by Mark Watson
STAFF WRITER
This is my favorite time of year.
Temperatures are pleasant after a record-setting hot summer, high school football is in full swing, and Division I college games start Thursday with three Utah teams in action. The Utah Utes are at Oregon State, UNLV is at Utah State, and Weber State is at 2006 Fiesta Bowl Champs Boise State -- pray for the Weber Wildcats. The other teams should be OK. BYU hosts Arizona on Saturday.
I enjoy the games, especially when my teams win. The drama can raise blood pressure if your favorite is forced to come from behind against a rival foe.
Looking back, however, I like the sideshows of sports -- weird, odd stuff that happens when you least expect it.
Working as a sports reporter for The Spectrum, a daily newspaper in Southern Utah, I covered a "boxing" event at the Washington County Fair in Hurricane in the early '90s. Throngs of people gathered at this boxing venue, which was four towering cement walls with no roof and one entrance. Situated inside was the boxing ring, and seating consumed the rest of the square facility up to the top of the walls.
The thing about Washington County Fair boxing was that anybody could fight. My assumption was that some of these young men and women trained all year for this one chance. If I remember correctly, they won prizes for winning. Most paired fighters were similar in skill level. When it was time for the bouts, fighters would jump in the ring, stretch a bit, practice a few jabs, box a couple of rounds and a winner was declared -- usually by decision.
Prior to one bout, however, I became a bit concerned because one of the fighters seemed a bit crazed. He catapulted into the ring and began flailing his arms around at blistering speeds, jumping up and down.
Oh no, I thought. Whoever has to fight this cranked up Whirling Dervish is in big trouble. Then Dervish's opponent appeared, looking somewhat listless as he walked around near his corner. Now I was certain this was a bad draw. It looked like time to warm up the ambulance.
The two came out, touched gloves, and bam -- with one big swing, down went Whirling Dervish, stone cold knocked out on the canvas. It was the shortest and most memorable bout of the night. I couldn't wait to tell my editor about it.
Strange things used to happen in Hurricane. Once, our sports photographer was run over during a football game and hauled off in an ambulance. Another time, during a professional wrestling event, I talked to two wrestlers in the locker room prior to the match. They were extremely pleasant to each other, acting a bit weary from traveling around the country. They promoted the upcoming event and wished each other the best before they went on stage. And then for some reason as they entered the Hurricane High School gymnasium they became nasty to each other, throwing each other into the turnbuckles and gouging at each others' eyes. Not nearly as hospitable as they were pre-match.
There were other fun and sometimes odd things I remember from being a sports reporter. Like attending a Holiday Bowl with a slightly inebriated friend who is a big BYU fan or trying to photograph Emery High's 7-foot, 4-inch Shawn Bradley, which is not easy when you are near the baseline with a telephoto lens -- his upper torso is about all you get.
But Whirling Dervish kissing the canvas only seconds into the bout was my pick of the memories. It still makes me smile.
mwatson@tooeletranscript.com