The Convention Hall in Atlantic City. Two undefeated heavyweight boxers squaring off in what was billed as the fight of the century.
And I had two tickets, ringside. It cost a month’s salary, yet I was happy to pay. Anything to impress the old man.
But traffic didn’t cooperate, and we arrived late. Only by two minutes, but that was everything.
We shoved our way through the crowd of rabid fans until we stood ringside. There we found a brutal inevitability: Tyson looming menacingly over an unconscious Spinks.
Ninety-one seconds – that’s all it took.
And we missed every single one.
The Weekday One Hundred 