Manliness and the preservation of masculinity in the face of our mommy society is big topic among men that read here at JamesI’mNotYourMom.com. As you probably know I have little patience with the ‘mangina’ crowd; those men who blame a conspiracy of liberal twerps and feminist bitches for taking away their freedom to be men, their masculine latitude. Sorry guys, but if it complains, blames, and above all credits the weaker sex with its woes, than I say it needs a sex change.

I recently had a fun exchange of messages with our gonzo-jingoism commentator Jeremy Bentham concerning these gender politics and he took the manly route, addressing the issue with humor, laughing in the face of those Ivy League skanks and liberal publishers and politicians coming at our collective genitalia with their metaphoric razors. Just as captured Iroquois warriors of old were expected to laugh at the enemy women who castrated them with sharpened clamshells as they were prepared for burning at the stake, so too should we laugh at the stone-breasted domestic dowagers and their eunuchs who think they are going to castrate our mind.

This past Sunday night I had the pleasure of viewing a standout man, a man among manly men, a fighter a year my junior who is still a title holder, and fears nothing. I had actually tuned in to sea ‘Krusher’ Kovalev, a psychotic Russian boxer with a wicked sense of humor and no patience with people who cannot hurt him, fight an elimination bout for the honor of trying to end Bernard Hopkins’ storied boxing career. For you geek-seated computer manliness nerds, do not fear, I am not about to discuss fighting, but rather the art of being a manly feminist-proof man.

1. Big House Veteran: Bernard did time and did not let it do him. Very nearly alone among convicted felonious fighters he made it on the outside and in the ring, not having submitted to the system designed to insure his return.

2. Defiant Boxer: This is the rarest kind of boxer. Most fighters are easily manipulated by promoters. Typically rich Jewish pricks use, abuse, cheat, ruin, and cast off fighters. The counterpoint is the black promoters who sink their hooks into black fighters by pointing out how rotten the Jewish promoters are, and then do the exact same thing to their ‘brothers’. Bernard wasn’t having any of that.

Taking note that Oscar de Lahoya was successfully managing his own career and the careers of other boxers, Bernard took less money for his showdown with the ‘Golden Boy’ than he deserved, destroyed him in the ring, and basically signed with him right there. That’s how a man chooses a boss—he beats his ass in front of millions—then makes the handshake deal. In a world where boxers are slaves owned by their promoters Bernard stands out as a unique, even taboo, figure. [I actually think the deal was made before hand, and if so, makes that globally televised whooping even sweeter. You could hear the Golden Boy, a dominant multi-weight class champion, groan when he was hit.]

3. Promotes Anarchy in and out of the Ring: Bernard is a legendary dirty fighter, and has demonstrated no desire to appeal to the emotions of the fans, for most of his career acting the ‘heel’ and wearing an executioner’s mask into the ring. The fat old state-appointed men that seek to impose their bullshit rules in the ring face an uphill battle with ‘The Executioner’, as Bernard is smarter than the ref and the opponent combined.

He even wrote and photo-scripted an article for The Ring magazine in which he showed young fighters how to use boxing’s most called foul, holding. Do you really think Jack Donovan or I would write an article in the Washington Times instructing young men on how to assault pedestrians in plain view of a cop in such a way as to avoid not only conviction but arrest?

4. Does not Whine Like a Bitch: Boxers never used to whine and cry and make excuses until the 1970s when network TV—structured to sell household goods to women—turned boxing into an exercise of celebrity-via-blame-laying deception. Boxers of old always credited their foe with honor and ability. Not so boxers of the post-baby-boomer Mangina Age. By contrast Bernard is so confident in his physically acquired honor and un-needful of approval that he even makes fun of himself.

I once saw him eek out a lame 12-round decision against a smaller older fighter that he should have KO’d. He even darted out of the ring without giving an interview. When asked years later what his toughest fight was, he named that fight. The shocked reporter asked why? Bernard said, “When I got to the ring I had to take a shit. I wasn’t about to shit my pants in front of a million people. So I fought all twelve rounds with my ass cheeks slammed together.”

