300 Thrills Me, But I'll Still Never Be a Spartan

Zack Snyder's ultra-fun 300 was released on DVD this week and it got me thinking of how I might (or might not) have survived as a Spartan. It became very clear that the only thing I would have liked about being a Spartan was sporting the red cape. Below I have listed the top five reasons why I would never make it as a Spartan.

1. I'm a lover, not a fighter.

Sure, I can get in a scrap every now and again but I'm not a particularly tall chap which is a real problem when your mortal enemy, Xerxes, is like 30 feet tall. Now normally if I get into an altercation I know I'd lose I at least pretend I know how to fight. I crack my neck, sniff large, try to get a crazy glimmer in my eye and dance around the ring like Popeye. But Xerxes is supposed to be a freaking god. He will not be put off by such foolery.

2. I'm not ripped.

The Spartan abdomens are washboards. I'm told their diet consisted mainly of wheat, olive oil, wine, pork stew, and something called black gruel. I ain't eating black gruel, whatever that may be. I'll stick with my Twinkie abs, thanks.

3. I don't fight in slow-mo.

Look, when I decapitate someone the blood doesn't splatter giant droplets in a twenty-foot radius and any blood loss is done in what I like to refer to as "real time." So I can't slow down time, sue me.

4. I'm a film buff.

The Spartans didn't value art at all. I can't live in a village without a movie theater or a DVD store. I'd go nuts just practicing sword-fighting all day, every day. What a bunch of stiffs.

5. I don't feel the need to be a legend.

This is really a cowardly way of saying I'm a coward. Look, no way on God's green earth am I going up against a million man army. Those Spartans were all brainwashed by Leonidas' idioms. Look, if a Persian captain tells me he's going to launch so many arrows my way that it will actually block out the sun, I'm not retorting about fighting in the shade. Do you realize how many arrows it would take to block out the sun? Madness, indeed.

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Dre writes three times a week for Film.com when he is eating black gruel. E-mail him!