This Isn’t Fun Anymore

By Joseph Catena

What I’m about to say may have Gen Zers thinking I’m doing bad drugs, but I’ll say it anyway.

I really miss certain inconveniences, and I am realizing life is so much more blasé without them.

For example, I was a huge boxing fan from the late ‘70s into the mid ‘90s. Lived for it! I bought every boxing magazine known to man and read every word inside. Before my family bought a VCR in 1987, I was sure to be home for every afternoon weekend fight on CBS’s Sports Spectacular, NBC’s SportsWorld, and ABC’s Wide World of Sports. A bigger fight on Friday or Saturday night on HBO was a must-stay-home, must-watch-affair at all costs.

The “Superfights” were on a whole other level. Those were the bigger-than-life events that you could only see in a special venue that had closed circuit television – the original pay per view. What a thrill it was when my Dad took me to the then-Brendan Byrne Arena in 1983 to see the heavyweight championship doubleheader that featured a rematch between Michael Dokes versus Mike Weaver for the World Boxing Association (WBA) title and the Larry Holmes-Tim Witherspoon battle for Holmes’ World Boxing Council (WBC) championship from the outdoor stadium at the Dunes Hotel in Las Vegas.

Dokes and Weaver kicked off the night. The match began in the sun, since Vegas is three hours behind. For whatever reason, the closed-circuit camera work had some type of technical difficulty. Dokes and Weaver often looked crunched down and a bit distorted. Then they would look normal. It was a real challenge watching this 15-round nailbiter, which ended in a controversial draw. Just about everyone at the Brendan Byrne, as we used to refer to it, and those in Vegas thought Weaver was robbed. Aside from contending with the imperfect graphics, Dad told the guy next to us to put out his cigarettes and to please stop his chain smoking because it was getting hard to breathe. The guy was nice about it, but he did say, “Come on. You know how it is. Ya gotta light up for the big fight.”

My father didn’t really care, and he got his way. He was an advocate for smoke-free space long before lawmakers said so.

As the Las Vegas sky grew darker and turned into night, the quality of the picture soon became perfect. Holmes-Witherspoon was a close, exciting fight. I hated Holmes for the derogatory comments about the legendary Rocky Marciano not being able to hold his jock. Disparaging Marciano was a major sacrelig, especially to Italians. To my enjoyment, Witherspoon had a big ninth round, and I thought he would possibly take Holmes out. To my dismay, Holmes squeaked out a 12-round split decision. I’ll still never forget the thrill of driving home with my father, knowing that hardly any of the general public saw what I saw, and they had to wait to watch the news to find out what happened.

The greatest thrill ever was not seeing the legendary three-round war between Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Thomas “The Hitman” Hearns, my two favorite fighters of all time. Hagler was my number one during that period. The buildup to that fight was like no other. Boxing aficionados were split on who would win. Since there was no internet or 24-hour news and sports saturation, no one in that era was overly inundated. When fight night arrived, nothing else mattered. The excitement of waiting for local legendary sportscaster Warner (“Let’s go to the videotape!”) Wolf’s report on CBS News that night was unbearable.

 I was trembling while I waited for Warner to report on what was happening at Caesar’s Palace. When he showed a still photo and said, “The first round could be one of the greatest rounds ever,” I felt internal combustion. The pictured showed them hammering each other, and I could only imagine what the action looked like. When Warner came back from the newscast a few minutes later and exclaimed that Hagler, bleeding from a bad cut on his forehead, mustered up the strength to knock Hearns out with a sweeping right hook in the third round, I practically collapsed with relief and joy. Hagler was my guy and he just won what appeared to be one of the greatest fights in history.

Back in those days we read these things called newspapers – that was our internet. My family always received the late edition of the late great The Star-Ledger the next morning. I ran to the porch to get it and devoured every article about what happened. I couldn’t get enough analysis or read enough details. I knew this was historically significant. The fact that I missed it made me yearn for the replay even more.

Superfights often took place on Mondays for whatever reason, back in those days. I could not wait to see the airing on Saturday night on HBO. And when I finally saw that pugilistic masterpiece five days later, my laser-like vision could have burned a hole in the TV set. With no VCR, I had to watch it closely and savor the memories. With no DVR, I couldn’t pause live TV to go to the bathroom or get a snack. Who knows when – or if – I would ever see it again. This was the closure I sought and appreciated, especially after waiting and imagining what actually occurred in ring. It was incredibly satisfying, the apex of all apexes. I earned this, I thought. Other than Election Nights 2016 and 2024, I haven’t felt this way about too much since.

You see, it’s all too easy now.  

The more we advance, the more boring it gets. Anything we want is at our fingertips. I can YouTube anything I want to see, or I can go On Demand on my television. Anything I need is one click away on Amazon and a day or two away until it arrives. I don’t need to go to the library to do quick research. I just Google it. I need to find where I’m going without breaking a sweat. Thank you, GPS. If I want to see any game, any time, for any sport, I can subscribe to a channel or stream it.  Instant gratification!

And instant gratification is leading me straight down the steep cliff to…meh.

Technology, particularly AI, is only going to make the gratification quicker and the thought process lighter. Cars can practically drive us. Siri and Alexa can tell us anything from the time in Indonesia to the temperature in Barcelona. ChatGPT can do all of our paperwork, just by us giving it a couple of directives. College students can blast out a 20-page research project in about five minutes, sources, APA format and all. Life’s thrills are quick and don’t last long. We just expect to get what we want, and we want it now! The problem is, we get it now. The struggle has been reduced. Trial and error do not exist in a serious or challenging way anymore. We no longer find ourselves at times in the role of Sisyphus rolling a boulder uphill before trying something that is more efficient. We have morphed into Lindsay Vonn cruising down bunny slopes.

I confess that I love my GPS and wouldn’t trade it for almost anything in the world. It helps me get places without worry, even though it has affected my consciousness and awareness of street names and landmarks, even in my own neighborhood. But I would give anything – GPS included – to regain the excitement I felt brewing in my gut while anticipating those still photos and late-breaking reports on Hagler versus Hearns. Thrills like that just can’t be replicated anymore. All that’s left is the memory.

Does anyone know what Warner Wolf is up to these days?