white corner crew, one of whom smashesrnopen the black boxer’s skull with arnwalkie-talkie. The white members of thernringside crowd immediately begin tornriot, violently assaulting anyone who hasrna black face. The black boxer’s 74-yearoldrntrainer, a black man himself, andrnbeloved in boxing circles, is struck, andrncollapses to the canvas in apparentrnseizure. Another elderly black man isrnspat upon and kicked by a violently cursingrnwhite woman while he lies squirmingrnon the floor. One young black man, afterrnunfurling a green and black Africanrnflag in support of his fighter, is kicked tornthe ground by several huge white men.rnA metal seat is wrenched from its mooringsrnby a wildly gesticulating white whornproceeds to throw it at some fallenrnblacks. The melee spreads outside,rnwhites chasing after any blacks they see,rnintent on mayhem.rnThe aftermath of such a situationrnwould, of course, be obvious to all rightthinkingrnAmericans: the Attorney Generalrnwould arrive to investigate this outrageousrn”bias” crime, the Presidentrnwould give a televised lecture on the evilsrnof racism and the shameful treatment ofrnthe foreign boxer and his supporters . . .rnwhat a disgrace it is that white Americansrnbehave so abominably, steps mustrnbe taken to wipe out the scourge of discrimination,rnthe brutal bigot who assaultedrnthe visiting fighter will be dealtrnwith severely, and so on.rnThe incident described above did, inrnfact, happen. It happened in New Yorkrnlast July 11, at Madison Square Garden,rnbut I have altered the story in one detailrn—the color of the participants. Thernboxer whose thick skull managed tornwithstand the crushing blow from thernwalkie-talkie was white—Andrzej (Andrew)rnGolota, the undefeated Polishrnchampion—and his fans—of whom Irnwas one—were Polish. It is difficult tornmake out details of a riot when one isrnrunning for one’s life, but watching therngood half-hour of postmatch violence onrnvideotape was almost more shockingrnthan the reality.rnIt had been a pleasant fight to watch;rnGolota’s opponent was Riddick Bowe,rnconsidered by many to be the best heavyweightrnin the division, and few gave thernPolish pugilist much more than a puncher’srnchance against Bowe, who had facedrnthe wily and courageous Evander Holyfieldrnand won two out of their three contests.rnGolota was said to have faced onlyrncream-puffs, and he was reputed to bernthe possessor of a crystal jaw that wouldrnquickly shatter under the weight of arnsolid Bowe uppercut. Bowe’s ability torndeliver heavy and punishing jabs wouldrnunnerve Golota in the opening rounds,rnand Bowe would have the fight sewn uprnwithin six rounds, either by knockingrnGolota out or by making steak tartar outrnof his physiognomy. Pleasant, therefore,rnfor Polish fans, when the bout began andrnGolota shocked Bowe with several ramrodrnstiff jabs. Golota started to do tornBowe what Bowe was supposed to do tornhim.rnBy the end of the first round Bowe’srnmouth was hanging open and he alreadyrnlooked like a beaten man; out of condition,rnpuffing like a grampus, eyesrnswollen. For six more rounds Golotarngave the Brooklyn bruiser a snappy boxingrnlesson straight out of the WarsawrnAcademy. The Pole was supposed to bernslow and immobile, but instead hisrnmovement was slick, deftly moving fromrnside to side, avoiding punches and counteringrnwith neat jabs and quick combinations.rnThe small contingent of Polishrnfans roared their approval and wavedrntheir eagles and red-and-white flags.rn”NiechzyjePolskal” “Dogoryl Dogoryl”rn”Ale huraganl” Several times Bowe wasrnstaggered by Golota’s swinging right andrnleft hooks, and when the Polish fighterrnaccidentally caught him in the groinrnwith a shot that went low, Bowe gladlyrnsank to his knees and availed himself ofrnthe few minutes’ rest granted by thernrules. Here was an escape hatch, onernthat would prove useful as the fight worernon and Bowe wore out.rnCraftily, Golota began to attackrnBowe’s rather rotund middle, rainingrnblows on his opponent’s sides and stomach,rna tactic guaranteed to sap anyrnstrength that might remain in the American’srnstokehold, and one that would preventrna resurgence in the later rounds ifrnthe fight went that far. A good strategv,rnbut it would prove to be Golota’s undoing.rnTwice his punches wandered low,rnonce grazing Bowe’s buttocks and oncernhis hip. Upon receiving the blow on thernhip, Bowe showed what he was made ofrnand gave the grimace that Beau Brummellrngave when he discovered that his tiernwas crooked at the Prince Regent’s ball.rnIn short, Bowe acted as if he had beenrnseverely hurt in the groinal region. Thernreferee allowed him more time, and tookrnanother point from Golota for lowrnpunching. The Polish fans booed;rnBowe’s constant holding of Golota’srnhead with one great paw and thumpingrnit with the other—deliberate dirty fighting,rnunlike the Pole’s accidental lowrnshots—had gone unpenalized by the referee.rnA look at Bowe’s corner showed franticrnaction. Their man was losing andrnthey knew it. The crowd, the larger halfrnof which was made up of blacks fromrnBrooklyn and Washington, D.C., wasrngrowing increasingly restless. They, too,rnknew in their hearts that Riddick Bowernwas losing and losing badly. A few morernrounds and he would be knocked out orrnbe unable to continue. The man himselfrnwas looking around with uncomprehendingrneyes; in interviews the day beforernBowe had talked only of Mike Tyson,rnhis ultimate goal, and had ignored thernactual fighter he was to face. Golota wasrna ten-to-one underdog, to Bowe he wasrninvisible. Frustrated, at the end of onernround, as the fighters were returning torntheir respective corners, Bowe even swattedrnangrily at Golota as if he were an annoyingrnelephant fly that had got in hisrnway. Naturally he did not lose a point forrnthis unsportsmanlike conduct.rnCertain of the citizens from D.C. andrnBrooklyn were beginning to shout foulrnimprecations at the Polish fans. Itrnseemed that the Polish contingent werernunaware that it was racist to applaud arnPolish boxer with an oppressively whiternskin who was beating a black fighter.rnI myself, an exhibitionist who hadrnthought nothing of roaring on the performancernof a Polish pitcher for myrnbeloved White Sox when they beat thernYankees in the Bronx a few years ago—rnnot an action likely to endear me torndiehard Yankee fans, especially as Irnroared in an English accent—even Irnfound my throat drying and my enthusiasmrnshorting out at the looks and threatsrnthat were being directed at the Polishrnsection. After a comment about RiddickrnBowe’s tattoos of his five children beingrnan aide memoire, I dried up. But it certainlyrnseemed odd to have pictures ofrnone’s offspring tattooed on one’s backrnand chest—Mike Tyson managed torncontent himself with Arthur Ashe andrnChairman Mao stamped on his forearms,rnbut Bowe, goodness knows, lookedrnlike a tattooed lady at the circus.rnWhen the seventh round began,rnBowe got up with difficulty; perhaps therntattoos were starting to weigh him down.rnGolota, looking more and more like thernunbeatable Ivan Drago in Kocky IV, immediatelyrnwent to work, punishing BowernOCTOBER 1996/41rnrnrn