Tragedy And Triumph

Fernando Vargas fell into the same category for me as Erik Morales. Both boxers fought with tremendous bravery. Both had massive fan bases that stuck with them through thick and thin, both literally and figuratively, since both had gluttonous impulses that frequently forced them to shed ample pounds before going into battle. Both, for reasons that are fairly arbitrary, rubbed me the wrong way. Both, however, won my respect.

Vargas, after losing Friday night to Ricardo Mayorga, will join Morales in retirement now. Vargas was never as good as Morales, even if they ended their career on similar notes: Losing streaks, and one last losing hurrah. When 2007 is said and done, there are a lot of labels we might be able to slap on it. "The year of British fighters," perhaps, especially if Ricky Hatton beats Floyd Mayweather. My vote is going to be for "the year boxing definitively proved it's back," even if it never really went away. But another contender is going to be "the year a generation of warriors departed." Arturo Gatti, Morales and Marco Antonio Barrera all retired in 2007, leaving behind them a wake of some of the most thrilling battles of all time. Diego Corrales, who won what I consider the greatest fight of all time in 2005, died this year. Vargas may be a notch lower than those four, but he fought in the same "never say die" style, and his pyrrhic 2000 loss to Felix Trinidad was truly great; one scribe called it today the greatest junior middleweight (154 lbs.) title fight ever.

It's tragic that Vargas' bravery in that fight probably left him in that dreaded boxing state: "Never the same." Against one of the hardest punchers ever, Vargas just kept getting up over and over again. Nobody can do that and not pay in the long-term. I'm not saying Vargas would have beaten Oscar De La Hoya or Shane Mosley later in his career if his corner had thrown in the towel sooner against Trinidad. But he probably would have had a better chance. That Trinidad battle, combined with Vargas' ongoing war with the scale -- he lost 100 pounds and gained some anemia along the way to his 164-pound matchup with Mayorga -- put wear and tear on his body that leaves him old, physically, at 29 years. It's wise that he's leaving now, when his body has absolutely nothing left to give him and he apparently has an acting career ahead of him. Quitting here should leave him the wits he'll need for the movies, and may they serve him with fans the way his bravery pleased them in the ring.

As for Mayorga:

He lives to fight another day. Beating a plump-looking Vargas is going to give him just enough cache, undeserved or no, to serve at least once more as the sport's premier "opponent" -- a fighter who is not good enough to beat the elite but dangerous enough, credible enough, and entertaining enough to up the pay-per-view numbers. If that's the path he plans to ply, then the start-studded welterweight (147 lbs.) division is the one for him, and he's already called out Mayweather and Miguel Cotto. If, however, he wants to make a case for respectability (it's hard to remember he ever had it once, after twice defeating the significantly higher-regarded Vernon Forrest) he could try to make something of himself at junior middleweight, where he could fight Forrest again or avenge his loss to Cory Spinks. Maybe win a title or something. But something about the demeanor of the beer-swilling, incorporating-his-opponent's-dead-mother-into-his-trash-talk Mayorga suggests to me he'll skip the respectability business. Even after his apology to Vargas for all that talking he did about his wife and child.














Too soon, a young Vargas (left) fought Trinidad (right). Too late, the fight was stopped. It will be the first fight people think of when they remember Vargas, but it was the beginning of his end.

An All Over The Map Win And Fighting The Battle Of Who's Got Anything Left

A short holiday week means I'm going to say everything I have to now just in case I don't get a chance later; see below for my thoughts on Joan Guzman-Humberto Soto, the upcoming crane-your-neck-at-the-car-crash brawl between Fernando Vargas and Ricardo Mayorga, and more.

Still absent a permanent name for my random musings, I dub today's post Shoe-Shinings (see comment #4817 here for a definition):

• Wrap-up: The reviews of Joan Guzman for his win over Humberto Soto in a highly anticipated 130 pound showdown are all over the map. Put me in the "mostly displeased" category. Round 2 was awesome, and there were some other great exchanges at times, but my guess is that Guzman at some point just decided he was more likely to win if he switched from slugger mode to hit and run mode. There were rounds where Guzman did some beautiful hit and run work -- where he was aggressive, took risks, but still looked mainly to score points then get out of harm's way. There were other rounds, alas, where he embodied the negative connotations of stick and move -- where he barely touched Soto and then plain old ran away. If Guzman hoped to get a big-money fight with Manny Pacquiao by merely scoring a victory, he failed. Pacquiao's promoter, Bob Arum, said
  nobody would want to see Guzman fight Pacquaio after the way he barely fought Soto late in the bout. It's too bad, because Guzman has unearthly natural athletic ability and clearly can stand and trade with big punchers if he so chooses. He clearly can be an entertaining fighter, as he was to about half the people who watched him Saturday night and as he was to me for about half of Saturday night. Now, in addition to being avoided because he is dangerous, he stands the risk of being avoided because he's polarizing. I think if he keeps fighting and beating good opponents, he deserves a big money fight no matter how much he bores the viewers. But he would've gotten it a lot faster, and would have had me calling for it this morning, if he had ended that fight with an exclamation point instead of a series of semi-colons. Overall, the fight wasn't what anyone hoped, but it was a good, solid battle, and as for Soto, despite some mistakes, I wouldn't mind seeing him again at all. The question, though, of "who's next" for both Soto and Guzman is just as murky and complex as it was beforehand. And, while I'm at it, here's my view on the dispute over the wide scoring margin issued by the judges: I had it eight rounds to four for Guzman.
• Preview: This Friday's clash between faded star Fernando Vargas and faded super-villain
  Ricardo Mayorga is probably going to break the record for "most entertaining hype doled out before two severely diminished fighters find out who's the most shot." First there was the highlight reel brawl at a news conference, prompting some wags to quip that based on his victory in Vargas-Mayorga I, they like Vargas in the sequel. Then there is the mountain of trash talk these two have heaped up, with Mayorga, the master, probably getting the better of Vargas, who's fared pretty well, really. "He's got a face only a gorilla mother could love" is a decent line for Vargas, but it doesn't compare to Mayorga's numerous "fat pig" jabs. This fight is at 166 lbs., higher than either have ever gone, largely because Vargas has struggled making weight at 154 lbs., 160 lbs., even 162 lbs., the original contracted weight. Egads. I'm leaning toward a Mayorga win, since his savage knockout losses haven't seemed as frequent or debilitating as Vargas', but Vargas has shown more in his recent losses than Mayorga did versus Oscar De La Hoya. My call is Vargas by late round knockout, since I have my doubts either man will carry much power up to weights that high. My confidence is low. My allegiance is to neither man dying in the ring.
• More Wrap-up: I liked the looks of bantamweight (118 lbs.) prospect Abner Mares in his very competitive and action-packed bout against unknown David Damian Marchiano. Marchiano lost decisively on the scorecards, but he gave a very talented young fighter all he could handle and more. Good show by both men.... If former heavyweight champ Hasim Rahman can't handle feather-fisted Zuri Lawrence, who has suffered back to back nasty KO losses, with ease, then he's far more diminished than even I had guessed, and I didn't have much faith in Rahman to begin with.... Jesus! That Jesus Soto Karass welterweight (147 lbs.) fight against Juan Buenida featured so much heavy fire it was like an early John Woo movie. I only caught a few rounds because I didn't know it was even on, but Soto Karass landed the CompuBox record for most punches landed, I learned, and I wasn't surprised. I now see why this Karass has a little bit of a following.
• Random: Why in the world anyone would want to see Pacquiao, a 130-pounder who is stretching the limits of how high he can move up in weight as it is now, go up to 147 lbs. to fight Oscar De La Hoya is beyond me, but Arum's apparently really trying to make it happen... Allan Green is way, way, way, way too big a step up for super middleweight (168 lbs.) prospect Andre Ward, if that really is the discussion. Really, I want Ward to step up his competition, but let's not get ridiculous. The talk of fighting Edison Miranda made more sense. On the other hand, I really like the idea of welterweight prospect Victor Ortiz taking on junior welterweight (140 lbs.) titlist Ricardo Torres. One guy, Torres, is more of a veteran and can punch really, really hard, and Ortiz, the other guy, is younger and a more all around fighter. I think it'd be a fun one to see and a good test for both... What I don't care to see is a rematch between Joel Casamayor and Jose Armando Santa Cruz. No matter what the blind judges saw in their first meeting, I know and anyone else who can see knows Santa Cruz won an incredibly boring affair, not one I'd care to like to revisit and that I doubt anyone would pay to watch. Here's hoping some kind of justice can come Santa Cruz' way somehow... I already love HBO's Mayweather/Hatton 24/7 documentary series. The more I see of Ricky Hatton's personality, the more I like him. The more I see of Floyd Mayweather's personality, the less I like him. If Mayweather stinks out the joint in a boring decision victory again in their Dec. 8 fight, I'm officially no longer a fan.

