A Rocky Start
The only thing worse than being a no good bum, was being a no good bum working in Hollywood. It was an experience that one Sylvester Stallone would be able to painfully testify to later on as the start of the 1970's were some of the worst and most depressing years in his life.
All Sly wanted to do was to become an actor and give great performances. He didn't care about being the most famous or richest in Hollywood, all that mattered to him was good roles in decent films. Unfortunately, while Sly had some modest success doing stage work in D.C, when he tried to chase his dreams in the city of angels, he repeatedly got the door slammed before he could even come within ten feet so to speak.
While talent was important, in truth Hollywood wanted good looking people over quality actors, models over thespians. While Sly thought himself to be decently handsome in a rugged sort of way, he sure as hell wasn't no pretty boy, and no matter what his mother or girlfriend told him, it seemed that most casting directors in the town thought he was the definition of unattractive, a state made worse by his signature slur and partial face paralysis.
While it was pretty insulting and hurtful, Sly did his best to take it all into stride. After all, not every character could be beautiful, and somebody had to take on the role of the ugly guy. So Sly started veering more towards muscle and heavy work, where they needed a strong and silent type that his build could fit for and from there use his skills to develop the characters into something larger and get proper roles based on talent alone.
Unfortunately even then it seemed that he was lacking in a lot of departments, primarily quality. People found him to be too stiff, awkward, or uncharismatic. Even if he was just doing very minor roles where he had a couple of lines or just did some blocking, the Directors would complain that he was heavily out of place and dragging the scene. With no one finding talent or belief in Sly, he had to resort to desperate measures to make ends meet, resulting in his first appearance on the camera being a cheap porno for $200, by far one of the most miserable moments in his life, and unfortunately not the last ones to make ends meet.
Sly could handle rejection reasonably well, but it was tough to keep going day after day when everyone in the industry thought you were a no good bum who had no place being on screen for a second. For two years, Sly had to struggle to make ends meet by working two or three odd jobs at a time and constantly flirting with homelessness and starvation with unemployment being a revolving door. He had some brief flings with famous works through extra appearences such as a soldier and MASH, but despite how veterans liked to extoll extra work as necessary stepping stones, in truth they didn't mean shit on a resume. All it meant was that you were competent enough to follow orders and not act like a lunatic on camera, it didn't make you any more worthy of getting speaking roles.
For many nights he danced with the thought of quitting and returning home, not seeing any point in living in a city that hated him and wanted no part. But something inside kept on nagging him to stay, the Stallone fighting spirit that wouldn't take no and would never surrender so long as he was physically capable of doing. That didn't stop many attempted trips to the bus station however, each trip pushing him a few more feet than the last before heading home.
Fortunately he had somewhat of a minor breakthrough recently with two starring roles in films! Well...kind of, sort of, not really. They were both culture and crime pieces about New York, his original hometown. In No Place to Hide he played an anti-Fascist radical student bomber, and in The Lords of Flatbush he was a greaser and a thug as part of a gang, in the latter he even got to star alongside Henry Winkler, the great Fonzi! It was a very welcome breath of fresh air for Sly to go to set on a daily basis and contribute as a lead, to be appreciated and respected, to have others value his work and like his performance. Even Henry complimented him and stated he was going to go places, The Fonz liked him!
Unfortunately while starring in two films would usually mean very wonders for acquiring regular movie and television work, the problem was that both films were extremely obscure Indie films that barely had a presence at the box office. More than once Sly got questioned on if he was making up his work, the scumbags having the audacity to think he would lie! Henry promised him to try to get him a guest spot on Happy Days or shop around NBC and advertise the services of a stellar unknown that the station would be ripe to take, but as nice as the gesture was, Sly knew it was just wasted time, thus he was stuck waiting on miracles to continue his pathetic life as an LA bum. Then one day, he would receive just that.
Sly liked to pride himself on having very acute senses of spatial awareness and observation, always managing to pick up the little details everyone glossed over and on occasion finding hidden gems in his travels. One such was a ticket that would forever change his life. One day, while walking out of a studio after another failed audition, Sly noticed a ticket in the trash. It was a ticket for a boxing match, O'Brian vs Crane. As a good samaritan, he asked around if anyone lost a boxing ticket, but no one said anything and just shrugged. Figuring that it was either intentional or the presumed suit or star didn't give that much of a damn if they weren't searching like mad, Sly kept the ticket for himself and decided to treat himself to a decent night, having gone years without attending a sporting event and his usual brand of live entertainment being walking by a street performer across LA.
