Real Men Train in the Snow and Don’t Eat Avocados

The statement was delivered as a matter of fact. As if it were surely verifiable in any encyclopedia.

“There has never been a good West Coast fighter who could beat a good East Coast fighter.”

Frank Gelb said it the other day about the strengths and weaknesses in boxing.

As promoter at the Resorts International Hotel-Casino in Atlantic City, Gelb knows something about the game.

As a lifelong resident of this area, he knows something about the East Coast.

And as someone who doesn’t live out West, he still thinks he knows something about the West Coast, particularly California.

Gelb’s statement is echoed throughout boxing and just about every other sport.

If you’re in the market for an inferiority complex, come East.

When North Hollywood middleweight Michael Nunn came to Atlantic City this week, it was generally regarded as his toughest test. That was true because he was fighting Mike Tinley, a consistent, shrewd boxer.

But to many of those in this city, it was true for the simple reason Nunn was meeting an East Coast guy.

You want tough, come East. You want showtime, go West.

Never mind the fact that Nunn is a Westerner like Sly Stallone is a freedom fighter. Nunn had spent almost his entire life in Davenport, Iowa, before coming to the San Fernando Valley two years ago to launch his professional career at the Ten Goose Boxing Club.

When the Boston Celtics regained their NBA title last year, it was due to the toughest front line in basketball, a product of that Eastern work ethic. Never mind that Kevin McHale came from Minnesota, that Robert Parish came from the Golden State Warriors, that Bill Walton was once the closest thing to a West Coast flower child that sports has produced, and that Larry Bird, Mr. Boston, still calls Indiana home.

So a few stereotypes don’t hold up. So what? The fact is Californians all fritter away their time lying in the sun, a flower shirt on their backs, thongs on their feet and an avocado sandwich in their hands, while their Eastern brothers dutifully punch their time clocks and ardently polish their crafts.

The result is a superior product. Especially in sports. When you think about it, it makes a lot of sense.

After all, if you are a boxer with road work to do, what would be more effective: an icy, slick, cold street to run on or a smooth, sandy beach?

If you’re dedicated to shooting hoops, where would you rather be: in a cold, leaky gym or a nice outdoor playground, usable day or night?

If you’re a quarterback, where are you going to better learn to throw the ball: while wearing mittens or shorts and a T-shirt?

But enough with the logic.

If you’d grown up sneezing your way through one dreary winter after another, you might also resent those well-tanned upstarts from the West.

Can you imagine shoveling the snow off your driveway for a couple of hours on New Year’s Day and then dropping into your easy chair where you’re subjected to the telecast of the Rose Bowl game? Here you are with frostbite on the tip of your nose and some jerk is sitting in his Rose Bowl seat with suntan lotion on the tip of his nose.

No wonder they chant, “Beat L.A.! Beat L.A.!” at every Southland team that comes East.

That’s understandable. But what do they have against avocados?