Boxing is dead. Long live boxing. Or, actually, long live robots punching each other into scrap metal while Hugh Jackman does his best impression of a man who should be less likable than he is. That’s the premise at the heart of Real Steel, and if it sounds absurd, you’re not wrong. But here’s the twist: Ocean and Jim spend ninety minutes proving that absurdity, when executed with enough chutzpah, heart, and spare robot parts, sometimes works out just fine.

This week, Ocean Murff (forever the Adam to Jim Pullen’s Max, or vice versa—good luck keeping it straight) pick apart Real Steel with the unflinching eye of two guys who know exactly how sports movies manipulate us—and still find themselves getting a little misty when the underdog robot takes one on the chin. Or the servo. Or whatever robots have.

They start, naturally, with UFC nostalgia and the eternal debate: is it still a sport if no one’s bleeding? From there, it’s a hop, skip, and full-body mirroring routine to the movie’s big question: why does a film about robot boxing make you care about broken people? Is it just Jackman’s “Wolverine effect”—no matter how many bad decisions he makes, you still want to root for him? Or is it something more elemental, buried in the scrapheap of every father-son sports movie ever made?

Ocean, who sees a little too much dignity in a dented robot’s gaze, wonders if Real Steel is really the story of Adam, the world’s most underappreciated sparring bot, finally getting his shot at the title. Jim, ever the pragmatist, roots for the kid to sell his dad on the radical notion that he’s worth sticking around for. Somehow, everyone ends up caring about a metal man with no lines and a child who refuses to be left at the gym.

They detour into essential but unanswerable questions: How does Bailey’s gym stay open if no one ever shows up? Why does Aunt Debra, the only functional adult, get painted as a villain? And exactly how illegal is robot-fighting-betting if Anthony Mackie’s character runs the book in broad daylight?

Somehow, none of this derails the central thesis: Real Steel shouldn’t work, and yet it lands—if not a knockout, then at least a split decision that’ll keep you watching until the final bell. You’ll care about the robots. You’ll care about the kid. You’ll even care about Hugh Jackman’s comeback arc, despite every screenwriting trick you can see coming a mile away.

Is this the next great sports movie? Ocean and Jim aren’t here to answer that. But they’ll make you believe that somewhere, in a gym that should be bankrupt, a robot named Adam is still dreaming of a title shot.

Listen. Disagree. Then admit you got a little choked up, too.

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It starts with a thump. Not a punch, not a kick—this thump is hips-on-hips, bodies in motion, skates slicing across hardwood with the confidence of a linebacker and the grace of a ballerina. This is roller derby, baby. And on this episode of The Adrian Moment, Ocean Murff and Jim Pullen don their metaphorical elbow pads and dive helmet-first into Whip It, Drew Barrymore’s underdog sports flick that zips, zags, and jabs its way into the coming-of-age canon.

This is a play-by-play from two guys who know the smell of stadium nachos and the sacred geometry of the underdog arc. Ocean recounts a real-life Rose City Rollers bout—600 strong in a Portland warehouse—and frames the chaos with a journalist’s eye and a fan’s heart. Jim’s got questions. About penalties. About player names. About why Lauren Much didn’t skate that night. And together, they break down not just the sport, but the spirit that keeps it rolling.

Of course, they tackle the film’s plot: Bliss Cavendar, the small-town Texas teen who trades pageants for pads and becomes Babe Ruthless. But they’re really after something deeper—the tension between expectation and ambition, the line between rebellion and identity, and the way a mother’s reluctant blessing can carry more weight than a gold medal.

They question whether the movie’s final bout matters as much as the heartbreak that precedes it. They wonder if roller derby’s fake-outs and body blows are a metaphor, or just a damn good time. And of course, they trade derby names—because how else do you honor a sport where every player is part athlete, part alter ego?

If you’ve ever felt torn between who you’re told to be and who you might become, if you’ve ever yelled “We’re number two!” and meant it with all your heart, this one’s for you. Strap in. This one hits like a Witch Slap and lingers like a bruised memory.

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Baseball is a game of numbers. Nine innings. Twenty-seven outs. Ninety feet between the bases. It is a sport where precision is worshipped, where history is measured in statistics, and where perfection—true perfection—is almost impossible.

But every so often, the improbable happens. A pitcher stands alone on the mound, the weight of history pressing down, and achieves something transcendent: a perfect game.

