TAMPA, Florida – No thanks to a 6:30 a.m. departure, I reluctantly flung out of bed at 3 am. I then dutifully took a quick, warm shower before taking on a sleepy $35 taxi ride to Chicago O?Hare international airport.
With foot traffic still light, I walked through the various layers of security with spectacular ease. I was at gate B-11 at 5:20 a.m., giving me just enough time to assemble a dreadfully short column yesterday.
Not surprisingly, United Airlines flight 1560 left on schedule. The two-hour, 22-minute journey was horribly annoying, perpetually marred by a seatmate, who kept coughing so hard I thought he would discharge one of his lungs.
Tampa?s airport was an exhibit of architectural marvel. It gleamed with polished marble tiles and had dozens of fancy stores and diners. Most importantly, baggage claim was worry-free.
From the airport, I hurried to the Hyatt Regency, my home for the next three nights. There I met Eric Gomez and Richard Shaeffer, two of Golden Boy Promotion?s golden children.
I had lunch with international promoter Sammy Gello-ani at a Thai outpost called Cusmos. We were joined by CDN?s Salven Lagumbay and Philboxing founder Dong Secuya, an unrepentant vegetarian.
Concoction
Sammy feasted on Thai rice with chicken, alongside coconut soup. Salven and I munched on fresh shrimps with rice. We also savored lemon grass soup, a concoction that proved delightful to my taste buds.
The day went quickly, almost unnoticed until I went live on air at dyAB with Leo Lastimosa. All of us? Sammy, BoomBoom, Edito Villamor, Salven and Dong- got to talk. Everybody was happy, especially me whose mouth foamed with enthusiasm.
Downtown Tampa at 9 p.m. looks as deserted as Baghdad. But we did find a joint called The Office. We ordered chicken wings and ate like hungry vikings.
Sammy and Edito had beer. Salven drank diet Coke, while Dong had some kind of juice. I had, you guessed it, rum and Coke.
Our server was a pleasant young lady named, ugh, I forgot. But I can?t take my mind off her immensely large breasts, a pair that seemed to burst out of her shirt. She had a pair of black sweat pants on, and she wore it low enough that a tattoo beneath her navel peeked. Mama Mia! We were back at the Hyatt at past 11 p.m. We went to the bar where Shane Mosley, yes, Sugar Shane, greeted us with his syrupy smile.
Dong and Salven went to their rooms to work. Sammy, ever the social animal, worked the bar with his enviable people skills.
Edito, meanwhile, chatted with a fellow trainer, a woman who looked tougher than a heavyweight. Me? I vanished, slithered out of the bar into the open doors of a yellow cab. My destination? Sorry, I just had amnesia. (Homer D. Sayson)