Do Believe The Hype

A fight, with power. Mosley, left, Cotto, on the right and with the right.

Another night in November, another fight that glorified boxing.

MIGUEL COTTO-SHANE MOSLEY

Yessir, that sure lived up to the hype.

Rarely will you see that many punches landed in fight that were clear knockout punches without anyone going down. It was exchange after exchange as Shane Mosley and Miguel Cotto did what all great, exciting fighters do: refuse to let a blow go unanswered. And they weren't pitty-pat punches, either -- both men were putting everything they had into almost everything they threw. Strategically, it was a marvel as well. How's this bit of strategy for entertainment: Cotto, the ultimate pressure fighter, spent the second half of the bout going backwards, circling and counter-punching. You know, like Mosley was supposed to do. And you know what? Cotto did it pretty well.

In a fight I scored a draw, Cotto won a close unanimous decision in the eyes of the judges. And in a year filled with legitimate fight of the year candidates, I think this warrants consideration, but ultimately it's behind in my race. Still, with all the hard, clean punching, the back-and-forth and the surprising tactical flip-flop, it was definitely worth the $50 I paid for it.

Consider, besides the bizarre sight of Cotto dancing away from Mosley's shots, the following points of intrigue. 1. Cotto was the far superior jabber. Now, Mosley's never been a true believer in the jab, but you have to admit, despite the good jab Cotto demonstrated against Zab Judah, you wouldn't have predicted that Cotto was going to outjab Mosley. 2. Mosley more or less neutralized Cotto's body attack with his movement and by concentrating on defending his torso. In fact, I'd argue that Mosley was the better body puncher Saturday night. Come on. No way you foresaw that, right? Even though Mosley always has been a good body puncher. 3. Mosley nailed Cotto with every punch he's vulnerable to and then some, including the uppercut (good idea, considering Cotto always comes forward with his head down) straight punches down the middle (which he seems to have trouble defending against for some reason) plus right hooks and lefts to the body (Cotto's hittable, but I can't recall him getting pasted much with those kind of punches before). And Cotto never went down. Never even looked like he would. Even though I questioned Mosley's power at welterweight, he really caught Cotto with some amazing stuff that made me go, "How's Cotto still standing up?"

I think we need to reexamine one very serious knock on Cotto. And despite all the evidence available to me before last night, it's a stereotype I've embraced. That is, Cotto allegedly just does one thing -- pressure, punch to the body, systematically break down his opponent -- but he does it so well it's hard to stop. There's some truth to that. But think back. How cleverly does he employ the constant switching from conventional to southpaw stance? And hasn't he been doing it for a while? Mosley said it after the fight, but I'm going to second it: Cotto's not just a good brawler, he's a good boxer as well. Cotto's got decent speed, or he never would have hit the version of Mosley that was up on his toes in the middle rounds. And he showed he can adjust mid-fight and try new things -- the aforementioned back-pedaling/counter-punching -- so he's got some good ring smarts, too. This is something like the revelation that was Manny Pacquaio's emergence as a great combination brawler/boxer around the time of the second Erik Morales fight; there may have been signs that the fiery young gun could win a chess match, but now there's proof of it.

Cotto's a superstar now. In beating Mosley, he has finally defeated a truly great fighter. I feel like I've not paid much attention to how well Mosley performed here. But I wouldn't be singing Cotto's praises so much if he'd defeated a once-good, now-old fighter. Mosley looked fantastic. It was so close they even landed the exact same number of punches. It was ridiculously even. And Cotto looks better for having come out ahead of a Mosley who was at the top of his game.

Now, if only Cotto could somehow work on that chin of his, because even after the firestorm of Mosley punches Cotto walked through, I think there are bigger-punching welterweights who could seriously rearrange Cotto's world.

Next for the winner: It really ought to be the winner of the Dec. 8 fight between Floyd Mayweather, Jr. and Ricky Hatton. I don't think either Hatton or Mayweather are the kind of welterweights who could rearrange Cotto's world with their punching power. But both pose a threat to him in a different way. And he poses a threat to them. Mayweather, as the supreme thinking man's boxer in the sport today, might very well easily dismantle Cotto; he's like Mosley 2.0. But then, Cotto, as an expert at cutting off the ring, could give Mayweather a run for his money, and with his newly-indisputable boxing skills, might chase down Mayweather, who probably doesn't hit as hard at welterweight as does Mosley. Anyway, I'd like to find out. It wouldn't be a bad consolation prize to see Hatton and Cotto square off. They're very similar, and as an admirer of body punching, I'd have to make sure I wasn't eating any Frosted Flakes during the fight, because I might spit them all over my living room as I felt sympathy pains and winced at some of the hard shots to the ribs those two would be throwing. If Hatton or Mayweather fall through, I sure wouldn't mind seeing Cotto getting a big payday against Oscar De La Hoya. And even though I think Cotto would very likely meet his maker in a fight with Antonio Margarito, it'd be an entertaining affair if it happened. Since Margarito lost to Paul Williams, though, I think he needs to win another fight or two before he gets a money machine like Cotto, since Mayweather, Hatton and maybe even De La Hoya are more deserving. Cotto seems to think the same. No matter which of those four Cotto faces next, it'll be a big, big fight.

Next for the loser: Mosley sounded very much like a man about to retire after the loss to Cotto. I can't blame him. Who needs all this kind of stuff at 36? And Mosley's a warrior who, despite his excellent boxing skills, has stood and traded fearlessly throughout his entire career. Eventually, the miles will catch up to him. The class he showed after the fight in acknowledging Cotto's excellence, plus Mosley's sterling exhibition of bravery and skill during it, mitigated my resentment of his Shane's steroid shenanigans. I have no problem with him retiring after Saturday night. I don't think he's going out a loser -- as I said, I think it was a draw. Still, if he's worried about "getting back in line" at his age, as he said, I can think of a pretty direct path. How about fighting Margarito? Or the loser of Mayweather-Hatton? The winner of either fight would be able to make an excellent case that he deserves a shot at whatever names emerge on the top of the welterweight heap by the middle of next year.

Dogfighting Versus Boxing

It's amazing that months after Michael Vick went to jail, I'm still hearing and reading about how dogfighting is somehow morally equivalent to boxing. In the December issue of The Ring, editor-in-chief Nigel Collins writes an editorial on the subject steeped in caveats, but not so steeped that his actual point of view isn't clear. That point of view, boiled down? Cockfighting is dogfighting is bull-baiting is boxing.

But it's not. And it's important for me to be able to explain why, to myself if to no one else, as someone for whom boxing fandom has been something of an ethical quandary.

The key passages of Mr. Collins' piece:

"Michael Vick's involvement in illegal dog fighting reminded me of how closely boxing was associated with other so-called blood sports back in the 18th and 19th centuries. In the bare-knuckle era, it wasn't just dogs versus dogs. It was also dogs versus bears, bulls, and badgers, all of which were lumped together with prizefighting and often covered in the same periodicals by the same journalists."

Following that is a summary of his own experiences studying and attending animal fighting sports, where, he noted, successful bull-killing dogs were "were awarded expensive, often jewel-encrusted collars" instead of championship belts, as if that act of awarding a collar to a dog (which doesn't really want one unless he's been conditioned to, so it isn't really "awarded") is some kind of fascinating common link to a human winning a belt (who does indeed want one if he's a boxer).

He concludes with two paragraphs that sort of get to his point.

