vs.
"The An-Twerp" Von Von Von
"Only those willing to take it to the full out extent will be considered!!!" -- Terrible Tim
Full Disclosure: Von Von Von tried mowed my lawn lawn lawn a while back. I showed up at a bar with a girl. That, in and of itself, is news (at least for me), but what happened soon after was shocking. No sooner had we shown up than Von Von Von was hitting on said girl.
Now admittedly, the girl I showed up with was not my girlfriend, nor were there plans for her to be; and she did intiate contact with Von Von Von, but her contact was under the auspices of an interview for a story she was doing for grad school assignment. No sooner than her pen and paper had come out (and well before there was any indication that the girl was not, in fact, my GF), Von Von Von was working it.
He was running his hands through his hair. He was whispering his words. He was staring longingly into her eyes. He was even doing that incredibly annoying thing where you flip a quarter between your knuckes. He did everything save invite her back to the tour bus, and that was only because he didn't have a tour bus. The only bus he took that night was the B34.
|
| ||
|---|---|---|
| Von Von Von | Terrible Tim | |
| 33 | AGE | 37 |
| Equinox | GYM | Kronk |
| Antwerp, Belgium | HOMETOWN | Staten Island, NY |
| "Do the Von" | RECORD | "Nitrous Oxide High" |
I've lounged in Instanbul, partied in Beijing |
WORDS |
Turn up the nozzle, got it up to full throttle |
Anyway, my dreams about this fight sorta go like this...
Terrible Tim comes out to the roar of "Nitrous Oxide High". Maybe he's even accompanied by his aunt in her Buick Celebrity. You really can't drive a car down an aisle to a boxing match, but that's how I've seen it in my dreams.
Terrible Tim is of course sporting the classic yellow and red trunks of world-famous Kronk Gym in Detroit. The gheri-curl juice stain on Terrible Tim trunks could be courtesy of Tommy Hearns...who knows.
Von Von Von comes out on a Vespa, replete with a big-ass safety flag on the back -- the first aching chords of "Do the Von" in the background. On cue, the crowd turns on Von Von Von as soon as he enters the arena. By the looks of all the hair product in the crowd, the fight is at the Taj in A.C., but judging by the fruit being chucked at VVV, it could easily be Caracas, Venezuela at the height of honeydew season. VVV also forgoes the normal silk trunks for one of his tasty thongs.
(Sidenote: If anybody wanted to know just how soft the Apollo in Harlem has gone, not only did Morrissey play there recently, but Von Von Von got a great reception there a couple years ago. Steve Harvey: report back for duty please.)
Now the national anthem: sometimes I've dreamt it's all gangsta with DMX in the ring -- five or six pit bulls at attention -- as he grunts his way through, working the crowd into such a lather that anybody not wearing Fubu is probably wearing a size-12 Timberland on their face, but for this dream Luther Vandross is getting his croon on. During the song, his weight waxes and wanes violently depending on the note. By the time he gets to "...home of the freeeeeeeeeeeee!" his skin just gives up and he spills all over the ring.
Post-anthem, our referee, the distinguished Paco Doubledown, gives the fighters their instructions. The crowd at this point is so hopped up on the ring girl -- the overpixelated girl on Terrible Tim's site -- and half-price Michelobs that they are screaming for a first round that hasn't been seen since Hagler v. Hearns '83 -- the best round of boxing ever. Sadly, it was not to be.
Like most of my dreams, but still much to my chagrin, this dream falls apart. The boxing match turns out to be a dud. I was hoping that Terrible Tim might just keep punching Von Von Von in the nuts Andrew Golata-style. He might get DQ'd, but at least I'd go home happy. Instead, I think the fight is called a draw. Something about two white guys boxing...Butterbean...Gerry Cooney...something like that.
Pathetic.
Somehow, my dreams have a way of just crapping all over themselves.
My final thought before waking up was that Iran "The Blade" Barkley was chasing me around the elliptical machines at the gym. That part could actually happen. Apparently he gives personal training lessons at the Dolphin Gym on E. 4th St. No joke. Sign up.