Upper Crust Uppercuts -- Fight Night On The Eastside Finds New Fans For The Sweet Science

BELLEVUE - "The last time we sat ringside and there was spit and blood . . . This time, we know better," says Nancy Robinson from Row 5 in the reserved section, a good ways back to avoid such splattering.

But Robinson, nicely groomed and polished - she is from Bellevue, after all - is hardly a woman you would call demure.

Oh no. Sandwiched between husband Rob and a woman friend, whenever a jab or hook really moves her, she stands up and hollers "Hit 'em!" just like the big-bellied, scruffy guys with the long hair or the chubby-cheeked prepubescent in Adidas.

"The girls" - the pair of women fighters - especially thrill her. She stands up several times, throwing up her arms. "They stay in there, you know," she later says, explaining why the women are more interesting to watch.

For a night out, the Robinsons (she is 50, he is 52) most often head into Seattle for the theater or the symphony. But they'll watch pay-per-view boxing at home, and they have been known to head to Skagit Valley, the Muckleshoot Indian Reservation or Everett to see a live fight.

On this Saturday night, the Robinsons have stayed in town, lured to the Meydenbauer Center by a heavyweight called "The Boss," a junior middleweight nicknamed "Sandman" and a ring announcer with thick, pouffy hair and a gravelly voice: the "Let's Get Ready to Rumble" man, Michael Buffer.

Robinson agrees with critics from around the Puget Sound area who say there's usually nothing to do in Bellevue at night or "Why go to Bellevue? I go to Bellevue to shop!"

But tonight, there's professional boxing. It's the second professional boxing match at Meydenbauer in the past seven months, and event promoters say they hope to make these every-other-month happenings.

"We hope the Eastside fans like it," says April Frye, who runs Emerald City Entertainment with her husband, Ray.

Some 1,800 people have paid $15, $25 or $50 for a ticket to see the card: six matches, the main event being Tim Shocks vs. Augustine Renteria.

"Anytime you bring a fight to town, people will come out," says Greg "Mutt" Haugen, the Auburn native who twice held a world 135-pound title.

To which Phil Jacquez growls, "Yeah! Boxing!" He asks Haugen for an autograph and, in an aw-shucks way, punches the boxer in the arm.

Jacquez has tattoos on his arms, his back, his neck. He wears black jeans, a black Harley-Davidson sweat shirt, a black leather cap, goatee and a diamond stud. He is 36 and runs an aromatherapy business.

"Boxing - I love it," he says. "I love good fighters, and I love entertainment. What some people might consider barbaric, I consider pugilism."

The others here would agree. They've arrived in couples, in families, in groups. They drive impeccable, tinted-windowed Acuras and copper-colored Chevy Novas with exhaust pipes and license plates that sag.

Guys in denim roam with plastic cups of beer. A young couple snuggles movie-theater-like. Two boys bop to a George Michael song between matches.

Depending on their weight class, the male boxers are Oscar De La Hoya lean, chunky slabs of muscle or jiggling. The concessions: regular or Lite. The music: The Bee Gees, the "Rocky" theme.

Like good theater, the drama escalates with every match. The first ends within two minutes, after the referee says that's it. The second goes four rounds. The third, a flurry of punches (C'mon ladies! Get in there!). The fourth, a knockout.

Also there are the three leggy women in the black swimsuits who strut around the ring, announcing each round of each fight. Catcalls, woofs, leers accompany them.

"It's something different, to say the least," says Chris Mantell, 41, a family nurse practitioner and mother.

She's sitting in the family section - no alcohol allowed - with her son David, 11, who's grinning broadly because he's at his first fight, has shaken boxer Joe Hipp's hand and is up one hour past his bedtime.

"We're really enjoying it," she says. "The people-watching is as interesting as the fighting."