Home Sweet Home / Night Out In Cincy

I am writing to you tonight from the worlds least accomodated Best Western hotel. My laptop rests atop a rickety old table in the corner of a poorly air conditioned room, my partner lays asleep atop his sheets fully clothed and his glasses lay askew across his face. I shouldn't talk, last night the roles were reversed. We knew this place was severely jacked up when we saw the exercise room. It's a regular old guest room, minus the bed, add a stationary bike and a pull up bar and that's it. It still has the TV and dresser. By the way, we are 8 miles outside of Des Moines, IA.

The mood of the team has reached a comfortable high thanks in no small part to my 3 day visit back to the greatest town in the world good old WH. A visit from a long lost French ku-zin (that's French for cousin) along with some urging from my beloved MA was enough incentive to leave poor Boom in Toledo, OH and jump on a prop plane and head to Bradley Internatinal Airport via Cleveland. The friendly faces and familiar surroundings helped recharge the old double A's and now the final month feels more like the home strech instead of an eternity. It's amazing what some Red Plate cheesecake and some Mo's pancakes can do.



We pick up the action in Cincinnati, OH for a Friday night out on the town. First stop is the Great American Ballpark, home of the Reds. The impressive open ended park sits along the river with a view of the boats cruising along the Ohio Kentucky border. Unfortunately the weather didn't cooperate and the game was cut short after a couple rain delays. A quick walk up Main St brought us to the center of the action. After some careful analysis we decided to check out The Lab. The lab is a small narrow pub with a long bar and a hip hop DJ spinning some old school jams. The attraction of the night was the Mike Tyson fight.

The place was filled with Tyson supporters and leading up to the opening bell the place had an electric energy about it as only a boxing match can produce. When the completely unknown and lightly regarded British challenger Danny Williams was introduced I risked life and limb by standing up on my stool and clapping loudly and shouting "Go get em Danny!!!!"

This was not received well by my fellow patrons and a collective groan was heard rumbling throughout the bar. The group of girls at the table in front of us were particularly annoyed and one girl said to nobody in particular "Oh, he's got to go. That boys got to go."

The first round looked bad for Dannys one man fan club as Tyson looked to put him to sleep early with some vicious uppercuts and hooks but Danny weathered the storm and made it to the bell. I was yelling for Danny to use his jab but he ignored my pleas. When Tyson would land some big punches a few heads would turn towards me to see my reaction but I just kept shadowboxing on my stool while barking some more important instructions or encouragement.

Slowly but surely Iron Mike grew frustrated and tired as Dannys confidence rose. By the third it looked like Mike was spent. My cheering grew louder and the bar crowd got quieter. In the fourth Danny landed punch after punch until Tyson finally crashed into the ropes and to the canvas and feebly waited to be counted out. Boom and I leaped about and cheered throughout the onslaught much to the dismay of the Tyson faithful. A couple of the neighboring girls had taken quite a liking to my bobbing and weaving and joined me in cheering against their friends hero. We all high fived for a while as the dejected Tyson fans shook their heads and headed to the bar to drown their sorrows. As we made our way out I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up at a somewhat thuggish yet defeated man who looked at me and simpy said, "you were right man, you were right" and held out his hand in congratulations. And so ends the career of the single most overhyped and overrated boxer of all time, I hope.

Next stop was a dance club that looked so similar to one of the scenes from Max Payne we wondered if the video game was modeled after the club. I stood there on the edge of the dance floor in my fire engine red credit card application Cincinnati Reds shirt and New Balance visor and for some reason no cute chickens asked me to dance. The kid got his groove on out there though doing his pattened woodpecker neck dance as he bumped and grinded across the floor. We hit the streets just in time to catch a torrential downpour which we, much like Tyson did to Williams, succumbed to its power. We walked the streets and let the rain pour over us. Our jeans were soaked and heavy. Lightning flashes reflected in the skyscrapers. People ducked for cover in cabs and bus stops. When you've only got one night to explore a new city that you may never be back to again you don't let a little rain stop you.