By Norm Frauenheim-
BUENOS AIRES – This is a long way from Vegas where history is always just a bulldozer away. Vegas sells itself for all that is supposed to stay there. That’s the cliche anyway.
It’s not true, of course. Nobody much remembers what they did in Vegas. They lose. They go home. They forget.
But there’s no forgetting in Argentina’s capitol city. It’s full of monuments and surrounded by decaying elegance. Streets are named Eva or Evita. Take a left, take a right and there’s a pretty good chance you’ll wind up in Ciudad Evita.
One of the city’s leading tourist stops is a graveyard, Cementerio de la Recoleta. You can say hello to Eva Peron, there, too. Or at least you can say your last respects.
Her tomb is there, next to others, all done in a dizzy array of architectural styles. It’s a well-manicured piece of monumental real estate, the best in the city. Once there, it’s easy to understand why you might want to stay forever.
Among the many decorated graves of Argentine greats, there’s a boxer, Luis Firpo. Forgive the longwinded tour to the point in this column. Then again, nothing happens very quickly in Argentina. Trust me, I’ve stood in several interminably long lines to show my passport at the airport and to exchange currency. (More on this later.)
Firpo’s place in the cemetery is a symbol of what Buenos Aires has been and some ways still is. It was a great fight town. Firpo, one the great heavyweights in the 1920s, is remembered for a wild bout with Jack Dempsey. He knocked Dempsey out of the ring. But Dempsey won, knocking him down seven times.
I mention Firpo, because I was here, passing through Buenos Aires on my way to Patagonia’s glaciers, lakes and mountains on the same day that Deontay Wilder stopped Luis Ortiz last Saturday in a rematch at the MGM Grand. If not for the long-planned trip, I would’ve been in Vegas.
So, I figured that Wilder-Ortiz had to be a must-see event in a city that reveres Firpo and in a country that still celebrates Marcos Maidana and Sergio Martinez. Another heavyweight, Oscar Bonavena, is an Argentina native. He twice took Joe Frazier to the scorecards, losing both. He lost a 15th-round TKO to Muhammad Ali.
Then, of course, there is Carlos Monzon. They still talk about the all-time middleweight in Buenos Aires. A local television station is planning a documentary series on the fighter, who died in an auto accident in 1995 on a furlough from prison. He was convicted of killing his girlfriend in 1988. Monzon still fascinates.
So, they had to know Wilder, right? No, no, nada. Then, they had to know Ortiz, right? After all, Ortiz is Cuban. Che Guevara, a Cuban revolutionary, was born in Argentina. He went to school in Buenos Aires. Maybe there was a link, a reason to cheer for Ortiz? No, no, nada.
On the day of my arrival, I only heard some mild interest while standing in line at customs from three Americans, who were a lot more interested in partying in the endless parade of bars up-and-down so many of Buenos Aires’ streets.
So, I searched, first for a sports bar that might show the telecast. But no, no, nada. If there’s a television not showing soccer in Buenos Aires, it’s probably not on. It’s soccer, soccer and more soccer, all day long and all the time.
It was about then that I thought I would invest the $79.99 for the Fox pay-per-view telecast. At the moment I made that decision, the exchange rate, Argentine pesos-for-dollars, was at 56-to-1. Buster Douglas was given a better chance before his monumental upset of Mike Tyson in Tokyo.
Anyway, I’m not sure what the PPV price tag added up to in pesos. Besides, it doesn’t matter. The exchange rate changes, almost by the hour. As I write this, it’s 60-to-1. Whatever the PPV toll in Argentine currency was, it was in the thousands and I forgot to pack a wheelbarrow to carry them around.
Anyway, I headed back to my hotel room, thinking I’d follow the fight on twitter. First, I turned on the television, flipped my way through a few dozen soccer games and, suddenly, there it was Leo Santa Cruz beating Miguel Flores. Wilder-Ortiz was next. But the Fox telecast was carried by rival ESPN for its South American audience.
I didn’t have to shell out a dollar or a single peso. The fight, itself, played out the way I thought it would. Wilder’s right hand lands and it’s over, this time in the seventh round instead of the 10th. Different timing, same scenario.
Yet, what struck me more than anything were the background shots at the MGM Grand Garden Arena. Empty seats were everywhere. A crowd of 10,000-plus for heavyweight title fight was announced. Turns out, Wilder isn’t must-see TV in his own country either.
Pick the reason. Maybe, it was a date too close to the Thanksgiving holiday. Or, maybe, neither Wilder nor Ortiz has much appeal to fans. Or maybe the house was over-priced. Pick one, pick all.
But for one night, at least, Vegas and Buenos Aires weren’t as different as I had thought.