Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Going Old School
By SG2.0
Being a sports fan under 30, you unfortunately can’t really remember ever getting too worked up for the two greatest gambling/old school sports in America; that being horse racing and boxing.
They are both the classiest of all sport, and yet at the same time, the sleaziest. Both are 99.9 percent about money and, frankly, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
For one magical day, that being last Saturday, both sports were thrust back into the limelight. Both the Mayweather-De la Hoya fight and The Kentucky Derby had that “big event feel,” that “magical buzz” that is so lacking in sports and entertainment these days.
For one day, it felt cool to be “old school” (although sadly I pride myself on attempting and typically failing to act ‘old school’ every day of my life).
Oh ya, and to top it off, I live 15 minutes from the Mexican border and it was Cinco de Mayo (Although if I ever hear some sombrero-wearing hussy from New Jersey, that looks about as Mexican as Ron Howard, ever utter the phrase
‘Cinco de Drinko’ again, I may or may not secure my ankles to a wooden block and have at them with a sledgehammer, Kathy Bates-style).
But regardless of the usual 20-30 things that typically piss me off when I stray from the friendly confines of the “House that Estrogen built,” it was one memorable sports day.
In an effort to complete my “old school” gambling, I mean, sports mentality going into Saturday, I need the two objects any compulsive gambler, I mean, sports fan needs going into a day of old school sports gluttony:
1. Find the cheapest fat cigar you can possibly find and smoke the hell out
of it
2. Find a rolled up New York sports page and hit it against your hand/leg
while cheering
Unfotunately, they don’t sell the fabulously slimy New York Post in San Diego stores and the Lupica-laced NY Daily News was no where to be seen either. So I settled for The NY Times and went on my way. Sadly, William C. Rhoden did not conjure up any hatred in my soul, as I prefer my sports writers to be both pompous and filled to the brim with mindless agendas
(sadly I never got the opportunity to accomplish too much of either as a sports writer, other than the infamous UConn pepper spray/goal post incident of 2002).
With newspaper and cheap cigar in hand, I watched my trusty steed Teuflesberg run wild on the competition in the early going, only to bow out prematurely (insert ‘much like your sex life’ joke here).
I was also able to slip in my all-time favorite horse racing phrase: “I like (random name of horse that’s racing that day). She’s a beautiful animal,” which always draws plenty of moans and groans from the people you are watching it with, because they KNOW you are a fraud for having said it.
Basically, I was in old school heaven.
Then there was the obvious bonus of watching the plantation owners, excuse me, horse owners, awkwardly celebrate their win by kissing their Nancy Reagan-like “trophy wives” (certainly in 1932) following the race.
And speaking of the vast majority of pasty skin in the audience, what do you think the over/under was for black men not named Michael Jordan, in attendance at the Derby?
2? 4? -1?
And no, you can’t count the dark horses.
Nonethess, my final grade for the race was a pedestrian B-minus. The Derby always delivers two minutes worth of shear excitement (insert ‘much like your sex life’ joke here) but it left just a little to be desired.
The only thing that could have possibly propelled it to a solid A-plus was if the ghost of Elihu Smails would have randomly showed up at the NBC sports desk and loofered Tom Hammond’s stretch marks.
Then it would have been a race for the ages.
Until then, I stand pat with my B-minus.
As for the fight, I enjoyed it as well, simply because I actually WATCHED IT. The last time I actually watched a 12-round fight, bell-to-bell,was one of those not-so-memorable-other-than-the-post-fight-interview Tyson fights in the late ‘90s/early 2000s (they all blend together at this point, so I’m not sure which one was officially the last one I watched from start to
finish).
Sure the most intriguing part of the match was watching Mayweather come down the isle donning a sombrero (clearly a hilarious, semi-racist shot at De la Hoya) , accompanied by an extremely intimidating 50 Cent (who received the kind of crowd heat typically reserved for “Million Dollar Man” Ted Dibiase or Jake “The Snake” Roberts circa 1992 following his slapping of the lovely Elizabet).
Of course the only people cheering Mayweather in the entire bar were two token black guys and a sullen me (because it’s always more fun to root for the bad guy).
Once the fight got underway, it was clear to everybody that De la Hoya had the upper hand, simply because he was actually throwing punches.
But the less-informed boxing fan, like myself, didn’t realize that Mayweather rarely throws punches and typically employs a pseudo-Ali, rope-a-dope technique, minus the whole beating the crap out of your opponent at the end thing.
Of course everyone in attendance at the bar that evening over reacted to every punched that even so much as grazed the other person’s body or head.
And I was as guily as anyone.
I was just happy to take it all in. I was just happy that for one night, and
likely one night only, “the buzz was back.”
Somewhere, huddled behind a cloud of cigar smoke and buried underneath a hat that reads “press,” Bert Sugar was smiling.
It was cool to be “old school.”
