Billy the Good Kid

WASILLA — There is no meritocracy quite like the boxing ring. From the hopes, sweat and blood, one fist is raised and a clear victor emerges.

In the words of Billy Christensen, "once that bell rings, you're on your own. It's all you. There's nothing your corner can do for you, nothing your woman can do for you, you gotta bring it with your whole heart, right now." With global popularity springing from England in the mid 1800s, and a more recent surge in mixed martial arts, the sport has secured itself in the hearts of fighters and fans old and new.

Wasilla has enjoyed the Tuesday Night Fights, a cohesion of MMA, Muay Thai kickboxing, and traditional boxing, for seven seasons. After four years of weekly bouts, founders Billy and Heather Christensen moved to a monthly schedule. According to Billy, this allows them to create a more robust fight card and build anticipation for the fights each month. “We start in the Fall, just after moose season and go until just before the salmon run,” explained Christensen, culminating with a ‘Thrilla in Wasilla’ extravaganza in April.

A lifelong boxer and champion in his own right, Christensen sat down with the Frontiersman to reflect on the local scene as well as his role in bringing the pain and the glory to eager fans for over 100 shows. Now self-employed, he did many years as a Slope worker while raising his young family. His presentation is welcoming, but intense. Quick-thinking, wiry, confident; calling to mind a construction foreman or commercial fisherman in downtime mode. His family settled in Cordova generations ago, of Dutch and Norwegian pedigree, making him salt-of-the-earth Alaskan. Visiting with him revealed part showman, part talent scout, part technical master — traits he throws all in to create the unique entertainment venue. He and his wife collaborate with a small crew to erect a freestanding ring, ticketing gate, seating, lighting/sound system, and wet bar each month.

Weigh-ins are held Monday before the fight as a sort of pre-party at Klondike Mike’s Saloon in neighboring Palmer, with fighters vetted and matched before Tuesday’s event.

“I consider myself the best matchmaker,” says Christensen of the process, calibrated according to experience, style, weight, and above all, a good show. He expertly paces the night’s energy, reveling in surprises unleashed by the pairings. “I want the crowd pumped up at intermission, give ‘em something to talk about.”

“I’m always telling a story — each guy or girl out there brings their story and I try to deliver that for our fans.”

Reasons for fighting are asked of each contender and included in the printed program, at times exposing vulnerability and drawing the crowd deeper into a drama. Stories abound, from love of the sport to more raw realities of life.

“We had a guy who gave his reason for fighting as ‘rent money’, and there he was in the ring, just goin’ for it — guys were hollering, ‘Rent Money’ and tossing money by twenties and hundreds from the crowd in to boost his prize.” (He won.) “We might not have the biggest crowd, but we have the most emotionally invested crowd. Ninety percent of our fighters are local, hometown characters.”

Without a state boxing commission, promoters and coaches rely heavily on building and extending goodwill amongst each other. The loose network runs from Fairbanks to Juneau, with core muscles in Anchorage and the Mat-Su Valley. Prizefights in Alaska found their footing with Jerry Miller and his partner Jim Patton, begun at the Midnight Express in Spenard in the 1980s. Thursday Night Fights, now in its 29th year, claims to be the longest-running grassroots sporting event in the nation (outside Vegas).

“There might be someone who made a solid effort for a year, or four years, somewhere in the states, but we have an unbroken record,” says the younger Jerry Miller. His father, also named Jerry, 69 years old, just retired from coaching last year, recalls training Wasilla’s Christensen in boxing as a child.

“Billy’s a good kid.” Miller said. “He has his own style.”

While Anchorage promoter Miller and announcer Patton have grown into well-defined roles in the ring and beyond, Miller says of Christensen, “Billy has to do it all.” Christensen defers much of the organizational mojo to his wife of nearly two decades, whom he says deserves much more credit than she receives. “For three solid days (around each show) she’s laser-focused.”

With over 3.5 million Americans engaged in martial arts for fitness or competition in 2016, the pursuit has become mainstream. A night at the fights, however, retains a rowdy edge — bikini-clad ring girls balance the testosterone which flows so freely. It is not a stage for unharnessed violence, a distinction Christensen and both Jerry Millers are clear to draw. Further, Christensen points out the universal nature of self-defense across human history.

"It used to be expected that a man could defend his family and home, if need be," he said.

He observes an entitled strain in younger generations that he hopes to counter by offering this infrastructure. Miller elaborates, "Some of these kids want to be thugs, but I say, 'learn to work and you'll be unstoppable. Take that job as a dishwasher, work for your family, save a little money, get a down payment on a fourplex, build up the people who rely on you.'"

All possess a collegial nature that allows them to overcome dirty dealings, which are rare but memorable. Early efforts to host fights in a Wasilla strip mall went haywire when the financial proceeds never made it back up the food chain. Personalities who had appeared, talking a big game and borrowing heavy, didn’t last. No one cares to recall their names. The men dust off hardship and remain unflinching, their passion for individual fighters being a clear motivation. Aside from the hand-to-hand combat is a subculture of discipline, integrity and mentoring, which runs deep. Aspiring fighters come from any background, but the sport seems to hold special appeal for those looking to refine their aggression and elevate their training. True athleticism is on display, and every drop of respect is earned.

Christensen names Miller as his mentor, from whom he sought advice when first launching the Wasilla fights. Opinions about the exact formula and the Valley’s readiness for a home crowd were varied, but Billy and Heather forged ahead and have watched it take shape. Corporate sponsorships have fostered a networking opportunity unmatched anywhere in the Valley, which Christensen is proud to host. His own form of outreach has grown naturally from awareness of the obstacles his fighters often face, with spontaneous fundraising for hardships becoming part of his crowd’s makeup. They have provided airfare for transportation of a woman’s remains, after her death in Seattle left her children stunned and grieving. “I thought that airlines would just take care of that and fly someone home. I never heard of such a thing,” Billy described, still visibly pierced by the sorrow.

He continuously mentors young guys needing a healthy outlet and a new set of challenges. Bravado from fighters receives only an invitation to improve themselves, such as when fighters grouse they ought to be paid more. “Show me,” Christensen remembers answering a young man who wanted a bigger cut of the night’s payout. “Sell twenty tickets and you’ll make another $200.” It was well received. “He sold seventy five tickets, earned like eight hundred bucks; that guy understood an opportunity. All I’m doing is offering them an opportunity.”

April’s show reliably fills 1,500 seats and even once drew Billy himself back in to the ring. “I’m so humble, I didn’t even make myself the main event!” he quips. There’s talk of an old school vs. new school matchup this Spring, pitting the forty-somethings against the twenty-somethings for a night of matches.

A night at the fights in Wasilla typically includes seven matches, with a mix of each form that zigs and zags over two hours of action. The next round of 2018 fights is February 6 at the Menard Center, with tickets available online at aktuesdaynightfights.com, or A1 Pawn in downtown Wasilla. Tickets and tables can also be reserved by calling Heather at (907) 232-3727.