It was April 27th, 1973, a night he would never forget. The match took place in the LA Memorial Sports Arena. The Arena had been completely sold out in tickets with the main attraction being O'Brian vs. Crane, with Sly finding out as he approached the stadium that said O'Brian in question was Bruce O'Brian, the star of MASH who flipped the finger to CBS and lead one of the biggest actor revolts in TV history. Sly had heard talk of Bruce becoming a boxer, but he assumed it was all an act, but from the way everyone was talking it seemed a big deal.
It was a funny image to Sly who remembered the Bruce of MASH being a scrawny kind of teen who was very akward and looked heavily out of his depth and a bit miserable during the season from hell. Sly briefly imagined Bruce recognizing him in the crowd and striking conversation, only to realize after a second that such an image was ludicrous. The two never talked on MASH, and while friendly Bruce was never intimate with the extras. Why would he bother remembering a bum like him?
Still, as a fellow MASH alumni of sorts, it was nice to see Bruce in action and made the Irishman Sly's favorite. After akwardly sitting in silence for half an hour, surrounded by rich and elitist snobs as apparently his mystery ticket was a front row one with everyone looking at the Italian in a leather jacket and munching on a hot dog and popcorn, the show began.
"Ladies and gentleman, in this corner, weighing 179 pounds, he's the MASHter of faster, the soldier slugger, the Hollywood hound from Hell's kitchen, give it for the one and only, Bruce, Emerald SPLASH, O'BRIAN!" The referee excitedly announced in dramatic fanfare. Bruce would strut into the stadium and bounce, smiling and giving some shadow punches while waving for the audience, everyone eating it up and going wild and cheering his name, with Sly adding his own cheers to the mix.
With Bruce's opponent being a beefy and older Black man with near half a foot of height on him, Sly expected for the match to be a bit of a slugfest, only to be proven wrong in what was one of the most dramatic of upsets for the lay fan. As soon as the bell dinged, Bruce went dashing in with speed, delivering a series of powerful blows as Crane was trying to build a defense, Bruce going too quick for Crane to keep up with. Crane attempted to throw his own punches, but instead of blocking; Bruce either smacked them away or crouched as swift as lightning and assumed a new stance while adjusting his position, then throwing around four to six punches while Crane was struggling to locate him. It was far from a proper sporting match, more like a butcher slicing meat in Sly's eyes with Bruce not receiving a single scratch while bruising Crane like crazy. With a strong right hook, Bruce rammed into Crane's jaw and knocked him down on the ground with his lights out, giving him a one round knockout.
Sly sat in his seat in total shock at the massacre that just took place, from a kid who just turned 18 and wasn't even a professional boxer, but an actor who did this as a hobby. Sly looked to the overhead clock and was flabbergasted that the entire match took place in a minute and nineteen seconds. "What the fuck was that?" He asked in disbelief. It was like watching Frazier take candy from a baby and then beat said baby to a bloody pulp.
"That right there was the Emerald Splash." Answered a burly man in a suit that probably costed Sly's annual rent to his right. Sly was a bit surprised that he answered him since the question was mainly rhetorical.
"Is that normal for boxing? I thought a sport like this was more about slug matches and attrition." Sly asked.
"Oh they usually are, but not Bruce O'Brian. Kid has never lost a match, and always wins them in the first round by knockout. No one can land a hit on him, and in the meantime he's throwing iron punches at five, six times a second. Apparently it's all based off of some wild karate stuff he learned from Bruce Lee. He makes veterans like Crane look like kids fighting Ali, total waste to not have him go pro." The man said, something Sly couldn't help but agree.
Before Sly held acting as his greatest love, but watching such a brutal beatdown awakened something inside him, a prime instinct like a tiger. Simply observing as a fan gave him one of the greatest highs that he ever experienced, a rush that his starring performances could only be equal to. What Sly just witnessed was not just a sport, it was art, it was a prime showing of human emotion through fists, it was beautiful!
After that match, Sly became obsessed with boxing. He picked up any books he could on the subject from the library, read any and all boxing reports in the sports section of the papers, became a regular at bars and watched any of the highlight heavyweight matches being broadcasted; he even taught himself a few techniques and moves in the vain hope of becoming more like Bruce O'Brian, a badass who took shit from no one and punched whatever the world threw at him.
