MCM Live at Miguel Cotto-Joshua Clottey, MSG, New York

One of many boxing supporters to be found at MSG on the evening of June 13. This one appears to have consumed one too many ales and has become confused about where his sympathies lie.

What promised to be a nice little scrap ended in the fourth due to a gash on Calderon's forehead. The fighters had to settle for a draw (already negotiations have begun for a rematch). Mayol, as promised, was aggressive from the opening bell, with Calderon boxing on the outside.

Korobov, the young Russian middleweight hope, fought California's Loren Mayers in a four-round contest that went all the way. This was Korobov's fifth pro fight, and he seemed happy to go the distance for the first time against the tenacious Mayers, whom he decisioned easily. Keep your eye out for this guy.

Boxing's Mecca began to fill up nicely before the main event. Stray Ghanaians were roundly abused by the Puerto Rican mob present. From my neutral Irish watchtower, I observed these "festivities" with some amusement.

Michael Buffer gets to work, whipping the lunatics into a fury.

The challenger out of Ghana, Joshua Clottey, enters the stadium to resounding boos. He remains unfazed and swings his arms in greeting.

The main gentleman out of Puerto Rico, Miguel Cotto, enters to rapturous applause. His team raises aloft the belt that Clottey desires, angering the opponent and ascertaining for the fans that, yes, the battle for the golden belt has begun.

"Watch the balls, boys, and keep it clean." They agree and off we go...

The lads begin by sussing one another out. As we expected, Clottey is keeping his defense high and tight, while Cotto discerns possible openings to attack. Not much happens, Clottey puts on a bit of pressure, and then with seconds to go Miguel has his man on his arse with a beautiful, short left...

And no, he wasn't happy about it. Far from being hurt, Clottey simply seems mad at himself (and perhaps, the fact that 17,000 Puerto Rican's are reminding him he should be mad at himself). Cotto's punch was too short to cause any damage, but Clottey walked right into it and it wasn't the best of beginnings.

It was, in every sense, a bastard. Right above the left eye, memories of Margarito gushing forth. We winced with him as they swabbed it clean, turned our gaze away when the blood poured back down over the eyelid. But he persevered, as we knew he could, and he repaid Clottey by throwing him to the ground in Round Five...

Poor show, but for all his "I'm just a humble guy" pouts, everyone there knew that deep down Cotto was a bad boy. Clottey got him back by whipping in profuse rights over his blind eye in the seventh and eight rounds. But not before Cotto took the Ghanaian into a corner for Round Six and gave him a hiding...

He put him in a corner like a naughty school child and made him pay for it. Plain and simple. It was a thing of beauty.

The fight was a bit back and fourth. But no matter what you hear elsewhere, if you were present you know that Cotto won it fair and square. Clottey had his moments, but never seemed like he'd step it up a notch and punish a man whom he was perfectly capable of punishing. Cotto, on the other hand, showed all that is great about Miguel Cotto—a fighter of tremendous strength, tenacity, and intelligence who, despite his flaws, imprints his personality on every punch.

The victor, Puerto Rican punchologist, Miguel Cotto, raises his arms to the exultant crowd: "I have punched this other man in the face and torso better than he did me. Bow down before me and drunken yourselves further. Tonight we are the victors. Go forth and ravage this city in your stupor." So we did...