This is What I Do On Sundays When It�s Not Football Season
While slacking, sliding and side-stepping a number of literary projects I have on my plate (everything from writin� to readin�), I also have been in �practice� mode on any given Sunday. For clarification purposes; Sundays during football season, I will watch something like 10-12 hours worth of televised amerikan football. Starting with pre-game action at 9AM for an hour (10AM once the time changes kick in), the morning games and afternoon games (about 5-6 hours), another hour of recaps and highlights in the evening hours and then pausing only long enough to flip to the Simpson�s during the night game (another 3 hours) before bed. To say that I waste an entire day would be an accurate assessment, however all my football maddened colleagues will agree that we don�t exactly do a helluva lot during non-football season on Sundays to warrant this being a waste of time. So any other time during football season, we must practice.
Here in lies my problem and the sole reason I found myself propped on the couch racing through channel after channel of mind-numbing cable television; practice, plain and simple. It takes a special person, with well honed skills and extreme patience to spend this much time in one sitting watching a flickering television screen. Not only do the pro�s that play the NFL game I love so need a preseason to warm up and get back into the swing of the things, but those that fanatically follow the game need these practice sessions as well. During this most recent practice session, my search for televised viewing finally ended on one of those cable stations that replays older type movies (edited of course) that no one in their right mind would watch. Thankfully for yours truly, there is a monstrous number of no-brained fucks in this wonderful county that keep such stations in business and I am personally am never, ever in my right mind.
At first, I thought I had perhaps found an old Chuck Norris flick, one of those Missing in Action movies or some other low budget; like minded late 80�s shoot em up action flicks. Just as I was about to change the challenge, Sly Stallone's bare chest and flowing greasy locks snapped before me and my Rambo rant was on like Donkey Kong.
I�ll be honest with you, I was secretly hoping for a little First Blood action, the somewhat classic action flick where John Rambo is tortured by the locals gets arrested and hit with the fire hose and eventually ends up killing and roasting a Doberman because he is a Vietnam veteran not welcome in whatever po-dunk town he happened upon. I would have been less stoked (but still happy) for a first blood part II sequel, which for those playing along at home, was yet another movie about �finding� missing Vietnam vets and bringing all our missing boys home. Alas, I was forced to play with the hand which I was dealt and instead of having an ace up my sleeve and promises of a winning hand, I had a pair of deuces and was sucked in by the third installation of this action series; I should have folded, bluffed instead and lost my proverbial pants in the process.
This movie is a piece of shit, if you live your entire life without seeing it, feel truly blessed. The concept of this film views much like a campy government inspired propaganda piece. The theatrical release was 1988 and for a brief history lesson, during this time period the U.S. was still in the grips (grant it, the downward spiral) of the Cold War. The soviet union was still the bad guy and all the countries in the former C.C.C.P. that are now sovereign nations with names that are Something-or-other-stan still didn�t technically exist. The cult classic Film Red Dawn was still fresh in everyone�s minds (ok well mine at least) and the Ruskies were involved in their own personal Vietnam in some shit hole country called Afghanistan that ran smack into the doorsteps of the mighty Soviet empire.
Back to the movie�.
Now I�m not exactly sure how the crusty colonel that is Rambo�s like only friend ends up here, but he does and of course is promptly captured by the evil Russians. Rambo has to go save his only friend and ends up getting help from the native peoples that are only ever referred to as �the rebels� through out the entire flick (more on this later). Not only does our pal John instantly bond with these freedom fighters, gain their assistance and admiration, but they all miraculously speak perfect English (foreshadowing, I assure you). To give the movie a slight bit of credit, for the most part, the small arms were accurate, along with the soldiers and the main bad guy spewing out Russian (with no subtitles) to give it a slight air of authenticity. And slight, in this case, is all it gets. The transport trucks, half-tracks, tanks and helicopters aren�t even Russian military surplus and the main helicopters they use are scrapped versions or piss poor replicas of a machine known as the MI-24 that the Afghan fighters shot down with amazing amount of skill and frequency using CIA trained and provided Stinger surface to air missiles which of course is not touched in this movie (foreshadowing indeed!) In the end John saves the day, shooting down helicopters with his signature weapon (bow and arrows), rallying a tribe of �rebels� who ride to his aid on horseback and in the end they all together somehow manage to defeat an armored column of crack Russian troops.
The final climatic scene has Rambo managing to steal a burning tank (which he disables using a Molotov cocktail) that he then uses to play a game of chicken with the head bad guy whose ride of choice happens to be a helicopter. Between the two of them, they somehow determine that a game of chicken is a good way to settle their scores and not only does the head bad guy fail to hit the tank with any of the anti-tank weapons on his helicopter, he somehow manages to fly the thing at full speed about three feet off the ground without crashing, until he of course does the manly thing and screams until he eventually blows up the loser of this game of chicken; Rambo and his tank, come away unscathed. Add to this Sly Stalone�s stylish mop of 80�s band hair and the fact that he has no shirt on 95% of the movie while sweating profusely makes this a must NOT see in anyone�s book.
Now if this isn�t enough motivation for you to NEVER watch this movie and you go against my better judgment on this one, keep in mind the �rebels� Rambo gets help from are the very same CIA trained folks lovingly referred to in the 2000�s as Al Qaeda and Taliban. Yes, that�s right; Rambo is intimately familiar with the inner workings of the most vicious threat to American civilization since Hitler.
Realizing this I did my best to see if by chance I could �find the Osama� by checking out the extras in the background. All for not, as this Hollywood production was most likely filmed in the harsh deserts of Utah, instead of actually on location. I mean, there has been a war in Afghanistan for like the past 30 years, so this wasn�t too surprising.
While this was a horrifying way to practice my time killing skills on a Sunday afternoon, and even though I feel dirty for watching this movie and more so for enjoying it as a kid and even though it couldn�t have been more of a cheerleader movie for everything bloated and amerikan in this fair country, I had an epiphany. We don�t need flawed intelligence agencies or help from other countries. Massive troop deployment and new technology isn�t the cure for what is ailing us. And George W. Bush doesn�t need to re-elected with promises that he will �keep us all safer than ever� in this upcoming election year. Nope, no sirreee Bob! All we need is another mother fucking Rambo sequel, give him his bow and arrows and let him lay waste to yet another country in the name of patriotism, profit and propaganda.
I can see it now�
Rambo First Blood Part IV�this time it�s for money
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