Doug Vs. Tanya

Bullshit, I cry! Tonya Harding by decision?!? This will be known as boxing's darkest day. Only a few weeks ago, Sen. John McCain introduced a bill to have federal oversight of professional boxing. As a staunch Libertarian I am against government involvement in any private matter but it's this kind of grave injustice that sends people scrambling for legal intervention. In fact, I have no doubt that this fight - although unsanctioned - will be the catalyst for McCain's bill to pass in the House of Representatives and become law. 1. Unnatural Bloodshed Although I can not prove it, I now believe that Tonya may have had her bleedy-time, giving her unfair advantage. As any scientist or man of medicine will attest, a woman during her shameful time has the strentgh and disposition of an angry retard. The only way to stop them in this altered state is to remove their head. Giving credibilty to this theory - my wife was in her corner and had spent most of that day with her. Menstruation is much like SARS or the Black Death in that it spreads among women like an airborne virus. Coming home after the fight, my wife was bleeding like Budd Dwyer's suicide. This could have easily started with Tonya, then to my wife and then spread like pox to the Juggie judges, slanting their already-suspect abilities of reason. 2. I forgot my cup. Defenseless testicles are a distraction just strolling around the flea market, much less when you are competing in The Fight Of The Century. Add heat to the mixture and now you have real trouble. My dangling sack slapping from one thigh to other - who can concentrate on foot-work? Remember kids - always wear underwear. Your dick will never get longer but your balls will. 3. I was in a no-win situation. I recently saw an HBO Real Sports episode that featured a high school wrestler from Georgia that had no arms and no legs. Just little nubs that allowed him to scurry like a cockroach across the parquet floor. He learned to wrestle (Anyone with no limbs must learn to wrestle to some extent or otherwise you'd just come up on them and fuck them at will) using his stumps and neck and was lauded by the show for his courage and determination. What Bryant Gumbel failed to recognize was the predicament of his opposition - lose you're embarrassed, win you're an asshole. I wound up in the same situation. Besides, this is a True American Hero. Say what you will about Tonya Harding but the attack on Nancy Kerrigan remains the sole and only interesting event of any kind in the entire history of skating, on the ice or off. The skating world should bow down before her and kiss her gnarled feet - because the moment that Harding's primate goons grabbed a shrieking, blubbering Kerrigan and pounded on her with a pipe is the solitary time ever that skating could be viewed as anything resembling "sport". 4. Over-Conditioning Although I had no intentions of preparing physically for the bout, we still had to film a training segment for the show. This included shots of me running up a hill - which I had to do twice and a scene of me doing sit-ups. I can barely do the one sit-up necessary to get me out of bed in the afternoon much less act out a series of them. We didn't have the budget to have this digitally enhanced so with the help of thin wires I was able to get a sit-up on film but not without it taking it's toll on my body. My muscles were still blown out from this at fight time and I blame Rogan. While Joe was given the official title of "trainer", my real inspiration and game plan came from singing-sensation and country idol Kenny Rogers - specifically his song "Coward of the County".         Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.         He'd never stood one single time to prove the county wrong.         His mama called him Tommy, the folks just called him yellow,         But something always told me they were reading Tommy wrong. It's as though Kenny was speaking right to my soul. In the song, the Gatlin Boys (read: Tonya Harding) come and raped ole Tommy's girlfriend Becky, sending him spiralling into a violent rage that he cannot hold back. Listen as he gets his revenge.         The Gatlin boys just laughed at him when he walked into the barroom.         One of them got up and met him halfway 'cross the floor.         When Tommy turned around they said, "Hey look! ol' yellow's leavin'."         But you coulda heard a pin drop when Tommy stopped and locked the door.         Twenty years of crawlin' was bottled up inside him.         He wasn't holdin' nothin' back; he let 'em have it all.         When Tommy left the barroom not a Gatlin boy was standin'.         He said, "This one's for Becky," as he watched the last one fall. You see, there is no mention of Tommy "training". No running up a hill, no sit-up, not even a Vodka-Red Bull. Tommy was smart here not to over-condition. My doing absolutely nothing for 37 years was the optimum training regimen required and I befouled it. Had my corner people listened to me and Kenny, I could have beaten three Tonya Hardings and no one would ever call me yellow again. 5. Sobriety For this I blame myself. I had no more than four beers in me before the fight which may have thrown me off-kilter a speck. Any long-term suicide drinker will tell you that, at the point you make the Senior Tour, you will be in an alcohol-as-instinct mode where drunkenness is your Alpha state and anything less is running on 3 cylinders. Boxing sober is like wrestling without arms and legs. Or something. Let me get one thing straight - I will fight Tonya Harding again - as the saying goes - anytime, anyplace. Except early in the morning when I'm coughing a lot and haven't had my coffee. Even if I went in knowing I would lose I would still do it - if for no other reason than to help extend her 15 minutes closer to eternity. Sure, she's milking her infamy to unprecedented lengths and she should be applauded for it. That's what America - what Life - is all about. Finger-fucking the system any way you can to avoid winding up as meat at a GM plant, building shit you can't afford for people you hate. Honest Work is for the onionheads - saving up for Saturday night so they can boo the band.