My buddy Fred is doing his Master’s project on amateur boxing enthusiasts. Apparently, boxing is the new yoga and yuppies can be seen mixing with people from all walks of life in the sweaty old gyms across the city.
I tagged along with him on a reporting run to Gleason’s Gym in Brooklyn, which happens to be New York City’s oldest boxing gym. It was amateur night and I borrowed my roommate, Cody’s bounce flash to take it for a spin. It was tricky, but I had fun.
We stayed for a couple of hours and took in four or five matches. It was really intimate. I got to watch as the blood poured down some poor kid’s face after he got rocked for three rounds. The contenders were pretty mixed. It was half women’s fights and half men. Each match was three rounds. No knockouts. A couple knockdowns, though.
It was also my first time to Brooklyn. I know with my background as the pulsemaster of Burlington’s coolness, it would be quite shocking to find out I have lived in NYC for over three months and haven’t made the pilgrimage to the borough that is the epicenter of all things white and hip. It was cool. I’m still a Bronx kid at heart.