THE FIGHTER

Christmas Day my nephew took my sister to see THE FIGHTER at the Dedham theaters. Her daughter and new boyfriend accompanied them to the show. Her husband and I bailed on the excursion to the newly-constructed multiplex. Neither of us liked crowds of popcorn eaters and the feel of sticky floors on our shoes. We drank vodka-tonics with his friend and scheduled a late-May assault of Mount Washington. I hadn't been to the top of that weather-breeder since the late 50s and never had climbed to the top. My brother-in-law had summitted three times.

"If not this year, when?"

My sister returned from the film around 10:20. We were on our fourth drink. She made no comment about our state. None of us were thinking about driving, since our friend only lived down the block.

"How was the movie?" I had to ask, since one of the co-star Mark Walberg was a favorite of mine. His debut as John Holmes was a revelation.

"Good, though Christian Bale steals the movie." My nephew obviously enjoyed the flick and so did his sister. "He was great. A true crackhead."

"Crackhead? I thought this was a boxing movie." Something about a boxer from Lowell up the road on 128. Welterweight slugger.

"Yes, but his brother was a drug fiend." My niece looked at me. She had heard the stories about the Jefferson and Continental in New York. They were no exaggerations.

"Not my kind of film." I had seen the real thing over several decades. My drug habit was under control. I was too old to be Keith Richards. My brother-in-law and I went to sleep on the couches in his TV room watching another Mark Walberg comedy. THE OTHER GUYS. We crashed within ten minutes of the opening.

I returned to New York and thought about seeing THE FIGHTER. It was playing at BAM down the street. I Googled the fighter Mickey Ward. His fights with Arturo Gatti were listed as Fight of the Year each time. the two of them were hospitalized after the bouts. His brother had lasted the distance with Sugar Ray Leonard. HBO had filmed Dicky Eklund's battle with crack. Lowell, boxing, crack.

This morning I watched THE FIGHTER online. I didn't fast-forward once through the grueling interplay between a loving younger brother and his wastrel idol. The happy ending of Mickey Ward winning the welterweight title in London doesn't mention that his brother was arrested once more for crack possession, but happy endings don't need a downer.

Certainly not on Sunday morning coming down.