Sly had a primal hunger for boxing, to the point where he started neglecting his auditions in the pursuit of his new fascination. He also became a major fan of Bruce, eagerly rushing to his TV whenever an episode of MASH came on and watching American Graffiti three times when it was in theaters. There was a New Yorker living the American Dream and excelling at whatever he wanted, rising to the top of Hollywood and knocking down the bastards of the system who tried to keep him out. He was everything Sly wanted to be and more.
Then came the second day that changed his life, the night of O'Brian vs Foster. Around early lunchtime, Sly became one of 200 million people across the world who turned into one of the greatest fights in all of boxing history. Not having the money to pay for it on his television, Sly went out to one of his favorite sports bars to catch the match with the rest of the bar. With it being past ten in the morning and on a Thursday, Sly assumed that the bar would be empty, but to his shock it was completely packed with dozens of men and women of all collars and colors coming to watch a movie star go toe to toe with one of boxing's greatest.
Fortunately for Sly, at the moment he just came in, one of the patron's at the bar was leaving, allowing him to slide in quickly and get a close view of the TV.
"So, who you betting on, O'Brian or Foster?" The bartender Dave asked Sly.
"What you talking about?"
"Who you betting to win, by how and in how many rounds?" Dave pressed.
"Isn't it illegal to oversee gambling in a bar?" Sly asked. Dave had shared before how he was a veteran gambler in Vegas, though he had never pressed it before to his customers and Sly had no intention of gambling previously when he was just meagerly living by.
"You a Narc?" Dave asked, to which Sly shook his head. "Then don't worry about it. Most everyone is shifting money around this fight, we'll probably see a billion dollars trade hands within the next couple of hours. I figured why not make it a bit semi-professional, ensure everyone gets good winnings and clean transactions, and make a little for myself, you know?" Dave said, to which Sly nodded in respect. "So, you betting or buying?"
Normally Sly would just refuse and order a beer and maybe munch on some onion rings or something, but having consumed anything he could on boxing for the past six months, he figured he had an honest shot at the gamble. As much as he wanted to place his money on O'Brian, Bruce up until this point was still an actor first and he had been fighting small fry, and now he was going against a man who challenged Mohammed Ali. Against experience and raw power, barring divine intervention it was unlikely Bruce would win, but Sly doubted that the fighting Irish would fall down so easy, which just left the option of where to place the round.
It was the tale of an unstoppable force versus an immovable object. Bruce was a hell of a fighter, but never got past the first round. Still, with all of those moves and one of the nastiest techniques he had ever seen, how long would he last, and would he even go down at all.
Feeling rather adventurous and having a gut instinct like he never felt before, Sly pulled out the only Andrew Jackson in his wallet from a club of Washingtons and twin Lincolns, "$20 on Foster winning. Gonna go 15 and end in a...O'Brian's going to go the distance. Split decision." Perhaps one of the most ballsiest decisions that Sly ever made in his life.
Dave sure seemed to be treating it as such, "You shitting me, Bruce going all the way, and split?" Dave asked, to which Sly shrugged his shoulders.
"Anything's possible. Kid is a Korean War veteran after all." Sly joked.
Dave shook his head and took the bill before Sly could change his mind, "Alright, you'll probably make a couple bucks for Foster, but don't expect anything else. Going the distance, pfft, and Queen Elizabeth is my mother."
It did in fact turn out that Queen Elizabeth was his mother.
It was a brutal brawl the likes of which Sly had never seen and could never have possibly dreamed of, with no one's expectations being met. Bruce got off as strong as usual with his tricks and speed, but Foster was very prepared and stood his ground, while delivering the first blows that Bruce had ever experienced in his career. Instead of being knocked down, Bruce adapted and tried new tactics, the two engaging in a seesaw duel where the advantage kept on going back and forth, each fighter acting at their peak and giving the greatest fight of their lives. Everyone was glued to the TV, and when not silent they yelled and screamed and cussed for their champions to win.
Over the course of the match, Sly became a center of attention as one of the boxing aficionados, as novice as he was, he provided intelligent commentary and could easily explain what was going on to his frustrated compatriots at the bar while making some smart predictions. By the eighth round, half the bar was huddled around Sly as he was giving his color commentary as a second voice playing off of Don Dunphy. With each passing round, his predictions were becoming more and more true as Bruce continued to show his worth and give Bob Foster a true Emerald Splash. However he received just as hard as he dished it out, and in the end it was a messy punch for punch, and while both looked close to falling over, their spirits held and Bruce went the distance, resulting in a split decision, and with that Sylvester Stallone would manage to win over $2000 of cash.
