在 ServiceModel 客户端配置部分中，找不到引用协定“TranslatorService.LanguageService”的默认终结点元素。这可能是因为未找到应用程序的配置文件，或者是因为客户端元素中找不到与此协定匹配的终结点元素。
This presents a contradiction for Khabie and other doctors who moonlight as ringside physicians. They come from the world of medicine, which is predicated on healing, into the world of boxing, which is predicated on pain. Khabie must reconcile these worlds, for a few hundred dollars a fight, while his patients cut, bruise and disfigure each other for sport.
“It’s tough, but we do the best we can for them,” Khabie said. “If society says we don’t want boxing, then I wouldn’t be taking care of boxers. But I’m not a politician. I do know these boxers need help, these boxers are hurt, and often they have no one to take care of them.”
On Saturday, the heavyweight champion Wladimir Klitschko defeated David Haye in Germany in a fight shown on HBO. Khabie watched both boxers and the physicians who watched over them. In 2006, he examined Klitschko before a bout at Madison Square Garden.
That fight, with the boxer Laila Ali on the undercard and her father, Muhammad Ali, in attendance, served as a career highlight. Just like the time Evander Holyfield raised his left glove between rounds when Khabie instructed him to lift his right, inadvertently smacking Khabie in the face.
Khabie long ago learned the violence inherent in his favorite sport. He tried boxing with a friend and ended up with broken ribs. His wife, Brenda, told Khabie: “You’re a surgeon. You need those hands.” But she also understood that the violence, so different from his daily routines, drew him ringside in the first place.
“If he wasn’t a surgeon,” she said, “he’d be a boxer.”
By day, Khabie can be found in Mount Kisco, N.Y., where he is the chief of sports medicine at Northern Westchester Hospital and also helps operate the Somers Orthopedic Surgery and Sports Medicine Group. On fight nights, he makes a mental switch, from repairer of torn ligaments and busted knees to caretaker of battered faces, from central figure in the operating room to anonymous face at ringside.
Khabie described his job like this: between rounds, he fights through camera crews and trainers into a designated corner, where he attempts to pepper a boxer who is often injured and trying to catch his breath with questions for 10 to 15 seconds. He then makes a decision on whether the bout should continue, one he must live with through the next round.
If all goes well, Khabie operates unseen. This being boxing, “all goes well” means none of the combatants end up in the hospital. Those are the fights that stick with Khabie, that keep him awake at night, like a bout a few years ago at a beer garden on Long Island where a boxer was knocked unconscious. For five minutes that felt like five hours, the boxer did not move.
Khabie never expected to work in boxing, but knew early he would become a doctor, even back in Boy Scouts when his favorite tasks included constructing a bandage in the woods. A longtime sports fan, he entered orthopedics because they combined both passions, because the first time he removed a screw from a leg, his instructors asked not about removal technique, but about a football game the night before.
After college at the University of Pennsylvania and Harvard Medical School, Khabie worked at the Kerlan-Jobe Orthopedic Clinic in California. There, he served as assistant physician for the professional sports teams in Los Angeles. Lakers center Shaquille O’Neal occasionally pulled pranks on him.
Khabie enjoyed caring for athletes (as an assistant doctor, he examined and called in a prescription for the tennis champion Steffi Graf at the United States Open). But boxing, with no place to hide, all the energy and raw aggression, drew him in. His first bout as a ringside physician took place at a cafe in the Bronx, which later became a Red Lobster and had a makeshift ring inside.
On the recent Friday in Queens, Khabie called his work typical: eight fights, three boxers knocked down, two repeatedly, one serious gash opened by a head butt.
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