I am Mexican. Well, not exactly. My parents were born in Sonora, Mexico, and I in Chula Vista, a suburb of San Diego, CA. In our home, my siblings and I were raised Mexican.
Mexican food, Mexican values and Mexican music.
As I have mentioned before, it is not ethical for a boxing journalist to sit ringside and cheer for his favorite fighter although all of us have them. This past Saturday night at the Plaza de Toros Monumental in Tijuana, MX, I didn’t really want to cheer for the Mexican fighters but more so for the Mexican people, especially the people of Tijuana.
Not that there wasn’t a reason to cheer for the Mexicans on that night. With Fernando Montiel capturing his third title in three weight classes via spectacular KO of Diego Silva of Argentina, Humberto Soto defending his WBC super featherweight title with a devastating showing over Antonio Davis of Atlanta, stopping him in the fourth round and Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. showing his mettle by defeating a tough Argentinean in Luciano Cuello to capture the WBC Latino super welterweight title, there was enough to join the over 20,000 fight fans yelling at the top of their lungs that filled the bull ring that night.
After enduring one of the most difficult years this city has ever known in my lifetime, all nearly 900 murders that have been committed in roughly the last year where forgotten for at least an afternoon and evening as the gathered mass of Tijuanenses enjoyed a night of boxing without incident.
Not one fight in the stands, not one beer bottle thrown, not one shirt set on fire and heaved on innocent bystanders.
I’m not kidding, I’ve seen it.
But not on Saturday night.
There were many great moments that day. From Antonio Margarito’s brother in law winning his pro debut in the first round and doing a back flip to Julio Cesar Chavez Sr. joining the fans in the cheap seats for a beer to the lovely ringside girls just being there.
But a different moment stayed on my mind since that night and will probably stay as my fondest moment of “Tijuana Thunder”.
As the pomp and circumstance that involves a main event commenced with master of ceremonies Jimmy Lennon Jr. leading the way, a young boy dressed in a tuxedo was given the microphone to give his rendition of the Mexican national anthem.
As the Tecate girls stood behind him to give the beer sponsor maximum exposure in front of the television cameras, the boy began to sing the song.
But as I stood about twenty yards away and near the speakers, I could barely hear him. All I heard was twenty thousand passionate Mexicans sing along intently to every word, to every stanza of the melody.
As I began to feel overwhelmed with the spirit of the moment, I noticed that even the Tecate girls standing behind the singer where joining in. For the thirty seconds to a minute that the excerpt of the anthem lasted, those girls forgot that their job was only to look gorgeous (which they did, oh God, did they…) and to make sure that they represented the beer company correctly in front of the cameras. For that short time, those women forgot about the small top and the high skirt they were wearing and they remembered that there are more important things than beer, make up or even sex.
Photo by Chris Cozzone