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Show 52 hoping that God, or Rock God, or some important player in the creation of the universe is a kickboxing fan. It wasn't so much an articulate prayer of words as much as a mash of thoughts and emotions nailed together with anxious hope. "Amen," I say as they remove their hands. Then Jacob stands up, straightens his shoulders and starts shadowboxing in front of a chipped mirror. He rums away from the mirror, and keeps punching, light and fast, at the bare, black wall. I notice that the floor is sticky and that Dan isn't wearing shoes. I hope there isn't broken glass on top of the various spills. "Pelton," calls the bouncer from outside the door. "You're up." Outside the warm-up room, the club looks more glamorous. Earlier we saw the fight being advertised on the large marquee out front. The cheapest tickets were $50. Dan is the first fight of the night-the audience is still sporadic at this point, moving between buying drinks and trying to find their seats. I wondered what the crowd at a fight would look like, but mostly they look the same as you would get at a Jazz game-a lot of middle-aged guys in khakis and polo shirts. The ring is in the center of the venue, chairs surrounding it like ripples from the expensive seats up front to bleachers lining the outer perimeter. There are big-screen TVs in both comers. The announcer, a cameraman and the judges sit ringside. Take everything out, and the space has the look and feel of a dance ballroom. Jacob's opponent is waiting for him in the red comer. His name is Gomez and he is huge-two inches taller than Jacob, and thirty pounds heavier. These statistics I've already read in the program-but he looks much larger up-close. |