There is one place, event, or subject on which Philadelphians of all sorts agree, well, except perhaps art snobs,
and that subject is Rocky.
I go as far as to call them snobs, not because they love art, but because anyone who fails to appreciate this city’s collective love for a fictional character, and especially the reasons why that character is loved, is thinking too highly of themselves and deserves the sort of booing that the city of brotherly love is known for. Lets go get our batteries.
You probably haven’t seen the original movie in years, we watch it every year.
Say what you want about Sly but that scene where Mick comes over to Rocky’s apartment asking to be his manager, you know, the one where Rock brushes mick off and sends him sulking off down the block. The frustrated fighter starts shouting out his frustrations to no one once the old man has left but then goes jogging after him and they patch it up. The two of them are pathetic. It is wonderful.
When Rocky runs up those steps, the ones we are sitting on, everyone cheers. 
We will go watch it again next year, and the year after that.
We will keep going till the kids are old enough to walk themselves back to the car at midnight and old enough to understand why Rocky’s love for Adrian is beautiful.
