As Benny and I came through the tunnel, it was like going to another world altogether. The lights were brighter than any I can ever remember, lighting up the city as if night had never arrived. An aura of energy surrounded the city as if someone had electrified the pavement. An aroma of hot dogs and soft pretzels from every street corner filled the air. Vendors, selling everything from food to basketballs to watches, yelled to every car, bicycle, and person that went by to buy the best merchandise in New York. People crowded the sidewalks rushing to their destinations. Limousines, Mercedes Benzes, Stingray Corvettes, Volkswagen Things, and Honda Motor scooters raced down the street trying to be the first to the next traffic light.
A traffic cop was blowing a whistle and directing cars to go where he wanted them to go. The traffic was bumper to bumper and only moved five feet at times. Sirens were constantly blaring from ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars trying to make their way to scenes of trouble. I couldn't figure out where the sirens were coming from because of the roar of a Harley Davidson motorcycle behind us.
The homeless were under every piece of cardboard, empty trash bag, and newspaper they could find. Some of them had constructed single-room homes from scrap wood, metal, or plastic. Their clothes were used, old, dirty, and worn out. Their hair was lice infested, tangled, oily, and long. Their bodies were filthy and filled with disease.
Junkies and pushers were in the shadows making deals, getting high, and even dying. At one stop light, I happened to look in an alleyway and saw a woman stick a needle in her arm. To my surprise, she fell to the ground and began having convulsions. I told Benny to look, but he said he had seen it before. Obviously, this was not a strange ordeal to the citizens of New York City.
Prostitutes, or 'working girls' as they are called on the street, were the easiest to point out. Television does these girls a tremendous amount of justice, showing only pretty young ladies dressed in revealing attire. The women that I saw walking the streets were caked with make-up and wearing nothing except G- strings, garter belts, fishnet stockings, and lace bras. A few girls even did away with the garter belt and stockings.
Hoodlums, gang members, and punk kids walked the sidewalks harassing the elderly, mugging tourists, and fighting amongst one another. An elderly man and his female companion hurried past a group of kids sitting on the stairs of an apartment building. The young punks would make noises or say things to scare the old people. A few blocks down two people, who came out of JC Penny carrying bags of clothes, were attacked by five hoods and robbed of their purchases. The gang then began fist fighting over which person would get which shopping bag.
As Benny and I drove over the Queensboro Bridge, I could see the World Trade Center and the Empire State Building soaring above all the other rooftops. Yankee Stadium, home of the greatest baseball team ever to play the game, glowed in the distance. This was truly a spectacular sight, but the most beautiful marvel in the world stood in the background, the Statue of Liberty. She wasn't as tall as the other buildings, but she stood like a proud mother keeping a watchful eye on her children. The only building I did not find with my wandering eye was Madison Square Garden. Benny had bought tickets to the Friday night fights. We were headed to the Garden or so I thought. I was excited that I was going to see my first professional boxing match.
As we arrived on the other side of the bridge I turned to Benny and said, "I didn't know that the Garden was in Queens."
Benny looked at me with a smile, "It's not," he said, and switched his attention back to driving.
"If the Garden isn't in Queens, then why are we in Queens?!" I asked nervously. I could feel my mood swing from good to bad; I wanted to go to the fights.
"The kind of fights that we're going to would never be at the Garden or any other sporting arena in the country for that matter," Benny replied.
I was confused. If the fights weren't at the Garden, then where were they? I soon received my answer. We pulled into an old steel yard and drove down a gravel road to a surprisingly full parking lot. This couldn't be the right place. I was wrong. After Benny found a parking place, we walked to an abandoned warehouse. Benny knocked on a door I didn't even notice was there. Suddenly a pair of eyes was staring at me through a slot in the door.
"What the hell do you want?" the eyes inquired.
"We're here to buy a dog," Benny said.
"What do you..," I started, but Benny gave me a nudge to be quiet and let him handle everything.
"Where are your tickets?" the eyes, which belonged to a very large man, asked as the door came open.
"Right here," Benny replied as he handed the man our tickets and a twenty-dollar bill. The man stepped aside and let us in. As we walked down a long, poorly lit hallway, Benny began to explain what type of fights these were.
