What hit me Saturday night, right around the time my 10th Keystone did, was such a mind-blowing epiphany that I had to sit back and let it sink in.

This was the type of “Oh, Ed Norton is Tyler Durden,” clarity that I had only read about, and it had the Kennedy assassination effect — except for in a good way — that won’t allow me to forget where I was or what I was doing when it happened.

So there I was, simultaneously channel surfing and cursing ESPN for airing its annual sports movie debacle (did they learn nothing from “Junction Boys”?) instead of the Red Sox-Yankees tilt at Fenway, when I happened to stumble across “Rocky IV.”

While watching the 1985 Stallone boxing classic, which was periodically interrupted by the “Growing Up Gotti” commercial marathon that A&E seemed to be running, a revelation struck me like an Apollo Creed rabbit punch. Everything we as human beings need to know about sports, culture and life in general can be learned from “Rocky IV,” an East-meets-West, capitalism-meets-communism, great-acting-meets-great-writing-meets-great-directing life lesson.

For example …

“Rocky IV” reinforced the old maxim that if you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself. Sure, it’s the same thing Michael Vick thinks every time he rolls out of the pocket. And yes, it is what your dad muttered under his breath after your first lawn-mowing attempt resembled a crop circle made by aliens fresh off the Black Crowes tour bus. But it just means so much more coming from a man who starred in “Over the Top.” Like a true do-it-yourselfer, Stallone opted to write, direct and star in the film, making him the Bob Vila of ground-breaking ’80s boxing movies. Only with bigger muscles.

“Rocky IV” also taught us, in a roundabout sort of way, that silence is beauty. Borrowing from the Steven Seagal school of acting (which is like the Juilliard of Southern California, I’m told), human action figure Dolph Lundgren does his finest stoic Soviet impression and goes almost the entire film without speaking. And just like the TA who doesn’t know the solution to the problem set, he responds to direct interview questions with only blank stares and silence. I hope that Terrell Owens is somewhere out there taking notes.

The box office boxing smash also made us realize how important it is to know when to say when. Whether you’re a trainer watching your best friend dying in the ring or a wingman watching your best friend dying on the dance floor with a girl who has that 12-beer glow about her, you have to know when to throw in the towel.

Sure, you might upset this friend at the time, but it’s better to stop things before your pal dies in the ring of head trauma or wakes up the next morning beside a new “acquaintance.”

“Rocky IV” taught us that people with blond flat-tops are very good at what they do. Chris Mullin, Vanilla Ice and Tom “Iceman” Kazanski only reinforce this lesson.

“Rocky” part cuatro also helped us fully understand the beauty of revenge. It just feels good to watch the Italian Stallion pound Drago with body shots and haymakers, see Phillies fans rain batteries on JD Drew every time he visits and relish the looks on the faces of Nebraska fans the last time they left Jack Trice. Now that was beautiful.

“Rocky IV” also indirectly taught us how dangerous it can be to mix business with pleasure. Our guy Sly not only made an embarrassing move when he gave “Rocky V” the green light, but he also married Drago’s on-screen wife Brigitte Nielsen, who is now known as the oft-wasted “Surreal Life” star who may or may not have hooked up with Flava Flav and his golden grill. Stallone is now known as the “Rocky IV” star who shouldn’t have dipped his pen into company ink.

Additionally, “Rocky IV” taught us that there is a specific formula for dealing with loss. This formula is replete with an emotional letting-go montage, a pulse-racing, getting-back-on-the-horse training montage, and a vindicating this-one’s-for-you-buddy revenge sequence.

Most importantly, “Rocky IV” taught us that America always wins. Send an over-the-hill ham-and-egger from Philly to fight an impeccably trained Soviet in his prime, and the American will win. Send a less-than-articulate capitalist-pig prize fighter to the U.S.S.R. and have him beat the country’s native son, and the American will win over the crowd. Send a team of NBA basketball stars to Greece to have them take on a bunch of Argentineans, and the Americans will win the …

Well, two out of three ain’t bad. Especially when we’ve learned so much.