Best Retirement 2010 | Former Cardinals QB Kurt Warner | Sports & Recreation | Phoenix
No one, and we mean no one, invigorated the long-moribund professional football franchise known as the Arizona Cardinals more than Kurt Warner, a future Hall of Fame quarterback with a penchant for connecting on long bombs and suffering too many concussions in the process. We watched as Warner, seemingly on his way out of the league a few years ago and on board to serve as a bench mentor to then-anointed QB-of-the-future Matt Leinart, ascended to the starting role and led the Cards to the Super Bowl against the Pittsburgh Steelers. The dude with the big-time gun was one of the best we've ever seen at downfield throwing, and with just a little flick of his wrist. But we also saw old Kurt (37 years and counting) take shot after shot from those hulks of monstrous defensemen known as middle linebackers. How many times can one guy's brains get rammed into the turf before he turns into, say, Muhammad Ali? Time to call it a day, and for real. We strongly suspect that Kurt's wife, the ubiquitous mother of seven, Brenda, will make sure that he doesn't pull a Brett Favre and come out of retirement to play "just one more year."
Thanks to Hit Girl, the pint-size heroine of Kick-Ass, we've figured out that anyone can be a superhero given the right training. Founded by sixth-degree Black Belt and former Army Special Forces operative John Nottingham, USA Martial Arts doesn't wimp out by teaching just karate or aikido. The school's intense program combines tae kwon do, Filipino stick fighting, jiu-jitsu, kickboxing, and other self-defense techniques to aid you in your endless struggle against evil (or your growing gut). If you're worried you won't be able to keep up, rest assured USA has starter classes for those who "just couldn't find the time to exercise," so even if you're a couch potato, you'll be kicking ass like Hit Girl in no time.
Remember that old chestnut about how "if man were meant to fly, he'd be born with wings"? Try telling that to the human psyche, which seems to subconsciously craves to defy Isaac Newton's theory and break the surly bonds of gravity (as evidenced by all those freaky-deaky flying dreams you had as kid). Since commercial air travel is hardly fun anymore (unless you're pimp enough to ride first class), we suggest spending some serious scrilla in exchange for an afternoon aerial adventure at Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport. If the savings account is swank enough, the flight instructors of Fighter Combat International can help you kiss the sky in style while in the cockpit of pint-size Extra 300L plane. For the cost of about $485 for the basic experience, willing Wright Brothers wanna-bes are subjected to a half-hour of barrel rolls, hammerheads, and other aeronautical acrobatics. Prices get steeper from there, depending on flight length or whether you'd like to handle the controls. (Packages featuring Top Gun-like mock dogfights with simulated weapons are also available, albeit at costs ranging from $755 to $3,815.) While flight suit rentals are included, airsickness bags are optional. And sadly, Wonder Woman, your plane will not be invisible.
Every kid wants to join the circus, whether he dreams of taming lions or flying on the trapeze. Unfortunately, most kids, like us, never had the balls or the skills to run off with Barnum & Bailey. But those childhood dreams aren't lost at Trapeze U, where performer and "adventure enthusiast" Dylan Phillips will literally teach you how to fly. The university is set up like a school, with pretty lenient admissions — if you're in decent health and at least 4 years old, there's a good chance you're in. For $65, you can learn the basics in a Trapeze 101 class that offers several opportunities to play toss and catch. Trapeze U also offers two-for-one Family Fun Nights and a seven-week intensive course for $350, which culminates in a circus-style show. Afterwards, all you have to do is wait for the Big Top to roll into town and try to hitch a ride.

See: a video interview with Luis Gonzalez.

Sports superstars in Phoenix have a nasty habit of choking in big-game opportunities. Not so with Luis Gonzalez.

With one extraordinarily timed swing of his baseball bat during the 2001 World Series, the Arizona Diamondbacks slugger reinforced his hero status to thousands of locals — myself included — by doing what Charles Barkley or Kurt Warner never could: He brought a major-league championship to the Valley.

And I got to witness this historic occasion firsthand after dropping $400 on eBay for a nosebleed seat inside what was then Bank One Ballpark.

Gonzo's triumph was one of the most thrilling moments of my life and the stuff of baseball lore: game seven, bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, score tied — against the dreaded New York Yankees. On the mound was the Bronx Bomber's notorious Mariano Rivera, one of the deadliest closers in baseball.

Few players have scored against Mighty Mariano, especially during a Fall Classic. But when Gonzo swung for the fences on that fateful evening, he transformed a cut fastball into a game-winning bloop single. It shattered his bat and obliterated decades of Phoenicians' frustration with athletic also-rans who just couldn't grab hold of the brass ring.

Gonzalez overcame such insurmountable odds for most of his career. Before donning a D-Backs uniform in 1999, he spent nearly a decade shuffling among three MLB teams (Detroit Tigers, Chicago Cubs, and Houston Astros) as an ignominious utility player.

After moving to Phoenix, however, he became a sports legend, home run machine, and the most beloved player in team history. Fans like me loved his countless crowd-pleasing swats as well as his affable nature, sense of humor, charity work, and family-man image.

Gonzalez has always been approachable. He never seems to refuse giving an autograph or handshake to fans, whether he's in public with his wife and triplets or by himself at a pro wrestling event (like me, he's a longtime follower of World Wrestling Entertainment).

Despite having ended his baseball career in 2009 with the Los Angeles Dodgers, he's still popular in the Valley. A sellout crowd (a rarity these days) packed Chase Field last month to watch Gonzo become the first Diamondbacks player to have his number retired. And many fans are hoping he can turn around the team's fortunes in his current front-office job as special assistant to team president Derrick Hall.

Ever the humble one, however, Gonzo tends to shirk his heroic status.

"I don't really consider myself any different than anybody else," he says. — Benjamin Leatherman

New Times clubs editor Benjamin Leatherman, who has suffered through decades of losing seasons by Valley sports teams, interviewed Luis Gonzalez on September 3 at Chase Field in Phoenix.

I live in Phoenix because I love the hot weather.

When I was a kid, I wanted to guide the airplanes in with the orange sticks, actually.

While I'm driving, I enjoy listening to the radio.

Phoenix could use more air-conditioning, more shade.

Phoenix could use less of those intersection radar light things.

Umpires are nice guys at times.

Right before I got the game-winning hit in the World Series, I thought, "Oh, my god, don't screw this up."

The one athlete (alive or dead) that I would have liked to meet would be Roberto Clemente.

The best thing about being a hero to people is when they finally get to meet you, they realize you're just a normal guy.

Right before I go to bed, I always put a bottle of water and a bottle of Gatorade by the bed.

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