Junie Browning Sighting

It’s not often that I am compelled to write an article completely lacking in substance (fighters and publicists, take note). After all, my boyfriend and I spotted WEC fighter Ben Henderson (8-1) that night, too, and he is a far more compelling figure. But Junie Browning (3-1) really brings that out the tabloid writer in all of us, and I couldn’t help but take notes as he got on the microphone as a special guest at Rage in the Cage this past Friday.

Junie said that he didn’t have any fights scheduled, but is waiting for the phone call. Until then he plans on “partying and training.” He then invited everyone to his afterparty at the other Desert Diamond Casino location, presumably because that’s where he was staying. In fact, I believe his exact words to the audience were “please come to my afterparty, especially if you’re a hot chick, so we can have our own little afterparty in my hotel room.”

While running to the bathroom not ten minutes later I spotted ring girl “Priscilla” chatting it up with Junie by the vendor tables, and it looked like he might have his wish (though it’s hard to determine what signifies interest from someone who is paid to walk around in their underwear). I decided to snap some photos and chat a bit before running back downstairs to watch the rest of the fights and Junie invited me to his afterparty.

Now I learned in MMA journalism school that you can’t show up to an afterparty unless invited by a fighter but that, once invited, you can’t really opt not to go. Although I made some excuse at the moment, later on I decided to check it out–thinking that there would actually be people there.

I suppose I can’t say there weren’t any people there, because I think the total came out to six. One was Priscilla, impeccably dressed in the cutest lacy black tanktop you’ve ever seen, half-hidden jewelry, blue jeans and heels. As soon as I showed up I was immediately asked to whisk out my ID by our illustrious party of five. Priscilla was trying to get into some club and needed someone’s ID to pass her off as 21. She claimed she was 20 but didn’t look a day over 18 to me… She also looked nothing like me, and my ID clearly indicates that I’m 30. Luckily, Junie pointed out that any attempt on her part to use my ID would probably get it confiscated. (No shit, Sherlock!)

Sitting at a smoky casino with near-strangers, when I expected to run into at least one or two of the dozen or so friends I ran into at the fights, isn’t really my idea of a good time. At this point, I really wanted a beer. But alas! I am cutting weight for jiu jitsu and instead sat by the bar drinking ice water. More attempts to sneak our sweet young thang into the smoky club ensued. They involved pretending she’d lost her purse (this got her in, but she was asked to leave shortly thereafter), asking people inside the club to lend their ID (which was also difficult as some claimed the OTHER friend they’d gotten in that way still had their ID, and others would promise to come back out with ID and would disappear into the crown.) The hand-stamp trick failed to work. Other variations were concocted and shot down. We twiddled our thumbs.

I had my first drink at a club when I was 20 years old, but it was a fantastic club called the Artful Dodger. Even the name was cool. I was there with a chef I was dating who knew the owners. He bought me a neon blue drink that glowed in the dark. The bar at the casino stood in stark contrast to the Artful Dodger. I can’t quite imagine wanting to sneak into somewhere so lame. Were Junie from Tucson, he would know this. Kon Tiki is worth trying to sneak into. Club Congress is worth trying to sneak into. Nimbus Brewery–definitely worth trying to sneak into. Some smoky club with bad  music at the casino–probably not worth trying to sneak into. When not asking random people if she could borrow their ID, Priscilla amused herself by commenting on what she felt were poor clothing choices by people old enough to get into the club.

If I were a tabloid writer worth my salt, I probably would’ve stuck around for the night in search of incriminating photo shots and potential rumors to start. Instead, I weighed. my options. These included standing in a long line to get into an obnoxiously lame club, standing around listening to a ring girl say things like “what IS SHE wearing?!” and going home to get some sleep so I’d be fresh for next morning’s jiu jitsu class. I thought back to my notes from MMA Journalism school about a watched pot never boiling and opted for the latter. However, I’m sure some illustrious journalist will pick up the torch at the next Junie sighting–perhaps on these very pages. Keep your eyes open for more non-news to come!