"These fights are like no other," he started. "Here the fighters fight until one of them gives up or dies. They use their bare fists and any other means they can to win. They are not allowed to use weapons. If they do use a weapon, they will be shot automatically. The only similarity between this type of fighting and boxing is there are three-minute rounds. The number of rounds in a match depend on how long the fight lasts. Any more questions?"
"No, I guess not," I laughed as we entered the main room.
I was overwhelmed by the smell of stale beer, cigarettes, and sweat. On the right wall was the better's table where you could look at the fighters and bet on the match. Opposite this table was the bar, which is where Benny and I were headed. The center of the room had a circle, twenty feet in diameter, painted on the floor. This was the circumference in which the fighters would meet. As Benny handed me a Coors Light, the man who had opened the door called for everyone's attention.
"Quiet down! Quiet down! All bets are final! All bets are final! Let the fight begin!" the man shouted, as he hurried to one of the many chairs placed around the circle.
The fighters stood facing each other from opposite sides of the room. One fighter was wearing only a pair of Levi's and high top sneakers. His chest looked like the trunk of a Redwood tree and his arms the size of branches. The other fighter wore shorts, a tank top, and army-issue combat boots. His physique was leaner than that of the first fighter, but his muscles still rippled all the same.
A bell rang signaling the beginning of the match. Fire raged in both the fighters' eyes, as they came toward each other. The first fighter to attack, whom I will call Levi, began throwing quick jabs to the head of his opponent, whom I will refer to as Boots. Boots went along with this game only because he was looking for an opening in Levi's defense. The opening he found was the right one. He ducked a jab and came up with a hard uppercut to the jaw, catching Levi off guard and sending him five feet back. The punch, however, only pissed Levi off, for he performed a perfect roundhouse kick to Boots's head, knocking him to the ground. Before Levi could attack further, the bell rang out calling the end of round one.
I couldn't believe it. This was fantastic! I knew no one back home would believe me when I told them about this. Benny went to get a refill on our beer and run to the bathroom, while I watched the two fighters toweling off and drinking water. They never took their eyes off one another. Benny sat down just in time, as the bell rang out for round number two.
This time Boots wasted no time looking for an opening. He swung as soon as he was in reaching distance. He connected with Levi's nose, spraying blood all over Levi's chest and adding to the stains already on the floor. Levi covered his face to protect himself until he could see again, but Boots switched to the body. He began to pound away on Levi's ribs and mid-section. Levi blindly grabbed hold of Boots's shirt and pulled him in close. At the same time, Levi brought up his knee quick and hard into the groin area of his attacker. Boots fell to the ground in pain, just as the bell sounded the end of the round.
This time it was my turn to go to the men's room while the fighters recovered for the next round. I was lucky and reached the bathroom before the line became too long. As I was washing my hands, I looked on the counter next to me and saw two men in business suits snorting lines of cocaine. One asked me if I wanted a line. Remembering how much money I used to spend on the nose powder, I just shook my head and returned to my seat.
The bell had just rung, and I was just in time. Levi now had what looked to be toilet paper sticking out of his still swelling nose. Boots again wasted no time and tried to attack, but Levi was ready. He dodged Boots's punch and simultaneously grabbed his arm. Levi held Boots's arm straight and brought his own elbow down on top of Boots's elbow, snapping his arm. Boots let out a horrible cry and fell to the ground. Levi began kicking Boots and yelling at him to get up. As Boots looked up, Levi knelt down and hit him dead in the face. Boots's head fell to the ground, and his body stopped moving. The whole room fell quiet waiting to see if he were still alive. After a few seconds of silence, Boots whispered, with a weak and fragile voice, "I quit."
Levi shouted a happy scream and began walking around with his hands held high. The spectators that won their bets went to collect their money, while the losers only stared at the crying Boots and shook their heads. As four men put Boots on a stretcher and carried him out the door, I sat there wondering how he felt at that moment.
On the way home, I saw the homeless and the prostitutes wandering the streets. I also saw the drug dealers and the gangs fighting amongst each other. This made me think about the fight I just had paid to watch. What was the difference between the gangs fighting and killing each other and the event I just saw? Nothing! That worried me. Violence has always been a part of human nature, but at what point in time did we start enjoying it.