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Thursday, June 26: For the second time in three weeks, my first travel day began before the sun reached the horizon. Even the longest of summer days, at least in West Virginia, can't summon the sun to rise at 5:10 a.m., but once it had the sky didn't get much brighter. Hard rainfall pummeled the area and, as I made my way down Friendly Hill at 6 a.m. sharp, forks of lightning provided a riveting spectacle.

I have borne witness to more early mornings in the last 17 months than I did during my 17 years working my old newspaper job. Jane Pauley was in the waning days of her tenure the last time I consistently saw the "Today" show and I missed the entire Katie Couric era (did I miss much?). Breakfast foods like eggs, bacon and cereal were almost foreign to me because my days usually began around 11 a.m. – if not later. That was to be expected when one's shift ran from 3 p.m. to midnight (and beyond) with a one-hour commute each way.

Once I left the paper and began my new life as a full-time boxing person, I discovered the joys of morning. I found that I liked sunrises much more than sunsets and though I still haven't fully committed to the concept of regularly eating breakfast food, it was pretty good when I did. I had always thought of myself as a night owl but once I was granted chronological free will I morphed into a morning rooster.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised. I've always been one who has wanted to stay ahead of the game – no matter what the game was – and starting the day early gave me the sense that I was getting a jump on the "other guy," whoever that might be. That's one of the main selling points trainers tell boxers about early morning runs. They say that it takes a special level of discipline to haul oneself out of his warm bed, pull on a jogging suit and run a few miles and that doing so would give him that "edge" come fight night. It's a great psychological trick and had I been a boxer it would have worked with me because I've always relished the opportunity to compete, even with myself. Consider:

* When I was in first grade, I finished my math workbook before everyone else and asked the teacher if I could get a head start by tackling the second grade book. I don't remember if she said yes, but she at least allowed me to look through it.

* In my freshman typing class in high school, our teacher hung up a chart that rated the fastest typists in terms of words per minute without an error, and I was determined to see my name at the top. I practiced the touch type exercises diligently and I stayed at or near the top for most of the year. In fact, I held the lead at 65 words per minute until I was edged out in the final week by an equally motivated classmate who went on to become class president. The fact that I still remember this 25 years later ought to tell you something, though I don't dare guess what that might be.

* On every spelling test we were given two extra credit words worth five percentage points each, and I really wanted to see that red-inked "110" score on my paper, something I achieved more than once. (An aside: One of my second-grade classmates once received a minus 10 percent because he not only got every word wrong but also misspelled his own name.)

* At a school picnic one year, my cousin received a large trophy for never missing a day of school – ever. At the time I was a faithful attendee but after seeing that I wanted something like that for myself. I never did get it, but it established a mindset that has applied ever since. I received several perfect attendance certificates and never missed more than one or two days thereafter. In my 20 years in the newspaper business, I missed only two days due to sickness and both of them resulted from a severe double-ear infection that left me 95 percent deaf for a week.

My thirst to strive in all areas paid off as I earned a 3.8 GPA in high school and graduated college magna cum laude with a major and a double minor. That drive also translated to athletic endeavors, though I've never advanced past novice status.

No matter what the sport – whether it be table tennis, regular tennis, billiards, baseball, bowling, volleyball, badminton or boxing – and it doesn't matter whether I'm good at it or not, I will give it my best shot. That's one of the reasons why I love boxing so much. It is the sport that boasts the purest form of one-on-one competition and the sport that exposes the character of its participants like no other. If a fighter gets in trouble, he must rely on his own instincts and abilities to bail himself out and those who pull themselves back from the brink time and again – like Matthew Saad Muhammad, Arturo Gatti and Danny "Little Red" Lopez – become immortals. I get a vicarious thrill from seeing fighters execute great escapes and it makes me think I can do the same thing, even if such a proposition is total balderdash.

One of the great draws of boxing for me is that I never know when I will see the next dose of magic, so I do my best to see as many shows as I can. Which brings me back to my trip to Fort Lauderdale, where Colombian knockout artist Breidis Prescott and undefeated late sub Richard Abril were scheduled to cross swords in a 10-round junior welterweight crossroads bout on ESPN's "Friday Night Fights."

