Friday, 3:15 PT -- Heading to the weigh-in
From the media room I could hear the chants and feel the stomping of thousands of rabid Ricky Hatton fans. I had an ominous feeling as I closed my laptop and grabbed a can of coke.
I half-jogged to the arena and pushed my way through the mobs of people.
The ground of the arena was literally shaking as I walked in. I flashed my credential to an usher and proceeded to the area set aside for media. Not one empty seat.
God save our gracious Queen
Long live our noble Queen
In the stands the crowd continued to sing. A trio of guards off to the left wore expressions of bewilderment and amazement. Nothing they teach in security school could have prepared them for this.
My heart was in my throat but I marched on. Just behind me stood 10 or so rough-and-ready Hatton fans, sing at the top of their hoarse lungs,intent on turning the Arena into
Old Trafford.
God save the Queen,
Send her victorious!
I found an aisle just between the last row of media and the first of the masses. I wasn't about to stand in no man's land alone.
I climbed into the row behind me and held up shop on the front lines, dead in front of the podium and right alongside thousands of screaming, chanting Brits.
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us:
God save the Queen.
Former champions Genaro "Chicanito" Hernandez and Keven Kelley entered the area late as well. They set up camp in that row in front of my own. Soon, other members of the media/credientialed folk filed into the row as well. I lept over the seat in front of me and shouldered my way into position.
Dan Rafael was right. This is going to top all other weigh-ins. -- Darius Ortiz