The Crossing
Have you ever been to Mexico? Where the edge of San Diego’s opulence runs straight up to the end of America’s soil. You can see the foreign hills beyond the wall, bustling with life and busy as a bee hive. Buildings cracked and ramshackle, worn by the sun and the sand and long since unmaintained. You can feel the tension in that place. A million lives all bottled up at one arbitrary line. Something about it makes one quicken his pace, to reach his destination and complete his job.
With a bag full of corner man equipment and three hours on the clock til the fights started, I found myself sitting in a holding room at the pedestrian crossing in San Ysidro. My fighter and our team had made it though the checkpoint, past the metal detector and the heavily armed Mexican border guards. But me, I was plucked from that desperate and sweaty line to be dropped into a locked holding room with a dozen strangers. The stress in that room is palpable. There’s no cell service there even if you decided to defy the handwritten sign taped to the walls above the metal benches. No Cell Phones, No Pictures. So I sat, and waited. Nearly shaking with nervous energy, wondering would the team have to go on without me. The show must go on, they say. I bet whoever said that never had to be the one left behind in a border crossing holding cell.
Minutes felt like hours as I watched a guard come in the room and pull people out one by one. Where they were going and what was happening I had no idea, but I sure did want to find out cause that room was feeling smaller by the second. My heart sank as some who had arrived at this cold, hard room after me were called up before me. Finally, when they called my name I sprung from that cold bench and passed through the door. What awaited me was simple. A desk, worn and weathered. Behind it a man in an official looking uniform. His eyes held no mercy as he made it clear to me that I had two choices, return to the united states immediately or pay for a day pass into the great city of Tijuana for a reasonable fee of 800 pesos.
Well believe me when I tell you I had that 40$ on his table before he finished his sentence. Off I went, through the doors and down the hall feeling relief wash over me. Rounding the corner I catch sight of my team. Where did you go? What the hell happened? Thank god they waited for me. As we walked down into the city, the vendors calling and taxis honking filled the air. The children run about your ankles and nearly trip you up, the place is so alive your every sense is on high alert. I turn to the team and tell them how I nearly got sent back, but I took care of that day pass fee so were all good. Our manager looks at me laughing, the kind of laugh that comes from way down inside. Whats so funny man? There is no such thing as a day pass fee! Welcome to Mexico! Our laughter joined the cacophony of the wild streets of Tijuana, as we were swallowed into the city and swept off into the night.
Lorenzo “ El Matador” Caldera went on to improve his professional boxing record to 5-0 that night. We’ve had three fights in Mexico and each time was memorable and each time we overcame adversity to win the fights. A lot of great fighters cut there teeth down in Tijuana, its so much more than a boxing match and its a great place to get experience and test a fighters ability to excel in less than excellent conditions. Just don’t forget to take a little extra cash with you.
