There is a throng of people on the steps of York Hall, Bethnal Green. The air is thick with smoke and my first impression is that this is a crowd that is not going to be sipping champagne whilst eating strawberries and cream.
Inside we find some seats about ten rows from the ring. The hall is dimly lit and there is a background throb of music not even trying to compete with the noisy spectators. The women are all glamour: high heels, slinky dresses and high hair, while the men either look uncomfortable in their suits or have opted for the 'just left the gym' look. Everyone is chewing gum.
The first bout is announced. The ring is blindingly bright in a hall that is now dark. It's just like Las Vegas but without the skimpily clad women. The boxers in the 48kg category are introduced. Baby-faced Ben Fowl from Hoddesdon is matched against Tommy Stubbs who is twice his height. Ben puts up a brave fight but goes down 7:2.
The 51kg boxers are next and we realise that we're sitting amongst the supporters of Paul Butler. His grandfather sits directly behind us. Impeccably dressed, he has an air of elegance about him but he's obviously nervous for his grandson. Mr Butler tells us that Paul's come down from Manchester but has left all his gear behind! Suddenly I'm worried about Paul.
The fight starts and we are caught up in the emotion of Paul's family. Inevitably we become instant Paul Butler supporters. 'C'mon Paul', 'go on son', we urge. A man behind me is on the phone to someone: 'he's on right now', he says. His face is bright red and his conversation punctuated by helpful advice to the boxer: 'use your jab', 'let him come to you'.
Watching Paul's dad, I get a sense that he is hurting from every punch being landed on his son, urging him to protect himself, willing him to be safe. I wonder how I would feel if it were my son in the ring.
During the break between the second and final round, I ask Paul's grandfather what he thinks – is he winning? The nervous reply is that it's close. Paul does well in the third round, his family are still yelling support but now Paul's dad is saying 'he's got him', 'that's it lad'. The relief in his voice is obvious.
It's over and Jo Sutherland, LOCOG Basketball Manager, exhales deeply. 'I’m knackered now!' she says. My wife, Suzanne, has tears in her eyes. As it turns out, Paul won his bout rather easily 11:1. The technical nature of the scoring is obviously still beyond me.
The fight of the night comes in the 67kg class. Dudley O'Shaughnessy from West Ham is the local boy up against Glenn Foot from Sunderland. The crowd gets right behind him and starts chanting 'Dudley, Dudley, Dudley'. The announcer optimistically asks us to keep the noise down so that the fighters can hear the referee. Yeah, right.
This evenly fought bout literally has us sitting on the edge of our seats. It's obvious that the home advantage lies with 'Duds', whose every scoring punch is greeted by loud cheers. Everyone is yelling advice to the boxers. The noise is deafening and the atmosphere is what you'd imagine it to be like in a gladiatorial fight at the Coliseum.
The bout is over. The announcer elicits a special cheer for both boxers who have put on a great fight. The score is 18:18. On count-back, the score is 14:14 and it requires a further count-back to 4:1 after the first round to give the bout to Dudley. The crowd erupts into celebrations. It's hard to hear the post-fight interviews but I do manage to get a better look at the athletes. They are glistening with sweat. The physical toll is apparent and the results of the fights obvious: their faces are slightly contorted, swollen with red bruises that are already appearing, despite the head protection they wear.
Tom Baker, also from West Ham, gets the same crowd support as 'Duds' but is sadly completely outclassed by Anthony Fowler in the 71kg bout. After a knock down and a compulsory eight-count, Tommy bravely tries to fight on. But as another flurry of hits to his head makes him stagger, his seconds literally throw in the towel and the fight sensibly comes to an end before anyone is hurt.
In another fight, Anthony Ogogo bloodies Hosea Burton's nose and Hosea spends the rest of the bout spraying blood from his nostrils before ultimately losing the fight. The boxers hug. Incredibly, after apparently trying to beat each other senseless, there's no apparent animosity, just mutual appreciation of a hard-fought battle.
I'm impressed by the choice of gear worn by the boxers. Gold tassels anyone? I expect you have to be good at what you do to get away with wearing those pants. And it's refreshing to see young men who have opted not to bow to the current fashion of having their shorts half-way down their backsides. Instead, they have sensibly pulled them up to somewhere in the vicinity of their rib-cage.
I note to myself that I have stopped thinking of them as fighters and now fully appreciate that they are true athletes – literally putting their lean, muscular bodies on the line in a gruelling test of physical strength and stamina.
I have to admit it, I quite like boxing.