I arrived at Pittsburgh International Airport at 8:30 and to my surprise I found a parking space just 60 steps away from the building that would lead me to the main terminal. It was, by far, the closest spot I ever snagged. In fact, the last three trips saw me find spots within a few hundred feet as opposed to earlier in the year where I had to use my GPS to find the building (an exaggeration, but only a slight one). I don't know how long this good "parking karma" will last, but I'll enjoy it as long as possible.

The lines at the airport were unusually long, but my frequent flier status on US Airways helped truncate the process. My layover in Charlotte was just long enough to grab a quick lunch in the food court and my flight to Fort Lauderdale proceeded without a hitch, though I was surprised to encounter overcast conditions in the Sunshine State.

It was a good thing I had been here before, for my GPS unit took several long minutes to "find" me. Once it did, however, I realized I had made the correct navigational choices and soon I was standing in the lobby of the Hyatt Regency.

Just five minutes after I arrived, my punch counting partner Shelby Pudwill walked in and amid 90-degree temperatures and what must have been 90 percent humidity we worked our way through the condo-like maze and found our respective rooms located just a couple of doors apart. Aside from a quick trip across the street to Blimpie's for an early-evening snack the rest of the day was spent pounding out words on the keyboard.

Friday, June 27: It was another early start for me, though it was nowhere near the extreme I encountered yesterday. The customary sunshine returned to Fort Lauderdale, which gave me a pleasant backdrop to begin the day's deeds – writing up a future Closet Classic, doing research connected with the Wladimir Klitschko-Tony Thompson fight and working on this story. I write better in hotel rooms and airport gates because the best thing I can do while there is work. At my home office I have to resist the temptation to indulge in a multitude of diversions. While I love the option of working from home, one of its problems is staying disciplined enough to buckle down and get the work done.

I finished the Closet Classic after five hours of writing, after which I met Shelby and "Fight Plan" co-star Saul Avelar in the lobby and drove them to the War Memorial Auditorium located nearly four miles from the Hyatt. I'm sure they wouldn't have suggested I drive them had I not had my GPS, and I wouldn't have blamed them. Considering my history, I wouldn't have ridden with me without my Magellan either.

The eight-bout card kicked off with the return of 2000 Olympic silver medalist Ricardo Williams, once considered the brightest American prospect coming out of Sydney. He signed a $1.4 million contract with DiBella Entertainment upon turning pro, an incredible sum for a boxer who had not won a gold medal. At first, the flashy Cincinnati southpaw fulfilled the high expectations by rolling off eight wins in nine fights, the only blemish being a head-butt induced no-contest against Damien Guerra in fight three.

The troubles began when Juan Valenzuela won a shocking 10-round decision amid whispers of Williams' poor conditioning and lackluster motivation, and DiBella terminated the contract in June 2003 when he and the boxer reached a financial impasse. According to the New York Daily News, DiBella traveled to Cincinnati to renegotiate for lower purses to reflect Williams' status following the loss, and Williams refused to budge, saying a contract is a contract. Hence, the ensuing separation.

Williams hired Emanuel Steward and won a six-round decision over Derrick Wilmore in November 2003, but the wheels of his career completely dislodged when 43-year-old Manning Galloway out-slicked "Slicky Ricky" en route to a split decision in April 2004.

Not long after stopping Ian Smith in three rounds a year later, Williams was convicted of cocaine distribution and served a 27-month sentence. If nothing else boxing is a sport that provides the perfect stage for tales of redemption to be written, and the first chapter for Williams was crafted this night in Fort Lauderdale in a scheduled six rounder against Canadian Sebastian Hamel.

Wearing a pair of blue trunks bearing a DiBella Entertainment insignia, the 27-year-old 145-pound Williams appeared a bit thicker around the chest and he sported more tattoos than I remembered. But in the end Williams tattooed his fellow southpaw with a powerful left to the jaw that sent Hamel falling flat on his back with a mighty crash. Referee Jorge Alonso, hearing the reverberation of Hamel's head slamming the canvas, immediately stopped the count just 1:41 after the opening bell.

