Anyway, I loved the boxing. I loved Oscar de la Hoya, and Evander Holyfield. I loved, loved, loved boxing. Boxing was amazing. This was back in the day when Evander had his whole ear, I'm saying.
(and yes, this largely stemmed from a boyfriend I had who was into boxing.)
Anyway, said boy and I decided to do this massive road trip one summer, a trip to New York and back (to North Carolina), and we both saved up $1,000, so we had the means. And I had wheels, so... it was on.
Our trip first took us to Easton, New Jersey, to scope out Larry Holmes.
Larry Holmes' brother is a bad-ass, nice mother fucker. Just saying. And he has a gym, outside of which, I locked BOTH sets of keys in my car. We never did catch up with Larry.
Next, we went on to Philadelphia. We got off at whatever exit made us happy, gracing us with a scenic tour of Philly's Germantown which was rather run down, but I totally fucking LOVED it. And then we saw this:
(it was not for sale at the time, to my knowledge.)
SWEET. We did not get the chance to meet Joe, but it was awesome to be that close, really. We proceeded to run up the stairs and hang out with Rocky's statue, and do the cheesy tourist thing, and then we proceeded on our way.
Bottom line is, I was this close to greatness, in a way I won't be again.
Go rest high, Smokin' Joe.
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