Keith “No-Time” Thurman V Dandelion “Pfft” Garcia. Yeah… That's what I'm calling this one. Friday's weigh-in was shockingly anticlimactic, as the fight itself morphed into extreme buzz kill.
Mad as hell– like the record breaking crowd at Barclays Center that ran for the exit signs as if Keith Thurman and Danny Garcia had farted all over the arena; I couldn't WAIT to write a scathing review of Thurman's 12 round split decision recital over Garcia.
It was 15° outside, but my heated disposition turned microwaved the weather. I cursed at the moon and told online friends to go fuck themselves for delighting in Thurman's triumph. Labeling myself ‘a hater' seemed too generic. I felt like a World War I dissenter bound for Alcatraz– ready to troll all of the security guards and Al Capone.
I somehow found myself feeling like a dark, male Carrie Bradshaw from HBO's far gone “Sex and The City”; pondering angry prose against the backdrop of the most spectacular skyline in the world.
Then, out of nowhere it hit me. As if the arctic wind of a starry nighted New York City had become an ocean breeze, I became incredibly grateful to have witnessed Keith Thurman V Danny Garcia LIVE– as millions watched on CBS, and 1000's more couldn't watch at all.
I thought of colleagues who were pissed off with Auxiliary Press seats and totally unappreciative of the fabulous banquet laid out for all of us in an international media.
I was “Rogue One” among those colleagues, bitter that we didn't witness “Star Wars: The Last Jedi”, as I'd arrogantly promised fans in “[Vol.V]: Fireworks” of this series.
A pen is and will remain mightier than a sword, if only because it can have a way of dulling the sharpest blades. In a tale of two halves, I thought “One-Time” became Ponytail and blew this fight in no time. I felt Thurman ran away from victory (literally) and lost 115-113 on my unofficial scorecard.
At the end of what's now a traditional walk over the Brooklyn Bridge for these fights, I gave a homeless woman the extra jacket I had in my bag and embraced her. Moments later, she'd followed me to a vendor's cart.
She asked for a bag of M&M's while not knowing I was listening to Eminem's “Lose Yourself” in a way emblematic of Positivism. I was chilled by the irony of this; yet, bracing for something something truly inspiring. She was pretty in a disheveled way and had a long ponytail.
She saw my purple fight credential flapping against the wind before uttering words I'll never forget. “You're important, huh?” she asked, with a most sardonic wit. “I was once somebody until I decided to be nobody. You have a beautiful heart… But if there's anything you can learn from me– be nobody first. Then you'll become somebody.”
For the new WBC/WBA welterweight champion of the world, if you're reading this now its not too late.