I never saw her face during the entire time–not more than an hour, though it seemed much longer–that she was being insulted and baited by her husband. We were sitting in Ditka’s waiting for women’s boxing to begin. Chris Kreuz, a feisty local, would be defending her title against a New York challenger. The warm-up bouts, however, featured males flailing and weaving about the makeshift ring that had been constructed in the middle of the bar.
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It was during one of these matches that the man in front of me, a tall, handsome type in Italian threads, began chanting “Bring on the women. Bring on the women,” clapping his hands and stomping his feet in a heavy rhythm. Next to him, directly in front of me, his wife let loose a deep sigh and shook her head.
“This is stupid.”
“My ex-girlfriend could really fight. One time this guy tried to steal her purse, and she wouldn’t let go. Finally took off one of her high heels and began chopping up his face.”
“She’s got nothing,” Michael replied coldly, as if he were talking about a crippled horse.
Through all this his wife sat in ferocious silence. On the back of her neck the short blond hairs seemed to be bristling. When the woman whispered in her ear, Kathy didn’t move a muscle.
A stunned minute passed before Michael glanced cautiously over at his buddy, who was still staring into the ring even though it was now empty of fighters.
