.

Tell me I'm normal and they're blowing this Rocky thing out of proportion. Or, am I really the only person on earth who's never seen a Rocky movie?

Notre Dame Lost And I Am Crying... Sort Of

Now that I've wiped the tears from my eyes over tonight's miserable Notre Dame loss to USC, I can get back to re-living some of the happier events that took place today, before the sun set over the Coliseum. The happiest thing by far was the fact that my dad came out for the game.

We headed down to Brewer Park, on the corner of Exposition and Vermont, at around noon. My half-Irish luck shined on me: I thought we'd have to pay for parking but we managed to snag a spot on a street just a few blocks away from the park.

It was the first-ever Notre Dame tailgate for my kids and they were definitely overjoyed to spend some time with their grandpa. He brought them some official Notre Dame Band t-shirts and Olinga, my oldest son, couldn't wait to put his on. My dad played with the pep-band and of course we danced and cheered, "Let's Go, Irish!" along with the rest of the crowd. After he finished playing, my dad let Olinga play his trombone. He also taught him how to do the Irish jig.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Before we knew it, it was time for my dad to head to the Coliseum to watch the game. We said goodbye and headed back to our car. On the walk back west on Exposition, our fellow entrepreneurial Angelenos were out out in full swing.

There were folks wearing USC shirts but selling bootleg Notre Dame shirts and hats. Then there were the people who were charging much moolah for any available street parking. Imagine being asked to pay $20-30 to parallel park on a street in a residential neighborhood. You don't want to pay? Well, there's an implied threat if you don't. It's called, "Good luck having your car completely intact when you stumble out of the Coliseum at the end of the game."

During the five mile drive back to our house, I was so hopeful that Notre Dame would remind USC exactly how the Irish saved civilization. It didn't happen. Instead, I was subjected to three hours of camera close-ups of Brady Quinn looking sad.

Alas, my tears have finally dried and I have a new hope: Could my dad be coming back for the Rose Bowl? We shall see!