If you are one of those people that enjoys watching a thunderstorm . . . you’re weird.  I mean seriously.  All I can think about is, “I hope the sump pump is keeping up with this.”  And God forbid the wind shear off a limb from that big oak out back. Not to mention that for the next 48 hours I’ll have to bend over and wipe the dogs’ feet every time they come back in from their constitutionals. 

Weird. 

My mom used to enjoy watching a thunderstorm, and I loved her, so you’re in pretty good company, but weird.

I, on the other hand enjoy the sight of two men trying cave each other’s faces in with their fists. Especially the big men; two towering behemoths, so muscular they look like comic book superheroes

Circling and jabbing, feinting and ducking and BOOM! Down he goes!  There is nothing better, unless you count adding, like, wings and beer. That’s better. Don’t have to worry about whether you got your gutters cleaned or not.

Anyhow, if it ain’t raining, and even if it is, Dominic Breazeale is challenging Deontay Wilder for the WBC Heavyweight title—the big one, the one that matters most. I know, there’s some foppish Brit over there in limey-land waving his little IBO belt and hollering, “Yoo-hoo, boys! Come and get it!” but he’s just a wannabe till he beats Fury or Wilder.  He did beat Klitschko, and full credit for that, even though he had to reach deep into his panties to take out the 41 year old.

Wilder and Breazeale are big men, no mistake. They are both 6’7”.  Breazeale fights at around 250 and Wilder around 220, but 150 of that is all upper body. 

Take a look:

He don’t look skinny to me.

Here’s Breazeale:

So if you wanna see tree limbs whipping around, let me tell you, when these boys get going they look like the Whomping Willow from Harry Potter. 

Wilder’s knockout percentage is 95%. Breazeale’s is 90%.  So there is guaranteed to be some thunder and lightning. Somebody is going down.

So this takes place on May 18^th, and you are invited to come watch a real spectacle, a battle for the ages, an irresistible force meeting an immovable object—you know, all that crap—at my house. There will be food and booze.

Sometime around 8:00.

Weirdo.