Sugar Mayweather Death defied.

The title is probably confusing.  Is this fatherhood friday, non-nomadic prose blogger going to now try his hand at giving us his take on a fight that happened three days ago?  Does he think that his follower count will rise if he puts up the names of two high-profile welterweight boxers?

No.  I have a story to tell. Get some popcorn. Nevermind.  That story isn't that long.

I have a twin brother.  We're fraternal.  He has some of the great qualities that women list when they're looking for a man (two of which i'm missing): Tall, Dark and handsome.  (I'm not tall -- 5'8", nor am I dark -- i have a brown sugar, caramelesque complexion).  He was born first, so I feel like that two minute oxygen edge is what did it, not genetics.  In any event Twin A asked me to watch the fight with him at a bar.  Admission was $20 and drinks were typically NY -- too doggone expensive.  Gladly I don't drink much, not just because drunkenness is a sin, but also because drunkenness wastes all of my sunday...

In any event, I left my boo to go meet my twin at a location I'll disclose later (for dramatic effect).  So I jumped on the Railroad from Queens into Manhattan and transferred onto the MTA uptown.  Upon exiting the train it was a madhouse.  Not unlike NYC.  Bustling, like an antfarm on a hot day in your backyard, just mounds of people, bumping each other as if it was urban bumper cars, glamour edition. After all it was saturday night, fight night in NYC.  But there was something strange in the air, not strange like you're looking for the culprit responsible for the stench that has paralyzed you into an angry stupor, but strange like someone is about to do something, crazy, stupid, and you need to make your way out of their way before you're the victim of their irrational stupidity.  Even with the strange air, I moved on ahead towards the fight.

As I'm walking to this bar I see a crap load of NYPD, NYFD and barricades.  Being a NYer I think nothing of it.  I ignore my spidey senses and keep walking.  I follow crowds around the barricades to find the right avenue for the detour.  Finally I ask an officer, what's the deal.  He responds maybe it's a movie or something.  Ok.  That makes sense.  SHoot a movie on saturday night, fight night, on the alien ant farm urban bumper cars scene that is NYC.

THen my cell rings.  My mom.  After a short conversation she tries to convince me that my father heard a boom and that they were evacuating the very area I was to see the fight.  Terrorism.  Now, do I miss what was supposed to be one of the best fights in a few years because of tiny terrorism? Of course not, it was probably the special effects from the movie that the nice policeman told me was being shot.

I go to the fight.  It was good until round 3, then it became a Mayweather slaughtering of Sweet and Sour Sugar Shane.

Later I found out that the boom that my parents heard, and the police presence, and the firefighters, and the barricades was all because of the fact that there was actually a terrorist attempt in Times Square, four blocks from where I was later watching the fight.  Do I consider myself a rebel, a death-defying sports fanatic who will weather blizzards and shootouts to catch a good competition?  No.  Just blessed and Highly favored.  After all, instead of reading this blogpost, you could've been reading an article about a Brooklyn teacher and young father who was one of thousands killed by a car bomb in Times Square, NYC.  Thankful.

Go here to read more about the failed terrorist attack. Same website I got the picture from.