Professional boxers are interesting people. Less than 24 hours earlier, Adam Schwartz attacked a St. Croix boxer during the Boxing In Paradise V weigh-in at Lindbergh Bay. The spectacle sparked some excitement for an event that was sluggishly blurred for me because of too many afternoon beers.
I grabbed a photo, that was published the next day in the paper. In plain sight of random tourists walking down the beach, Schwartz said something lethal to Austin Joseph, who was about to make his pro debut. After Joseph took offense, Schwartz kissed him on his face and then the abbreviated brawl was on.
It was the first professional boxing weigh-in I had ever covered. I had seen enough of them on TV and of course, it's always appealing to see two guys give a free sneak peak of the bashing that many will have to pay money to see the next day.
I had to talk to this loose cannon cowboy.
During our interview, I learned that he trained at a gym in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. that was coincidentally across the street from a dive bar I had visited several times. My boy, Chico, was a veteran bar back there -- I'm talking close to a decade -- so I was very familiar with it and the lunatics who drank there.
"I don't give a fuck," Schwartz barked. "I'm going to kill that bastard tomorrow night."
I hadn't even asked a question yet. Then I had to remind him that I worked for the newspaper and that our interview was completely on the record.
Somehow, the conversation quickly shifted to where he trained and the people he hung out with in Fort Lauderdale.
"Chico? I don't know any Chico -- he sounds like a douche bag," Schwartz said.
This was an interview about boxing yet we never really talked about the fight. I couldn't stop giggling at this guy. It was like the Great White Hype but this fool was a lot more cocky.
"What, you want to buy some ecstasy? I can get you weight," he bragged.
OK, that was first. I wondered how many times Max Kellerman was offered drugs by the pro boxers he interviewed during his illustrious journalism career.
Fast forward 24 hours. As expected, Schwartz got his ass kicked...
The bruiser had a reported MMA background and it was obvious seconds after the opening bell. Joseph knocked him to the canvas three times in the first two minutes and then it was all over.
Which brings me back to the beginning of this blog post.
I sat ringside and watched the main event bouts for the rest of the night. The V.I. boxers cruised and one of them, Julius Jackson, almost sent his helpless opponent into my lap. Photographer extraordinaire Thomas Layer captured the scene...
Completely rattled and I'm sure, a little embarassed, Schwartz emerged from the locker room all cleaned up and found me in between fights. He made immediate excuses for his pitiful showing but this time, I wasn't asking any questions. I had seen it all. Everyone did.
You could tell he had no idea what he had got himself into. And now, after the fact, he had no idea what to do with himself. Schwartz asked me what I was up to that night and I balked.
The fights were actually held the night before the St. Thomas Carnival Jouvert so it was sure to be an exciting evening on the Rock but I had no capacity for this loose cannon.
Just then, the professional boxer took a quick moment to pose with me for a photo. Either he will become a champion one day and this will be a famous picture or I'll be sending it to the Fort Lauderdale police department to prove his St. Thomas alibi when his drug dealing friends get killed.
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