The Many Faces of Tony Danza

The feeling of gloves was a welcomed one.  The sound they made, his hands taped and inside them.  Nice.  Tight.  Quick.  His walk out to the ring was slow and deliberate, and at the moment those gloves felt just like sledgehammers, and he was ready to do some damage with them.  Be cool now.  Along the way he'd hop about to get the blood flowing.  The crowd acknowledged him and cheered him and he smiled his usual trade mark smile.  Come on now, cool your jets. Down the aisle.  Up the steps and into the ring.  The smell of a boxing ring can be an incredible thing.  Its just another fight.  Come on now.  Be cool now.  Cool.  The crowd hummed as the ring announcer went to work.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Diner's Club of Dubuque, Iowa proudly presents tonight's main event. . ."  His voice amplified out over the speaker system, loud but only slightly louder than the crowd.  "Presenting first, the challenger, fighting out of the red corner, weighing in at 245 pounds, a local boy straight out of Dubuque, Iowa Ronald "Head Cheese" Williams!"

The crowd roared appreciation for their fellow Dubuquer, and for once Tony Danza felt that perhaps the majority of the crowd wasn't behind him, even though he was, indeed Tony Danza.

"And in the blue corner, hailing from Brooklyn, New York, weighing in at two-hundred-and-fifty pounds. . . Tony "I'm the Boss" Dannnnzzzaaa!"

The mild crowd of some hundred or so Iowans cheered as Danza juked and moved for the crowd, his strutting punctuated by occasional hooks and jabs.  He met his opponent in the ring, and although he was no longer the young man that he was when he first got into the boxing game, he was confident in his body and his skill, if not as a boxer, but as a well rounded individual with his hand in nearly everything.  Tony and Ronald touched gloves in the center of the ring.

"Remember its for charity."  Tony said, with a smile.  The bell rang and the match began.

Tony came out defensive and smiling, thinking that the match would just be a little exhibition, an opportunity to further his name and showcase a little bit of his boxing skill.  He knew if anything, it was an opportunity to definitely get laid, as chicks often go for the big buff guy involved in violent sports (see Jenna Jameson/Tito Ortiz).  Yet his opponent came in with other plans.  He wanted to win, he wanted to dominated - and he fucking hated Who's The Boss? and furthermore couldn't stand 'grown men with monkey' movies like Going Ape!  He came out swinging and hit Danza square across the jaw with a right hook.  Danza had his bell rung and went down with his head still ringing.  He heard the counting.

1. . . 2 . . .

He got up and kept fighting.


3. . . 4 . . .

He was fighting Earl Harris in his first professional fight.  He was fighting in his first match and was full of jitters.  Although he had been knocked down, he didn't feel any pain.  He was far too excited.  He got back into the match, by defending him self and even tagged Harris with a few good shots.  He followed his boxing style - he swung away and caught Harris in the jaw and knocked him out.  His first match.  His first win. . .

5. . . 6. . .

His parents were so glad after the fight that he wasn't hurt.  It didn't even matter that he won.  But this wouldn't always be the case for Tony and his short boxing career.

7. . .

Danza got to his feet, angered by his opponents nerve; nobody messes with the boss.  The crowd cheered at the notion of more violence.  The referee checked him out, and the match continued, the first round not yet over.  The fighting continued and Danza held his own, though his opponent was obviously more skilled than him.  Ronald controlled the round, taking Danza all over the ring.  By the end of the round Danza's face had begun to swell, and a cut had developed over his right eye.

The end of the round came with the ring of the bell and Tony went to his corner with spaghetti legs.  He felt woozy.  Water from a sponge went cool down his back.  He wiped his forehead.  He saw blood.

"Look now, you've got pasta sauce all over you."  Marc said.

"Well you know your dad, I've always been a messy one."  Tony smiled.

He wiped the pasta sauce from his hands with a white towel.  Discarding it he went to the pot on the stove.  It bubbled and steamed and produced a smell that filled the house.  He took a spoon and tasted it.

"How is it?"  His son Marc asked.

"How do you think it is?"  Tony asked.  "This recipe has been in my family forever.  It was shipped over from Italy!  I know you're quite the chef but this recipe here isn't taught in even the finest of culinary schools.  Not even the one you went to.  This. . . is tradition!"

"Well what do you think about putting out a Father/Son recipe book?  You and me dad, what do you say?"

"A father/son recipe book. . ."  Tony thought.  "A Tony Danza. . . and son cook book. . . A Tony Danza cookbook. . ."  It had been months without any public exposure, he felt it eating at him.

"So?"  His son asked.

"I love the idea Marc!"

"Mark."

"Mark my words, you keep this up and you are going to lose this fight Tony!"  He trainer barked at him in the corner.  "I know its just for charity, but I hardly need the bad rep.  I don't want anyone, anyone, you hear me, thinking Charlie Pinnela don't know how to train a fighter, cause I know how to train a fighter!  Now get in there and defend yourself!  Work the jab you hear me?!  Huh?"

The bell rang and the next round began.  Although his trainer had provided valid advice, Tony still struggled to protect himself in the ring.  Each hit struck him cleanly, some drumming on his ribs and turning his innards to jelly, some tending to the cut over his right eye, tearing it open a little wider reach time.  The crowd roared with a bloodlust.  Some women looked away.  Some were bored.  A man in the third row thought about fingering his girlfriend.  Violence excited him.  He was a true full blooded American.

