The following was posted on World Wide Wits End in June of 1999.
The boys and I were planning our excursion to the Blue Horizon for a couple of months. We were going to the Friday Night Fights, and it would be special. We had ringside seats, ESPN 2 was televising the main event, and our limousine was to pick us up at the local watering hole at 6:45.
Ah yes, the Blue Horizon. A classic jewel of the boxing world. Located on North Broad Street in North Philadelphia, it is an understatement saying that the Blue Horizon is located in a bad neighborhood. But, what the hell, I guess that's also a part of its endearing charm. At least we didn't have to worry about driving and parking, as our bullet proof limousine would handle that aggravation. We had other things to concern ourselves with, such as where to put the cooler of beer in the limo.
As we proceeded up North Broad, you could see the change in the neighborhood each block. At 400 North Broad, the Philadelphia Inquirer has its headquarters. They are hoping to sell their site to the city and use the location for a professional baseball stadium, then run like hell to get out of the city.
Anyway, we had to get to the 1300 block. I did some quick math, and came up with 9 more blocks to go, and one more Coors Light. After polishing off my beer, I noticed that we were now up to the 1600 block. Something did not compute. We had driven right past the place. So a quick U-turn and one more beer, we were arrived at the Blue Horizon.
As we entered the arena, you could smell the smoke, beer, and dirt. This place was a real dump. I loved it.
First order of business - find the men's room. And what a great men's room it was. It had my favorite type of urinal, one of those long horse trough kinda pissers, where you can line up a good 5 guys elbow to asshole. You could probably get six at once if you had a pipsqeak or two as part of the combination. And some of the best conversations happen at a pisser where 5 guys are draining the hose.
Which brings me to another fascinating feature of my multifaceted personality. I am fluent in jive.
Guy One: "Phewwww! Man, my back teefs was a startin' ta float!"
Me: "AAAAAHHHH! I knows what yo mean Bro. That goddam limousine din have no pisser in it."
Guy Three: "Man, yo needs to take a piss bottle wif yo when yo be on a long ride, unnerstan whud I mean??"
Guy Four, breaking into a medley: "No matter how much yo wiggle, no matter how much yo dance, dat las' drop be a fallin' inside yo pants."
I gotta tell ya, I coulda stayed all night right at that pisser, but other folks were waiting, so you have really hustle it up.
Next stop, the beer stand. Four beers, $12. Not bad, however, they were 12-ounce cans of Budweiser, which I can't stand. Bud does two things to me. It gives me a headache, and makes me goofy.
Next, I proceeded to ringside. Our seats were third row, North Side. On the North side, there are only four rows. Behind our section was the air conditioning - about a half a dozen open doors to a catwalk that looked over the back of the building. Between fights, we, the elite, could walk outside, get some fresh air, and cool off a bit, while most of the fans had to sit in the hot arena.
Sitting to the right of me were a bunch of Puerto Ricans, and the guy next to me was a best friend of Richard DeJesus, who was fighting in the main event. We quickly became buddies. Before each fight, I would ask Julio who to root for.
Julio's buddy didn't do so well, as he lost by TKO.
After the fights, we hopped in our limo, and went to Nick's Roast Beef in South Philly for sandwiches. I have no idea what time we got home, but I woke up in my bed, with my typical Budweiser headache, and immediately popped three aspirins and three Rolaids.
Tonight I think I'll stay home. Time for a Coors Light.
© 2001 
johneeo@rcn.com
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