If it’s one thing you’re guaranteed to get in New Orleans, besides sensory overload and a little toasted, it’s an authentic experience. For a city that prides itself on decadence, particularly where food and beverage are concerned, it’s pleasantly surprising to see the authenticity extend just a little into the realm of sport and fitness. Given my proclivity for doing nothing, it will surprise most that yours truly was once committed, reasonably frequently, to a stint training at a bonafide boxing gym. Some might suggest, my genetic predisposition for ginger rage may have been what gravitated me toward this particular outlet, but I digress!
From the outside Friday Night Fights gym looks like it’s in what should be a condemned warehouse and it doesn’t get any more glamorous on the inside. But pretty is not what we’re here for and there is no elaborate equipment that you need a degree in nuclear physics to make move. What there is, is a no frills mix of exposed brick, weights, a permanent musty smell, speed bags, enormous ceilings, a ring that’s seen better days, and no air conditioning. Anyone who’s been to this part of the world in the Summer just cringed or let out a gasp, for she feels like equatorial Africa in these parts, for at least 4 months of the year. The proprietor of the gym, Mike, is an ex-Marine who resides on the second floor with his Pitbull mix Mr. T. In conjunction with the operation of the gym, every quarter (or there about) Mike coordinates a spectacle of open air amateur fights on yes, no prizes for guessing, a Friday night.
Take a step outside into a sticky Summer evening and a parking lot across the way. 
A healthy crowd is gathering either around the ring or around industrious entrepreneurs selling beer out of heavy-duty plastic vessels. Vantage points are wherever you find them: a roped-off, VIP-looking region of collapsible chairs, or for those unwilling to part with the entry fee, on top of a van roof just outside the makeshift fence. Whilst I never thought I could watch the strategic brutality of live boxing, evidence would suggest I can. And enjoy it! I’m not sure if it’s easier to justify because the combatants are amateurs or if it’s because there is entertainment in between rounds that varies from Michael Jackson impersonators to all miming, all dancing, all implanted drag queens. Whatever the reason, it’s atmospheric and highly entertaining and a far better choice for amusement than yahoos bellowing and hurling beads off balconies on Bourbon Street.
Apologies if I’m painting a somewhat chauvinistic picture, as this testosterone fuelled world isn’t strictly for the men folk. In my humble opinion some of the more entertaining bouts to be witnessed are between sometimes slight, yet clearly skilled and fit ladies. But this is not to say eye-rolling gender stereotypes have been completely set adrift from these shenanigans. Ladies, if you ever wanted to cross “round card girl” off your bucket list this is your opportunity without having to wear an ill-fitting bikini. There’s also ample opportunity to vie for the coveted prize of Miss Friday Night Fights, should this too be a lifelong ambition. Again, circulation-restricting clothing welcome, but not mandatory. In recent times and in the true New Orleanian spirit of inclusion and acceptance, Mike has opened up the round card floor to any and all who wish to fulfill this longing, be they male or female by birth or identity.
Last August, amid extensive media coverage surrounding the 10th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, Friday Night Fights was the subject of a 4-page spread in Sports Illustrated http://www.si.com/boxing/2015/08/27/new-orleans-hurrican-katrina-10-years-friday-night-fights-gym. While I haven’t trained at the gym in quite some time, and my intention was never to compete in the ring, I’m incredibly proud of the recognition and attention this diamond in the rough is getting. It’ll be interesting to see if Mike can turn coverage in a respectable, national publication into something tangible, like internal plumbing at the gym. It seems Friday night is better than Saturday for fighting 🙂
The Last Bohemian City 