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Bert Randolph Sugar – he of the trademark fedora, cigar and witty observations – wrote countless articles, edited multiple magazines and penned numerous books, toiling for three decades before he made it to the International Boxing Hall of Fame.
It took me six hours.
Now I’ve not even achieved a fraction of what Sugar has – I definitely haven’t been inducted into Canastota, no matter the implication of the above bait and switch. But on a January weekend in which the boxing was slow – and with my regular writing gig giving me an extra day off – I set out for upstate New York.
The Big Apple may lay claim to the so-called “Mecca of Boxing” in Madison Square Garden, but Canastota is to The Sweet Science what Cooperstown is to America’s Pastime.
My trip to Canastota and the International Boxing Hall of Fame was a religious experience, one that every boxing fan should make, if possible. On a weekend in which the boxing, once again, is slow, I chronicle what ended up as two journeys – one physical, one spiritual.
January 13
10 a.m. – I jump in my car on what is an abnormally warm winter weekend in north central Maryland. Within 15 minutes, I’m over the Mason Dixon Line, off on my longest road trip since September, when I drove halfway across the country. That ill-advised journey took place on the weekend of the Marco Antonio Barrera-Rocky Juarez pay-per-view rematch. My destination was Cornhusker Country – and Nebraska was on the road against USC – so not only did I have to write my column while sleep-deprived, but I first had to find a spot willing to take a single television screen away from college football.
2:16 p.m. – I cross into New York, passing by Binghamton, home of the college from which Tony Kornheiser matriculated. Time flies within the next hour and a half, with me driving beyond Syracuse and exiting onto I-90. [details]
It took me six hours.
Now I’ve not even achieved a fraction of what Sugar has – I definitely haven’t been inducted into Canastota, no matter the implication of the above bait and switch. But on a January weekend in which the boxing was slow – and with my regular writing gig giving me an extra day off – I set out for upstate New York.
The Big Apple may lay claim to the so-called “Mecca of Boxing” in Madison Square Garden, but Canastota is to The Sweet Science what Cooperstown is to America’s Pastime.
My trip to Canastota and the International Boxing Hall of Fame was a religious experience, one that every boxing fan should make, if possible. On a weekend in which the boxing, once again, is slow, I chronicle what ended up as two journeys – one physical, one spiritual.
January 13
10 a.m. – I jump in my car on what is an abnormally warm winter weekend in north central Maryland. Within 15 minutes, I’m over the Mason Dixon Line, off on my longest road trip since September, when I drove halfway across the country. That ill-advised journey took place on the weekend of the Marco Antonio Barrera-Rocky Juarez pay-per-view rematch. My destination was Cornhusker Country – and Nebraska was on the road against USC – so not only did I have to write my column while sleep-deprived, but I first had to find a spot willing to take a single television screen away from college football.
2:16 p.m. – I cross into New York, passing by Binghamton, home of the college from which Tony Kornheiser matriculated. Time flies within the next hour and a half, with me driving beyond Syracuse and exiting onto I-90. [details]
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