ST. PATRICK'S DAY MASSACRE 

Originally posted by Simguy on 3/18/2006, 8:22 am.

Before: Celly’s Pub Manhattan—frequent sight of Executives Only Boxing/Kickboxing Nights—hosts a special Celebrity Boxing St Paddy’s Day event, featuring Irish Jenny O’Dell and Battlin’; Jenny McCarthy. Makeshift ring set up in pub—small surface area by FCBA standards: not much room to maneuver or “box” per-se. “Fine by me,” JOD shrugs when commenting to WB news lass (a frequent competitor in Exec-class fighting events) Emil Francis. “You don’t really expect to finesse a girl on St. Paddy’s Day: I’m here to punch McCarthy out—simple!” JMac plenty rusty after an extended hiatus from FCBA action, but an Irish brawl not as technically challenging as a pure boxing match—as she says: “All I have to do is find Jenny and pound away on her. It’s been years since O’Dell’s been in a real fight—I don’t think she knows what she’s signed for here.”

Jenny O’Dell in neon lime green underwired bikini top, dark green low-rise boy cut trunks with neon lime green trim at the waistband; white aerobics shoes/sneakers. JMac in black velvet underwire bikini top, black velvet low-rise boy cut trunks, white aerobics shoes/socks. Both girls wear their hair tied back in Celtic fashion—long bangs framing the side of their respective faces: small black workout gloves a real throw-back to Hell’s Kitchen era fist-fighting. Both girls down a shot of Jameson’s; holding the tumblers high to the dense-packed crowd—raucous cheers as blondes climb into the ring from opposite corners to the wheeling wail of The Pogues.

During R1: Girls thumbing noses 1920s style, hunching shoulders, right hand over left left hand at chest/tummy as they walk midring: McCarthy meets O’Dell with a nice short right hand across the mouth to begin festivities. Mac twists on her hips, slugging a left across O’Dell’s face; twists back the other way to clout another drifting right. O’Dell’s hands still chest/tummy high—face taking a pasting—blonde hair swirling as head is tossed to-and-fro. O’Dell backed in stages to old-style hemp ropes: trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth; Mac wades in close, stepping onto O’Dell’s midriff with a tight, thumping right. Mac up top with a short left: McCarthy elbows in, twisting on her hips as she slugs, right foot well back for maximum leverage as she pounds away. O’Dell grunting, bunching up from rights stuffed to waistline; taking it on the chin hooks up top: JOD stunned, shipping shellack as Mac steps-to her and parties. Down the stretch, Mac comes out of her tight boxing stance, loosen up a little. Now she braces a slackjawed JOD with a left in the chest, straightening her for the pasting right: O’Dell’s head/torsi pitches to the right—hair swishing, gloves drooping to rib-level. Mac shifts feet, licks her lips, braces Jenny nudging right in the chest and smokes her left—tossing O’Dell’s head hard to port, half turning her torso there. O’Dell’s knees a-knockin’ when she finally reaches under JMac’s arms to tie up: McCarthy straining to stack O’Dell up, make her take weight on the ropes—deliberately smearing JOD against he,p to burn her back.

R2: JOD a little bleary, a little gobsmacked, but serviceable: once again out of the corner on that turn-of-the-century crouch. Both girls with a stepping, well-balanced gait—O’Dell giving a little more lateral movement out of respect for McCarthy’s determined head-on punching. JOD right hand near her chin—she rotates left, pawing out the jab with an organ-grinding delivery: little circular choppings at JMac’s face. Mac’s head jolted upon smacking contact: she ignores it, just looking to walk her prey down. Girls come together with simultaneous right hands lugged low to belly, back up top with hooks: good spicy connects rock both women, force them to disengage to stalk anew. Back and forth like this: O’Dell denying McCarthy extended exchanged—JOD coming in off her jab to initiate downstairs, then hoping to beat Mac to hooks up top, Stop-and-go slugging sees both chin take rude Irish haymakers as fighting stays in the middle of the ring.

R3: JOD steppin’ left, pawing that organ-grinding jab—juuust enough of a stable-setter to give O’Dell the initiative for exchanges. Mac stalking, glaring: she wants more hot contact, but not having much luck dictating terms; she’s only getting to slug when JOG invites it. Both girls pitching lead right hands to paunch, but JOD also bringing a slightly sidearm right into JMac’s flank above the hip—nasty chopping shot starting to buckle Mac slightly  pre-empting her punches as she’s forced to suck back hurt through clenched teeth. JOD putting punches together up top off that pawing jab: short drifting rights; tightly curled lefts. Now it’s McCarthy’s head tossing to-and-froi as she tries to hold position, come forward. Down the stretch, JOD gets two tart, digging left hands PIK! PAK! In under Mac’s right elbow, stooping the Playmate forward: tasty hook in the chops turns JMac 90 degrees to her left, spilling her into the ropes, left arm over the top strand for balance as the bell sounds (just a triangle being clanged behind the bar).

R4: JOD pressing the attack now, striding forward: little pawing jab between the eyes startles Jenny—she just stares into JOD’s joyous right, sweeping left to an open JMac mouth, McCarthy driven length of the ring by O’Dell’s waling barrage: JOD sets up wide, stabilizing Mac with the left in her chest, drifting the hot right; back the other way with a stabilizing right in the chest setting up the gobsmacking left. JOD turning over her right ankle prettily  as she lays in the right cross; turning over the left ankle on the left hands—shifting weight side to side with the stroking assault. Poor Jenny McCarthy! Crowd roaring as she lolls against the ropes—dukes frozen chest and tummy—eyes staring bleak into punches—her head tossing side to side, getting loose on her neck as O’Dell pounding takes numbing effect. Stops being a boxing match of a sudden: Jenny Mac’s out o her feet—just a staring wreck; Jenny O’Dell keeps punching. Job of work—O’Dell’s eyes hard and bright as she methodically props and plows away, always taking a moment to stabilize Mac, set her up pretty for the next haymaker. Mac FINALLY goes down as jenny resets her feet to deliver a series of bashing rights to the jaw—JOD just leaning in over her left hand stationed between JMac’s sulking jugs—pounding her foe into a right-side tilt, then in stages to the canvas. Crowd raising the roof as Mac rolls insensate to her back along the apron, eyelashes fluttering like hummingbird’s wings as she succumbs to KO. O’Dell all smiles, doffs gloves, reaches through the ropes for a pint of Guinness, toasting the appreciative crowd.

After: Mac brought around Irish style, propped on a chair and given a beer while celebrations break out all around her. O’Dell feted by stockbrokers, investment bankers, and lawyers, men and women both: hard-working professionals love a sensational blonde brawl. Jenny’s work not done: round about midnight, she finds herself stepping into the alley—flanked by bar patrons—with a resentful waitress from the pub. Second Irish-style Pier-Six brawl of the night leaves O’Dell reeling, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, but she’s upright as another bonny lass sleeps it off stretched out across the hood of a forest-green Jaguar sedan.

Reposted by Archer 8/5/09.