This week, Ocean Murff and Jim Pullen review For Love of the Game, the 1999 Kevin Costner film that is as much about loss as it is about baseball. It is a film where the act of throwing a baseball is about memory, regret, and the search for meaning in the final moments of a career. It is about what happens when the thing that has defined you for decades is slipping away, and you have to decide—right there, on the mound—what comes next.

What happened to baseball’s grip on the American imagination? In 1999, the sport was still a cultural monolith, capable of stopping a city in its tracks. Today, it struggles to command attention beyond its most loyal devotees. Why? What changed? And does For Love of the Game inadvertently capture the last gasp of baseball’s golden era?

In this episode, Ocean and Jim approach the film’s love story, its poetic treatment of baseball, and its place in the broader shift of America’s relationship with its so-called national pastime. Along the way, they reflect on the myth of the perfect game, the unseen forces shaping modern sports, and whether baseball—like Billy Chapel—has already played its final masterpiece.

Links & Notes

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What makes a legend? Is it the weight of history, the whispers of truth passed down through generations? Or is it something more ephemeral—an idea, a story, a narrative so compelling that it becomes real in the telling?

Ocean Murff and Jim Pullen set out on an odyssey of their own, peeling back the layers of myth and spectacle surrounding Hidalgo, the 2004 film that dares to ask whether a man and his horse can outrun not just their rivals, but their own pasts. At first glance, Hidalgo is a sports movie—an underdog story set against the backdrop of a 3,000-mile endurance race across the Arabian desert. But is that all it is? Or is it something stranger, something more elusive?

Frank T. Hopkins, as the film would have you believe, was a legend—part cowboy, part Lakota warrior, a man who rode his mustang into history. But reality, as Ocean and Jim discover, is far messier. What if the race never happened? What if the stories were never more than stories? What if, in the grand tradition of American myth-making, Frank Hopkins was less a historical figure and more a talented fabulist, a man who understood that the right story, told the right way, could become indistinguishable from truth?

This episode is about a film. But it’s also about the nature of belief. It’s about why we cling to legends even when the facts refuse to cooperate. It’s about what happens when a lie is so beautifully constructed that we want—desperately—to believe in it anyway.

Because Hidalgo isn’t just the name of a horse. It’s an idea. And ideas, as history has shown us time and again, can be more powerful than reality itself.

Links & Notes

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• More episodes of The Adrian Moment
• The Long Rider's Guild on Frank T. Hopkins

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What if a boxing match could change the trajectory of global politics? What if a single speech, delivered in the heat of a fictional Soviet arena, could thaw decades of ideological frost? In this episode of The Adrian Moment, Ocean Murff and Jim Pullen step into the ring—not to throw punches, but to wrestle with the idea that Sylvester Stallone’s 1985 classic Rocky IV might have done more than entertain; it might have shifted the tectonic plates of geopolitics.

They take us on a journey through the myth and meaning of Rocky IV. They dive deep into the movie’s audacious assertion that a single man—armed with nothing but a relentless work ethic, an ox yoke, and a speech about change—could dissolve the iron grip of the Cold War. Along the way, they dissect Apollo Creed’s unforgettable entrance, the morality of Ivan Drago, and the unrelenting power of training montages scored to 80s rock ballads. But the real question remains: was this just a movie… or something more?

Drawing on historical context, personal anecdotes (Ocean once believed the fight was live on Christmas Day), and even a conspiracy theory that suggests Reagan’s administration might have had a hand in the film’s Cold War messaging, Ocean and Jim take you beyond the surface of this cinematic masterpiece. This isn’t just a discussion about a movie—it’s an investigation into the power of storytelling, propaganda, and the human spirit.

Can a film really end a war? Could Rocky Balboa have been a secret Cold War diplomat? And what can Rocky IV teach us about the enduring appeal of underdogs, heroes, and the triumph of the human will? Ocean and Jim are here to find out.

Put on your gloves. Step into the ring. And get ready for the bout of the century.

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Ocean and Jim delve into the chaotic gridiron of Necessary Roughness, a film ostensibly inspired by the SMU football scandal. But is it a true underdog story, a paean to the resilience of the human spirit against overwhelming odds? Or is it simply a charmingly goofy comedy, a cinematic comfort food best enjoyed with a side of suspended disbelief?

This isn't your typical sports movie dissection. Ocean and Jim explore the film's surprisingly complex layers. They ponder the curious case of Paul Blake, the 34-year-old freshman quarterback, and question his motivations for returning to the academic pressure cooker. They dissect the almost Shakespearean villainy of Dean Elias, whose disdain for the sport fuels a hilariously absurd prison scrimmage. And, of course, they celebrate the comedic genius of Sinbad, whose performance transcends mere acting and becomes a force of nature.

