I'm sitting here watching the recently released two-disc collector's edition of Rocky, and I'm getting pumped. The character and franchise are a part of my childhood. It's in my blood. I don't know about you guys, but when I think about Rocky, I'm not just thinking about the boxing or the characters or Stallone's funny dry hair.

I think about Eddie Murphy's impression of overzealous Italians after they've just gotten out of seeing the movie. I think about me boxing in the middle of a busy street in the Bronx after leaving the theatre for Rocky IV and almost getting hit by a cab.

I think about the debates I would have with my friends about who landed the harder punch at the end of Rocky III, Apollo or white guy with the speech impediment?

I think about those Rocky soundtracks oozing with velveeta. I think of Bill Conti's brilliant score and Survivor's immortal "Eye of the Tiger." Hell, I've had John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band's "Hearts on Fire" running through my head all damn day. I mean it. All ... day. When I drive at night ticked-off about something, there's always a part of me that's got Robert Tepper's "No Easy Way Out" in the back of my mind.

Where would coffee drinkers of America be without this? I can't run up a flight of stairs without throwing my arms up in the air, pumping my fists. Sometimes I yell, "Dragoooooooooo!" ... and sometimes I don't.

When I think of raw eggs I think of Rocky. I think of the sort of tiny tank tops no man should ever be caught wearing.

There were a ton of training montages in the '80s, but when I watch a training montage today, it's always put to the ultimate test: can it hold a candle to Rocky II? How can you beat the moment when Adrian tells Rock, "Win," and you hear Bill Conti's bell sending home the message .... The Italian Stallion is about to kick some butt. You feel it in your bones, the goosebumps come out every time, and I don't even feel ashamed about it. Because it's Rocky. He's as American as apple pie, Goldie Hawn and The Surreal Life. Because even the coolest cat on earth will understand why I am holding a Rocky marathon over the next two days and why I already have bought my opening night tickets to Rocky Balboa. The bell has sounded and not even the looniest premise this side of Over The Top can stop me from living through one more (please?) adventure in the ring from the greatest underdog there ever was.

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