Viva la Mexico!
The bar was packed…there wasn’t a seat that was available insight. As Ignacio Bahamondes pounded Manuel Torres head into the canvas, the clock read 9:20 pm…we were fucked. As it seemed there was no chance of watching the fight here, I picked up the phone and started dialin’. I called every place I could think of the might be showing the fight…I made about 25 calls to be exact, but to no avail. It seemed there was no hope insight…as some short of cosmic calamity, we were not meant to see the very hyped and famed UFC Sphere card. That’s when it really sunk in…after all the years of bobbing and weaving…I was going to have to buy…The PPV!
In a moment of insecurity, I panicked and began furiously pacing up and down the busy peach street. As cars zoomed by and the time began running out I check my phone…9:45 pm…IT’S SO OVER!
In a last ditch effort to save face, I check to see if there were any bars I’d missed, and to my surprise there was one. I made the call…and to my gratitude, there were seats available. We hooped in the v and zoomed over going 135 mph in a 45…“no cop was gonna stop me from watching the sphere” I thought. Luckily, this place was within walking distance of the crib, so I parked there. But the time was now 9:52 pm only 8 minutes from the sanctioned time for Ultimate fighting. I had no time to think rationally or reasonably…I was forced into a sick game where the opposing team was refereeing the entire game…a border unlike any Mexico had seen before. I frantically began to sprint down peach street south bound at pace only Wheelchair Jimmy could respect. As I approached the entrance of the bar, I gazed at the clock…10:05 pm…I was late…Shit!
The Canelo fight was on, I spent my time cross eyed switching between the two and occasionally glancing down to sip my drink. As it had become evident I’d allocated more of my time to glancing down, I had to use the restroom. Upon returning from a glorious piss, something seemed off. The bar…or I should say Mexican Restaurant (it was actually a Mexican Restaurant with a bar) was now packed wall to wall like a club. And something even strange than fiction was visible as well. The new Restaurant goers were all wearing LA Dodgers gear. I felt like when I went into that restroom, I was suddenly transported into Dodgerville…South central LA. I took my seat and went back to being cross eyed.
As the Canelo fight continued, Canelo eventually scored a knock down on Berlanga to the crowds roar. At the same time Diego Lopes knocked down Brian Ortega and was primed to finish him. I think I was the only one who saw that as the rest of Dodgerland was too preoccupied something more important.
After round 12 concluded and it was very clear King Canelo had retained his throne…the Restaurant began to empty. The current time was now 1 am, and I looked around to see about 12 other people in the restaurant still…I guess that shows you who the Mexicans were excited to see.
After Valentine Shevchenko tucked the remaining viewers into bed regaining her belt to the dismay of Dana White, only a finite few of the worlds finest men and women were still awake and ready of it to go down…it was time! But this was no occasion for softies…we’re ready and all we want’d was strong drink. As Lupe Fiasco’s Superstar hit, Sean O’malley made his way to the octagon, whilst Merab waited patiently. As the bell sounded, I began to belligerently smack the table in support of Merab. While the table in front of me would sporadically blurt out “SUGA” as if they had turrets, and there tick was watching O’malley in the fetal position as another man pounded his face in. Yep…Suga Shane O’malley is cooked. He not only looked like shell of himself but was dominated for all five rounds. After round two concluded it became self-evident O’malley was out of his depth in there and he really proved how much of a McGregor fan he really was…only he blew his load far more prematurely than McGregor did.
As the bell sounded and the Judges announced the scorecards, We were now the only ones in the Restaurant except for say a few drunks at the bar. I was filled with excitement and joy as the fraud Sean O’malley had been checked and all things in the UFC were correct…say for a closeted homosexual women beater tyrannically holding the heavyweight belt captive…