With eight seconds left, Danza hit the mat once again.  Time seemed to slow for Danza.  He felt the mat beneath him, felt the blood dripping from his forehead.  His lungs heaved out rust.  The bell rang, saving him.

The bell rang, class had begun.  At his podium Tony Danza gazed down into a book, glasses perched on the end of his nose.  Three camera men filmed from different angles. Class had begun.

"Well class. . ."  He closed the book.  "Today we begin reading a new book.  It is by Mrs. Harper Lee, and is called To Kill a Mockingbird."  It was one of only three books Tony had ever read in his life.  "To Kill a Mocking Bird, yes. . ."  Tony said.  It was the filming of a new A&E reality series called "Teach" about Tony Danza teaching a tenth grade English class in Philadelphia.  "Yes, To Kill a Mockingbird."  He was trying to think of what to say next.  He remembered his goal coming into this thing, one he had told the media countless times: to be a good teacher.

"Mr. Danza. . ."  A boy raised his hand.

"Yes, Malcolm?"

"To Kill a Mockingbird, isn't that a movie?"

"I swear kid, this aint no movie."  His trainer said.  "You're looking like a fool out there.  Weren't you once a boxer?  Well act like one!  You're acting like a movie star caught up in the spotlight."  The sponge ran cold with water.  Danza sat in his corner, wet with perspiration.  His mangled face like hamburger meat -- its a good thing his television career is all but over.  Vaseline smeared above both eye brows in an attempt to stop the bleeding.  Danza coughed, his breathing heavy.

"You hear me?"  His trained asked.  "I swear this performance is worse than your attempt at a singing career!"

(Hell is being stuck in a dentists office, waiting impending doom, the intermittent buzz of the dentists drill as he works on another patient cutting through the sound of Tony Danza singing "The House I live In" playing over the office's stereo system.)

Tony Danza thinks he's Franky Sinatra

"I swear if you keep this crap up you aren't even going to make it to the fourth round.  You're gonna get beat, and after that you'll catch another beating -- from me for making me look so damn bad.  Now get your God damn hands up and shake out the damn cobwebs. "

Tony tried to shake out the cobwebs, but he couldn't.  It was all Who's the Boss lines and distant memories.  The bell rang and Tony slowly got up, his fists fashioned to his waist.  He staggered and fell over his own two feet.  The crowd laughed. . .

"Hi Tony Danza here, and you're watching the Tony Danza Show, live right here in New York."  He was roller blading down the street wearing protective gear (of course) filming for his daily live show.  "As you can see I'm getting a little exercise today, as this week on the Tony Danza Show we are going active!  Today we've got a great sh--"

And then it happened.

The Boss ate shit.  Tripped right over a pole while looking at the camera.

Tony got up and staggered his way to the center of the ring.  His opponent waited for him, eager to take a couple more swings at The Danza and knock him out.  The third round began, the two circling one another: Ronald Williams full of energy, Danza slow and tired.  Ronald began to toy with Danza, throwing punches half-heartedly and with a grin, as if Tony were his kid brother.  The crowd swooned.  Ton's mind still swam with thoughts, Hudson Street and Broadway, the stage and the sets, the highs and the lows.  The ring seemed to grow smaller and smaller, and to him the lights were like diamonds in the rafters, high untouchable things, but oh so pretty to look at.

To Tony, he was tap dancing again.  To everyone else, he was a fool who was about to be knocked the fuck out.

The explosive combination came soon after the tap dancing fancies - Ronald peppered him with a left followed by a right and like the whack that finally topples the tree, so was that right hand, which sent Danza to the mat, a fallen tree.  At the point of contact, there wasn't a single butt in the seats, everyone was standing to see Tony Danza get knocked out, in a brutal moment of sudden violence.

The referee counted to ten, and Ronald was declared the winner.  The fight had ended how every Tony Danza fight had ever ended, in knockout.  The loss brought his boxing record to nine and four.  After the match, after the room had cleared out and everyone had gone home, Danza was left to stand all alone on the street corner, his eyes tilted toward the sky but his soul as low as ever.

Who's the boss?

Clearly not Tony Danza.

At least he can always go back to his blog, the Daily Danza.

Has "Keep on Trucking" tattooed on his upper right arm.

Has his own rendition of "Keep on Trucking,"  "Keep on Punching," tattooed on his right shoulder, complete with boxing gloves.

Tony really was a professional boxer, from 1976 to 1979, during which time assembled a record of 9 wins, 3 losses.

Divorced his second wife, with whom he has two daughters.

Tony really does have a cook book out with his son called Don't Fill Up on the Antipasto, and you really can buy it on Amazon, used, for one cent.

In 2007, Tony really did start a music career.  He put out an album called The House I Live In, it has reportedly sold 5 copies, all of them going to Tony Danza.

In 2005, Danza crashed his go-kart during a go-kart race with Rusty Wallace.  A few month later Tony would ride again only to skid into a wall.

Tony Danza really is teaching an English class for a reality show on A&E, which may be the most retarded idea since the Pet rock.

Tony Danza really does have a blog, called Daily Danza, and its dedicated to his favorite thing in the world.  Himself.

Look at this douchey tattoo:

Lawl:

love,

iR