Ah man, so this boxing thing tonight – it’s happening down in good ol’ Atlantic City, Boardwalk Hall. You know, the iconic place where people fight it out like it’s some sort of gladiator arena. Makes you want to crack open a cold one. Or maybe that’s just me getting distracted by the idea of being at a seaside venue. Anyway, Jaron “Boots” Ennis and Eimantas Stanionis are having a good old scrap to unify some belts. That kicks off at 8 p.m. according to my riveting schedule research – or 5 p.m. if you’re hanging out on the West Coast, which sounds quite lovely.
Oh, and before the big guns get going – there’s all that other fighting jazz that starts at 5 p.m. Eastern. Know these undercards sometimes feel like the warmup band before the headliner when all you really want is to see, like, The Rolling Stones. But okay, let’s dive into the madness, shall we?
So, Raymond Ford. Ah, Raymond. This dude fought Thomas Mattice, trying desperately to keep the audience awake. Nope, not happening. Zzzzz. I mean, in what parallel universe did folks pay to see a snooze fest? (Sorry dude, harsh truths). Ford’s running tally was 100-90 across all judges; it’s like submitting a test with all answers right but having zero charm to back it up. Snore alert, amirite?
And check this – 128 punches landed by Ford. Thomas? A sullen 24. Fun times. As much as Ford threw his weight around, his punches couldn’t scratch Thomas. Reminded me of a sleepy summer day spent counting clouds, really. Can Ford step it up against Eduardo “Sugar” Nunez next? Who knows! But if tonight’s anything to go by… he’s got homework to do.
Omari Jones is like, the cool kid on the block after all. East-side street kid with Olympic chops. Knocked poor William Jackson right onto his babble bones in the first round. How long did that carnival last? A measly 1:47. What even is time, eh? Make these fights more competitive, folks, please.
There was Omari, still bouncing around wanting more, like the Energizer Bunny. Says fighting helps him shine… reminds me of my insane cousin who somehow corrals you into playing beer pong at midnight. Hoping for better fights for Omari lest he gets “bored.”
Then there was Shakhram Giyasov, having dealt out a serious beatdown on Franco Ocampo. Brought Franco’s hopes crashing like a sandcastle at high tide, ending it in the fourth. I guess the guy promised his daughter he’d be world champ. Awww. All the feels when sports suddenly get you in the gut.
Now, about Zaquin Moses – he’s the young blood with a wicked left. Handed Alex Pallette a direct ticket to wondering why he even bothered waking up today. One missed shot after the other, thoughts muddling like vapors from a steaming pie. Moses might need some work on his lesser-known right hook. Could be a wild ride once someone decent stands in front of him.
And Tahmir Smalls? Obliterated – love that word, don’t you? – Earl Bascombe like there was a cheetah in the room. And of course, Arturo Cardenas wrapped up the night figuring out why Edgar Joe Cortes was such a tough cookie to crumble.
There you have it! Wild and woolly adventure in the land of flying fists and fleeting frustrations. Intense, just like that time my cat decided the curtains were a scratching post at 2 a.m. Now excuse me while I dream about being a boxing champ myself. Or maybe not. Cheers.
