Championship lunch
Rocky Balboa and Clubber Lang decided to have lunch together in Washington, D.C., to commemorate the 45th anniversary of their first matchup for the heavyweight championship in 1981. Lang, then a brash young challenger who taunted Balboa mercilessly before the fight, had knocked out Balboa in the second round. But it was little known that after Balboa regained the title in a rematch with Lang, Clubber had changed his name to B.A. Baracus and joined the paramilitary group the A-Team. Now back to using his given surname, Lang was the proud owner of a shaved-ice stand in Chicago.
“I pity the fool who don’t like my ice cones!” Lang had quipped when interviewed by Stephen Colbert. Business tripled overnight. But Balboa’s restaurant and bar, Adrian’s, had fallen victim to the COVID closures of 2021, and the former “Italian Stallion” was noticeably frail after winning a bout with cancer.
“Clubber,” Balboa said, bumping Lang’s fist, then embracing him, “you look like you could put me on the canvas again!”
“I could, sucka!” Lang said, scowling. “But I left that world a long time ago. Have you tried my ice confections yet?”
“Still the huckster,” Balboa said, smiling. “But I’m a Popsicle guy from way back.”
“Grrrrr!” Lang said, staring down Balboa.
Both men laughed. “Let’s eat, Clubber,” said Balboa. “What’re you havin’?”
“Dead meat!” said Lang. The meals arrived — a tofu salad for Balboa, steak tartare for Lang. After munching for a few minutes without conversation, Balboa put down his. “Clubber,” he asked, “what d’ya think of this fiasco at the White House?”
“Don’t blame me, I didn’t vote for him!” Lang said, squeezing his tartare between the fingers of his right hand.
“That’s not what I meant!” Balboa said. “I’m talkin’ about these so-called UFC ‘fights’ they’re gonna stage — in a steel-cage octagon on the White House lawn!”
“You’re kiddin’ me, Rock!” Lang said, laughing. “You crack me up!”
“Nah, it’s for real, Clubber! I can’t believe you haven’t heard about it!”
“The shaved-ice business takes up all my time, Rock! Can’t watch no TV, not even ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos!'”
He chuckled. “People’s pants fallin’ down! Heh, heh, heh!”
“It’s all true,” said Balboa. “UFC fighters. In a cage. On the White House lawn. The. White. House. Lawn. They’re givin’ away 85,000 tickets!”
“They’ll ruin the Rose Garden,” Lang said, his eyebrows raised.
Surprised, Balboa said, “Clubber, they paved over most of the Rose Garden. Trump said he didn’t want ladies’ high heels to sink into the grass.”
“What?” Lang yelled as he swept his plate from the table. “No Rose Garden? I’m gonna bust him up!” ”The fights will be on June 14,” Balboa said. “Flag Day, which is also Trump’s birthday.”
Lang lowered his head. “What happened to our America, Rock?” he said dejectedly.
“It’s not our America no more, Clubber. Back when we fought, American had values we could all be proud of. No so much now.”
“Steel-cage UFC match,” Lang said derisively. “Can’t find no real men? Maybe we can set up a meeting with Trump in the East Wing and talk him out of it!”
“He demolished the East Wing, Clubber.”
Lang’s face reddened. He leapt to his feet, knocking over the table. “I’m gonna torture him! I’m gonna crucify him! Real bad!”
“I’ll drive,” said Balboa.