by Troy Emrick

Patrick had sex with Steven's girlfriend, and Steven appeared to be quite pissed about it. Now Steven had a chance for revenge. Patrick Hoyendor was in the red corner, wearing black pants and long sideburns. Steven Kagel opposed him in the 8' x 8' ring in the blue corner. He was wearing blue jeans and a wife beater. His glares directed across the ring could have frozen water. He and Patrick had entered a Grudge Match at the "Fight Night" event in Winter Park, Colorado.

It was hard to hear anything clearly; the bar was in an uproar, everyone chanting the same thing, "Fight, fight, fight..." I guess everyone gets excited whenever sex is mentioned. This was the eighth fight of the night, and had its own rules. Being a Grudge Match, there was only one round that lasted a single minute. The management must have not wanted these guys to kill each other. They were both a little boozed up in appearance, only they know how many brews they were storing inside their bodies. Patrick, the cheater, was in his red corner punching himself in the face on which he wore a nasty grimace. Steven's corner prepared him for the fight by securing his headgear and his 20-ounce gloves. Once he was fully geared, Steven began to rile up the crowd. He was jumping up and down in his corner and swinging his gloved fists up towards the antler encrusted disco ball hanging from the ceiling. We beer drinkers loved it. Nobody likes a cheater and everyone likes to see one get what he deserves. With Steven being the preferred fighter, Knockout Events rang the bell.

These two liquored up warriors came out of their corners swinging like windmills. There was no strategy, no blocking or intentional foot movements involved. It was just two guys that were mad at each other trying to sort out their differences. To the crowd's displeasure, Steven immediately began to get his ass kicked. Ten seconds into the round, Steven was knocked down by a forceful right roundhouse to his left temple. Twenty ounces of glove wrapped around 160 pounds of fury sent Steven across the tiny ring and onto the ground. Our brave little fighter soon returned to his feet only to be beaten on some more. Patrick kept on landing his punches, one headshot after another. With 15 seconds left in the one minute long bout, Steven hit the floor again as a result from yet another right handed roundhouse to the head. Steven got back on his feet with his head down; he knew he had lost. They exchanged a few more punches and the final bell sounded. The crowd, very unpleased with the course of the battle, gave a muffled applause and awaited the judges' decisions. To my disbelief, the two sworn enemies showed great sportsmanship by embracing each other before the results were voiced. The referee took both fighters by the wrist, Steven by his right wrist, and Patrick by his left. Without saying the judges' scores, he announced, "this bout is a draw." Many spectators cheered, some booed. It was obvious that the people's champ had lost but to salvage Steven's ego, Knockout Events ruled the fight an even tie.

On Friday, the 23rd of January, I attended "Fight Night" at the Hideaway Bar in Winter Park, Colorado. The violent attraction was put on by Knockout Events and consisted of 15 bouts. Each fight, with the exception of one, lasted three rounds of one minute apiece. The fighters are divided up into three weight classes: lightweight, middleweight, and heavyweight to ensure even match ups. Every fighter was required to wear headgear and 20-ounce boxing gloves. Professional fighters utilize 6, 8, and 10-ounce gloves. With over one pound of glove on each fist, and usually a few beers in the belly, these amateur fighters couldn't throw hands for more than a few minutes. All battlers were exhausted at the end of their bouts. All fights were conducted in an 8' x 8' ring. This is an extremely small space with no room for getaway; a one minute round meant one minute of fighting. American professional boxing requires rings between 18' x 18' and 22' x 22'. This is an enormous difference.

In between fights, the bar raged on. Loud, pumping new age rap and rock flooded the speakers while the spectators refilled their brews and mixed drinks. I witnessed this event from the second floor balcony that wrapped around three sides of the square-shaped bar. I was directly in the middle of the center balcony. Right behind my chosen watchtower was a table set up with buckets full of ice and beer manned by a female bartender named Melanie. During the break between the fifth and sixth fight, I bought a Budweiser and a Bud Light in bottles; the Bud for me and the Light for Hilary, my girlfriend. As I approached Melanie with my six dollars, I heard her order angrily, "I want him outta here" to two large bouncers wearing yellow "STAFF" shirts. I placed my order, and as she was removing the twist-off caps from the bottles, I asked her what that was all about. "Some guy in a black hat over there tried to steal a beer. I saw him do it but thought it would be more fun to watch the bouncers deal with it." As I showed interest in her story, I explained my situation as a staff writer and asked her for her information. She surrendered her name: Melanie Howard, but when I proceeded to ask her for her phone number for fact checking purposes, she thought I was using a cheap story to get her name and phone number. I wasn't hitting on her; my girlfriend was six feet from us. I chuckled, re-explained my situation and waited for her digits. She wanted nothing to do with me anymore.

The longer the night stretched, the steamier the windows at the Hideaway became. It's the people that showed up to this event that made it as entertaining as it was. Hilary Zellerbach exclaimed, "People get the wrong impression of fight night." She went on to say further, " I thought there would be more guys and not so many normal looking girls." The age base ranged from 21 to 65 years old, but the majority of the attendants were in their 20's. Everyone was partying, dancing, drinking and supporting their gladiators. The bar was packed with the couple hundred partiers that showed up. The ring girls strutted their sexy bodies around the ring in between each round holding up each respective round number on large, white, cardboard signs. They would periodically throw their sponsors' merchandise along with "Fight Night" T-shirts into the most ear-piercing sections of the crowd. I caught a hat and a T-shirt. I think I was whistling, by finger in mouth method, obnoxiously loud.

This testosterone throbbing night even offered a girl fight. The same rules and regulations applied to these female combatants, who boxed with ferocious intensity. The difference between these two women and the other 21 male boxers was that the women didn't block any punches. This was three solid minutes of headshots. They stood toe-to-toe and swapped punch after punch, almost like clockwork. It was an extremely even match-up of estrogen power. I couldn't believe that neither of them got knocked out.
Our fighting females were named Kym Scott and Julian Swan. Kym was in the red corner while Julian occupied the blue. They swung as hard as any of the men, but failed to include ducking, bobbing, weaving, and blocking. It was painful to watch. I caught myself saying to Hilary, "They're just knocking the hell out of each other." As the bout appeared to me, the judges ruled a 2 to 1 split decision. Julian of blue triumphed.
Boxing is a sport over 200 years old, originating in England with bare-knuckle boxers. Here in 2004, I was still enthralled with the courage and determination of the warriors. I counted 23 fighters, 15 bouts, five bloody noses, one knockout in the first round, and one champion. The grand prize was a beautiful blue Bud Light snowboard with an American flag design occupying the background. Tyson Arnold took home the snowboard after fighting in three lightweight bouts proving his worth. It was a valiant effort rewarded accordingly.

I was talking to Ryan Maness, a 190-pound heavyweight that lost earlier on in the evening, as we were fallowing the masses out of the Hideaway. When I asked him how he felt his bout went, he replied, "I didn't even know I was fighting tonight."