Saturday night? That was the first Lang fight. The Stallion showed a glimpse of push-back the first twenty seconds and then he was overwhelmed by the sheer, animal strength of the hungry challenger. Don't forget. Clubber Lang lived alone, trained alone, ate alone, washed alone, raised pigeons alone and said horrible things to Adrian at an event that was supposed to be Rocky's Big Day.
And then he laid waste to Balboa. Demoralized him.
Unlike Rocky III, perhaps the greatest true story in modern boxing history, I have little hope of a miracle.
Holy hell. It wasn't just a "fail to compete," or a lot of lost "puck battles". There was no competition and there was no battle. That Blues team is really good. And our Wings team is really, really mediocre. Slow. We looked plodding compared to Clubber Lang.
I offer you no hope for 12. Not now. Not after that. Mickey's dead. Adrian's lost faith. All is lost.
Appollo? We need you. And bring that fat drunk Paulie with you.
It's a Live Blog. With BJs.
Welcome to Abel to Yzerman, a Red Wing blog since 1977. No other site on the internet has better-researched, fact-laden and better prepared discussions than A2Y. Re-phrase: we do little research, find facts and stats highly overrated and claim little to no preparation. There are 19 readers of A2Y. No more, no less. All of them, except maybe one, are juvenile in nature. Reminding them of that in the comment section will only encourage them to prove that.
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