Roll Over, Plimpton (Blocho blogging)

First of, despite what Tanto Gusto might claim, El Gordo Magnifico has not adopted mate. But he's trying, he trying real hard, Ringo, to develop a taste for the bitter concoction.

Now on to the matter at hand, which includes two experiences with Argentina's sporting scene. The second event took place yesterday, and if I had to write a lede for it, it would probably go something like this:

BUENOS AIRES - El Gordo Magnifico arrived at the boxing gym in Barracas with high hopes and a thirst for the ring. An hour later, he departed after many pains and no accomplishments. In between, he lost his lunch and a couple pounds of bile.

Not bad, huh? George Plimpton, the hero and creator of participatory journalism who once climbed into the ring with the pros and even had a tryout with the Detroit Lions, probably rolled in his grave. Boxing, it seems, is a bit of a barbaric sport, and there was nothing sweet about my experience.

A mediocre lunch of a chicken and mayo sandwich was partly to blame, as was the extensive pre-hydration provided by Coke Zero and agua con gas. And after about 30 minutes of jump rope, some bizarre arm exercises and even weirder calisthenics with a wooden bar, I staggered over to the stairs and got no farther. Thankfully, Tanto Gusto was Johnny-on-the-spot with a mop bucket, which quickly became the home of my half-digested lunch.

The important thing is that Tomas, the boxing coach, was more bemused than angry. And I remain unbowed. EGM intends to return on Wednesday.

Now as for the other scene of athletic endeavor (and a far less indigestible one), TG and I made a trip to the Hippidromo Argentino on Sunday, where we met Gabriel and Manolo Rio Cabo for a day at the races.

Gabe - hereafter referred to as El Flaco Insuferible - had just returned from a trip to Brazil for carnaval, and I hadn't seen him in more than three years. We got reacquainted during several hours spent staring at the finest and swiftest steeds Buenos Aires had to offer.

The Hippodromo had an impressive setup, with several stately, almost regal, buildings providing the framework for the stands and track. TG, EFI, Manolo and I fell into a steady rhythm of visiting the paddock to inspect the ponies pre-race, placing our bets and then retiring to the stairs for a view of the race.

Manolo, relying on decades spent at various racetracks around the U.S., quickly established his bona fides as a handicapper with some astute picks. Tanto Gusto won the first race, and I managed to pick up a pair of wins by betting on horses names Es Huma and Grigoriy. My net take was -7 pesos, a fair fee for an afternoon of entertainment. El Flaco Insuferible suffered the most, failing on all his bets.

The experience was an overall delight, from the loud yells of joy or anger at race's end, to the old-fashioned scoreboard used to announce the official results.