Tom Talks

Homestead's not much to look at, but ...

HOMESTEAD, Fla. - No track is as interesting to approach as Homestead-Miami Speedway. Drive south from Miami down the evil toll road, pull off at exit 9A and you suddenly are on another planet.

There's strange vegetation, tree farms and fields that look as if they were borrowed from the Everglades. You need to get rid of something, nobody will find it here.

Some of the drivers that discard the unwanted don't care if others see it. The scenery becomes stranger as you make a left, then a right, then another right or maybe a left and move deeper into Ned Beatty/"Dueling Banjoes" Country.

You see on the side of the road two wasted little boats.

You see palm trees, a stove, a curling branch that hangs all the way over the little two-lane road, a huge storage cabinet, a ditch filled with water and a disembodied shower stall.

Before I reach the track, I decide to perform an experiment. I use my turn signal to let the world know that I'm about to go left.

Other drivers immediately begin to slow. They seem, I don't know, frightened. Lifelong Florida residents, I suspect, they have never seen a turn signal.

Make it stop, their faces suggest. Please. The blinking lights are scaring me.

What my experiment indicates is that the reason Florida drivers -- at least the drivers with which I'm familiar in the Miami and Orlando areas -- refuse to use their turn signals is not an equipment problem.

The problem is theirs.

Everyone rises for the champ

At 10:25, fans at Madison Garden began to stand, the media began to stand, almost everybody was up. It was like a wave, and it kept getting bigger.

The response had nothing to do with Kevin Kelley and Manuel Medina, who were in the 11th round of their mostly uneventful junior lightweight fight.

Muhammad Ali had entered the arena. The large screen above the ring showed his face, and then came the inevitable, and still powerful, chant: "All-ee, All-ee, All-ee."

Ali's daughter, Laila, was about to fight.

Six minutes after Ali's entrance, former heavyweight champ Lennox Lewis walked across the floor, not far from the ring.

He collected a few cheers, but for some champs, fame fades quickly. One reporter asked, "Who was that, Shannon Briggs?"

Live round-by-round from reporter David Scott

Universal sights and sounds from the Garden

NEW YORK – The first fan I run into at Madison Square Garden Saturday night is Rico Ray, the trainer-boxer out of Charlotte who throws punches through the air as he talks, and throws them quickly. And the guy is 61 years old. He flew up from Charlotte Saturday afternoon.

He is the only Charlottean I have seen so far. Walk the hallways at the Garden and you would think you were in the Ukraine. I’m not conversant with the language, except to recognize immediately that it’s not English. I’m a reporter. I make a living figuring these things out.

I recognize the flag, however, recognize it when it sails by tied to heads and belts and around waists.

It’s 8:43 p.m., and if I had to break the fans down by languages I’ve heard it would be: 35% New York; 60% Ukraine, Russian and points east; and 5% Charlotte.

Rico talks a lot.

The ring girls, the high heel wearing women who hold a placard that denotes the number of the upcoming round, are sometimes introduced by the ring announcer as "Lola who comes all the way to us from South Beach!" or "Inge, who comes to us all the way from Hollywood!"

Many of the women have come from a distance even greater.

"Let’s give a warm welcome to Helga, who comes to us all the way from Russia and now lives in Brooklyn!"

And the raucous Garden fans do. The building once was the best in the U.S. for boxing. Who fought here? Who didn’t? Muhammad Ali fought Joe Frazier here. Joe Louis and Rocky Marciano and Sugar Ray Leonard fought here. Ali is supposed to be here tonight to watch his daughter, Laila box, but I haven’t seen him yet.

Las Vegas has snaked away many of the fights. Because of the money boxing fans and high rollers bring into the casinos, Las Vegas can offer larger purses and cheaper hotel rooms.

I like the history here. And I like this crowd. Some of the women dress like ring girls, as do some of the guys. A group of male fans wear kilts. It’s not a look that works for everybody.

Update: Latest word, which comes from the Laila Ali camp, is that the Brock-Klitschko fight will start between 11:15 to 11:20. The time, however, is unofficial. Boxing facts tend to be.

I love this stuff. I think it’s cool that one of us, Brock, will fight for the heavyweight championship of the world, in a ring 50 feet away from where I sit, and all these fans will be cheering for or against him. And I did hear one guy in the concourse yell, in a voice that suggests Queens, "Brrr-ockkkk!" Michael Buffer will introduce Brock to the crowd at the Garden and the fans watching on HBO.

Hope you enjoy the festivities.

The six folks in the hallway next to the bar where the Garden sells hard liquor are. They speak a language I don’t understand. But as they engage in a spirited vodka toast, their laughter is universal.

Taking in New York

To me, New York City is Manhattan. That's where I stay and work and hangout when I'm up this way. But the hotels in which I have always stayed have jacked their rates up from $229 or $249 a night to $399 or $507. Room-jacking, it's called. Hey, I just want to rent the thing, not buy it.

I flew up Monday for the Wladimir Klitschko-Calvin Brock fight, and tonight will be my fourth night in Queens. From my hotel I can see Shea Stadium and LaGuardia Airport.

I met a cool bartender who says she would love to live in Charlotte. But I think I heard her tell the guys eating dinner at the other end of the bar that she would love to live in Oklahoma.

My routine is walk to the train, which is about 12 blocks, unless I decide to improvise and take a shortcut, in which case it is 15 to 25. I take the train, which is a mere $2, into Manhattan, and either walk 20 minutes from Grand Central Station to Madison Square Garden or transfer and get out across the street from the Garden. I took a cab Wednesday because of the nasty rain and that cost me $50.

OK, it cost my employer $50. Hey, I had taken the cab to the train station, but the Garden was only another $28 and I had to leave the guy a $10 tip. Traffic was oppressive.

I offered to give my seat up to a man with a little girl and he said no. I offered to give my seat up to a woman with a little girl and she said no. I offered to give my seat up to a man on crutches and he said no. A few seconds later, however, the man held up pictures of a three little kids and loudly and in Spanish asked for money.

Walking through Queens is cool. I have never lived in a neighborhood that is, as they say, diverse. This one is. I have seen members of every race on the streets but mine. Well, I did see one of mine today, but he was across the street from the hotel and ventured no farther.

Music changes every few blocks, as do the names on the stores. Lots of moms and dads and little kids fill the sidewalks. I'm like a ghost. Except for the woman who would love to live in Charlotte and Oklahoma, nobody pays attention, not even when I offer my seat.