Our guide, Bun, organized tickets, dinner, and beer for anyone who wanted to go to the Friday night fights for Cambodia kick boxing.
And let me tell you, the entire experience was awesome from the start. Vale, Ron, Pat, Terri, and I all went along with Bun. You may already surmised that Terri was the only woman from the seven to come to the fights. For some reason, Carol did not want to watch a bunch of Cambodians (and a couple Iranians!) beat the ever living snot out of each other using both punches and kicks. The rest of the group did a pre-dinner cruise through Phnom Penh on the Mekong River.
And, let me tell you, everything about the kick-boxing was awesome, starting with the tuk-tuk ride to the boxing arena.
The six of us took two tuk tuks to the fights. I was with Pat and Terri. They were facing front, and I as facing back. It might be the most memorable tuk tuk ride of the trip, as facing backwards gave me a whole new perspective that is the craziness of SE Asia city traffic. It was wild seeing the scooters and car drivers, all very intense, except for those staring at their cell phone as they drove, but they scared me the most.
(Editor: Kudos for the alliteration; using six words in a row starting with the letter "t" in the first sentence. Writer: Thanks. Alliteration is always awesome and amazing.)
We took many bustling streets, and the ride took much longer than I expected, although I had to remind myself it was a Friday night rush hour.
Once we got to the arena, I could wait to see what it was like on the inside. It was fantastic. We walked in to the arena right towards the ring. Music blaring, lights flashing.
There are no assigned seats, so we grabbed bleacher seats about five rows up. It felt like we were on top of the ring. The place wasn't at all crowded, and thankfully, there was no smoking allowed. To our right were the many referees and fight judges, all dressed in white.
One of Bun's guys (Bun has a long list of people he can tap to do things -- obvs for money, but it's great that he has people he trusts) brought, as part of our $35 per person, a cooler with baguette sandwiches, beer, cold bottles of water, pickles, and unusual Asian fruit (more later).
So there we are, excitement building, more people filing in (it never got crowded), chowing down on our sandwiches and drinking our beer, anticipating a night of action.
As a kid/teenager in the 70s, I remember being thrilled by boxing matches, especially those involving Muhammed Ali, probably the transcendent athlete of my lifetime, in the heavyweight division. Olympic boxing was big, as the US team won five golds in 1976.
In the 80s boxing shifted to more middleweights -- Sugar Ray Leonard, Roberto Duran, Thomas "Hitman" Hearns. I saw Ernie Shavers box, and both Rocky Lockridge and local favorite Bobby Czyz make his debut on the same card as Ernie (lost) and Rocky L. (lost). At least Czyz won.
Howard Cosell was broadcasting the fights at the Playboy Club in Great Gorge, NJ (Vernon), and in between fights we walked past each other. Cosell looked green, probably because of too much time in smoke-filled arenas. The way he looked, it's hard to believe Cosell lived another 15 years after those fights in 1980.
After the Sugar Ray era, I, like much of America, lost interest in boxing. But I was thrilled to be at the kick-boxing.
(Editor: Glen, nobody cares about your memories of your youth. Writer: I do, and I'm the writer of this blog!)
Back to Phnom Penh. Of the ten fighters we watched in five fights, I'd say six were lightweights and four were middleweights (obviously they fought within their weight class.)
Bun warned us the fights would start slowly as boxers were feeling each other out. He proved to be wrong in the very first fight, as both fighters came out punching. And kicking.
The kicking wasn't as devastating as I expected. When a fighter got knocked down, it was usually the result of a punch (or series of punches). There were times the kicker's leg was grabbed and he awkwardly hopped around on one foot until they got entangled in the ropes and ref separated the two.
One fighter liked to turn his back on his opponent and roundhouse kick -- but he often missed as the other fighter knew to back away when the kicker went to that patented move (not every patent pays off for the inventor).
At one point, Bun and his helpers pulled out two Southeast Asian fruits for us to try -- Mangosteen (which I've tried before, I think in China. Or Hong Kong. Or Myanmar. Or all three?) and a weird hairy looking one named Rambutan that I had never heard of before. Both were delicious.
Sports update: There were five winners and five losers. Three of the wins came by knockout, and two by decision. While betting on the fights is encouraged, none of us laid our money down.
The night went from fantastic to awesome after the fights ended. Bun got permission to, after everyone else had left, to take us up into the ring.
One Iranian was happy to pose with us, whilst the one who lost gave off the "I just want to get out of this place" vibe. Apparently they are training in Thailand, but came over to be on the Friday night fight card.
Heading back in the tuk tuks, we all excitedly chatted about the evening. All except Bun, who shouted "Woo" (or the Cambodian equivalent) every time a punch or kick landed. We passed by the night food market, watching the bustle of activity. It was a great way to spend a Friday night.
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