Times two…

All-City.

[Picture by Bags]

There is no higher…

Or…Mongo!

Here’s a childhood favorite…

My brother loved this one…

Wrapping up boxing week, here’s one that Diane suggested:

And, well, I couldn’t resist…

This one isn’t in the new book of boxing poetry and song lyrics but still, Uncle L’s crossover hit is still worth dropping here:

Another boxing beat:

…For the Brown Bomber:

Boxing Week continues…

In celebration of the recent publication of The Fighter Still Remains: A Celebration of Boxing in Poetry and Song from Zevon to Ali (edited by George Kimbal and John Schulian), let’s do a week of boxing tunes.

First up, a classic:

It’s muggy in the Rotten Apple.

Take a bite out of this:

Yo, Matt Garza…

A butta mid-’90s Hip Hop joint…

[Picture by Bags]

Can’t mess with a theme, man…

Further Proof that Rock Will Never Die:

My mom has always loved music. She loves to sing and whistle (and even hum). Ma is game, too. She’ll listen to rock n roll, soul music, funk, jazz, and her “classic music.” But she’s never been a big record-buyer. When I was growing up, she had some Judy Collins records and Simon and Garfunkel lps, and of course, her Jacques Brel albums. Oh, how she looooved Jacques Brel. And we had an Edith Piaf record, too.

Most French-speaking peoples of my mom’s generation revered Edith Piaf.

I always think of Edith Piaf–of my mom singing in French, of Nuke Laloosh mistaking Piaf for a “crazy Spanish singer” in “Bull Durham”–whenever I hear Rice Pilaf. Edith Pilaf?

Sounds good, tastes good. Sometimes the French know what they are doing…

[Photo Credit: Janet is Hungry]

Get to work.

Perk up with this: