XXIX: Trip to Madison Square Garden
Warning: The following update will be interesting to only 50% of the readers. Remember that the readers (not recipients) total 2 (my mom, and me); it will soon be clear that this will be one of those updates that I write so I remember the event.
Last night, I boarded the train and headed into Manhattan, to Penn Station to meet my friend Steve Buckley, Notre Dame Class of 1997, Manhattan resident, and world's most beautiful man. "Buck," who I've known since my first day at ND, and I were going to go to Madison Square Garden, self-defined as "The World's Most Famous Arena" and home of New York Knicks, New York Rangers, famous concerts, and world-renowned boxing matches. The Garden, or "MSG" is located between 31st and 33rd streets on 7th avenue and sits on top of Penn Station, which is one of the two train stations in Manhattan (the other is Grand Central Station). It was my first trip to "MSG" - a place that in past days I had considered an unholy place because of my dislike, no loathing, no utter hatred of the Knicks. However, MSG has been the home of wonderful events, such as Reggie Miller's 25 points in the fourth quarter of Game 5 of the 1994 conference finals, and Reggie's 8 points in 16 seconds in Game 1 of the 1995 conference semifinals. It has also hosted the first televised basketball game in 1940, JFK's birthday celebration in 1962 (yes the one where Marilyn Monroe sang to him), and most importantly was the site of the inaugural Wrestlemania in 1985, who could forget that.
On this night, we were here to watch Tom Zbikowski, Notre Dame football player, make his professional boxing debut. His fight was part of several fights to precede the main event, which was a bout between a Puerto Rican guy and an Italian guy from Jersey. This was my first trip to a live boxing match, in addition to my first trip to the Garden. The Garden is one of those places you have to see, and though it holds almost 20,000 it was very quaint. It's shaped like an egg on the inside with a shallow, almost flat roof. Our seats were situated at the equivalent of center court, and we could look directly into the tunnel that led into the locker rooms. So, we got to watch the different fighters come out before the match. Remember, boxing is a sport of idiots - why else would you stand half-naked in a roped-in square and try to knock the tar out of the other half-naked person? Well, besides the money. It is also a spectacle in which you accentuate how much of an idiot you are by proceeding toward the ring to crazy music, in wildly strange garb (one guy wore a mask, another a sombrero). In that regard, our seats were excellent. And yes, I actually paid money to be there.
There were about 7 fights last night, starting around 8:00, and of course, the one I was there for would be 6th. The title bout brought with it many Puerto Rican fans, who were "lubricated" to use Buck's term (i.e. they were drunk) and ready for Sunday's Puerto Rico day parade in Manhattan, during which the police are paid triple time and native Manhattanites like Buck wait patiently for Monday. Tommy Z had brought several thousand ND fans out of the woodwork, and the rest of the fights featured competitors from various ethnic groups such that the Garden was a 17,000 person melting pot certain to have the NYPD on edge. It bears mentioning that Buck and I were sitting behind 10 Puerto Ricans who were in a particularly festive mood, so we had great seats for the boxing and any other rioting that was sure to ensue (mental note, delete that last sentence before I send this out to Mom).
Most of the fights were pretty boring, featuring two guys, both weighing less than me, of varying ethnicities beating each other up until one guy looked dizzy and the ref stopped the fight. The fans corresponding to those ethnicities would wave flags and chant while the bouts occurred. Think "World Cup" but with savage beatings in the ring, not the stands, and all in a more contained space.
At 10:30, Buck and I were starting to get bored, but were saved when an Irish middleweight named John Duddy was announced as the next fighter. He entered the arena, led by a bagpiper, and the crowd reacted as if the free money was being given away. The fight lasted 7 rounds and for its duration the energy was electric in the arena - my first glimpse of what the Garden could be like. It resembled the scene in Braveheart, before the two sides go charging into each other, with chanting and cheering so loud and sustained that the PA announcer, who previously had been deafening, was relegated to white noise. This chaos was soon accentuated when, during a break in the action, the big screen showed a picture of Zbikowski warming up "backstage." The crowd fervantly responded. Tom was wearing gold gloves and a shirt with something written in Polish, probably something that when translated can't be shared with polite company.
After the Duddy fight, it was time. Zbikowski's opponent, who we will call "Victim Number 1," came into the ring wearing an Ohio State jersey, and he was greeted with a chorus of boos. Then, soon after, the Notre Dame Victory March began blaring, and several members of the football team lined the tunnel, all wearing "Fight Like a Champion Today" t-shirts. Zbikowski emerged clad in a silver hooded robe. Craziness became bedlam. One of the Puerto Ricans in front of me turned and said "Ten bucks on the black guy," and betraying my Ford family roots, I declined to accept the wager. I said "I don’t want your money, save it for your train ride home." He said "what, no pride?" to which I said, "trust me, Zbikowski is going to destroy the guy, keep the ten." The bell rang and they came out. A flurry of punches, some dancing, then another flurry, this time sending Victim Number 1 to the mat. The Puerto Ricans were screaming, pointing at Buck and me, and the guy who had offered to bet turned to me and looked as if he had seen the ghost of a dead relative. Victim Number 1 got up, the ref signaled to start fighting again, and three punches later, he was back on the mat. Zbikowski is one mean Polish guy. The ref, combining this with the fact that Victim Number 1 now answered "Orange" to the question "Do you know where you are", stopped the fight. With that, the fight was over. It lasted 49 seconds. The Puerto Rican turned and tried to hand me a ten dollar bill.
We left before the title fight, but upon reading the news this morning, it seems the Puerto Rican boxer won last night, which is good for the Garden...I liked the place, and I'm certain it would not have survived had that outcome been different.
