Fights certainly attract a different kind of crowd than, say, the Opera, the Chicago Art Institute or the PTA.
This I was reminded of on Saturday while checking in to catch my flight from the Windy City to Las Vegas to catch the Mayweather/Pacquiao fight for the welterweight championship of the world.
?Glam? was definitely the order of the day, with the men drenched in bling and wearing black baseball caps sideways, and the women wearing ultra short shorts that went half way up their rear end.
Standing there in my tailored Brioni suit, I stood out like a sore thumb.
Boxing is such a barbaric sport that I keep expecting it to get banned, or at least go out of fashion. Look at poor Muhammad Ali, whose career imprisoned him in a pitiful life of permanent brain damage.
And today?s champions are anything but role models. Mayweather himself has been arrested on multiple occasions for beating wives and girlfriends, and intimidates his own kids.
But the money is bigger than ever. With a $300 million purse, over $1 billion in pay-per-view tickets sold, and all the media hype, it is clear that is not going to happen any time soon.
I come from a long line of boxers. Both my father and my uncle fought in the Golden Gloves during the Great Depression. I grew up watching the great fights of Sonny Liston and Ali on a fuzzy, 17 inch black and white TV.
I also have some experience myself, participating at the National Karate Championships in Japan, where my front teeth still reside. Suffice it to say, I know how to throw a punch, and take one too.
So I go to one of these marquee events about once a decade, more for the atmosphere than the pugilism.
The last time I went, it was to see one of Mike Tyson?s last fights, against Lennox Lewis at the Pyramid Arena in Memphis in 2002. Tyson could barely stand up, and essentially danced with Lewis, who was six inches taller than him, for the entire fight.
But then, it was the actress, Cybil Shepard, who invited me to her hometown event, accommodations included in a mansion on top of the levee, and who was I to say no?
But I digress.
When I landed in Vegas, the weather was perfect, and the atmosphere electric.
Taxiing in to the terminal, I noticed the FBO parking was packed with over 100 private jets of every description. I later heard that nearby Henderson Field, where I keep my own plane, was also full to capacity.
The entire Strip was gridlocked, and I could only get into the Bellagio Hotel through the back entrance. From there, I had to cross the street to get to the MGM, wading through a crowd of spectators who behaved like they were at the Mardi Gras.
Even before the fight started, there was a dull roar, the crowd was so whipped up with anticipation. You could barely have a conversation with the person sitting next to you.
I was in the cheap seats, which cost only $1,000, a bargain, compared to the average ticket price of $11,000.
Everyone was celebrity spotting. Who could miss Michael Jordan, some 6,?6?, his bodyguards keeping adoring fans at bay? I think I caught a glance of Robert De Nero and Mark Wahlberg through the thick blue haze of cigar smoke.
By the second round, it was clear that Mayweather was going to win. He played it safe, keeping his distance and countering instead of attacking. When he won on points after 12 rounds the fans booed.
Basically, it was a boring fight.
It was a good day for me, as I had bet on both Mayweather and American Pharaoh, this afternoon?s winner of the Kentucky Derby (great pick, Nancy!).
It was definitely a day to buy ?American.?
Not What It Used to Be
