Celebrity circus rules as two old geezers slug it out in the ring;
Warne, the greatest bowler of all time, waved, then continued posing with Mick Gatto, the greatest crane operator.

Roll up, roll up, the circus is in town.

No, not Circus Oz, that's over the road. This is the much-anticipated rematch between triple world champion Jeff Fenech and his long-time nemesis, triple world-champion Azumah Nelson. Or a fight between two old geezers, who frankly should know better.

Fenech's 44, Nelson's 49. They labelled this fight The Final Round. Most blokes their age are arguing over a final round in their local pub, not in a raised boxing ring in front of a surprisingly decent crowd at Vodafone Arena.

But that didn't stop the underworld, the Underbelly actors - these are strange days indeed - the footballers, the bogans, the wannabes and hangers on lining up on $10,000 ringside tables to be part of the show. And Warnie, who raised the level a little.

To take nothing away from Bree from Big Brother, from Jason Coleman of So You Think You Can Dance, from Dicko of . . . um.

The ring announcer couldn't help himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, Wendell Sailor's in the house! They know you in Melbourne, international Dell! I'm told Bessie Bardot is at ringside! Josh Fraser, the Collingwood legend, is here, and The Big Show, Michael Gardiner, ladies and gentlemen! Rene Kink, the AFL SUPERSTAR is here. Stand up for us, big fella!"

Not to mention Carlton's Brendan Fevola, seen on TV sucking on a beer of all things, Essendon's Matthew Lloyd, Geelong's Steve Johnson, and the largest collection of blokes in leather jackets and black trenchcoats since the last underworld funeral.

When it came to Warnie, the ring announcer practically exploded: "Ladies and gentlemen, Shane Warne's in the house! The greatest bowler of ALL TIME!" Warne waved, then continued posing with Mick Gatto, the greatest crane operator of all time, for a long line of punters' photographs.

Outside, where the punters lined up for $6.80 Heinekens, it was considerably less cultured. One bloke, with a blond mohawk and a green Southern Cross tattooed on his neck, studied the TV screen. What's your tip, mate? "Awww, if it's not white, it's not right, I reckon." Fortunately, the group of five men walking past wrapped in the colours of Ghana didn't hear.

Just on 11pm, the Marrickville Mauler entered the ring, wearing a $7000 silk gown designed by South Yarra designer Ed Hardy. The Ghanaian Gentlemen, Azumah Nelson, was waiting for him.

For eight rounds, Fenech worked Nelson into the ropes, using his superior fitness to throw more punches, and using his nous to stay clear of the African's famous right hand. It might have been tactically savvy, standing there in the corner butting heads like two old goats, but wasn't exactly scintillating - the biggest cheer of the night was when the girl who holds the cards up between rounds stripped down to her bikini. "Wow-weee!" cried the announcer.

Then for the final two rounds, Fenech, thinking he'd done enough to win, ran around the ropes, refusing to engage Nelson. The partisan crowd turned on Jeff in a jiff - they'd come to watch him fight, not run to the 'G. "This is disgraceful," one bloke shouted.

And so Fenech won the fight, but in 10 rounds, he'd managed to lose the crowd. "I know it wasn't the old Jeff Fenech," he told the crowd, "but hopefully it was a little bit smarter."

Maybe, maybe not. It had been a circus all night, and as these two distinguished gentlemen climbed out of the ring, it was hard to know if they were strongmen, lion tamers, or just clowns.


Source: The Age (Melbourne, Australia)

A dismal triumph

They call boxing the sweet science. Normally, it would be a big mistake to confuse it with the dismal science, which is how the study of economics is tagged.

But last night at Vodafone Arena was the exception. Sweet and dismal merged in front of about 5000 spectators, spawning a new question for scientific inquiry: How can so many people pay as much as $10,000 for a ringside table, get so little for their money, and still walk away happy?

Jeff Fenech's final triumph over three-time rival Azumah Nelson, on points after 10 rounds, might have something to do with it. Both boxers won a standing ovation.

And Fenech told them: ``I told you that he (Nelson) wouldn't get tired. It wasn't the old Jeff Fenech -- but maybe a little smarter.''

But whatever it was that took place under the floodlights in that 24-foot square of rope and canvas -- fight, farce or two-fisted flab-aganza -- it wasn't boxing in the tradition of the sport's epic heritage. And the fans knew it coming in.

“Sure, it's not a title bout or anything,'' said George Paginodopoulous, who coughed up $56 to plant his bottom 40 rows from ringside.

“But these guys have a history and there's the grudge factor, so it could be hot.''

George also bought a $35 souvenir T-shirt while his mates invested in $8.50 rum and colas.

When Fenech came into the arena, head bowed, a well-and-truly fired-up George cheered like a man who had just won Tatts. Like all the other air-punching fisticuffs fanciers around him, he was being ripped off and loving it.

If Fenech was enjoying it, it was hard to tell. No trace of a smile was on the face of the “Marrickville Mauler'', a three-time world champ and the only Australian ever to hold that distinction.

Azumah, five years older and heavier, also didn't bother with any warm-up shadow-boxing, making it almost impossible to ignore the Ghana legend's well-padded frame. His stomach rose over the waistband of his shorts like that of a man caught smuggling a mother lode of meat products through Customs.

For much of the first four rounds, both fighters looked as if their cheeks were glued to each other's shoulders as they moved from one clinch to the next.

“Punch the old man, Jeff,'' one spectator shouted.

Even the untutored eye could tell this fight was a radical departure from the curtain-raiser between up-and-comer Willy Picket and ex-champ Gary St Clair.

Still, the crowds kept on loving it -- every missed hook, limp jab and laboured breath.

“Nothing like the fight,'' spectator Stephen Peterson said. “It's a great night out.”

This one wasn't, not for any purist devotee.

But for those who didn't mind opening their wallets to take in -- and be taken in by -- a geriatric freak show, what a gold-plated, top-dollar dismal bout it was.

In the last round, when the blows came fast, at least they had something to cheer for.

Source: Herald Sun (Australia)