Related story: They don't pull punches

By Bob Kerr
Journal Staff Writer

When I got in line at the corner of Union and Washington Streets in Providence for the Wednesday night fights at The Strand and not five minutes later a guy was urinating near the door of Mark's Deli, I knew I had something good.

I had heard about the fights for a few weeks. Fellow staff writer Jennifer Levitz had described them in her dazzling profile of local boxing icon Vinny Pazienza. And I knew Michael Kent, Rhode Island's roguish nightclub empressario and the owner of The Strand, was involved. The ingredients seemed to be there for a rich slice of Rhode Island at its slobbering, howling best.

Obviously, this was a Lifebeat section kind of story and just a couple of blocks from our front door. So I cleared it with the features department first.

Then I realized that, while I seldom have photos with my column, this was a subject that couldn't be properly done up without a photographer. And Connie Grosch, with whom I had done a fun-filled story on small-time pro wrestling a few years back, wanted to do the pictures.

So the first night I went to the fights, I asked about coming back with a photographer. A guy who looked like he might have been able to sell me a suit out of the trunk of his car told me was actually the manager of the Strand and would check with Mr. Kent. Mr. Kent, with whom I have had some differences in the past, apparently said no. He didn't do it directly, but his staff said no way to pictures.

So I had to describe this festival of skin and testosterone without the benefit of what would have been great photos.

There was no point in being subtle or artful. This was one of those events where it is best to just feed back the details -- the curbside urinator, the women swapping spit in the ring, the inane prattle of the ring announcer, the hooker-inspired fashion, the guy tossed out for excessive barfing. These are things that can easily stand alone.

The fights are very open. Anyone can get in the ring after signing a waiver and providing basic statistics. And some of them are just good, honest, free swinging brawls. And they are the high points.

But this is a sleazy, exploitive piece of work that thrives on the increasing need of young people for a place to go and not worry about being thought too trampish or thuggish. There is little rough-edged charm and a lot of hard-edged business. Kent and his staff know their audience.

And when it came to the one sentence that most summed up the experience, I decided to be fairly blunt and say there was a ``primitive, defiant, warmly embraced stupidity'' about fight night. Because there is, and sometimes it just doesn't pay to get too cute about such things.