So I’m at the last Anthony Mundine fight. I’m chuckling to myself about what a ridiculous place Wollongong is for a world title fight. Kinda like holding a one in Luton. World Championship boxing is supposed to have a veneer of glamour, Madison Square Garden, Caesars Palace, Wollongong entertainment centre. You gotta love it.
Anyway…I’m watching the under card and some honest Aussie lads are doing battle in the ring. Usual dumb Australian boxing fare. Neither man wants to take a step back so they just hit each other like angry children If one of them had a brain they would step back, have a little look and throw some intelligent combinations but Aussie boxers are a bit too scared of looking remotely good they want to look hard. All their mates are in the crowd, so hey, better to go out on your sword than actually do the smart thing. I don’t get it. Both fighters look unnecessarily fucked and I’m bored.
I look around the arena, sorry entertainment centre, I see Anthony Mundine watching some of the action. He’s an intense looking man, it can’t be easy being one of the most hated men in Australia for having the temerity to suggest that indigenous Australians might not be getting the treatment they deserve in their own damn land.
Mundine has been spotted by other members of the crowd. A section of who (sat behind me) begin to hurl abuse at him. “Fuck off you fucking Abo” “Fuck off ya black cunt” – nice.
I’m sat there thinking to myself. “I’d love to kick one of those guys in the face.” and other dark uber-violent cartoon fantasies but back on planet earth there’s me and my mate and about thirty of them.
Mundine won the fight much to the anger of the racist hate mob behind me. I went home pleased but I couldn’t sleep. What I’d witnessed was an insight into a side of Australia it does a very good job of pretending doesn’t exist.