A Dying Breed - The Man's Man

I remember way back to when I was a very young child, my dad used the term “Man’s Man.” He spoke of guys like Sinatra, Bogart and Charlton Heston, Unitas, YA Tittle, Dimaggio, Mantle, Gordie Howe and Bobby Hull. They were “real” men - guys with character who exuded masculinity and had a certain edge about them. Back then it was definitely cool and you were looked up to if you embodied these qualities. But over the years, the politically correct do-gooders of society have almost forcefully eradicated this term and category of the male species. The great fear is that groups of people who do not fit that type of image such as effeminate men or homosexuals, geeks, nerds, and pocket calculator carrying brainiacs will feel excluded and take great offense – God knows, we just can’t have that. And one of the newest terms in our society coined by British journalist, Mark Simpsom is the much talked about metrosexual. On salon.com in July of 2002, Simpson was quoted as saying, “The typical metrosexual is a young man with money to spend, living in or within easy reach of a metropolis — because that's where all the best shops, clubs, gyms and hairdressers are. He might be officially gay, straight or bisexual, but this is utterly immaterial because he has clearly taken himself as his own love object and pleasure as his sexual preference.”

Wow… this is the new cool? WTF happened to “Ah’ll be bock?”

Today’s society has become a blanched and homogenized wasteland where powerful celebrities like Jane Fonda, Oprah, Rob “meathead” Reiner, Sean Penn, and Alec Baldwin have become the voice of reason for our country – and that folks - is f@#cking scarier than a Barbra Streisand Double Live album. (Watch the movie Team America if you want a good laugh.) These bombastic elitists will perch themselves in a redwood for two weeks, appear at an anti-fur march that has all the makings of a Herman Gehring fun fest, and horrify the shit out of everyone about the face melting effects of global warming. They are P.C. activists who use their money and influence to protect the world by saving us from ourselves – because apparently, we are all too goddamned stupid to make the proper decisions on smoking a cigar, eating red meat, sitting in the sun, or wearing a leather jacket.

The near extinction of the Man’s Man is a direct result of the agenda ridden crusaders of P.C. If it offends just one person, let’s give it the broad-brush treatment so that everyone can be happy and gay! I for one am sick of this mentality and was driven by an inner calling to stand up in the name of Men’s Men everywhere (kind of like when your sack is ready to bust because you have to pee really bad in the middle of the night). With all this talk of metrosexuals and the Queer Eye perspective, Men’s Men have become relegated to fourth-class citizenship facing certain extinction – that is, if we don’t stand up and make ourselves be heard.

One bona fide “real” man who whole-heartedly agrees with me wrote a book on the subject. Tough guy actor Frank Vincent, (the infamous Billy Batts in Goodfellas who told Joe Pesci to go home and get his fuckin’ shinebox, Casino, Raging Bull, and most recently psycho bastard, Phil Leotardo, Johnny Sack’s #2 man in the Sopranos) released a literary classic that should be owned by every living, breathing fan of this blog. ‘A Guy’s Guide to Being a Man’s Man’ is a fun, informative, and often times tongue-in-cheek look at what it takes for a guy to be a part of this esteemed classification. A while back I sat down with Frank for lunch and cigars and we talked about his theories behind the book.

I asked Frank point blank, what is the definition of the quintessential man’s man: “It’s a man who has dignity and respect - especially respect for women,” he noted, “And, he also displays the qualities of honor and loyalty. He must have self-respect and respect for others. Those are the assets that make up a real man’s man.”

One thing that Frank and I agree upon is that you don’t have to smoke cigars, drink, curse, surf porn sites or participate in dwarf-tossing competitions in order to be considered a real man (although, those activities do tend to heighten the testosterone levels significantly). There’s no requirement to know the lyrics to the Monty Python Lumberjack Song, and you need not physically transform yourself from the 98-pound weakling into the Charles Atlas prototype, as in the old comic book advertisements. So what then? Quite simply, it is more about an attitude – the way you think and the way you carry yourself. It’s really about who you are inside.

Men that I personally feel fall under the category of being a Man’s Man?… Hugh Hefner in my opinion is the ultimate example. What heterosexual male can honestly say he hasn’t wished he could be the Bunny King for only one night? (Leading a cavalcade of jiggling bimbos on roller skates around a tennis court certainly has its merit.) I think the Terminator, Arnold Schwarzenegger is a tanker-truck load of testosterone and definitely fits the bill (although I know Frank Vincent has a problem putting a politician in this category.) I think guys like actors, James Gandolfini and James Caan, ex-jocks and now commentators Terry Bradsaw, Howie Long, and John Madden, American Chopper’s Paul Tuttle Sr., stogie smoking comedian Ron White, and retired four-star general Tommy Franks all fit the bill to a “T”. And of course, don’t forget my pal Frankie V. – lest my remains end up sprinkled between Newark Airport and exit 16W on the Jersey Turnpike.

And strictly out of curiosity, what about the guys who will just never make the cut? Lemme see, there’s… Andy Dick, Harvey Fierstein (and his pet gerbil, Digger), Carrot Top, Jerry Springer, Richard Hatch, The Geico Lizzard (an ardent metrosexual), and that over caffeinated fruit loop from Extreme Makeover, Ty Pennington. TV Weathermen need not apply so toss Al Roker and Willard Scott out on their back doors... Marilyn Manson, Albert Arnold Gore, Chaka from Land of the Lost, Osama Bin Laden (anyone who lives in a rock condominium and eats stewed goat with his flat bread is instantly disqualified), Principal Skinnard, Ross Perot, Mr. Brady, Barney Phife, and John Tesh (but how did he snag such a hot wife?) Then there’s the most handsome Michael (I’m sorry, but my good baseball cap is at the cleaners) Moore, and of course, ex New Jersey governor, the dishonorable Mr. James (I f@#ked my life partner and the state) Mcgreevey.

Guys – I say it’s time we show an outward pride in being real men. I really mean it. I say enough is enough, to the suffocating stranglehold of political correctness and those who perpetuate its inherent dangers. We have the constitutional right to speak our minds freely without persecution. If you don’t believe in same sex marriage that does not instantly qualify you as a queer hating homophobe. It makes you a person who has his own set of beliefs and choices. If you want to hunt, fish or wear a fur hat, it does not make you a murderer. If you want to surf the internet for porno sites, well, just make sure your history cache is deleted afterwards. (Those pop-up windows certainly do get a little hairy at times.) And if you choose to sit around all day Sunday in your underwear, watching football, scratching your boys, and sucking down Busch Light in cans… well, your wife is right – you are a lazy goddamned bastard. But gently remind her that it still doesn’t make you a homophobe.

Being Men’s Men doesn’t mean acting like sex-crazed, beer-swilling, Homer Simpson-esque Barbarians. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Like Frank Vincent says, it’s about self-respect, honor and loyalty. And I’d say those are some pretty admirable qualities. I asked Frank, what final words he had for all the politically correct zealots who demand that we conform to their mediocre, metrosexual, smoke free, low-carb, un-opinionated, off-white, milquetoast world? He just smiled and said, “Very simple; do YOUR thing – but PLEASE show some tolerance and let other people do THEIR thing. Mind your own business and whatever you do; don’t infringe on my space.”

Well put my friend. I’ll light up a Hoyo Excaliber on that note.

And remember... If guns kill people, then spoons made Rosie O'donnell fat.

Have a wild weekend,
-Tommy Z.
JR Cigar’s Blog With the Zman