Fight Night

Whoever decided to run the first race of the 2006 Breeders Cup at 12.30PM Eastern Time needs shooting. This meant a 8.30AM post time in Vegas, and I rolled enthusiastically out of bed at 7AM to get studying the form. Karl rolled out of bed quarter of an hour later and headed across the road in a zombified state to play poker. We met again at the Circus Circus breakfast buffet an hour later to put together our picks. As we both knew nothing about American racing, we figured the best thing to do was to follow the expert tips in the Sporting Life Weekender we had purchased at Manchester airport. In the first race, their resident expert had picked a 40/1 English raider named Satulagi. We slapped $20 on the beast to pay for a few bottles of Cristal later on.

7 races later and we were a collective $200 down. Karl had retired to the hotel room after Satulagi's eighth place finish suffering from extreme exhaustion. I had headed over to the Wynn Hotel, a new complex built by Steve Wynn for the high rollers. My punting companion was now a 30 year old African American I had befrended through the universal language of gambling. The guy obviously had a few dollars to his name, and was not shy to buy me a few beers. He backed a horse in the sprint race ridden by his hero Corey Nakatani at 17/1. The horse, Thor's Echo, had a bad inside draw. I wouldn't have touched it with a barge pole, but turning into the home straight it was cruising. "GO ON COREY", he bellowed at the giant screen, banging his fist on the wooden table. "SEND HIM HOME". The whole of the sportsbook now had one eye on the screen and one on my African American pal. The horse lengthened into an unnassailable lead. "GO ON COREY. 17/1? THEY DISRESPECTED YOU BABY. 17/1. THEY'LL NEVER DISRESPECT YOU AGAIN". Two hours after suspecting I had found the only sane man in Vegas, I was proved spectacularly wrong. The guy showed me his $50 Win voucher on Thor's Echo, before summoning the coctail waitress for another round.

The last chance saloon was the big race of the day, the Breeders Cup Classic. The Weekender fancied a 7/1 Argentinian horse, Invasor. The favourite was Bernadini, an evens shot. African - American guy went for 5/1 Lava Man, and was a bag of nerves before the off. He also informed me that he had bet on the same horse as me as he was sure my luck would change soon. I placed $30 on Invasor and hoped for the best. The lights then dimmed as if to build the tension. Either that or the Vegas grid was being drained thanks to the amount of TV's in use. Bernadini led the race turning for home, but Invasor timed his run to perfection to sweep past the favourite on the straight. I turned to high five the afro-american dude, but he looked less than pleased as he announced he had only done Invasor with Lava Man in a straight forecast to the tune of $200 and had lost a total of $400 on the race. I collected my $240, we shook hands, and he added that he would look out for me at the fight tonight.

The big fight was Floyd Mayweather, who is for many the best pound for pound fighter in the world, pitted against Argentinian Carlos Baldomir at the Mandalay Bay casino. We had ordered two $150 tickets prior to arriving in Vegas, and we were now 2 hours away from viewing our first live boxing bout. Except Karl was nowhere to be seen. After rushing around Vegas for 45 mins in a frantic attempt to find him, I tracked him down at the place I should have begun my search - the Riviera poker room. He explaned that he got bored waiting in the room and had one hours sleep before heading out to play poker!

The Mandalay Bay casino pre-fight crowd seemed to be divided into three prominent groups. The white male, usually accompanied by upper class glammed up trophy wife, the hispanic fight fans in vests accompanied by bling, and the huge afro-american fight fans, built like boxers, and accompanied by pimps. In one extreme case, a pimp was spotted wearing a purple suit and trilby and draped in bling. There was no doubt in my mind that the fight crowd was similar when Tupac was gunned down one block away from where we were standing.

It seems a pretty sick thing to say, but my favourite bout was not the headline clash, instead it was the opening heavyweight fight. You could actually hear the dull thud of fist against face, and grimace as the fighters were pummling each other with an amazing amount of combined force and accuracy. Near the end of the bout, the crowd rose with a collective bloodlust as one of the fighters was being repeatedly smashed to near conciousness. The referee stepped in and the triumphant warrior raised his fist to the sky to take the accolades as his opponent knelt on the floor near to collapse. I rose to my feet in acclaim and then decided it was time for a piss and another beer.

Before the big fight, the ring announcer announced all famous faces at ringside to the audience in dramatic fashion. LAYDEES AND GENTLEMEN, THE STAR OF TV'S TWO AND A HALF MEN, CHARLEEEEEE SHEEEEEEENNAAAA (cue applause and whooping). Further celebrities were introduced to the crowd, including Leonardo Di Caprio, Denzil Washington (big cheer), Sly Stallone (promoting his new film) and the basketballing trio of Berkley, Jordan and Magic Johnson. The biggest cheer of the night came for THE UNDISPUTED NO. 1 GOLFER IN THE WORLD... TIIIIIGERRRRR WOOOOOOOODSSSSAAAA........ (cue much hollering, whooping and clapping).

After 11 rounds of one sided boxing, Tiger left accompanied by Charles Berkley. I had managed to annoy most of the crowd around me by getting up for another desperately needed piss halfway through the fifth. I missed nothing though, and the fight was won by Mayweather at a canter. Some judges had him winning each of the 12 rounds on points. We decided to forgo a late night party at one of Vegas' hottest clubs, Ice, and instead headed back to the hotel and bed.