Make no mistake about it, it’s hard out here for a Spartan. Alot of these bastards, they’re “baptized in the fire of combat.” They grow up having to fight their dad all day, and I mean really fight him. You thought your dad pushed you too hard at hoops, well at least he didn’t beat on you until you fucked up. These guys, the beating is the actual practice. It’s their culture.
In some of the other neighborhoods, like Arcadia for example, you can grow up to be a potter, a sculptor or a blacksmith. In Sparta, you’re a soldier. But you don’t even get to talk about it, like “What do you do for a living?” “Oh, I’m a soldier. I’m baptized in the fire of combat.” In Sparta, they ask you what your trade is you gotta yell out “WHOO WHOO!” or something. You are highly trained in combat and in grunting.
Basically, you’re trained your whole life to fight, and you learn that the best thing in the world is to die “a beautiful death” in battle. If it’s not that great of a battle then forget it, it has to be a really good battle, and then if you die, that’s awesome. No mention of 72 virgins, or the afterlife at all, unless “Tonight we dine in Hell!” is meant literally, which is debatable.
But then after all that training they might not even let you fight. First of all, you have to have a son. Not just a bun in the oven either, it has to be a born son to carry on your name. Bloodlines are a big deal to these people. And then there are body image issues to deal with. There are some serious pecs and six packs on these Spartans. I don’t know if shirts were invented yet or not, but they don’t wear shirts. You can imagine that if you didn’t have pecs like that you would feel pretty fuckin worthless. You’d look like a freak. (more…)
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(SPOILER GENERAL’S WARNING: I wish I had gone in knowing less, so you probaly shouldn’t read this before seeing the movie. To be safe though I’ll try to be vague.)
