Destination Read Free

closed in. Interpreters assisted.
    Standard stuff.
    Nobody said, “You get my rocks off.”
    Nobody said, “You make me feel alive.”
    Nobody said, “Nationalism is all shuck-and-jive.”
    I thought about youth. I thought about glory. I wondered how brain cells dispersed.
    I thought about middle age. I grooved on self-preserving circumspection.
    Morales brought some guys. They vibed buddies. Barrera brought some guys. They vibed entourage.
    They wore reflecting sweat suits. They waxed sullen. They looked like the Tonton Macoute.
    They brought some girls. The girls brought babies.
    One baby cried. Mom fed him Pepsi. Mom shut him up.
    Bob Arum mingled.
    He glowed. His cheeks glowed. His cheeks looked rouged and augmented.
    TICKETSSOLD. Mexicans bought them.
    They eschewed “Latino.” They eschewed “Chicano.” They were born here. They were born there. They were “Mexican.”
    Tickets sold fast. Tickets sold out.
    I schmoozed PR flacks. They extolled the demographic.
    Working folks. Mexicans. Cognoscenti.
    I prowled the Mandalay Bay. I caught the weigh-in.
    Barrera looked drained. Barrera looked scared. The Tonton looked apprehensive.
    I prowled the casino. I surveilled the ticket booths. I cataloged rumors.
    Morales hates Barrera. Barrera hates Morales.
    Turf tiff. T.J. versus Mexico City. Class clash. Middle meets moneyed.
    They had soccer teams. The Morales Marauders. The Barrera Banditos.
    They played. They clashed. The hell-bent jefes almost hurled heat.
    My wife flew in. Some friends drove up from L.A.
    We viewed a friend’s wedding. We ate in mock cantinas. We strolled mock-Mexican streets.
    We polled personnel.
    The cognoscenti said walk-through. The starstruck said war.

    The fans arrived. Mariachis piped them in.
    It got loud.
    The walls boomed. The walls trapped noise. The walls echochambered.
    The fans lugged posters.
    Morales. Barrera. Exhortings
en español.
    Balloons tapped the ceiling. Tricolored all.
    A sound system cranked. Mariachi shit exclusive.
    The room filled. The room roared. The room vibed bullring.
    Fans positioned. Fans waved signs. Fans slugged cerveza.
    Factions mingled. Factions placed bets. Total strangers held money.
    I sat with the press. I watched the prelims.
    They went fast. They went loud. The Mexicans drew cheers. The non-Mexicans drew silence.
    TKOs. One decision. One woman’s fight.
    I hit the john. I crashed a rehearsal.
    A baritone. A prime gig. The Mexican anthem.
    We talked fights.
    He liked Morales. Barrera was shot.
    I bopped back. The noise reignited. I sat with my wife and friends.
    A Morales guy flanked me. He was expansive. He was loud.
    He waved a roll. He peeled C-notes. He placed bets.
    Barrera guys bet him. A neutral popped up. He held the
dinero.
    A band filed in. Thirteen musicians.
    Sombreros. Embroidered threads.
    They entered the ring. They played loud. HBO cameras turned.
    Fans held signs up. Cameras panned. Signs eclipsed views.
    The noise built.
    The fighters filed in.
    The noise built.
    The ring announcer spieled.
    He spieled bilingual. He rolled his
r
’s. He rolled rich and rapt.
    The noise built.
    That cat sang the Mexican anthem.
    The noise built.
    The announcer introed the officials. The announcer introed the men.
    He ratched his
r
’s. MoRales extended. BaRReRa rolled long.
    The noise built.
    The men derobed. They’d added weight. They’d sapped and replenished.
    The ref gave instructions. The men touched gloves.
    The noise built.
    They went to their corners. They knelt. They crossed themselves.
    The noise built.
    The bell rang.
    The noise stratosphered.
    They moved. They squared off. They hit center ring.
    Morales pops a jab. Barrera hooks to the body. Morales moves back.
    Barrera. Fast hands. A shock.
    Barrera moves in. He lands a right. He left-hooks downstairs.
    Morales moves back. Let’s bait and counter.
    Barrera moves in. Barrera cuts off. Barrera double-hooks low.
    Fast hands.