Rocky: Where is he now?

​(Further Sidenote: Having brought up Rambo 4 and Rocky VI, and the fact they were everything I had hoped and dreamed for, allow me to say that I am vigorously crossing my fingers in anticipation of a Rambo 5. [Post-edit note: Rambo 5 is apparently in the pre-production stage and is carrying the subtitle ‘The Savage Hunt’. Excuse me while I go and scream into my pillow in excitement.] While I would say that I am also crossing my fingers for a Rocky VII, we’ve got to face the facts and take into consideration the amount of punches Rocky stood and took square in the face from the likes of Apollo Creed, Clubber Lang, Ivan Drago, and a bare knuckled Tommy Gunn. I mean, it hurts to say this (because Rocky is my hero), but now that he’s in his mid-to-late sixties, he’s got to be rapidly approaching Muhammad Ali in terms of cognitive motor skills, right? Heck, in five years time he’s probably going to be the test-case and poster child for the NFL case study to show what repeated hits to the head can do to the human brain. But maybe that’s how special The Italian Stallion really is: perhaps despite all of the punishment he received, he will still be able to walk, talk, and chew gum into his late eighties. And in case you’re wondering, that is exactly how I see Rocky Balboa’s life unfolding. After his final bout with Mason Dixon, I see him being offered a bevy of rich endorsement deals and a lucrative offer from ESPN to join their stable of boxing analysts (because, with all due respect, Teddy Atlas’ brain has got to be hitting the eight or nine count. And if you don’t know who Teddy Atlas is, Google him and you will understand. P.S. I love Teddy Atlas), but, staying true to his Philadelphia roots, Rocky turns them all down, does a couple of children-targeted ‘Exercise, Be Fit, and Be Healthy’ commercials to form a charity to help the less fortunate, and then spends the rest of his days living in Kensington, North Philly, where he continues to work at Adrian’s by serving meals and telling stories, until he passes away peacefully in his sleep at the age of eighty-nine. [Excuse me while I now wipe away a tear for the guy who effectively ended the Cold War and who made jogging up a set of stairs and raising ones hands in triumph famous.])

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