"Only in New York."

Last Thursday night I received my Father's Day gift from my son, Gregg. It was a card of boxing matches in the Manhattan Center Grand Ballroom on 34th Street. The main event was a Junior Welterweight match between undefeated Dmitry Salita (21 wins - 12 knockouts), a Ukrainian, Russian Jew from Brooklyn and Louis Brown (14 wins - 1 loss and 10 knockouts) from Indianapolis, IN.

The six previous preliminary bouts might have been arranged by the United Nations. The Puerto Ricans were the most vocal as they waved their flags, beat the Conga drums and danced happily in the aisles for the victorious Juan Carlos Santiago. The Nigerians, too, had their group supporting and shouting loudly, "Hino," short for Ehinomen Ehikhamenor. Long Island and Staten Island were present with their contingent of professional pugilists. Mexico was also represented on the fight card.

On entering the building (very tight security) you took an elevator to the eighth floor. It was a brightly lit hotel ballroom with an overhanging balcony. I was awed by the crowd of wild and crazy New York fight fans. I was at both Ali-Frazier bouts in Madison Square Garden. Because it was 90o outside, there was no evidence of floor-length mink coats.

Being at such close quarters to the ring you felt and heard every sickening thud of the gloves on skin and bone. The time between rounds was marked by a chorus of sexy and scantily clad girls traipsing and dancing through the ring with signs. The fans didn't even care when one girl carried her numbered sign upside down and backwards.

The bright colors of the trunks and uniforms were startling. One fighter, after disposing of his opponent in 1:17 of the first round, threw chocolate kisses to the entire audience. His nickname, appropriately, was Kid Chocolate.

The final 10-round bout sent the crowd into a trance. Dmitry Salita danced into the ring with a blare of Russian music. The heavily bearded and yarmulke-wearing crowd just went "nuts." "Lita, Lita," they cried, every time he landed a jab. The other fighter was a true professional and fought valiantly. Salita's jabs started making his nose and face look like raw hamburger meat. His corner would stop the bleeding but a few jabs opened the blood flow again.

The bout was stopped by the ring physicians by a TKO (technical knockout) in the ninth round.

Salita's fans broke into song and cheered wildly. He has a great boxing future and he certainly has an unusual fan base from his Brooklyn roots.

As for me, I enjoyed both the fights and the unusual crowd.

I repeat, "Only in New York."