Now a normal man would have taken all the gambling earnings and wisely put it in the bank or pay off his debts and spend just a little bit for personal fun. While Sly did stock up his pantry and pay the month's rent, he didn't feel like being in the mood to just let the pile of cash sit around in the bank or maybe go play the stock market. Rather, he had a dream that was finally achievable, and for the first time in his life, Sly felt he was in control and could do something to push himself out of his doldrums and be a real winner.
After asking around, Sly was directed to a gym called Mac's Joint. Walking in, he found a rather busy place with a couple dozen athletes, all more built and athletic than Sly had ever been going at it like nonstop machines. He walked around aimlessly for a bit, gawking at all of the men and wondering if he was worthy, or if he could ever come close to achieving such a state when a middle aged man standing next to the central ring noticed him and hollered at him, "Hey you, bushy hair!" Sly looked around and then pointed at himself, "Yeah you, come here!" Not wanting to gather attention, Sly walked over to the man while a spar was ongoing inside of the room.
"What you looking for? Never seen you around in here." The man said with a rather thick and gravelly voice.
"Name's Sylvester Stallone, I was hoping I could join the Gym." Sly answered plainly.
"You an actor?" The man picked up, with Sly blinking in shock as it was the first time he had ever been noticed as such.
"Yeah. How'd you know?" Sly asked. He doubted that he saw No Place to Hide when the only American showings were in the New York area.
"You live in this town long enough and you can smell movie brats from a mile away, and you reek like one." The man said harshly. Sly felt a bit offended, but stood his ground. "If you're looking for a place to run and lift some dumbbells to look pretty then find somewhere else. We train athletes." The man said, then started to turn around.
"I'm not lookin to do anything casual or nothin, I want to become a boxer." Sly said, garnering the man's interest.
"You gonna be a hobby boy or looking to go pro?"
"Hoping I could be like Bruce O'Brian." Sly said honestly. "He's kind of the reason I got into the sport. Figured if a guy like him could do knockouts while appearing on TV, I could do something similar. I know I'm not the next Foreman, but I love the sport and I want to make an honest effort, make a living and be the best I can be." If Sly was going to continue to be subtly blacklisted from Hollywood, he figured it would be far better to pay the bills through beating a man to a pulp sportsmanlike than doing porn.
The man squinted his eyes at Sly and gave him a hard look. Sly was about ready to go home when he was asked, "You ever been in a fight before?"
"Got into a few matches at school. Got bruised, made sure the other kids were worse than me." Sly said, producing a smirk and chuckle from the man.
"Show me your stance." Sly did so, not nearly as professional as Bruce, but a decent brawler's start. "Now punch that bag over there." The man directed. And Sly gave a few hard punches, feeling some slight pain at the contact but also leaving a decent impact at the same time.
The man gave him a look over for a few seconds then sighed, "Well you sure as hell won't win belts, but I think I can make something decent out of you. Name's Samuel MacDonald, you got the money for membership?"
"It's at my place." Sly answered, feeling a rush of excitement over finally getting to learn the sport.
Samuel pondered for a second than shrugged, "Eh, bring it tomorrow, we'll sign the papers then. For now I'm feeling a bit generous today, I'll show you some of the ropes, see if you're committed or a half-ass."
Samuel then gave Sly an hour of personal attention, running him through various drills and teaching the basic fundamentals of boxing. Sly was nowhere near top form, but he gave it his all and took all the criticism to heart, at the end being reward with light praise that he was "A mess but a promising one with heart." and a demand to return to the gym at opening time tomorrow, with Sly happily accepting.
On an adrenaline rush, Sly would later go on a five mile run in the streets, celebrating his newfound path and happy that he could finally do something he was good at and truly make a name for himself. However, while Sly may have had a newfound passion for boxing, he never lost his love for acting, and while running, he began to brainstorm ideas for a boxing movie, one he could write and star on his own.
Not wanting to lose his muse, Sly rushed home and grabbed some pencil and paper and wrote everything and anything that came to mind. It would be a triumphant and hopeful tale of a bum and low-time fighter getting a shot at the big title, where in an act of charity and publicity, he could prove himself to the world and rise above to be the greatest he could be. It was a tale of struggle and hardship, but also hope and victory of oneself. It was not only a boxing story, but also a love story, where two misfits looked down by the world found solace and purpose in each other, inspiring one another to be their best selves. It was a story that would be THE boxing movie, the story of his life and so many other bums across America who just wanted that one shot for greatness. It was the story of Rocky Balboa, the Italian Stallion.
