Hipster Boxing

I get a text about 8:30 on Friday night from my boy telling me were going to a Friday Night Fight Throwdown event at 88 East Broadway. I don't follow boxing or MMA, so I figured it was some big fight that I had skipped over reading in the sports section this past week. I agreed and Googled the address for directions. I was confused, as the address given turned up a Fung-Wa bus depot, Chinese restaurant, a Chinese employment agency, and a variety of other small businesses with Chinese names. I realized the address was the Chinatown mall, which was built in the early nineties to replace a bunch of shacks under the Manhattan Bridge. I assumed the address he sent me was a typo and said I was down. Plus, it was BYOB, so I could bring a couple six packs and a flask and avoid the regular Friday night of $14 drinks.

As we leave my apartment my buddies tell me we are going to a party that rotates locations every few months and hosts actual boxing matches. The address was right; we were on our way to an underground boxing match/party at the Chinatown Mall. I had walked past this place hundreds of times over the past 20 years, never venturing inside past the phone card stalls and chain smoking, snot-rocketing, fresh off the boat Chinese immigrants and the Snakehead Chinese gangsters who had smuggled them into the country in return for a decade of indentured servitude. I knew what was up as soon as we got close and I see Sherlock Holmes waiting to enter the mall, fresh off the plane from Idahoklahoma .

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"

I turn to my boy and laugh saying "you are fucking kidding me right?" Luckily I was about 8 drinks in at that point and ready to see what trouble awaited us inside. Of course, the first thing I saw as I walked in the door was a sign informing patrons that by entering the premises, you were aware that a "documentary" was being filmed. Of course it was. Just like the 8th grade graduation video shot by my parents was a "documentary". The "bouncer", who was about 5'7" and 140 lbs of flannel asked us if we were cops. Brooding about how authentically underground they were, I guess they didnt notice the actual plainclothes detectives standing about 10 feet away, who I'm sure were there only to ensure none of vacationing hipsters got hurt or misbehaved in this actual immigrant and very low income neighborhood, not to bust this "secret" event.  

After getting in, I humor myself by striking up a conversation with Tyler, "from" Brooklyn. Asking him what the deal is with this event, he said its his first one, and as an engineer he was stoked to see the equipment the producers and band were working with. Drunk and confused, I had no idea what being an engineer had to do with this. I asked him what sort of engineer he was, mechanical, architectural, computer, or something else. He looks at me with great shock, as if I have just told him his father respects him, and nasally snorts "I'm like, a sound engineeer". I laugh in his face and walk away, taking this shot as I mock him from three feet away:

Brooklyn Sound Engineer Tyler proves that Hipsters dont have to be svelte

The fights start up and I'm hanging out about 30 feet away with a decent view. There are four bouts scheduled, plus a few shitty bands (of course). All the fighters are obvious amateurs, and while they have enough technique to beat me in the ring, I wouldn't be afraid of any of them or their entourage in a street fight. To increase authenticity, three of the eight boxers seem to be hispanic, while one is black. All are matched up with white boy hipsters with tattoos and non threatening patterns of facial hair. The little black dude is overmatched and quickly loses to some doofus who acts like he just won the Superbowl. Two of the three hispanics win, matched up with equally douchey flyoverstate transplants that I would bet my ass call Brooklyn home.

Proof I was actually there and didnt just Google Image "douchey Hipster" for the first two pics.

I honestly had a fucking great time. Where else could you be in a smoky room with 500 people that you are obviously superior to in every facet of life (except the abilities to tap dat trust fund and make papier mache), while openly mocking them and getting drunk with a few good friends? I can't wait for the next match! I also apologize for the quality of all my pictures, as I dont have an authentically deck iphone so I was forced to use my shitty Blackberry.