the sweet science

I'm not a violent person, but I've always really liked to watch boxing. I've never been in a fight, and I've only once hit someone out of anger (and I got the bastard square on the jaw, too--dropped him like a sack of potatoes, but I was a lot younger then), still, if boxing's on, I'm sure to watch it. Boxing is the oldest sport, as prostitution is the oldest profession, and both, I think, still hold merit today. It's good to know some things can stand the test of time. People will always fight, and always fuck, just some of us are better at these things, and those people get paid for doing so.

I don't know where I'm going with that. It's been a long week the past three days. Tonight I sat on the couch and drank a couple of the beers I snagged from the office and watched Boxing After Dark on HBO. Speaking of things that last forever, Larry Merchant, Jim Lampley and Harold Lederman (who's never gotten on camera as far as I know) still carry the workload of HBO's boxing commentary. I think they have since boxing was invented, or at least as long as I've been exposed to HBO, which is really all that concerns me. I kinda like them because they all bring their own neuroses to boxing. Lederman keeps a scorecard, which isn't the official scorecard, but it's pretty much treated like gospel, and he's usually right. Lederman also likes to yell about stuff. He shouts everything from his perch off-camera. Merchant speaks in long, sometimes elegant prose that eventually drifts off into the realm of what-the-fuck. I don't know if he was a boxer ever or not, but he always tries to put everything into some kind of philosophical, metaphysical context, even down to the number of jabs thrown in round four. It's fascinating to behold. Lampley seems to do his best to weather Merchant's verbal musings, but always looks like he wants to punch his elderly partner in the face and uncork some deep, hidden rage that has been brewing after watching some 47 eons worth of boxing.

I think Merchant could take Lampley in a fight, though. Ol' Merchant has a sturdy jab, I'd bet.

The undercard bought was the better fo the two. The decision was unanimous for an unknown underdog who grew up in a house made of cardboard in the middle of nowhere in Mexico. He defeated some dude from Houston, TX--an undefeated up and comer with a killer left hook who'd been on the US Olympics team. It was a really close fight. I always pull for the underdog. I jumped and shouted and drank.