"I make no judgments here, but there is an underlying link between boxing and the other blood sports that a lot of folks don't want to think about. True, there are some fundamental differences. Boxers supposedly box of their own free will, whereas most of the animals involved have no choice. But there is also an underlying factor involved in both activities, without which neither would exist: the atavistic pleasure human beings derive from violence.
We all like to draw distinctions and set parameters, but it doesn't matter whether that pleasure comes from watching two men box or two animals fight. It springs from the same root, always has, always will. It's part of being human and the reason you're reading this magazine."

I think what Mr. Collins is doing here is disguising his actual opinion -- boxers "supposedly" box of their own free will? "Most" of the animals don't have a choice? Sounds like to me he's dismissing the main argument about why boxing and dogfighting are different, without doing so directly. Just to quibble, insofar as there is such a thing as free will, boxers do box of their own free will, a subject I'll address later in this blog entry; while animals might fight in the wild, to my knowledge, none of them sharpen their teeth or wear knives on their feet, and none of them on their own would fight in a ring surrounded by cheering fans until their masters pulled them apart, what with them not having human masters in their wild dog packs.

Incidentally, while I'm quibbling, it might be helpful to the history lesson to explain why the same journalists who covered boxing simultaneous to covering animal fighting no longer do, but I'll let a modern day sportswriter do so here. Succinctly, it's about the fact that humans have a choice that dogs do not. And of course, it's not as if the 18th and 19th centuries were the good old days of morality. Don't get me wrong, I'm as big a fan of the Founders of our country as you'll find. But when it came to respect for the rights of Earth's creatures, well, it was still a relatively new concept, what with slavery flourishing and 80-hour work weeks getting reimbursed pretty poorly for some of those who weren't slaves. I think we're doing a little better these days on those counts, and that's a good thing, right?

I don't deny that human beings do, in some cases, derive an "atavistic pleasure" from violence. But I think the key phrase there -- mine, not Mr. Collins' -- is "in some cases."

You see, not all violence is equal. It sounds strange that I'd even have to say that.

I doubt Mr. Collins derives "atavistic pleasure" from witnessing domestic violence. I doubt he would find much enjoyment in watching one man beating another man confined by ropes or chains. I doubt he would take any "atavistic pleasure" in staring at the murder of an innocent. I'm guessing he wouldn't even like be ringside to see a heavyweight knock out -- and likely kill in the doing -- a flyweight.

And yet, the sweep of his piece would almost seem to justify that, by saying that our enjoyment of boxing is essentially the same as anyone else's enjoyment of other "blood sports."

So let me explain my point of view on this, because it's something I've struggled with mightily. I think there are only a few circumstances where one can be on the safe side of morality in enjoying violence. (I should say that I'm not the typical boxing fan in this regard in that my appreciation of violence is secondary to my appreciation of boxing skill and strategy. My praise of fighters with knockout power is primarily because it makes them more interesting strategically, like a queen on a chess board.) Fake violence, for one, is safe from a moral perspective -- movie violence harms no one, although I would argue against producing lengthy pieces that appeal to a specific pathology, like, say, a film featuring extensive gratuitous sequences of child abuse. But in the sporting world, I would put that "safe" label on any kind of highly-regulated competitive event that guards as much as possible against death or permanent injury, via the introduction of such concepts as weight classes, where both competitors are there of their own free will. That would include boxing, kickboxing and even the Ultimate Fighting Championship which, although it bores me, has come a long way from its "human cockfighting" roots and as such is no longer banned across the country.

It's pretty simple, really. It's why we've arrived at those rules of engagement. It's why we're constantly debating whether there ought to be more rules to ensure more safety.

I think where enjoyment of boxing gets into its shadiest moral areas is on the periphery of the debate over free will. Either we have it or we don't, and while I can't begin to address that subject here, I can say with some confidence that humans are better equipped to rationally decide their fates than dogs, bears and chickens. Even still, the fact is that most boxers come from the lower economic classes. There are many exceptions, with modern day superstars like Oscar De La Hoya and Marco Antonio Barrera coming to the sport from middle and upper class backgrounds. I'm tremendously sympathetic to the fear that one's next meal might never come, having spent a brief period -- very brief -- sick, broke, jobless and virtually homeless. I can only imagine what it must be like for people in more destitute parts of the world. In situations like that, one can reasonably ask, is a boxer who fights to feed himself and his family, who by virtue of his particular mixture of nature and nurture is hardly equipped to do much else for money, really fighting of his own free will? I say, again, insofar as free will exists: "Yes." Boxing's a more legitimate way of making a living than crime, where a talent for violence could also come in handy. Boxing, in circumstances such as this, is a far better choice. And I can tell you that I lustily root to see those fighters succeed.

And, at any rate, a dog doesn't have the same options. When a dog has to fight to eat, it's because his master has imposed that condition on him, not because he's picked that choice from a variety of bad options.

We do all "like to draw distinctions and parameters." Indeed, we should. And we should because we can.














I mean, come on. Seriously.

Medicinal Mouthwash

Nothing to wipe the bitter taste out of my mouth left by yesterday's contemplation of Evander Holyfield-Sultan Ibragimov than looking forward to a far better fight, one that shows what's right about boxing these days: ESPN's Dan Rafael is reporting that two young, crowd-pleasing, pugilists with star potential are in discussions to meet in the ring early in 2008. That means the incredible string of fall and winter fights continues unabated, a string that some long-time boxing writers are calling the best in history. For a second, I'll defer the names of the two latest boxers to enlist for a great match-up, and ask you to follow along.

Many of the people I know will be more inclined Monday to ask my opinion of Saturday's Holyfield fight than of the much more interesting Juan Diaz-Julio Diaz fight also happening this weekend. That they will comes from a natural place -- they know Holyfield, but they don't know the Diazes. Likewise, when I mention to these same people some intriguing fight coming up, more often than not, they shrug it off and say, "Never heard of 'em."

There are only a few ways they will ever hear about a great fighter who began his career prior to the mid-90s, or hear about a thrilling fight that happened after the masses began tuning out in droves. One is me talking the ear off of everyone will listen, on this blog or elsewhere, and other boxing fans doing the same. People buzzed about the Jermain Taylor-Kelly Pavlik fight, and as a result, I was happy to find people asking me about it that following Monday morning.

Another way is if the sport handles its business properly. That's what it's been doing of late. Threatened by mixed martial arts, boxing has gotten savvier about promoting itself, but most importantly, the best are fighting the best almost every weekend these days -- something that the UFC was having no problem arranging, but that boxing was failing to do until recently. In the end, it's the chief way to break through people's unwillingness to give new fighters a chance. Forget that they would do it for another sport; people become fans of basketball players when they are no-names in high school, even. Forget that a general lack of open-mindedness prevents a great many people from wanting to listen to any band they haven't heard of until a radio station jams it down their throats. It is what it is.

The best way for fighters to become known is just to be in good fights. Word of mouth helped get people interested in Taylor-Pavlik, as I said before, but people now are going to want to see what Pavlik does next because it was a helluva fight.

I doubt most non-boxing fans have heard of Kermit Cintron or Paul Williams, both welterweight (147 lbs.) belt-holders. Maybe they caught Cintron's unbelievable knockout of Walter Matthysse on YouTube, where it was disseminated wildly. Maybe they've heard of him because he's willing to take on someone from the UFC to settle which sport is best. But probably most haven't heard of him. Williams is even lesser known.

If and when Cintron and Williams fight in early 2008, as ESPN reported they might, it should be riveting. The 27-year-old Cintron is one of the most powerful punchers in all of boxing, always a fan-friendly trait. The 26-year-old Williams puts on a good show, too -- at 6'1" and with a freakish 82-inch reach comparable to Muhammad Ali's, he has knocked out about two thirds of his opponents and embodies the phrase "action-packed," since he throws punches nearly every second of every round. Both are taking risks by fighting each other, since neither are the kind of foe anyone looking for an easy title reign might want to take on. That they are in talks to rumble is just one more reason the welterweight division is in the midst of a renaissance unlike any period since the days Sugar Ray Leonard and Thomas Hearns roamed the weight class, captivating the public at large. Oh, and everyone in the division is fighting everyone.

