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It took a fight to finally get my brother-in-law to baby-sit for our two kids: the Foreman-Moorer fight. My brother-in-law loves Foreman like family, maybe more; he was leading the kids in a chant of "George, George, George" as we walked out the door.

An hour or two later we were paged at the restaurant. My brother-in-law was on the phone yelling, "George, George, George!"

"Foreman won?" I asked.

"He won! I had the kids screamin', I was screamin'. I was screamin' so loud your neighbor called the police. Said she thought somebody was being murdered over on the next block."

"Did the cops come?"

"Nah, she said she'd call them back. She surprised me, man. I thought everybody in the world was watching the fight."

The next time I saw our neighbor I apologized for my boisterous brother-in-law. "He's pretty excitable," I explained.

"That's OK," my neighbor replied. "I called back 911 and told the operator that some guy was screaming because George Foreman won a fight, and then the operator started screaming, 'Foreman won!' I guess I just don't understand sports."

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