I couldn't watch the fight at the weekend, but I wanted to. I read about it the next day, like too much modern sport. I was out at a friend's party, celebrating his wedding anniversary.
Here is a poem that I was put in mind of by this apparent dichotomy.
I also wrote something about it today, and I will post it here, for once.
Valuev
Valuev looked heartbroken
in the photo I saw on Sunday.
I had been reading, like
everybody else, about this
circus freak that had
never even been knocked down,
let alone knocked out.
Now I am reading about
Haye's perfect fight. Well,
some of them are saying that.
And I am thinking about
Valuev's belt, shining in
the hands of this cruiser-weight
from London. And the fact
that he wrote poetry for his
wife, so they said.