In 2007 alone, Puerto Rican superstar-to-be Miguel Cotto defeated the ultra-talented Zab Judah in a sold-out Madison Square Garden. Floyd Mayweather and Oscar De La Hoya, both now welterweights, fought at the super welterweight limit (154 lbs.) in the biggest money fight of all time. An HBO tripleheader headlined by Paul Williams' gallant win over the tough, oft-avoided welterweight standard-bearer Antonio Margarito did good business in California. Next, in November, Cotto's fighting Shane Mosley, one of the last remaining big-name fighters from the 90s, in what on paper is the best fight of the year. And in December, Mayweather's fighting Ricky Hatton, a national hero in Great Britain, in a fight that's already sold-out one stadium and a closed-circuit facility to boot.

I apologize for sounding like a broken record by constantly revisiting some of these themes of how great the welterweight division is these days, and how great the fall and winter look for boxing fans. But, hey, it's a good record. And I'm trying to do my part by playing the role of a radio station trying to ram a great track down the throats of anyone out there in hopes that'll catch on and become a smash hit. Right now, boxing deserves it.

A Fitting Kickoff To Boxing's New Glory Days

And so began a four-month stretch of the sweet science so good that it's gone from "best in 10 years" to "best in 25 years" to "one of the best in history."

This was, without a doubt, a wholly satisfying night of boxing.

JERMAIN TAYLOR - KELLY PAVLIK

Anytime your heart is beating fast watching a fight, you know you're seeing a good one.

The first round had plenty of back-and-forth, dramatic action. The second saw Taylor come one effective combination or flush blow more from checking Pavlik out for the night, with Pavlik enduring one knockdown and miraculously avoiding another. As Pavlik was sticking his tongue out at Taylor after delivered his first beautiful combo, Taylor was getting serious and made his man pay. In the third, Pavlik, somehow rejuvenated, began to establish what I've thought of him all along -- while he's primarily a puncher, and one of the sport's hardest hitters, he also knows a little about the finer art of boxing. For the rest of the show, I thought Pavlik more or less out-boxed Taylor, keeping him on the end of his jab. Taylor, clearly the faster of the pair, won several of the ensuing rounds, and in many of them landed the more serious shots, but I had Pavlik ahead by two going into the decisive seventh, more like HBO's Harold Lederman than all three judges who had Taylor in the lead.

And then Pavlik made the judges irrelevant with a straight right hand from hell, his signature punch, followed up by a flurry of blows that featured a duo of consciousness-erasing uppercuts. I wanted referee Steve Smoger to give Taylor the count, just to see if he could muster continuing -- for all my disdain for Taylor's performances of late, he fought this one with ferocity and almost won. But everyone around me insisted Taylor was slumped over in a heap that made it clear he wasn't going to rise, and Smoger, with his reputation for letting fights continue well past when they should, looked at Taylor and knew it was over. I concede my wrongness here, but it came from a place of wanting to give an admirable champ every chance he could to defend his title.

Two things decided this fight, I think. First, Pavlik proved decisively that he was more than some average plodder, as Taylor's team had derided him. After Taylor proved in the second round that his own lack of knockouts lately was a fluke, Pavlik got smart, working cautiously off his jab until the moment arrived for his true calling, the destructive KO. Second, Taylor didn't look as horrendous technically as he has lately, but he still made his share of mistakes. As he said in the interview afterwards -- correctly, I think -- his team was screaming for the uppercut in the second round as Pavlik stumbled into him repeatedly, and he should have given them a few. He managed to gamely fight his way off the ropes several times, but the time he didn't, hurt in the seventh, he didn't have the senses to hold on, and when he didn't it was too late. Pavlik's defense wasn't as leaky late as it was early, but a busier Taylor might have taken advantage of a few more opportunities.

Next for the winner and loser: Taylor wants a rematch, and is entitled to one by contract. Pavlik wants to give it to him. I'd watch again, and despite Pavlik's conclusive KO, I wouldn't be so certain of a blowout this time. These two are, if not the "perfect matchup" as hyped, a pretty damn good one. I don't care much whether a rematch happens at middleweight (160 lbs.) or a move up in weight to somewhere below super middleweight (168 lbs.) -- the matchup remains unchanged.

ANDRE BERTO - DAVID ESTRADA

Young Berto conquered his biggest mountain yet, knocking out the very tough Estrada in the 11th.

I thought this very entertaining bout could have been stopped around the ninth. After an explosive eighth round that nearly matched the round-of-the-year candidate in the third, it was obvious to me that Estrada had mounted his last hurrah. Make no mistake, Estrada made a fight of this one. Berto was trying to outclass the crude brawler by working off his jab, but Estrada's effective lunges gave Berto no choice but to stand and trade in spots. Only after getting the better of Estrada in those trades was Berto able to play it a little safer, since he'd made Estrada understand that standing toe-to-toe might get him a one-way ticket to the canvas.

Berto looked good, I say. Yes, he got hit plenty early on, but most of Estrada's opponents do. And Estrada got his face rearranged plenty along the way.

Next for the winner: Here comes the big question. As well as Berto performed, which of the jam-packed welterweight (147 lbs.) division's elite could he beat? I would bet against Berto vs. Floyd Mayweather, Jr., Miguel Cotto, Shane Mosley, Paul Williams, Antonio Margarito and Kermit Cintron. I think he'd have serious trouble beating Oscar De La Hoya, Joshua Clottey, Luis Collazo and others. Maybe he should continue to accumulate seasoning against borderline top-10 guys, wait for some of the year's big welterweight fights to settle the pecking order, then launch a challenge against one of the best late next year. He'll find out what he's made of, and even if he loses, he's a fun action fighter whom I would still admire in defeat and he would still just be 25 -- plenty of time to rebound from a loss.
Next for the loser: I really like Estrada. I want him to win a championship, the dream of every fighter, even with the belts having been diluted by the proliferation of sanctioning organizations. Problem is, it just isn't going to happen at welterweight. He has trouble getting down to 147, as his problems on the scale Friday demonstrated. His most recent fights came at junior middleweight (154 lbs.), and he scored KOs there, so he might even be more powerful in a division where he's not weight-drained. Good news: the junior middleweight division might be the most putrid. The likes of Cory Spinks and Vernon Forrest may be a bridge too far, but I bet he could maybe knock off one of the other two. Go north, Estrada. Win a belt, make a bit more money, then retire while you still have your health. Careers like yours don't always end happily, and you still have a chance at it.

D.A.R.E.

The great thing about coming into boxing fandom late is that I have few illusions about its shady side. It's nothing like my early love of baseball being ruined, in succession, by the revelation of my Mets' rampant drug use at a time when Nancy Reagan was telling me "Just Say No!," then by the 1994 strike. Both shattered my impression of baseball, America's pastime, as a pure, true thing. I turned to basketball with a more jaded eye, but I never imagined that a referee would get caught up in a mob gambling scandal, an event that was akin to the first blow to my love for baseball being struck by Dwight Gooden snorting cocaine. You're on probation, NBA.

I know boxing is corrupt, although I believe it's less corrupt than it has been. I knew this before I saw my first fight, and I know it now.

That takes some of the emotional sting out of the headlines about Sugar Shane Mosley having allegedly indulged in a doping regimen. That's not to say I'm any less convinced of doping being wrong -- not at all. From a distance, I watch the unfolding tale of fashion designer Marc Ecko branding Barry Bonds' record-breaking 756th home run ball with an asterisk and I nod approvingly.

Mosley, for those who don't remember, has been affiliated with the BALCO scandal for quite some time. That isn't new. What's new is the specifics of the evidence revealed in the Sports Illustrated piece. They aren't very encouraging, really -- although I would note that Oscar De La Hoya getting gassed in the 12th round of his 2003 fight with Mosley isn't anything that passes much as evidence, since De La Hoya regularly pants his way to the finish line for lack of stamina -- to people who might be inclined to give Mosley the benefit of the doubt. I count myself as something of a fan of Mosley. He's everything I could ever want in a prizefighter. He's fast. He's very skilled. He's got enough power, even at higher weights than his original 135, to make that combination of speed and skill very potent. He's afraid of no one, seeking out time and again tremendously difficult opponents that everyone else had preferred to avoid. And in interviews, he comes across as a pretty good dude.