"It feels good to be back," Williams said in an article printed in the South Florida Sun-Sentinel the following morning. "We don't get paid for overtime in this game. The sooner the better, but I was in shape to go the distance. I trained hard for it, especially being my first fight back. I wanted to be impressive."

That he was, considering he had been out of the ring for 38 months. The next chapter of his comeback story is set for August 9 in Indianapolis against the 15-4 (10 KO) Louis Brown.

The next fight pitted junior middleweights Tony Roman and David Rodriguez in a scheduled four rounder. Roman, nicknamed "The Gladiator," sported a more athletic build than the squat Rodriguez, and within a minute Roman felt confident enough to move in with both guns blazing as Rodriguez's softer slower blows offered little reason to be inhibited. The brave and willing Rodriguez took everything Roman dished out, and during the second he didn't budge after fielding a flush right as he was throwing his own. He couldn't have been hit harder, but he refused to buckle under the pressure. Droplets of blood from Rodriguez's nose dotted my notebook as well as Shelby's shirt.

Roman's attack slowed a bit in the third but revved up again in the closing 10 seconds as he fired a 25-punch volley. Just when it appeared Rodriguez would hang on for the distance the fight ended. A sizzling right uppercut opened a nasty slice directly over Rodriguez's left eye and he staggered and winced under the blow's impact. The follow-up barrage combined with Rodriguez's duress moved referee Tellis Assimenios to step in with 90 seconds remaining.

The telecast opened explosively when undefeated California bantamweight Chris Avalos burnished the first defeat onto Dominican Cristian Cruz's record. A big right 50 seconds into the fight had Cruz seeking a saving clinch but Avalos shook him off, backed him into a corner and fired a six-punch volley that forced him to slump to the canvas. Though up at nine, his facial expression didn't convey a willingness to fight on and referee Jorge Alonso correctly ended matters 85 seconds into the bout.

Next up was a scheduled eight-round welterweight bout between power puncher Juan "The Boa" Novoa and two-week sub Antwone Smith, both of whom hail from Miami. Novoa, a 2004 Olympian, began the fight strongly behind vicious body punches whose sounds reverberated above the ringside crowd noise and uppercuts that violently lifted Smith's head. It was the kind of attack that normally saps spirits but Smith somehow rebounded in the third as his snappy jabs kept Novoa at long range. With 52 seconds left in the fourth Smith uncorked a sizzling counter hook that clipped the tip of Novoa's jaw, and the shock waves instantly rubberized the transplanted Colombian's legs. Novoa tried to fight through the crisis but Smith's well placed bombs kept him in trouble. A massive right to the jaw crumpled Novoa's body in the closing moments and Assimenios waved off the bout at the 2:59 mark.

The six-round super middleweight swing bout featured Julio "Baby Face" Garcia, who at 21 has already experienced a lifetime's worth of ring dramatics, in a comeback bout against Jose Medina. A winner of 40 of his 43 bouts (including 33 KO), Garcia was touted as one of the sport's hottest rising stars entering his June 2007 bout with 40-year-old Troy Browning, a fight whose intent was to showcase Garcia's best assets. Instead, Garcia lost a majority decision that should have been unanimous but it was his listlessness and lack of competitive fire that had those same experts questioning his desire.

The Medina bout was Garcia's first since that curious night in Miami, which Garcia blamed on boiling down from 205 to 156 ¼ as well as issues with his promoter. Garcia, now a more comfortable 168 ½, wanted to redeem himself in the worst way. Once the bell sounded, however, he got it in the best way imaginable.

In one smooth motion Garcia slipped Medina's jab and uncoiled a wickedly thunderous hook to the jaw that instantaneously switched off Medina's lights. Flat on his back and his right arm extended stiffly, Medina's face was a mask of semi-conscious confusion as Alonso leaned over him and stopped the bout. It lasted just 13 seconds, and in the time it takes a world class hurdler to run 100 meters Garcia had restored his reputation, albeit against an opponent who had entered the ring the loser of five of his last six and three by knockout.