But beneath the surface of slapstick and one-liners, Ocean and Jim find a deeper truth. Necessary Roughness, they argue, is a "sick movie," a cinematic balm for weary minds. It's a film that doesn't demand intense scrutiny, but rather invites you to surrender to its goofy charm. It’s a testament to the enduring power of laughter, a reminder that sometimes, the best way to confront life's rough patches is with a healthy dose of absurdity.

Join Ocean and Jim as they navigate the complexities of Necessary Roughness, uncovering the hidden gems within this seemingly simple sports comedy. They explore the film's surprising relevance to the modern era of NIL deals and the evolving landscape of college athletics. They grapple with the film’s uneven character development, questioning whether its comedic ambitions overshadow its potential for deeper emotional resonance. And they celebrate the film’s enduring appeal, its ability to transport us to a simpler time when the stakes were lower and the laughs were louder.

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As summer fades and the crisp air of autumn arrives, one sport dominates the American landscape: football. On this episode of The Adrian Moment, host Ocean Murff and guest Jim Pullen explore the pervasive influence of football on their lives and the broader culture. For Ocean, the season is deeply personal, intertwined with his son's high school football career and his own work as a college football official. Jim, however, offers a contrasting perspective, describing football as a seasonal placeholder during baseball's off-season. This difference sets the stage for a nuanced conversation about the role of sports in American life.

The discussion then turns to the 1993 film "The Program," a cinematic exploration of the complexities of college football. Ocean shares a personal connection with the character of Steve Latimer, portrayed by Andrew Bryniarski, a player who uses steroids in pursuit of athletic success. This prompts a thoughtful examination of the ethical dilemmas faced by athletes under pressure, the temptations of performance-enhancing drugs, and the often-unseen pressures within the college sports system. Ocean and Jim dissect Latimer's motivations, questioning whether his choices are driven by team loyalty or personal ambition. They also discuss a controversial deleted scene, depicting players lying in traffic, and its real-life consequences, raising questions about the influence of media on behavior. Join Ocean and Jim for a thought-provoking conversation about the enduring appeal of football and the ethical challenges it presents.

This episode includes an extended bonus section normally reserved for supporting members of the show dissecting the final play. If you want more bonus content just like it, please support The Adrian Moment with your own subscription at TruStory.fm/join today!

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Ocean and Jim reunite for a nostalgic deep dive into the 90s hoops classic, "White Men Can't Jump." But this isn't your typical sports movie post-mortem. This conversation takes an unexpected turn, veering off the well-worn path of cinematic analysis and into a bizarre realm of shared cultural memory. It begins innocently enough, a casual reminiscence about iconic lines. Ocean, you see, has a history with a certain Sizzler-related quip. Jim, it turns out, has an equally peculiar attachment to a phrase involving poultry and string. Suddenly, a chilling realization dawns: these aren't just random catchphrases. They're echoes from the film itself, lines absorbed into their lexicon without conscious awareness. How is this possible? Did screenwriter Ron Shelton tap their phones in the 90s, pilfering their vernacular for cinematic gold? Or is there something more at play, a mysterious osmosis of pop culture into the very fabric of their being?

Having inadvertently laid claim to authorship of the film's most memorable dialogue, Ocean and Jim proceed to dissect the movie's enduring appeal. They grapple with the film's complex themes: the seductive allure of the hustle, the corrosive nature of self-sabotage, the delicate dance of relationships, and, of course, the thorny issue of racial stereotypes in sports. They ponder whether the central hustle, predicated on the assumption that white men lack basketball prowess, would still fly in today's NBA landscape, a world devoid of a contemporary Larry Bird. They delve into the intricacies of Billy Hoyle's character, exploring the nuances of his gambling habit and the blurred lines between calculated risk and impulsive self-destruction. And, in a moment of unexpected profundity, they contemplate the film's surprisingly nuanced portrayal of Gloria, a woman grappling with her own ambitions in the shadow of her partner's erratic pursuits.

This episode of "The Adrian Moment" isn't just a conversation about a movie; it's a journey into the labyrinth of memory, a meditation on the subtle ways in which our cultural landscape shapes our identities. It's a story about two guys, a 90s classic, and the uncanny realization that sometimes, life imitates art in the most peculiar ways.

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