But here's where I have an advantage: If Mosley did what he is alleged to have done, I'm disappointed, yes. My potential Mosley fandom -- already diminished by the BALCO allegations anyway -- will fade away. And I fear that his welterweight (147 lbs.) title bout against Miguel Cotto, the best fight on paper in a shining constellation of fall and winter showdowns unlike any seen in boxing for a very long time, will now be diminished or tainted. I'd say the more this is sinking in, mere hours since the news broke, all of those things have begun happening for me. But I'm not surprised or caught off-guard.

Illusions or no, boxing doesn't need this right now. It's on the verge, with a few nice chess moves, of reestablishing itself somewhat with the broader public, having produced its biggest money-making event ever this summer and capitalizing on it by putting up some intensely needed big-time fights for the rest of the year. To all those boxers out there thinking about steroids and other illicit means of getting ahead, heed my advice: "Just Say No." Nothing can be done about 2003, but, you know, going forward. I may continue to follow your exploits, but I'm pre-jaded. Nobody's looking to give your sport the benefit of the doubt now, at this sensitive time in boxing's history. This is exactly the kind of thing someone thinking about watching more boxing is going to look at and say, "Nah. Now I remember why I stopped tuning in." And won't your purses be all the bigger if more people care than not?













Or, rather, D.A.R.E. to resist drugs before violence.

I'm Flattered, Really, But Word Is,They're Fakes

A number of people I've managed to lure into reading my meager boxing musings have approached me for my thoughts on the photos circulating on the web that depict a cross-dressing Oscar De La Hoya. On one level, I didn't quite know what to say to them, or anyone, really. I didn't want to get into the politics of cross-dressing. I had no evidence the pictures were authentic. And even if I could've overcome those obstacles, what unique insights might I have into boxing's sole remaining superstar enjoying the fishnets? That it was a bad strategic move, given that rabid Mexican boxing fans already frowned at De La Hoya for his perceived deficit of machismo? That it was somehow related to, or practice for, his bet with Sugar Ray Leonard, which I wrote about here? I'd opted merely to send a couple people the link to what I'd written about De La Hoya wearing a dress for his bet. That post, in and of itself, contained a link to a previous post discussing the issue of De La Hoya wearing a dress.

(It occurs to me I've devoted a strange amount of space on my blog so far to De La Hoya dressing as a woman. As I write, this phenomenon is only becoming more pronounced.)

It turns out I was wise not to post until now. De La Hoya's agent tells Radar the pictures are phony. I believe him. Until I see definitive proof otherwise. But, really, when I look at them -- and I only looked at one or two before I felt like I'd gotten the gist -- the angles on his head and other potential indicators of fakeness suggest to me, a purely amateur judge of fake photos, that they are, indeed, lies.

So: I trust that sates everyone's curiosity. For now. In the meantime, thanks for thinking of me. I swear to do you justice when next you throw me a promising lead.

And I won't post a suspected fake picture of De La Hoya in drag after this sentence.

What If The "Bible Of Boxing" Was Owned By A Promoter?

Answer: It is now, per the good discussion with Dammrod in the comments section of yesterday's post. Golden Boy Promotions has purchased Ring Magazine and the affiliate boxing pubs that, together, constitute the biggest print journalism outlets in the sport.

But what does it mean?

Ring's sterling reputation was tarnished severely only once, interestingly enough when promoter Don King paid to have the magazine's highly-respected rankings of fighters manipulated to his advantage. So, in one sense, it's good that this time, the whole thing is out in the open. And Oscar De La Hoya's Golden Boy Promotions is taking steps to build a wall between its promotional operations and the magazine so as to maintain its editorial independence. This, too, is a good thing. And so far, in its short and very prosperous rise to power, Golden Boy has avoided getting caught up in any major promotional scandals, save that wacky incident in the airport this year where De La Hoya himself showed up to greet Filipino boxing sensation Manny Pacquiao with a suitcase full of cash in hopes of stealing him away from a rival promoter.

But all of that is cold comfort. As a journalist by trade, it's hard to imagine a worse owner for the industry's leading magazine than perhaps the industry's leading promoter. As I said to Dammrod: "It'd be like if Lockheed Martin owned Defense News, or if Sallie Mae owned the Chronicle of Higher Education." It is my sincerest hope that Golden Boy lives up to its promise to be a more ethical kind of boxing promoter, but power tends to corrupt, and promotional companies, for all the good they do, have quite frequently been a negative force on the sport, at points practically ruining it. Too often, they rob their fighters. Too often, they've shown they'll do anything to get ahead, even if it means breaking the law. When they get too flush with their own riches, they turn into bullies and end up dominating whole networks, shutting out fighters who don't play by their rules and pushing bad fights that only serve the promoter's own interests and not those of the boxing viewing public. Boxing journalists must, must, must serve as a check on those tendencies.

Can they, I wonder, if they are wholly paid for by the very people they are meant to check? I can't imagine how. In journalism generally, corporate ownership has not led to the type of scandals many feared when the trend began, although there have been a shameful handful. I can only say that none of this is ideal, and watch closely, as all fans of the sport must, to ensure that the people watching out for wrongdoing don't get involved in wrongdoing themselves. The Ring, by virtue of its history, has earned my trust until it loses it, but right now, I am looking at the magazine with a very skeptical eye.

















The cover to the first issue of The Ring. The logo's hardly changed. But now that it's changed hands, and those hands are a boxing promoter's, can the magazine ever be the same?

Dresses, Egomania, Ripoffs And Knuckleheads

Upon my return from a work trip, I find boxing still in its late summer doldrums prior to its outstanding fights just around the corner. And so, random thoughts...

• A brief bit of bragging: The Ring's William Dettloff, a writer whose work I admire, recently penned an item on Ricardo Mayorga as boxing's ultimate villain. That would be the same topic of a blog entry by yours truly not so very long ago. I can't claim that Dettloff saw my piece, but if I was ahead of such a tremendous fight scribe by that much, maybe I'm getting the hang of this thing. I still recommend his piece, because it makes many different points than mine, all of them thoughtful.
  
• A brief bit of self-deprecation to compensate: I struck out on yet another fight prediction, picking Kendall Holt to defeat Ricardo Torres. But it seems what I underestimated was not Holt, but Torres' home-court advantage in Colombia. The 11th round stoppage by the referee, which I'd read about but only just now viewed, was very questionable. Holt was ahead on two of the three scorecards when Torres dropped him. Holt was undoubtedly hurt, but was on his feet, was trying to hold, and was even throwing a punch when the referee stepped in to call it off and give the win to Torres. Things had become extremely chaotic after Torres knocked down Holt, with fans showering the ring in beer, and Holt, slipping on his feet, may have looked more hurt than he was because of it -- not to mention that it's up to the referee to make sure the mat is not dangerous to the fighters. There better be a rematch of what looks and sounded like a solid rumble up to that point, and it better not be in Colombia. Let me know what you think of the stoppage, captured here.
  
• There's something very disturbing and simultaneously crafty about the bet between Sugar Ray Leonard and Oscar De La Hoya that will result in one or both of them playing ring card girl in the final fight of next weekend. The gist is that two fighters from Leonard's "Contender" TV show will take on two fighters from De Le Hoya's Golden Boy Promotions. If Contender fighters go 2-0, De La Hoya ascends to ring card girl duties for the headlining fight between Juan Manuel Marquez and Rocky Juarez, and Leonard will do the same if Golden Boy fighters go 2-0. In the event of a tie, both will do the ring card girl thing. I wonder what happens in the event of draws or no contests, but I do not wonder what either man looks like in a bikini or dress or whatever. According to USA Today, this has generated interest in what was otherwise a decent but not must-buy pay-per-view event. I can't for the life of me imagine why, although the main event and the scrap pitting Sergio Mora against Kassim Ouma could both be nice. But as I've said before in the aforementioned blog entry on Mayorga's antics, I don't much care what generates interest in boxing, so long as interest is generated, and therefore I commend both men for putting their masculinity on the line for their sport. And maybe if Leonard wins the bet, Mayorga finally gets to see De La Hoya in that "Golden Girl" dress he taunted him with last year.
• I find myself torn over the strange impulse I have to watch Zab Judah fight a nobody tonight in the final Friday Night Fights of the season on ESPN. I'd previously only watched Judah in hopes that someone would hit him so hard he'd do that funny dance he does when he gets clocked but good. That's because Judah is one of my least favorite kind of athletes, the gifted knucklehead. Now that he's on a three-fight losing streak, I should have no interest in him whatsoever, but Judah's got to be the most marketable guy in boxing on a three-fight losing streak. He finally showed some guts in his grueling loss to Miguel Cotto this year. And at his best, he's always been a captivating talent. Plus, Cotto and Shane Mosley are going to be in the studio to hype their superfight on Nov. 10. On the other hand, IFC is airing all the new chapters of R. Kelly's "Trapped In A Closet" at around the time Judah will be paving the way to another big welterweight (147 lbs.) fight. Or it'll be around the time he's getting clocked and looking silly as he flops around like a fish out of water, something you can't discount happening when Judah's in against a nobody.

