On this cold Saturday night in Las Vegas, the bell rings to start the third round. Emerging from his corner at the MGM Grand Garden Arena is Erik “El Terrible” Morales. His right eye, which looks like a ripe plum that’s about to burst, is swollen shut. His opponent, Marcos Maidana, looks ready to whip Morales like a mule, collect his $500,000 purse, pop the champagne and hit the MGM’s high-stakes pai gow tables.

Years past his prime, Morales has traveled from his native Tijuana, Mexico to the “boxing capital of the world” to resurrect his career. I’ve driven over from L.A. to attend my first fight, press credential in hand.
All week the jaded boxing writers in the MGM media center have been raiding the comp food spreads, and between bites, telling me this is to be Morales’ funeral. At the sportsbook, I bet $50 the time of death will be the seventh round (odds: 15-1).  

The storyline reminds me of the first fight I ever watched on TV. It was 1980, and an over-the-hill Muhammad Ali got pummeled by a younger, stronger Larry Holmes at Caesars Palace; a sad end for The Champ. Since then I’ve seen hundreds of boxing matches on the tube, many faded from memory. What I’ll never forget, though, is how it feels to be sitting twelve rows from the ring here at MGM.

There simply is no TV (plasma, HD, 3D, you name it) that can convey the frenzied energy in the building when you hear the WHACK of a savage left hook, the crowd roars, and a fountain of flying sweat and blood droplets showers the high rollers in the ringside seats. It’s an instant adrenaline rush. And in a town where sensory stimulation is king, faux volcano eruptions at the Mirage are no match for the super-charged atmosphere of a live, big name fight. At least not in this boxing fan’s book.

The Hype
Friday’s official boxer weigh-ins are held in the MGM arena and open to the public, free of charge. If you’re in town for a bout, it’s your first chance to get bitten by the fight-hype bug, and hopefully hear boxers hurl threats and insults at each other. If you’re lucky, it’ll escalate into an on-stage brawl. This weigh-in proves calm (oh, how I miss Mike Tyson’s antics), and most of the trash talking comes from the crowd, who jokingly heckle the fight’s promoter, Oscar De La Hoya. The ex-champ is game, pointing and smiling at the fans, though I’m certain he doesn’t hear some of the cruder jokes.

The MGM is blinged-out for the big event. In the hotel lobby, a gold statue of Leo the MGM Lion sits in the center of a full-size boxing ring. Ignoring the “keep off” sign, drunk tourists climb the ropes to the edge of the ring and summon their best Rocky-at-the-top-of-the-steps impression. Behind the check-in desk, massive video screens play fight videos. The felt coverings on the casino blackjack tables are emblazoned with the fight’s promo poster. Over in the casino food court, retired boxer Fernando “The Aztec Warrior” Vargas, in town to catch the action, is mobbed by adoring fans.
    
Fight Night
With seven bouts scheduled for the night (the main event, plus six undercard match-ups), the arena doors open at 3 p.m. My girlfriend and I settle in among the sparse crowd for a six-rounder featuring two no-name middleweights.  When a waitress arrives to take our drink order (cocktails, beer and food are complimentary in the expensive seats), she startles me. I’m transfixed by the action, and amazed at just how fast punches are being thrown. Speed is another aspect of the sport that doesn’t fully translate to your living room.

The warm-up fights go on. The arena slowly fills. But the building remains fairly quiet. Clear as a bell, I can hear the brutal SMACK of right crosses, pained groans, frantic corner men yelling to their fighters, “Use your jab!” and “He’s yours, baby, he’s yours!” An appreciative crowd cheers for a decent super-lightweight fight. But throughout the undercard bouts, the biggest whoops, whistles and hollers are, understandably, aimed at the teeny-bikini-clad ring card girl; she’s tall, bleach-blonde, and all legs.

Before the top fights, we head out to the casino for a dinner break. The restaurant nearest the arena is Diego, a sleek Mexican cantina that puts a chi-chi twist on classic dishes. The margaritas pack a punch, and the creamy guacamole, prepared tableside, is heaven-sent. My spicy fish tacos, loaded with tender chunks of grouper, are top rate. Wish I could say the same about my girlfriend’s chile relleno. Service is fast though, and we’re back at the arena in a flash.

Among hardcore boxing fans, the most anticipated bout of the night is not the main event, but rather the interim lightweight title fight (Guerrero-Katsidis) preceding it. This turns out to be a one-sided affair (a unanimous decision for Guerrero), but there’s some good action in the ring, the arena is full, the pro-Guerrero crowd is going nuts and you can feel the electricity in the air.

The Main Event
My girlfriend’s eyes are peeled for celebrities in the crowd. But the name on the marquee isn’t Manny Pacquiao (he fights Mosley at MGM on May 7th), so the only “stars” we spy are other boxers. There’s no dress code, but down here in the high-dollar seats, sharp-dressed dudes and girls in sparkly mini dresses abound. As much as I’m gawking, I’m surprised my girlfriend doesn’t knock me out of my seat with an upper cut.

The HBO Boxing crew is in the house for a pay-per-view broadcast (a replay airs tomorrow, Saturday, April 16 on HBO). Even if the name Michael Buffer isn’t familiar, you’ve no doubt heard the ring announcer’s signature catchphrase used to introduce a fight: “Let’s get ready to rumble!” Buffer, dressed in a tux and looking like the maitre d’ at a restaurant you can’t afford, introduces Morales and Maidana. The latter just marched to the ring to the soothing sounds of Metallica’s “Seek and Destroy.” They touch gloves, and here we go. 
    
Maidana clobbers Morales in the early rounds, landing hard punches upstairs, downstairs, everywhere.  The mostly pro-Morales crowd is quiet and fears the worst. In the second round, Morales’ right eye swells shut. And now I’m simply praying he can hold on until the seventh; the $700 I collect from the sportsbook is our ticket to the Sunday Sterling Brunch at Bally’s, where the bubbly will flow and I’ll gobble caviar like popcorn.

Morales has other ideas. In the sixth, he blasts Maidana with a barrage of punches, seemingly hurting the younger fighter. An emboldened, wild crowd begins to chant “Meh-hee-co! Meh-hee-co!” For the next six, action-packed rounds we jump up and down, scream like banshees and high-five our seatmates during an absolute brawl that The Ring magazine has declared the first candidate for “fight of the year.”

My bet? I lost. And so did Morales in a close judges’ decision for Maidana. I’ve never been happy to lose money in Las Vegas, until now.

Fight photos by Eli Ellison