You were just a kid, weren’t you? You seemed so much older back then as I gazed up at the big screen, squirming on the cracked vinyl seats at Forest Hill (yet to bloom into a strangely lame Chase) cinema. I thought your main problem was your inability to recognise your own latent talents. It was your movie, the film saw in you what you didn’t yet see in yourself, and we never doubted you’d make it. You just needed to discover that you were the best around. The Karate Kid.
But now I realise how young and small you really were. Those Cobra Kai dudes were ridiculously large and beefy; you could hardly call them ‘kids’, yet you beat them anyway. It feels so wrong, so paedophilic, to caress your beardless, peachy face with my eyes. But love’s always a little twisted, isn’t it?
I’ve gotta say, I liked you best in Karate Kid II. (You were so whingey in Karate Kid III — and growing out of your Kidness.) I just want to digress a little here and say how glad I am that your movies never had lame subtitles like Karate Kid II: Journey To Okinawa. I don’t know that I can crush on someone whose movies have such pretentious titles.
Anyway. You took some time in Okinawa to start your journey towards Karate Manhood. This time there was blood on your face in the climactic showdown. WHY DID THOSE OKINAWANS JUST STAND THERE? I would have leapt across that lantern-filled gulf for you, Daniel – the water couldn’t have been more than a couple of feet deep. I wouldn’t have passed out cold from a single blow like that chick did. I wouldn’t have wimped out like her and toasted your victory over Okinawan brutality with a chaste, snuggly hug. I would have kissed you and tasted your blood.
Plus, ‘Glory Of Love’, the theme from that movie, was co-written by Peter Cetera. It was nominated for an Oscar, and rightly so. Yacht Rock and you — my two smooth loves in one glorious roll of celluloid.