And then, Judah did what has since become best known as the chicken dance, to be viewed here, although I have compared it to both a fish and funny puppet flopping around, and others have called it the rubberman dance.

To Maintain One's Hip-Hop Credibility, May I Suggest The Cha Cha?

Two thoughts, to be filed under the category of "Huh? Really?"

• So the sport's most gifted performer, welterweight (147lbs) Floyd Mayweather, Jr., who has worked hard at becoming a reviled caricature of hip-hop braggadocio and street thug bluster, is joining the cast of "Dancing With The Stars." That is, the show where various celebrities perform the cha cha. There's always been some cognitive dissonance going on with Mayweather, whose perfect smile, occasional charity work and obvious desire to be a beloved superstar contradict his default act as a foul-mouthed jewelry-and-car-accumulating jackass. On the cusp of wider public exposure in 2005, he spent weeks decrying the genuinely beloved Arturo Gatti as a "club fighter;" then he cried in the ring and thanked God after winning his title, apologizing to Gatti along the way for his pre-fight antics and attributing them to a desire to hype the fight. The last time the general non-boxing public saw Mayweather, he was trash-talking the also-genuinely beloved Oscar De La Hoya in the acclaimed, much-watched documentary series "De La Hoya/Mayweather 24/7" as 50 Cent surreally scooted around the room on a Segway. When next the general public sees him, presumably it'll be getting a look at Mayweather's "good guy" alter ego in post-foxtrot interviews. Yes, boxing and dancing do go together -- witness Muhammad Ali, for instance, or even Evander Holyfield's participation in the show. And I'm all for boxing getting more public exposure. But I do wish that the sport's biggest potential superstar could decide on a persona, so that non-boxing people could rally around a charming Sugar Ray Leonard-type or at least tune in to the next Mayweather fight in droves with hopes of seeing him getting his face rearranged.
  
• During a recent news conference, Fernando Vargas detailed his problems gaining and losing weight between fights, revealing that he had once shed pounds on a diet of hard boiled egg whites and NyQuil. Yikes. It's not terribly surprising, therefore, that his body is torn half to hell (with persistent blows to the head probably not helping much) and that his September showdown with Ricardo Mayorga is postponed. Vargas is reportedly suffering from anemia and stomach ulcers. I don't know if robbing himself of iron was key to his latest weight loss plan, which called for him to drop more than 100 lbs. en route to the contracted maximum day-before weight of 162 lbs. But man alive, what a rough career it's been for Vargas, and what a debilitating effect it has had on his physical being. Even as he has won stardom for his heart and ferocity in the ring, he has suffered a frightening beatdown at the hands of Tito Trinidad, indulged in steroids to increase his chances of winning his fight against hated rival De La Hoya (at least, that's what the blood tests said; Vargas lost, by the way) and wrecked his insides preparing for his career finale. At this point, about the healthiest thing "El Feroz" could do is help himself to as many of his cherished enchiladas as he can eat, no matter how much he blimps up from it.

Trinidad's Back! (But, Um..)

I'm about as devoted a Felix "Tito" Trinidad fan as you will find outside of his home in Puerto Rico, and this despite my having arrived at the fight game well after he attained his career high marks. He was a ruinous puncher, with about as beautiful a left hook as anyone has ever had. He honed enough boxing skill to make those left hooks really, really dangerous. He fought the best boxers of his time. He was just generally great, and generally great to watch.

Trinidad had unfinished business with Roy Jones, Jr., which is why I suppose it makes sense for him to end his retirement for a January 2008 showdown with Jones. Several years ago, Jones was to be Trinidad's next opponent, just as soon as he finished mopping the floor with Bernard Hopkins in late 2001. Instead, Hopkins mopped the floor with Trinidad, and with this Felix's suspected fatal flaw -- the one that led him to the brink of defeat at the hands of Oscar De La Hoya only to be saved by some quirky ringside judges and De La Hoya's own bad decision to do nothing in the final few rounds on the thinking that he had easily won the early stanzas -- was flagrantly exposed. That is, Trinidad can't handle slick boxers, guys who have savvy and tip-top technique. Trinidad retired, un-retired for an entertaining brawl with Ricardo Mayorga, then retired again following a shutout at the hands of Winky Wright. Winky being a slick boxer. That brings us to now.

Jones is damaged goods after savage back-to-back knockouts courtesy Antonio Tarver and Glen Johnson, and while his career has continued on, no longer is Jones the breathtaking once-in-a-generation athlete who could play basketball the same day of a fight; who could knock a man out a split second after strutting around with his hands behind his back; who looked so much better than everyone else he fought that winning became a bore. But Jones still, even in his diminished state, is a slick boxer.

I'm all for fighters saying "To hell with it" in the face of a dire challenge and charging straight in to see what they're made of. It's one of the traits that made Trinidad great. Certainly, if Trinidad could connect with a few of those patented left hooks, Jones could crumple into a heap. But at this stage in his career, it might have been better had Trinidad chosen a fighter for his comeback who would stand and trade blows without a lot of fancy business.

Praise Be Low Expectations

HBO this weekend re-aired the light heavyweight title fight between ancient, savvy, mostly-boring veterans Bernard Hopkins and Winky Wright, pairing it with a junior middleweight bout pitting aging, damaged Vernon Forrest against slow-footed, light-hitting Carlos Baldomir. Both exceeded my exceptionally low expectations, although Forrest-Baldomir was legitimately exciting and Hopkins-Wright was better than horrible, maybe even better than mediocre.

HOPKINS-WRIGHT

I contend that Hopkins won the fight, albeit not by much, using guile, excellent foot movement for a 42-year-old, size, harder punching and a head butt. Wright landed more punches in most of the rounds, but mostly his patented jab. When one guy hits harder than the other guy, and the other guy mostly jabs, my feeling is that the jabber better land a ton more jabs than the power puncher lands power punches. Granted, Wright's jab is a nastier jab than most -- whereas most boxers use the jab to establish distance, throw an opponent off-rhythm or set up another punch, it is Winky's main weapon. It's just that Hopkins landed plenty of big shots, enough to overcome what Wright was dishing out.

This might have been a significantly better fight if not for Hopkins' excessive clinching, unpunished by the referee. Again, no one should ever be surprised that Hopkins, an ex-con who prides himself in the skills he learned surviving on the street, would win ugly by breaking the rules. Hopkins tied up Wright after every series of punches he landed, making it difficult for Winky to establish his jab quite as well, a tactic Hopkins enhanced with tricky footwork. That said, it certainly would have moved from better-than-mediocre all the way to good had Hopkins opted to fight straight up. He probably still would have won, making the dynamic all the more lamentable.

Next for the winner: Having conquered the light heavyweight division (169-175 lbs.), Hopkins is now looking to take on the king of a lower weight class, super middleweight (161-168 lbs.) champ Joe Calzaghe. I don't know who I would pick to win that fight. Whenever I have sided against Hopkins, he has won. Whenever I have sided against Great Britain's Calzaghe, he has won. Calzaghe is faster and more powerful than Wright and throws awkward-angled combinations in bunches, but Hopkins has an answer for most everyone. The catch is that Calzaghe first has to get by Mikkel Kessler, a Dane of tremendous skill, in what could be a fight of the year candidate. That means Hopkins will be waiting a while and the fight's buzz could fizzle if Calzaghe is defeated. That would leave Hopkins with few options, since match-ups with some younger bulls like Chad Dawson would not capture enough public attention for Hopkins at this stage in his career. Kudos to him, though, if he's willing to take such fights.
Next for the loser: Wright wants De La Hoya, but who doesn't? And De La Hoya wants little part of a fighter who has a tendency to make his opponent look bad, win or lose. Wright's style is so difficult that you don't get to land many punches against him and he can really embarrass you with his jab. I don't see many big-name options for Wright left, so the choice seems between retirement or bouts with second-tier veterans like the below-mentioned Vernon Forrest or a dangerous younger fighter like Kelly Pavlik.

