LIVE at the EL CORTEZ : San Diego’s Boxing Is Made for the Ballroom

Dreams have to start somewhere.

For a group of young professional boxers, the smoky, threadbare ballroom at the El Cortez Convention Center in downtown San Diego serves as a career-launching pad rather than a musty, old gym.

It lacks the sizzle of Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, the sort of venue that would engage Howard Cosell and national television for a Muhammad Ali bout in the 1970s.

In lieu of the colorful fountains and diamond-studded clientele of Las Vegas, the atmosphere at the El Cortez is blue-collar and earthy.

The dress code tends toward faded denim, T-shirts and mesh caps with trucker logos, and the nourishment consists of jumbo hot dogs, cold beer and $2.50 cocktails.

If nothing else, there is symbolic value in the El Cortez, which commands a hilltop at 7th and Ash.

After it opened in 1927, the El Cortez remained one of the landmark hotels on the West Coast for 50 years until it was sold in 1978. Since then, it housed a religious center for several years, but now the place is mostly empty, hosting only a few parties and small businesses.

When an outfit called Golden Star Promotions took an option to bring boxing to the premises, the El Cortez again became a place of dreams, as it was in the days when honeymooners celebrated the future.

The emergent generation of fighters may have been in diapers in the days when Ali reigned, but the lust for blood and money remains as fixed as the dimensions of the ring.

And so, on the third Thursday of every month, 8 or 10 fighters, most of them from Los Angeles or San Diego, are called to the dowdy old El Cortez.

The purses are modest, from $1,500 to $3,000, but the money looks good to these fighters, some of whom are earning their first paychecks as pugilists.

A monogrammed robe is a rarity among boxers in their early 20s for whom the ring offers a tantalizing possibility of more.

For right now, a sleeveless, zippered sweat shirt, or just a plain old white towel, has to suffice.

“We’ve got some up-and-comers, guys who just might bust into the top 10 in a year or two,” promoter Mike Altinger said.

Maybe, but to use an analogy offered by a fan in a $100 ringside seat, the level of competition is about the equivalent of Class-A minor league baseball.

“I think San Diego could be a helluva fight town once we build a little more tradition and stability,” the fan said.

Altinger hopes to outgrow the El Cortez ballroom, which has seating for 1,400 and was nearly full last Thursday night.

It was an eclectic audience, including but not limited to servicemen, bearded construction workers, old-timers chomping cigars, blacks, Hispanics and a few women in pretty dresses and spike heels.

They paid ticket prices ranging from $10 to $100, and occupied foam-backed chairs, all on the same elevation, which meant that those in the rear were at a considerable disadvantage.

Archie Moore was on hand to sign autographs, and a local cable TV operation was recording the evening’s fighting for broadcast on each of the next four Fridays.

The festivities were 30 minutes late in beginning. Meantime, the crowd listened to recorded rock music and nursed a succession of beers in plastic cups.

“The fans are pretty well-behaved,” a waitress said. “I can earn about the same here as I could at a nice nightclub. About the most excitement we have is when one of the fighters gets knocked out and everybody jumps up, spilling their drinks and whatever they’re eating.”

A rousing fanfare that would do for ancient gladiators signalled the arrival of the night’s first bout.

Fulfilling one of boxing’s hoary cliches, a tuxedoed ring announcer boomed out the introductions:

“In the blue corner . . . weighing 120 pounds . . . from Losss Ann-gah-leeeez . . . Jose HERNANDEZ!”

Never mind that neither Hernandez nor his opponent, Eladio Aguilar, could boast of having made more than one professional appearance.

In a case of life imitating cinema, the sound man punched in the “Rocky” cassette, then it was time for action.

Putting down their hot dogs for the moment, the fans watched the slightly built bantamweights flail at each other as if the bout consisted of only one round instead of the scheduled four.

Somehow, both boxers made it back to their corners, where trainers rubbed them with Vaseline and mumbled words of encouragement.

In the meantime, a scantily clad blonde had climbed into the ring. She held aloft a placard with the number “2”, providing an important clue as to what round was upcoming.

Just as the action resumed, a waitress approached a silver-haired gent in a sport coat and tie.

“Getcha anything?” she asked, and then hastened off to procure a screwdriver and a bourbon and soda.

Oblivious to such peripheral activity, the young boxers resumed their conflict, with neither appearing to gain the advantage.

After the second round, there was a variation on the Playmate-style messaging system. This time, a woman in a gold tiara did the honors.

“Oooooh, I luv her!” a delirious fan moaned.

Hernandez and Aguilar struggled on toward an eventual draw, after which they smiled triumphantly with arms upraised. The crowd seemed less satisfied with the verdict.

The second fight would also produce a draw, a rarity in back-to-back matches.

Even though there was no winner, the bout at least produced some blood, which had to assuage some in the audience.

A couple of middleweights named Drafton Bunch and Joe Motten whacked at each other for two rounds before Motten stumbled into the ropes. When he regained his feet, his left eye was badly cut, and the ring doctor stopped the fight.

The appearance of a Los Angeles fighter with a shaved head and a baleful, Sonny Liston-like stare, made the outcome of the third fight seem almost preordained.

David Lopez of San Diego was no match, either in musculature or conditioning, for the intimidating Zack Bolden, who put away his opponent with a fifth-round fusillade.

The featured attraction served as a reminder of the uneven level of competition in San Diego boxing circles.

Welterweight Rigo Lopez, a last-minute replacement for Richard “The Warrior” Aguirre, recorded a fourth-round knockout of Noe Ramirez.

Aguirre had decided to pull out of the fight when he lined up a date with Olympic champion Mark Breland next month in a match that is to be nationally televised.

Of such happenings, dreams are made.