The main event between banger Prescott and boxer Abril was the only fight to last the distance and the power-punching Colombian emerged with a split decision victory. At ringside I had Abril ahead by one point after eight rounds but Prescott's rally in rounds nine and 10 allowed him to nip him at the wire. Judges Mike Pernick and Jeb O'Connor agreed that it was a closely fought contest but Mark Streisand turned in a curious 97-92 card for Prescott. All at ringside wondered what fight Streisand was watching and after a few moments of reflection I came up with a possible answer.

There is a phenomenon among some judges that I call "mindless aggression syndrome" in which every close round is awarded to the fighter moving forward, whether he was effective or not. To sufferers of this temporary disorder the aggressor projects the illusion of strength and dominance while the man on the retreat signals cowardice and self-doubt and that template often colors their judgment on the other areas of scoring fights – especially when it comes to determining the superior ring general.

Former WBC super lightweight champion "Lightning" Lonnie Smith explained the concept of ring generalship best after his title-winning effort against Bill Costello when he said that fighters can either dominate in small circles that radiate outward or in large circles that radiate inward. The superior ring general is the athlete who can force his opponent to engage him on his terms, and the man on the retreat does this by controlling distance with the jab, using his legs to create punching angles and thwarting the bull's charges with well placed counters. While it is true that his blows won't be as powerful, they still score points and they should be given their just due. To be fair, most judges do that but there are times like these when "mindless aggression syndrome" can strike unexpectedly.

The final bout of the night took place after ESPN's camera shut down, and it matched junior welterweights Jhonathan Ricar, a 3-0 (1 KO) Colombian stablemate of Prescott's, and 4-2 (4 KO) Angino Perez in a four rounder. Both fighters exhibited the mindset of winners as they eagerly swapped powerful blows. Perez broke open a close opening round at the midway point when his heavier punches started to snap Ricar's head back. Then, with lightning-quick suddenness, Perez pancaked Ricar with a single right to the jaw. Ricar's body slammed the canvas and Perez menacingly stood over him until the referee, who ended the bout at the 2:27 mark, pulled him away.

Seven bouts were held at the War Memorial Auditorium and six of them ended in knockout – four in the first round. It was as if the boxing gods had sprinkled an invisible accelerant inside the arena and the fighters' collective fury was the spark that set off the fistic fireworks. For promoter Luis DeCubas it was an action-packed night at the fights that matched the host city’s heat.

Shelby and I drove back to the hotel (Saul caught another ride) and since I had spent all morning and afternoon writing on the laptop I didn't feel like starting another long session. So after polishing off a quick snack I turned out the lights, satisfied that another good day's work was finished.

Saturday, June 28: I awakened at 7 a.m. so I could get in a little more writing time before leaving for the airport at 9. I had planned to work on the laptop while waiting at the gate but I was pleasantly sidetracked when Elton Ottley, who worked with the ESPN crew at last night's card, happened to arrive at the security checkpoint a few seconds after I did. Our respective flights to Atlanta (his) and Pittsburgh (mine) were set to depart one minute and three gates apart so we spent the next 90 minutes chatting about many subjects. It was a great "getting to know you" session and I’m sure I’ll see him working another telecast soon.

For the second consecutive flight I was upgraded to first class, which meant larger seats, more legroom and, best of all, extra food. I spent most of the two-and-a-half hour flight reading the August 1984 issue of KO magazine from cover to cover. Those back issues I bought in Canastota a few weeks ago have certainly come in handy.

The plane landed in Pittsburgh 20 minutes early and I pulled into my driveway about 10 minutes ahead of schedule. A thunderstorm threatened my ability to get the Manny Pacquiao-David Diaz PPV but because it passed through about an hour before show time I recorded it onto my hard drive with no picture – or power – interruptions. Meanwhile, I recorded the weekly card from Argentina onto a second hard drive unit I recently hooked up downstairs. From a historan's perspective having too many boxing shows to record is a great problem to have.

Next week's journey will be my second "home game" of the ESPN season as I will drive to Pullman Park in Butler, Pa., for a card topped by heavyweights Brian Minto and John Poore. Because of the July 4 holiday there will be no Friday show, so a quick turnaround will be followed by a one-week break. Time, however, is not a commodity to be wasted, so I'll make sure to find ways to fill the gap nicely.

Until then, happy travels.