FORREST-BALDOMIR

This, clearly, was the Vernon Forrest who upset Shane Mosley a few years ago, the one who stung Sugar with a rangy jab and hard, fast combinations as he danced and managed his distance perfectly on the way to becoming Ring magazine's fighter of the year. It was not the Vernon Forrest who last year slung an injured arm at Ike Quartey in such a manner as to somehow convince the judges he won their fight, although the lusty boos at the decision betrayed their error. I prefer the first version of Vernon Forrest, a.k.a. the new version of Vernon Forrest, the one who fought brilliantly on his way to an in-reality convincing victory over the hard-nosed and hard-headed Carlos Baldomir.

Baldomir's noggin must be made of adamantium. He took one knockout punch after another and never stopped coming after the man delivering them. I figure he won three or four rounds on sheer willpower. He might have knocked out Forrest in the ninth round, but for Forrest's seemingly intentional low blow to bail himself out, the only tarnish on what was a rousing slugfest between two courageous combatants.

Next for the winner: Dominion over the barren wasteland that is the junior middleweight division (148-154 lbs.) or a risky move up to the more target-rich middleweight ranks (155-160 lbs.). The biggest name at junior middleweight is Cory Spinks, a draw in his hometown of St. Louis but not much anywhere else, owing to his feathery fists and concentration on defense. I wouldn't mind seeing them fight, I suppose, if only because they're probably the two best in their division and a St. Louis fight would give Forrest a shot at making some cash. A better style matchup -- one that I think would be a cracking good scrap -- would be with Kassim Ouma, once the diminutive non-stop puncher realizes he shouldn't be fighting at middleweight and returns to his more natural division. Forrest wants to avenge his two losses to Ricardo Mayorga, but the Mayorga who beat Forrest has since been ravaged by Felix Trinidad and Oscar De La Hoya and is clearly worse for the wear, so I'm not sure what that would prove.
Next for the loser: Retirement, it looks like, according to Baldomir himself. Sure, he could get a few more good fights and maybe even win a title at junior middleweight. I would watch him again, gladly. But there's not anyone he could make much money fighting in the division besides Forrest, and he's accomplished plenty in the last year and a half. He knocked off Zab Judah in 2006's upset of the year, becoming the recognized welterweight (141-147 lbs.) champion, not some random belt-holder. He then upset boxing folk hero Arturo Gatti. Despite getting blown out completely, he earned the respect of Floyd Mayweather, Jr. in their bout, not an easy thing to earn from a guy who is contemptuous of pretty much everyone he battles. And he just pushed a rejuvenated Forrest to the brink of defeat in a nice action fight. Baldomir went from mop salesman in the streets of Argentina to millionaire and national icon in Argentina. Who could ask for more?

The Wild Man From Nicaragua And The Fine Art Of Hilariously Villainous Behavior

Boxing made a rare appearance on SportsCenter recently when Ricardo Mayorga and Fernando Vargas brawled at a press conference to hype their upcoming showdown, and the clucking of tongues predictably ensured from boxing types who believe this kind of behavior jeopardizes the dignity of the sport. It probably does. The difference between street fights and boxing is that the latter does have at least an air of propriety, rules and so forth. But my bias is toward trash-talking and hilarious antics, and so I have little but praise for the kind of circus Mayorga, appropriately oft-referred to as "the wild man from Nicaragua," brings to boxing. After reading of the brawl-free follow-up news conference this week to promote Vargas-Mayorga, it would be nice, I thought, for people to have one place to go to read about some of the more bizarrely villainous behavior of a limited but tough and strong fighter who has become the sport's premiere "opponent" -- dangerous enough to test most anyone, but safe enough for the best of the best and certainly loud enough to bolster pay-per-view buys.

Mayorga most famously drinks beer and smokes cigarettes after his victories, a thumb in the eye for a sport that demands more than any other that its athletes be in supreme shape if they have any hope of succeeding. The day before fights, he has on more than one occasion stepped onto the scale for the weigh-in while chomping on a slice of pizza, or helped himself to some fried chicken in a brazen show that he is in such exceptional combat shape that he does not fear coming in under the weight limit. He does some of his best work at news conferences, such as wearing a matador outfit, presenting a dress labeled "the Golden Girl" to Oscar De La Hoya prior to their fight to mock his "Golden Boy" nickname, attempting to backhand Vargas and thereby inciting their brawl or slapping the back of De La Hoya's head when he wasn't looking. He once attempted to start a fight with an opponent upon his entrance to the ring area. And when in the heat of battle, he is prone to jutting his chin out, daring his opponent to punch him, taking flush shots from murderous punchers like Tito Trinidad, then, after surviving the onslaught, flailing toward them like a windmill with swinging, looping, hard punches.

But he saves his finest material for his verbal assaults. By "fine," I do not mean anything remotely approaching "good." I mean "fine" by the standard of a villain, in which case the nastier equals the better. His news conference pronouncements range from profane to funny to some combination of both. Among the best, keeping in mind those definitional caveats:

• He promised "to deliver" Cory Spinks to his mother, recently deceased.
• "You better start injecting steroids again, cause you are going to need it against me," he told Vargas, referring to the most shameful incident of Vargas' career -- his positive steroid test after a loss to De La Hoya.
• "I'm going to detach his retina or stop his heart," speaking of De La Hoya, one of his many repeated retina-detaching warnings toward "The Golden Boy."
• He frequently threatens to have sex with the wives and other family members of his opponents, with his quip to Vargas that "I'm not going to lay down. You're going to lay your wife down to me" being his most recent.
• Perhaps his funniest threat was to Vernon Forrest: "Not even Forrest's dog is going to recognize him when he goes home." Because after all, isn't a man's dog the creature on Earth most likely to recognize him? I can imagine Forrest's mutt, cocking his head sideways as he tries to discern Forrest behind this new stranger's misshapen face.
• He often wants to make himself the "daddy" of his opponent or his opponent's family. As he said of Forrest, "I am upset because he did not call me for Father's Day. I am going to give him a whipping because I did not get my present." He volunteered to be the "step-dad" to Vargas' "kids" after their fight.
• When in doubt, he just resorts to name-calling, with "faggot" being his favorite, employed against Vargas and Forrest (elaborated upon with a "Tell Forrest whether he runs, stops or bends over, whatever he does, I will knock him out in two rounds"). "Fatty" was a slightly more creative one, leveled at Vargas, who is notorious for blowing up to more than 200 lbs. before squeezing down into the 154 to 160-pound range. Playing on the notion that De La Hoya was over the hill, he remarked, "You remind me of an old lady that's past her prime that should be sitting home in a rocking chair doing nothing."
• Two rounds seems to be about the most generous length of time he's willing to give his opponent to stay conscious, unless it's for exhibition. "I will knock out Forrest in two rounds whether I have a cigarette or not. I know a lot of people want to see me fight more rounds. So, if HBO wants, they can pick two sparring partners for me to fight after I knock out Forrest. That way, the audience can see me fight 12 rounds."

And so it goes, on and on, a non-stop parade of filth and hijinks. It is not clear, as many wondered with Mike Tyson for some time, whether Mayorga is just straight crazy or if he knows his flamboyance sells tickets. He seems to have an erratic side (practically begging De La Hoya just prior to the fight for more money, after slandering him and his family endlessly), a good side (his family adores him as a provider and he donates money back home to the needy) and an evil side (unless there's a word besides "evil" that prompts a man to mock another's dead mother). I'd prefer not to solve the puzzle, and just enjoy the show instead. Don King summed it up best when flustered by Mayorga's threat to pull out of the De La Hoya bout: "He doesn't change his mind. He ain't got no mind. What are you talking about? Change what mind? I don't know what goes through a man like that."















