Steel Ball Run is objectively an incredible work... in the sense that it's incredible that people have survived boredom. Yes, yes, I know, it's “the best JoJo”, “the peak of humanity”, “the Mona Lisa of modern fiction”, blah blah blah. But let's be honest for two seconds: we're talking about a horse race across 19th-century America. Horses. For 95 chapters. We changed the stands to rotations, because apparently what JoJo was missing was the quantum physics of the Beyblade spinning top. And let's talk about Gyro. This guy throws metal balls like they're the ultimate weapon, but the guy would be pls in front of a Steel Pokémon. As for Johnny... nothing says charismatic protagonist like a depressed jockey who spends half the manga crying over his dead legs. Oh, and the antagonist? A bodybuilder president who collects Jesus' limbs like he's doing a 3D puzzle. Yes, that's right, put the Messiah at the heart of the plot, nothing more subtle. At this point, Araki is no longer writing manga, he's painting with his madness. But don't get me wrong. I love SBR. It's a masterpiece. A classic. A monument to contemporary storytelling. It's just that if you don't have a PhD in theology, quantum mechanics and equine dressage, you don't understand a thing about this stylish mess. Anyway. Steel Ball Run? It's like a vintage wine: everyone says it's incredible, even though deep down you just want a glass of water.