…Continued from the previous post.

At the MGM Grand Garden Arena, it was almost showtime – both figuratively and literally – and the place was all a twitter…well, both figuratively and literally.

We were just about to go live on Showtime Championship Boxing for the Glen Johnson vs. Allan Green bout, which would warm up the television audience for the Big One:  Juanma Lopez vs. Rafael Marquez for the WBO World Featherweight Championship.

After an undercard played to a small but appreciative audience, the atmosphere had definitely turned into an official “scene”. Judging by the blanket of cell phone screens alive in the dark arena, more than a few people were texting, Twittering, or…what was it that we used to do in the olden days?…oh, right – talking to their friends. And all with the same message. “Turn on your TV! This is so cool!”

First things first though. Since this was the “official” beginning of the Show, the national anthem was played prior to the Johnson-Green bout. Actually, I should say national anthems – plural. As in three of them.

The first was the anthem of Marquez’ native Mexico; the second honored Puerto Rico’s favorite son Lopez; and the third…well, it was either the “Star Spangled Banner” or a cabaret show, I’m not sure which. It sounded vaguely familiar, but the singer – appearing on loan from another venue in Vegas – “made it her own”, to say the least. Had Francis Scott Key been there, the odds are pretty good he’d have had an injunction slapped on the proceedings.

Things then started to slow down, in order of course, to accommodate Showtime’s broadcast schedule. And once all of the air had been successfully sucked out of the environment, we got the “let’s make some noise” pitch, so that the people about to join us via television could be suitably envious.

With this being the second sports event I’d attended in two days that was largely created for television, I was beginning to long for radio to make a comeback.

If people wonder why live attendance is showing signs of weakness across all sports – even the indestructible NFL – all they have to do is sit through one “live” event that is being televised. It will be what they call in the consulting biz a Teachable Moment.

The bout between Allan Green and Glen Johnson was part of something called the Super Six Tournament that the ring announcer referred to with great reverence – but nobody seated in my section knew what he was talking about. It was explained to me though, that Johnson is an ageless wonder who has been fighting much younger men – and beating them – for years. When a close-up of his face appeared on the video board though, I wasn’t sure that he was necessarily winning in the broader scheme of things.

I had discovered earlier in the evening that a six round bout is just long enough to develop a rooting interest. I now learned that a twelve round fight enables the performance of a full passion play. Action ebbs and flows from round to round as each fighter seeks an intra-round advantage while at the same time pursuing a broader strategy for the fight as a whole.

Then again, there always lurks the possibility of the surprise three-punch flurry that comes out of nowhere. The one that I missed because I was busy scribbling notes about elegant boxing strategy. While I waxed poetically in my notebook, the 41-year old Johnson pulled off the aforementioned flurry in the eighth round and knocked Green to the canvas – ultimately earning a TKO.

The one bright spot was that for the first time in my life the phrase “blow by blow account” was actually relevant, as my new friend Curtis was happy to replay for me in great detail what I had missed.

Occupying the seat next to mine, Curtis was in town for the weekend, on break from running the family potato farm in Southeast Idaho. Several members of his family had made the trip to Nevada with him, primarily to check out the motor sports scene in the area. Since none of them had ever seen a prize fight in person, and they were in the neighborhood…

Curtis has a friend back home who is a throwback to the days when fans passionately followed boxing, and that friend was spending the evening living vicariously through Curtis. When I asked why he hadn’t accompanied them, I was told with a smile, “well, he doesn’t really travel well.”

He was at home watching the Showtime telecast though, with Curtis acting as proxy for their first title fight. Between bouts, he called Curtis’ cell with updates on what he should be paying attention to. And he was pretty sure that Rafael Marquez was going to take Juanma Lopez’ belt, even though the latter was 29-0 – with 26 of those wins coming by knockout.

The title fight was billed by Top Rank as a battle between Puerto Rico and Mexico as much as it was between Lopez and Marquez. This virtually guaranteed a large Latino contingent, many of whom arrived waving the flags of their country.

The bulk of the lower arena had filled up during the Johnson-Green fight, and the place was now electric. As the boxers went through their dramatic entrances and introductions, it finally felt like a world championship fight. Either that or a soccer game, as nationalistic chants and songs were accompanied by a lot of foot-stomping and flag-waving. Interestingly, the Marquez fans were chanting “Mex-i-co”, while the Lopez fans were chanting “Juan-Ma”. Draw what conclusions you may.

As soon as the fight started, I wished that I could have rewound the evening and watched the first fight again just prior to the start of the Lopez vs. Marquez; the contrast would have no doubt been startling. Both fighters had cat-quick reflexes and weren’t shy about throwing a lot of punches. Most did not land squarely on target, but the ferocity with which they were delivered served to incite the already impassioned crowd.

There was also an observable amount of enmity between the two camps, with the Marquez corner continuously accusing their opponent of fouling. The referee was an extremely busy man, repeatedly warning Lopez for one thing or another – and at one point stopping the fight to hold a finger in the air, signaling the judges that a penalty point had been assessed on Lopez.

As for me, there was no mid-round note-taking this time. I did not dare look away for a second.

In the end, the difference was that the 27 year old Lopez could take a punch like nobody I’d ever seen. On multiple occasions Marquez landed blows that would have staggered the vast majority of boxers. Lopez just shrugged them off – that is, when he even reacted at all.

His own punches however, had a cumulative effect on Marquez, who was eight years his senior. When a brawling eighth round ended, the latter could be seen grasping his shoulder and grimacing in pain. Sure enough, when the bell sounded to begin the ninth round, a white towel was thrown from the Marquez corner.

Pandemonium erupted – and reigned for over ten full minutes. Lopez had successfully defended his title and the honor of Puerto Rico.

Curtis and I just stood and took it all in, lost in the intensity of the previous half hour, and hating to see it come to an end. And all I could think of was this – imagine what it must have been like to have seen Ali vs. Frazier.

Next Up:  The NCAA Cross-Country Regionals