Mayorga, resplendid in matador gear, strikes a pose that the most cartoonish movie bad guys would envy. (from msnbc.com)

UPDATE: Dan Rafael's Friday column at ESPN.com has a Mayorga gem from this week's news conference that other boxing writers apparently failed to translate or think of as quote-worthy. "I had a dream last night that I threw a rotten orange at Fernando Vargas and hit him in the chin and he went down, and he didn't get back up. He's ready to go. He's like a rotten piece of fruit," he said. The internal logic is lacking (does one throw rotten fruit AT rotten fruit, Ricardo?) but the comedy value is there.

Boxing's Biggest Story

The welterweight division is now the biggest story in boxing, and its depth offers such a startling variety of intriguing match-ups that this one weight class -- by itself -- has the potential to push the fight game back into the public eye more consistently than in years. It is said, from time to time, that boxing is only as healthy as its heavyweight division, and that without dominant big men, boxing suffers. That's historically accurate, but only up to a point. After all, the welterweights captured the public's attention in the late 70s and 80s when the legendary likes of Sugar Ray Leonard, Thomas Hearns, Roberto Duran and others roamed the weight class, between 140-147 lbs.

The group currently battling there is probably the best since then. Forget their fight's one-time publicity injection one division higher at junior middleweight: Oscar De La Hoya's decision to return to welterweight and Floyd Mayweather's own return to the weight means boxing's two biggest stars now reside there for any number of fights that could seize the masses' attention. De La Hoya is a rock star who transcends boxing, although he does that pretty well, too; Mayweather is the hip-hop fighter, all flash and skill, his generation's most gifted practitioner. Just below them in the welterweight stratosphere are "Sugar" Shane Mosley, the big-name veteran who toppled De La Hoya twice with speed, power and guts yet nonetheless has never quite won the following he deserved, and Miguel Cotto, the fastest-rising celebrity in the sport who stalks and crushes his opponents with flagrant disregard for what kind of punishment he has to endure to do so. Near that same level is Ricky Hatton, Great Britain's national hero, a frenzied mauler who incites soccer-style chants and whose signature victory over hall of fame-bound Kostya Tszyu is considered by many Brits their country's greatest boxing victory ever. He might move up from the junior welterweight limit of 140 pounds to take on either Mayweather or De La Hoya. Scratching their way to the top are Paul Williams and Kermit Cintron, each of whom earned the adoration of hardcore fight fans in their recent wins -- Cintron with a nasty knockout, Williams with his breathtaking volume of punches, bravery and the coordination he exhibited despite being freakishly tall -- and could break through to the rest of the world with another marquee victory.

And that's just the top seven. From there, the division's borderline top-10 guys are a murderer's row. Antonio Margarito, hyped as the most feared man in boxing before his loss to Williams for thumping young contenders into tears or the hospital, is still dangerous. Zab Judah, despite his recent defeats, looked better than ever against Cotto, demonstrating the speed and power that made him such a sensational phenom before his struggles inside and outside the ring. Joshua Clottey, with his sturdy defense, rock-solid chin and diverse attack, is a tough night for anyone in the division. Luis Collazo, with his difficult counter-punching southpaw style, scared Hatton back down to 140, however briefly, in Hatton's first flirtation with the higher weight class. What's more, the division has potential stars in prospects Andre Berto (knockout artist), Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. (son of Mexico's all-time best) and Alfonso Gomez (contestant on the TV show The Contender). Even its dregs would be threats to take over if they switched to a neighboring division, guys like Carlos Quintana, David Estrada, Mark Suarez and Walter Matthysse. Then there are other boxers who could join the weight class soon or come back for a good money fight, such as veteran Ike Quartey, who tested a young De La Hoya like he had never been tested before, or Joel Julio, ESPN's 2005 prospect of the year. Now, let's make it pan out. When some of these same fellows and a few other greats lived at 140 pounds, any number of the best fights never happened. There's too much talent here to do anything but have all of them face off against each other.

Somewhere Between The Worst Big Fight Ever And A Boxing Technician's Dream

It's remarkable, really, that Bernard Hopkins and Winky Wright have the kind of names non-boxing fans might have heard. Their fight this weekend could sell pretty well because of it, but I won't be buying. I'm afraid of clawing my eyes out from boredom.

Hopkins, 42 and one of history's greatest middleweights, has made a living for the last several years patiently doing just enough to win just enough rounds to win his fights, or, in the case of his showdowns with Jermain Taylor, doing just enough to lose just enough rounds to questionably lose both bouts. He feints. He ducks. He clinches. He headbutts, hits low, holds while punching and other shady business. He periodically throws a nice right hand, the kind he used to knock people out with back when his output was less periodical, and when he wore his executioner's mask during his ring entrance more convincingly. Somehow, he did enough of what he does well to pick apart Antonio Tarver last year -- 15 pounds north of the weight class he so ably dominated -- to make for compelling entertainment. As someone who appreciates the craft of boxing in conjunction with power, speed, volume or some other multiplier, I confess to admiring Hopkins for the purity of his sweet science that night, despite finding his ring routine of late tiresome.

Wright, 35, has to his credit tried to make himself a more exciting showman than he once was. Still, he has to be the most unlikely boxer ever to win the love of the hip-hop community (you may have seen him in the video for the remix of Busta Rhymes' "Touch It," or as something of a villain and rival to Jamie Foxx for the love of a woman in the video for "DJ Play That Love Song," or even a 50 Cent video). What he does is very simple: He holds his long arms up in front of himself, with his elbows and forearms protecting his torso and his gloves protecting his face; since you can't find room between his mitts to slug him in the nose, and trying to hit his body gets you a fisftful of forearm, you have no choice but to throw looping punches around his defense; and when you do, that's when he beats you to the punch with a quick, stiff jab, followed by maybe a left cross or hook. In this way, he wins nearly every fight he's in by decision, because he has close to zero power. Doesn't sound like flashy hip-hop stuff, does it? Plus, his name is Winky! Still, as with Hopkins, it can be compelling entertainment at times. He humiliated one of my favorite all-time fighters, the much-feared Tito Trinidad, by jabbing the bejeebers out of him. Tito retired afterwards. And his decision to make himself more marketable by being less cautious led to his enjoyable, see-saw bout last year with the aforementioned Jermain Taylor, which was scored a draw.

The promoters are hyping this as a fight between the Bernard Hopkins who fought Antonio Tarver and the Winky Wright who fought Jermain Taylor. Let's hope! Otherwise, this will be the second fight this year featuring big names -- after the significantly bigger names of De La Hoya and Mayweather met -- that will fall something short of the expectations of anyone who equates both men's reputations with, well, fun television. Yet, the most fun this can get won't be terribly fun.

MY PREDICTION: I'm going to call the upset and say Winky pulls off the decision. Why? Winky's jab is going to make Hopkins work. He doesn't like to do that much these days. And it's going to land, too, because it's accurate as hell. It won't be as accurate against the maddeningly slippery Hopkins -- just accurate enough to win just enough rounds to win the fight.
CONFIDENCE: 55%. Not very brave, but I'm wavering on this one because Winky will be 10 pounds north of a division that he was a little small for anyway, fighting at 170, five pounds south of Hopkins' last match when he looked less lethargic than he had in a long while. Also, Hopkins can punch. Winky can't.
ALLEGIANCE: I don't care much for either of these fighters, but Hopkins is particularly insufferable to me with his egomania, his rule-breaking, his safety-first style and his broken promise to his dead mother that he would stop boxing by now. Winky wins my "most attractive person in a line-up of uglies" award.




















Slippery sumbitch, that Bernard Hopkins. (from boxnews.com.au)

















If I find out Winky will be packing semi-automatic heat, then it might be interesting enough to tune in. Also, maybe he'll have a better chance of hitting Hopkins with something. (from lasvegasgunrange.net)

UPDATE: Wright began July as the underdog; he has since become the betting favorite. Therefore, his win would not be an upset. Maybe bettors said, "Yes, Hopkins is bigger, but Wright is a sure hall-of-famer, too, and on the list of best active boxers at any weight, Wright ranks higher." Or in a fight that's close to an even pick, "Might as well throw money at the minor upset."