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Atlantic City

Improbably, in 11 years of sitting ringside, I had never been to Atlantic City prior to this past weekend. Circumstances always conspired to prevent it, and I never pushed especially hard for the opportunity to lose my boardwalk virginity. Notwithstanding Susan Sarandon and Burt Lancaster, the place always struck me from afar as an especially sad and washed-up version of Las Vegas. And so, it turns out, it is: even more so these days than ever before, with shuttered casinos, closed shops, and an empty boardwalk. If I found myself nonetheless strangely comfortable there, it was probably the result of growing up in a similarly faded seaside resort.

I did not see either Mr. Lancaster or Ms. Sarandon. I did see Sergey Kovalev defeat Bernard Hopkins.

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