The Contender
Brinkley/Reid

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Stee: B | Grade It Now!
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Jesse Was A Friend

Previously on…Sly. Boxers. Someone runs on a beach. Crowd. Ring. Jesse loves the new digs. Training. Sly talks about the one-million dollar prize fight. Peter with his family. Alfonso. The families move out here. Ishe and Ahmed argue. The challenge. The West wins. Alfonso steps up. Surprised Ishe. Peter is number three in the world. Alfonso talks to his family. Peter hugs his daughter. Fight. Alfonso kicks ass. Peter is crushed; hugs his wife. Shots of boxers in their natural habitats. Pharrell sits on the steps of his shanty.

Now the real credits. Chimes and suspense-strings. Sly. Sugar Ray. Each of the boxers, including Peter, who is gone, and Najai, who is gone in a totally different but more complete way. I see Tariq is actually spelled Tarick. They oughta make up their minds. Useless Jackie. Tommy. Belt. The Contender!

Aftermath of the fight. The West stands in the ring congratulating Alfonso. Alfonso's mom hugs him and says that she knew he could do it. People cheer. Alfonso voice-overs that he's sorry for Peter but today was his day. Alfonso takes a victorious shower, and then voice-overs, cut coming to bruise over his eye, that he's a step closer to providing his family with a "beautiful future."

The fighters return to their digs after the fight. Ishe lies that the fight went "exactly as [he] planned," somehow taking credit for Alfonso's stepping up and beating the shit out of Peter. Both teams decide to meet as Alfonso camera-talks that he felt really bad for Peter. Ishe then gives a speech that he had his differences with Peter (Really? When?) but he felt very bad watching Peter do the Loser Walk afterwards with his family. Jonathan, sitting against the wall holding what looks either like the Bible or the Yellow Pages -- like he needs some spiritual guidance or a pizza -- says that thinking about his own family while watching Peter's daughter in the ring with him afterwards choked him up. Choked him up so bad he needed some Cheesy Bread pronto. Christian guy says that he felt bad too, but each fight is a gamble. Jesse then camera-talks that this fight was "mild" compared to what later rounds could hold and they're all sort of realizing that there is no one "easy" here. Well, I hear Juan will fuck anything, but he is eighteen. Ishe starts saying, "Peter's done." Tommy then steps out of the 1940s to give them all a reality check. "Peter Manfredo is the only guy who's not moaning. I heard him say, 'Tommy, get me another shot.'" He says that they should just kiss Peter and get back to work. "Seven o'clock, you better have your ass up." He smiles, walking away. The fighters bail, chagrined. They thought Burnett wanted them to sit around editorializing about the fight, and Tommy just smacked them down. Tommy is too stereotypical to be real. I bet he's really some English actor who goes home every day from set and says to his lover, "This job is bloody awful. Hand me my ascot. I have to wash the stench of cigars from my knickers." The man cannot be real. Shots of trains, NBC symbol for poor.

Jonathan Reid's Contender housing. Wife. Family. Jonathan tells us that his wife and kids have come out to support him. They have four kids together and are "waiting for number five to come out." Damn, and by the looks of her, they mean, like, any fucking minute. She looks like the letter P. And as Jonathan greets his kids, I have to say this: Stop Having Children! Five? Really? Do you need that many kids? Are you planning on starting a band? Like, just, stop. Everyone. Have one or two and be done with it. Have you seen the lines at Ralph's? You know how slow the 405 is? Well, all your fucking is just making it worse. All right, I'm done. But seriously. Adopt a dog. Or a Chinese girl. Just stop fucking so much. Jonathan tells us that they're both sacrificing a lot right now. Yeah, so am I to recap your giant family. I could be outside riding my bike. Jonathan tickles one of his sons, then kisses his Baby Machine wife, telling her to sit down. Yeah, she's not going to sit down, because she knows the minute she gets off her feet for a second, you fuck her. The best is that Wife is wearing a tank top over her giant distended belly that reads, "So much ATTITUDE, so little time." I love unintentionally ironic slogan shirts. My friend once saw an old Russian immigrant woman in West Hollywood wearing a t-shirt that said, "Bikini Inspector."

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The Contender

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