(RETURN OF THE MAILBAG! COMING IN A FEW DAYS: SEND YOUR QUESTIONS TO: SPORTSGUY2.0@HOTMAIL.COM)
By SG2.0
Being a sports fan under 30, you unfortunately can’t really remember ever getting too worked up for the two greatest gambling/old school sports in America; that being horse racing and boxing.
They are both the classiest of all sport, and yet at the same time, the sleaziest. Both are 99.9 percent about money and, frankly, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
For one magical day, that being last Saturday, both sports were thrust back into the limelight. Both the Mayweather-De la Hoya fight and The Kentucky Derby had that “big event feel,” that “magical buzz” that is so lacking in sports and entertainment these days.
For one day, it felt cool to be “old school” (although sadly I pride myself on attempting and typically failing to act ‘old school’ every day of my life).
Oh ya, and to top it off, I live 15 minutes from the Mexican border and it was Cinco de Mayo (Although if I ever hear some sombrero-wearing hussy from New Jersey, that looks about as Mexican as Ron Howard, ever utter the phrase
‘Cinco de Drinko’ again, I may or may not secure my ankles to a wooden block and have at them with a sledgehammer, Kathy Bates-style).
But regardless of the usual 20-30 things that typically piss me off when I stray from the friendly confines of the “House that Estrogen built,” it was one memorable sports day.
In an effort to complete my “old school” gambling, I mean, sports mentality going into Saturday, I need the two objects any compulsive gambler, I mean, sports fan needs going into a day of old school sports gluttony:
1. Find the cheapest fat cigar you can possibly find and smoke the hell out
of it
2. Find a rolled up New York sports page and hit it against your hand/leg
while cheering
Unfotunately, they don’t sell the fabulously slimy New York Post in San Diego stores and the Lupica-laced NY Daily News was no where to be seen either. So I settled for The NY Times and went on my way. Sadly, William C. Rhoden did not conjure up any hatred in my soul, as I prefer my sports writers to be both pompous and filled to the brim with mindless agendas
(sadly I never got the opportunity to accomplish too much of either as a sports writer, other than the infamous UConn pepper spray/goal post incident of 2002).
With newspaper and cheap cigar in hand, I watched my trusty steed Teuflesberg run wild on the competition in the early going, only to bow out prematurely (insert ‘much like your sex life’ joke here).
I was also able to slip in my all-time favorite horse racing phrase: “I like (random name of horse that’s racing that day). She’s a beautiful animal,” which always draws plenty of moans and groans from the people you are watching it with, because they KNOW you are a fraud for having said it.
Basically, I was in old school heaven.
Then there was the obvious bonus of watching the plantation owners, excuse me, horse owners, awkwardly celebrate their win by kissing their Nancy Reagan-like “trophy wives” (certainly in 1932) following the race.
And speaking of the vast majority of pasty skin in the audience, what do you think the over/under was for black men not named Michael Jordan, in attendance at the Derby?
2? 4? -1?
And no, you can’t count the dark horses.
Nonethess, my final grade for the race was a pedestrian B-minus. The Derby always delivers two minutes worth of shear excitement (insert ‘much like your sex life’ joke here) but it left just a little to be desired.
The only thing that could have possibly propelled it to a solid A-plus was if the ghost of Elihu Smails would have randomly showed up at the NBC sports desk and loofered Tom Hammond’s stretch marks.
Then it would have been a race for the ages.
Until then, I stand pat with my B-minus.
As for the fight, I enjoyed it as well, simply because I actually WATCHED IT. The last time I actually watched a 12-round fight, bell-to-bell,was one of those not-so-memorable-other-than-the-post-fight-interview Tyson fights in the late ‘90s/early 2000s (they all blend together at this point, so I’m not sure which one was officially the last one I watched from start to
finish).
Sure the most intriguing part of the match was watching Mayweather come down the isle donning a sombrero (clearly a hilarious, semi-racist shot at De la Hoya) , accompanied by an extremely intimidating 50 Cent (who received the kind of crowd heat typically reserved for “Million Dollar Man” Ted Dibiase or Jake “The Snake” Roberts circa 1992 following his slapping of the lovely Elizabet).
Of course the only people cheering Mayweather in the entire bar were two token black guys and a sullen me (because it’s always more fun to root for the bad guy).
Once the fight got underway, it was clear to everybody that De la Hoya had the upper hand, simply because he was actually throwing punches.
But the less-informed boxing fan, like myself, didn’t realize that Mayweather rarely throws punches and typically employs a pseudo-Ali, rope-a-dope technique, minus the whole beating the crap out of your opponent at the end thing.
Of course everyone in attendance at the bar that evening over reacted to every punched that even so much as grazed the other person’s body or head.
And I was as guily as anyone.
I was just happy to take it all in. I was just happy that for one night, and
likely one night only, “the buzz was back.”
Somewhere, huddled behind a cloud of cigar smoke and buried underneath a hat that reads “press,” Bert Sugar was smiling.
It was cool to be “old school.”
(RETURN OF THE MAILBAG! COMING IN A FEW DAYS: SEND YOUR QUESTIONS TO: SPORTSGUY2.0@HOTMAIL.COM)
