THE undercard was like a first class train journey. Interesting and comfortable but it was the destination that I craved. And it?s nearly here, the main event of the evening. Anticipation coats the conditioned air and sits heavily in my throat. I can hardly breathe. I briefly wonder if I?m dreaming as I scan the revellers who decorate the ringside seats. Jack Nicholson rolls back into his chair and cackles loudly. Will Ferrell plays up while Paris Hilton sucks in her polished cheeks and pouts.
Suddenly the lights go down and the music halts. We?re in darkness and comparative quiet descends upon expectant fans deep inside the MGM Grand. Nervous gasps and drunken cheers are swallowed by theatrical sirens, smoke bellows from cavernous tubes in each corner of the Garden Arena, and rising from beneath the ground is a pulpit carrying Michael Buffer. His silver hair glows and he smiles widely at the ballistic crowd.
?Ladies and gentleman, I suggest you hold on tight because you are in for a bumpy ride,? his silky voice booms. He could say anything right now. We wouldn?t care. As I squirm in my seat a sudden injection of cheering jerks my attention skywards towards massive screens that beam footage of Manny Pacquiao making his way out of his dressing room. Buffer?s amplified introduction of the Filipino fails to snap the hypnotism.
I look to my right and Manny jogs past. My heart pounds in rhythm to the booming music that battles for attention in the crowded airwaves. He smiles and waves to the crowd ? as if greeting fans from the relaxed setting of a hotel balcony ? and heads towards the roped battlefield.
Floyd Mayweather had insisted upon being the last to enter the ring. His ideas of grandeur were eventually nurtured by Pacquiao?s desperation to make the fight. The American coolly marches in, his face a picture of determination inside a lavish black and gold leather gown. I?m so drunk on excitement I feel like I?m going to fall over and the perpetual struggle to stay calm is draining.
The introductions slide down like appetisers to a grand feast. Buffer has never sounded so good, and the world has never been more ready to rumble. Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather glare at each other in ring centre, the instructions that come from referee Kenny Bayless fall into the air, lost in the malice.
This is really going to happen. The chiming bell, that announces the start of the richest fight in history, has rarely sounded so sweet. Not since 1971, when Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier went to war, has a fight captured the world?s attention like this. Both men coolly touch gloves and Pacquiao plants his dancing feet and tries to fire a left to Mayweather?s body. I expect Floyd to attempt to counter but he pivots away and smirks. Again Manny tries to snag his rival but Mayweather glides away and extends both the range and the smile on his face.
?Continued next week?
