CHAPTER 1<br > RINGSIDE SEAT<br > he postor taped to the wall read"<br > NOVEMBER 6， 1993<br > HOLYFIELD VS. BOWE 11， THE REMATCH<br > The closer the time came for the round one bell， the more<br >essing room seemed to shrink. The small cinder-block chain<br >~s like a miniature Grand Central Station， bustling with the sou<br >clanking ice buckets， ripping masking tape， and the loud vo~<br >:trainers， reporters， and well-wishers~all offering their predicti，<br >，r the night s big fight.<br > Oblivious to it all， the robed boxer sat motionless， quiet， s<br >try. Ignoring the TV lights and cigar smoke， be stretcbc~J ~ut<br > * - i "v，s .s if<br >mscular legs， bowed his head， and clos~:d h s c~ It vas a<br >，ere somewhere other than on a bench in that loud， cn~vdcd ro(:<br > lo()k of cain1 concentration wals on his face~a familiar expressi，<br >ilc that often appeared when hc slipped off to that inner pl<br >ur gra~ldm()thcr txsed to call ~hc prayer closet2 In that self-crea<br >)litudc Evandcr ttolyficld shut ~t~t the chatter ()f a world that t<br >ado I~in~ the talk of the town， and he c()nccr~tratcd (>n the t<br >~urcc ()f his strcngth.<br > From acr()ss the room I recognized the moment. Its appeara<br >ade mc smilc. Over the years that calm， confident air had bccc<br >familiar feature of my brother s face. The expression and its calm<br >frets were contagious. Even in that shrinking， cinder-block roc<br > thick with anxiety as it was with people， 1 found myself virtu:<br >~concerned about the outcome of the night s contest. I simply ki~<br >at when the bell finally rang for round one， there would b<br >txgglc， and that E vander could--and would--go the distance.<br >