For those of you who have grown to expect stories about the kids or Regis, tune in next time. This was my guys night for the year ...so we'll be back on topic next time.
Until then...
Last night, I boarded the train and headed into Manhattan, to Penn Station to meet my friend Steve Buckley, Notre Dame Class of 1997, Manhattan resident, and world's most beautiful man. "Buck," who I've known since my first day at ND, and I were going to go to Madison Square Garden, self-defined as "The World's Most Famous Arena" and home of New York Knicks, New York Rangers, famous concerts, and world-renowned boxing matches. The Garden, or "MSG" is located between 31st and 33rd streets on 7th avenue and sits on top of Penn Station, which is one of the two train stations in Manhattan (the other is Grand Central Station). It was my first trip to "MSG" - a place that in past days I had considered an unholy place because of my dislike, no loathing, no utter hatred of the Knicks. However, MSG has been the home of wonderful events, such as Reggie Miller's 25 points in the fourth quarter of Game 5 of the 1994 conference finals, and Reggie's 8 points in 16 seconds in Game 1 of the 1995 conference semifinals. It has also hosted the first televised basketball game in 1940, JFK's birthday celebration in 1962 (yes the one where Marilyn Monroe sang to him), and most importantly was the site of the inaugural Wrestlemania in 1985, who could forget that.
On this night, we were here to watch Tom Zbikowski, Notre Dame football player, make his professional boxing debut. His fight was part of several fights to precede the main event, which was a bout between a Puerto Rican guy and an Italian guy from Jersey. This was my first trip to a live boxing match, in addition to my first trip to the Garden. The Garden is one of those places you have to see, and though it holds almost 20,000 it was very quaint. It's shaped like an egg on the inside with a shallow, almost flat roof. Our seats were situated at the equivalent of center court, and we could look directly into the tunnel that led into the locker rooms. So, we got to watch the different fighters come out before the match. Remember, boxing is a sport of idiots - why else would you stand half-naked in a roped-in square and try to knock the tar out of the other half-naked person? Well, besides the money. It is also a spectacle in which you accentuate how much of an idiot you are by proceeding toward the ring to crazy music, in wildly strange garb (one guy wore a mask, another a sombrero). In that regard, our seats were excellent. And yes, I actually paid money to be there.
There were about 7 fights last night, starting around 8:00, and of course, the one I was there for would be 6th. The title bout brought with it many Puerto Rican fans, who were "lubricated" to use Buck's term (i.e. they were drunk) and ready for Sunday's Puerto Rico day parade in Manhattan, during which the police are paid triple time and native Manhattanites like Buck wait patiently for Monday. Tommy Z had brought several thousand ND fans out of the woodwork, and the rest of the fights featured competitors from various ethnic groups such that the Garden was a 17,000 person melting pot certain to have the NYPD on edge. It bears mentioning that Buck and I were sitting behind 10 Puerto Ricans who were in a particularly festive mood, so we had great seats for the boxing and any other rioting that was sure to ensue (mental note, delete that last sentence before I send this out to Mom).
Most of the fights were pretty boring, featuring two guys, both weighing less than me, of varying ethnicities beating each other up until one guy looked dizzy and the ref stopped the fight. The fans corresponding to those ethnicities would wave flags and chant while the bouts occurred. Think "World Cup" but with savage beatings in the ring, not the stands, and all in a more contained space.
At 10:30, Buck and I were starting to get bored, but were saved when an Irish middleweight named John Duddy was announced as the next fighter. He entered the arena, led by a bagpiper, and the crowd reacted as if the free money was being given away. The fight lasted 7 rounds and for its duration the energy was electric in the arena - my first glimpse of what the Garden could be like. It resembled the scene in Braveheart, before the two sides go charging into each other, with chanting and cheering so loud and sustained that the PA announcer, who previously had been deafening, was relegated to white noise. This chaos was soon accentuated when, during a break in the action, the big screen showed a picture of Zbikowski warming up "backstage." The crowd fervantly responded. Tom was wearing gold gloves and a shirt with something written in Polish, probably something that when translated can't be shared with polite company.
After the Duddy fight, it was time. Zbikowski's opponent, who we will call "Victim Number 1," came into the ring wearing an Ohio State jersey, and he was greeted with a chorus of boos. Then, soon after, the Notre Dame Victory March began blaring, and several members of the football team lined the tunnel, all wearing "Fight Like a Champion Today" t-shirts. Zbikowski emerged clad in a silver hooded robe. Craziness became bedlam. One of the Puerto Ricans in front of me turned and said "Ten bucks on the black guy," and betraying my Ford family roots, I declined to accept the wager. I said "I don’t want your money, save it for your train ride home." He said "what, no pride?" to which I said, "trust me, Zbikowski is going to destroy the guy, keep the ten." The bell rang and they came out. A flurry of punches, some dancing, then another flurry, this time sending Victim Number 1 to the mat. The Puerto Ricans were screaming, pointing at Buck and me, and the guy who had offered to bet turned to me and looked as if he had seen the ghost of a dead relative. Victim Number 1 got up, the ref signaled to start fighting again, and three punches later, he was back on the mat. Zbikowski is one mean Polish guy. The ref, combining this with the fact that Victim Number 1 now answered "Orange" to the question "Do you know where you are", stopped the fight. With that, the fight was over. It lasted 49 seconds. The Puerto Rican turned and tried to hand me a ten dollar bill.
We left before the title fight, but upon reading the news this morning, it seems the Puerto Rican boxer won last night, which is good for the Garden...I liked the place, and I'm certain it would not have survived had that outcome been different.
For those of you who have grown to expect stories about the kids or Regis, tune in next time. This was my guys night for the year ...so we'll be back on topic next time.
Until then...
posted by Watts at 1:52 PM
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