The greatest era in American boxing — and I’m talkin’ heavyweight boxing, the only class that matters — was the first half of the 1970s. You could adjust that window by a year or two on either end if you want, but it’s beyond dispute that boxing reached its competitive and cultural pinnacle 50 years ago.
There was no pay-per-view, only network TV. Any grandiosity surrounding major bouts was justified.
Clearly, those days are gone.
Last night’s breathtakingly over-hyped contest pitted a 58-year-old former champion against a 27-year-old I’d never heard of. Everyone — and I mean everyone — was pulling for The Old Man.
The thug-versus-thuglet spectacle was available for viewing on The POTUS FO-FO Network.
When it was over, The Old Man got his ass handed to him. He couldn’t hang. The stadium crowd began heading for the exits long before the final bell.
The video stream couldn’t hang, either. It spent most of the telecast buffering, frustrating millions.
Deb, to my surprise, stayed up to watch the debacle. Me, I never liked Tyson, and I had no clue who the other fighter was, so I couldn’t summon the interest. I went to sleep.
I caught up this morning. The affair brought back a few memories.
It reminded me that I used to love heavyweight boxing. I looked forward to watching every fight on my family’s black-and-white Zenith.
And that reminded me that I never much liked Ali — not his draft-dodging, not his name, not his antics, not his success in the ring. I hated the showboating. I always rooted for Frazier, for Foreman, for Norton, for anyone who’d knock him down and shut him up.
And that, believe it or not, reminded me that I have a history of not being particularly fond of fads and trends and pop stars that (seemingly) everyone else loves.
Disco. Hip-hop. Grunge. Karaoke. Tattoos. Michael Jordan. Michael Jackson. Prince. U2. Reba. Shania. AKs. Tik-Tok. Women’s basketball. All soccer. Light beer.
It’s a long list.
Anyway, that’s what a disappointing boxing match in Texas brought to my mind.
This was my third straight day off The Mountain. Today, however, Deb and I were on a mission — having exhausted every antiques shop, secondhand store and flea market in the Marion-Baxter area, we drove west to Harrison in search of a couple of items on our list.
We struck paydirt on our second stop. We were looking for some sort of low dresser (or similar fixture) that we could transform into a bathroom vanity, and a store off the square — Curtsinger’s, where we bought a dining table and chairs six months ago — had a vintage “dry sink” that fills the bill perfectly.
Deb also found a small shelf unit that she’ll hang from the wall in the bathroom, or the kitchen, or somewhere.
Another item we’d had zero luck finding was some sort of vintage vessel to fill with water and set on the woodstove — essentially a Country humidifier. An enamelware coffee pot, I thought, would be ideal.
The last store we visited today, Junk-Shun Barn in Bellefonte, apparently had been hoarding all of them. We hadn’t been in the store five minutes when we stumbled onto no fewer than two dozen of the things.
We left with a medium-sized teakettle, plus a coffee pot and a pair of matching enamelware cups.
Mission accomplished.
A trip to Harrison wouldn’t have been complete without a late breakfast at Ranch House Restaurant and a visit to the KOA where we lived for many months.
We ended our Saturday at Carolyn’s Razorback Ribs in Yellville with today’s special — zesty tomato bisque accompanied by grilled cheese on Texas toast.
This was a gratifying and productive day. Yes, we enjoyed ourselves. More important, what we did fuels our progress here on The Mountain.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB