"No. That's not Cosell."

"On Leonard's left--is that Cosell?"

"Nah, that's not Cosell. That's not Cosell."

"Is that Joe Frazier?"

"Where?"

"Behind Cosell."

Who are these people? They have spent at least twenty dollars a head to come see this. It is horrible, horrible. The men in front of us are not any good, and when boxing is not any good it is very bad. There is no style, only brutality. I can't catch the names of the next two fighters. I don't want to. I haven't got it in me to even look at the program. Everyone around me is ugly. They are all dressed in macho and Boston College macho. These are all tough guys. The have all had at least one fight in their life and they will talk about it till they die. And they will talk about Marvin Hagler, in bars and to children and grandchildren.

A woman has entered the arena down by the ringside seats. She is wearing a skin-tight purple dress, and even from my rarefied perch I can tell she has colossal breasts. Down by ringside everyone is going crazy. Three guys try to kiss her. I cannot tell if she is enjoying this.

My seat is hard. I have been sitting without moving in this very hard seat because I am too scared to move, and I am hoping all the shrapnel will fall around me.

People are starting to go nuts. They are waving flags from a foreign country. Vietnam? The inside of my brain smells like a very old book. People around me are going berserk. The challenger appears in the ring in a black satin robe. I think his name is something like Fully Insured. At least I hope it is.

Now Hagler is coming up the aisle, Marvelous Marvin, dancing his little dance. Finally, there is some real noise in this building. I cannot hear the heater and I am glad. The people are going nuts. They love him because he comes from Brockton. He is one of them. They are going nuts.

"We love you, Mahvin!" shouts a man behind me. He has a close-cropped head. With his dry skin and broken capillaries, he looks like a jelly donut. "Mahvin, we love yooooooo."

The ring is full of people. They are being introduced over the public address. I cannot make it out. Most of them are New England champions or contenders of some weight class. The only one I recognize is Vito Antuofermo, who may be the only man who is ugly from a hundred yards away. Then the announcer gives an Italian name and a Korean guy steps up. He is confused. They pull him back. He blushes, he is confused. Above him the flag is backwards.

They announce the national anthem of the challenger's homeland. Everyone is shouting "Mahvin! Mahvin!" You can't hear the anthem.

"Mahvin! We love you Mahvin!"