The next time you really have to go, think about fighting a professional for 36 minutes in that condition.

5. Breaks Men: In all of the ages and cultures that rose and fell before our own Mangina Age of wagging feminist fingers and limp dicks, a man was only a manly man when he broke another man. Bernard breaks men, who have broken dozens of men, who have broken dozens of men. Breaking men is a thing of the mind, an expression of will. In an age when so-called men permit themselves to be broken by women—who were designed by God to be the prize earned for breaking other men—Bernard finds a way.

6. Lion Tamer: In the Mangina Age the lion tamer is some gay dude who gets his head ripped off because he needed a prettier decorated lion to tame. In the Ice Age, the lion tamer was the man that made the difference. As other light heavyweight champions run and hide from the apex boxing predator ‘Krusher Kovalev’ Hopkins came to watch him fight, then interrupted the victorious ‘Krusher’s’ interview before the bitch announcer was done. He did not do this to call names or rhyme words like a girl as Ali once did, or to act like an adolescent boy as the current MMA light heavyweight champion Jon Jones just did, but to stand smiling by the side of a bigger, younger, more aggressive, more powerful, champion, only to compliment him, say that he believes in his greatness and his destiny, and make him laugh.

7. Bitch Tamer: Sure, that lion is frightening, but you don’t have to wake up next to him! In boxing the bitch factor is present—in an otherwise bitch-free environment [the ring card girls being babes, not to be confused with their shrill sisters]—in the form of venom-tongued ringside announcers, like obvious crack-baby Max Kellerman and his sure-thing-with-the-fresh-towel-in-the-deserted-men’s-locker-room-shower partner Jim Lampley. Such announcers are employed to denigrate and question fighters verbally, from safely outside the ropes, to help the feminized fans of the Mangina Age feel better about themselves for staying home and getting softer.

Bernard was not there to play games with Kovalev’s mind. He’ll do that in the ring when he steps on his feet while engaging the ref in conversation to keep his eyes up. After assuring an after fight alliance with his admiring antagonist—who like most fighters is more afraid of the eviscerating interview with Max ‘The Snark’ Kellerman than the actual fight—Bernard preceded to predict Max’s questions, cut him off, and bedazzle him with statements of the arcane, the oblique, and the obtuse. Finally, after Bernard side stepped a question about his own readiness by proclaiming his opponent’s worthiness, Max threw in the towel—weary of hinting at Hopkins losses that fail to materialize—and said, “At fifty, how is it that you still have the ability to defeat young champions?”

Bernard answered dead pan, “I’m an alien.”

As Kellerman,—who does run-over interviews on uneducated fighters to flex his Q & A virtuosity like a Japanese chef sharpening his knives—tried to think of something to say, Bernard declined to bitch slap him like some dumb hoodrat, or stand and await the counter like Kovalev’s felled opponent. He pointed mildly to Max’s heart as he walked by him and said, “You lost the interview,” handling the ringside network bitch like real men handle their uncooperative women, by gently informing them of their place, and walking away without a backward glance. And just as that tactic works with women and wins their respect and affection, so it worked with the cynically denatured corporate commentator, who finished the interview as a Hopkins fan.

Such are the actions of a manly man who does not seek comfort but a legacy. Max tried to salvage his interview with “Krusher’ Kovalev while the Russian interpreter regaled the amazed fighter—who is obviously a big X-files fan—with what Bernard said. Max played his last card, trying to get a dramatic gossip-generating old-men-talking about young-men-fighting answer to a rhetorical question about Kovalev having knocked out everybody and would he predict a KO of Hopkins. Kovalev gave him a look that said, ‘Are you an idiot? You want me to try and knock that guy out!’

With the help of his language coach the Russian man-wrecker managed to make it clear that he would not predict an alien knockout, not while Bernard Hopkins’ was visiting this planet.

The year is just over half done. If Hopkins beats Kovalev in October he will be the Man Cave Man of the Year. If he does not beat him, he will still be in the running.