STRANGER THAN FICTION: A LEFT HOOK, A RIGHT JAB AND -- WHAT'S UP WITH THOSE TRUNKS?

My latest new experience in this new year: A real live boxing match, with television crews, cash prizes and girls in bikinis in between rounds.

Sure, we've all seen the amateur matches. I'm talking AMATEUR amateur, like those impromptu matches that broke out in the quadrangle at Sikeston High. Those fights had it all -- the blood-hungry crowd, the play-by-play commentary and the unanimous decisions by experienced judges, who usually ruled on who kicked whose butt.

I nearly participated in a few of those. Like the time in junior high phys ed, when I gave the ol' one-finger salute to a girl who accused me of making our team lose a pivotal game of kickball. She came after me, so I used the time-honored strategy of running like a bat out of Hades until a coach intervened.

I've also seen boxing matches on television but never really became a fan. The Rocky movies probably soured me on the whole thing. I mean, ROCKY FIVE? Gimme a break. And what's to like about watching two big guys giving each other permanent brain damage?

Then we moved to Pensacola, Fla., home of Roy Jones Jr.

The Pensacola area is also home to pro football players Emmitt Smith, Derrick Brooks and Danny Wuerffel, baseball player Travis Fryman and Baseball Hall of Famer Don Sutton.

Pensacolians love Roy best. He's the World Boxing Association's light heavyweight champion of the world. He's got a multi-million-dollar contract with HBO. But you might find yourself fishing next to him at the Pensacola Bay pier or standing behind him in line at the grocery store. He always talks to the media, signs autographs and waves back.

So the Civic Center pretty much sold out for Roy's televised fight with Rick Frazier, a cop from New York City. And here in the Deep, Dirty South, we absolutely hate New York City. Missing the match was out of the question, even for people like me.

Of course, I'm not a $500-front-row-seat fan. Ends up I'm more of a $10, nosebleed-seat fan. Did you know that rows get closer together and seats get narrower in direct proportion to their cost? I actually have bruises on my hips from trying to fit my fat butt between those metal armrests and still keep from kicking the people in front of me.

I wasn't the only one in pain. The Other Half and I went with three other girls and one other guy. All the girls sat together, but I kind of tuned into both the male and female conversations. Come to find out, men and women pay attention to very different things about boxing matches.

Mr. Half: "Frazier has NO offense. He's not connecting at all."

Mike: "Man, you're right. This goes five rounds, tops."

Susan: "What are those things on Roy's shoes? Are those froo-froos?"

Linda: "They're tassels! I really like his trunks better than the other guys. Roy's trunks are all glittery."

Brendalee: "Hit him again!!! Hit him again, Roy!!!"

(Bell rings, signaling the end of the first round.)

Mike: "Look at the hooters on that chick. Is anyone going for another beer?"

Brendalee: "Is she wearing black, chunky-heeled shoes with that red, white and blue spangled bikini? She is! I mean, if you're going to be on HBO, why don't you spend a couple bucks on appropriate shoes?"

Linda: "I liked the music they played when Frazier came out WAY better than what they played for Roy. I wonder if they get to pick their own music?"

Of course, there were equally intelligent observations going on all around us. One guy said "somebody hit somebody." Another advised that "this ain't amateur night at the Apollo."

It was all over in two lousy rounds. Technical knock out. One good punch and Frazier couldn't remember Miranda.

But I really had a good time.

If Roy ever fights in Pensacola again, I'm definitely going all out -- and getting the $15 seats.

~Heidi Nieland is a former Southeast Missourian staff member who lives in Pensacola, Fla.