Old Evander Holyfield Vs. Someone Or The Other

There's something in me that is reluctant even to spend more than a paragraph on Saturday's pay-per-view fight between Evander Holyfield and Sultan Ibragimov. It's not an event that's terribly flattering to the state of boxing, which is otherwise on a serious hot streak. But the historic import -- which I'll get to in a second -- compels me. In the meantime, if you're just visiting Seven Punch Combo for the first time, please check out this post, this post and this post before you write off a sport that will allow a fossil to fight an anonymous foreigner for a title that both have mysteriously "earned" a shot at.

In one corner Saturday we have Ibragimov, another Russian heavyweight champ no one's ever heard of and who barely deserves his title belt. He got it in June by picking apart an asthmatic, Shannon Briggs, who won his belt the year before in one of the worst heavyweight fights you'll ever see, at least until Briggs knocked the previous champ through the ropes with only seconds remaining in the final round. And Ibragimov got his title chance by fighting to a draw with Ray Austin, who went on in his next bout to get KO'd in the second round against one of the few legitimately good heavyweight belt-holders around these days, Vladimir Klitschko. Why a draw gets anyone a title shot -- let alone both draw-ers getting title shots -- is beyond me. What little I've seen of Ibragimov, I've seen on the Internet. He's got decent hand speed and decent footwork and decent power. He's got a decent chin, but he was down against Austin. From what I've seen, he's a decent big man, I guess, but in another era of heavyweights, I'd forecast him as a not too troublesome, but moderately credible, stay busy opponent for another champion.

In the other corner we have the 44-year-old Evander Holyfield. Make no mistake: Holyfield is one of the greatest heavyweights ever. Even when he was winning in what was perceived as the lackluster 90s, he was winning against real serious heavyweights. When he began losing to them, he still earned my respect, because he clearly gave his all even as he was in the twilight of his career. When he began losing to people who weren't very good, I wanted him to quit. When he began losing to people who weren't very good and looking bad while doing it, I was grateful to see his boxing license stripped by the state of New York because I didn't want to see him die in the ring. Since then, he's looked revitalized beating people who aren't very good. Optical illusion, maybe. But a decent enough one for me to say to myself, "Hell, why not give him one more chance?" From the looks of his recent fights, his hand speed is back, a little, his power -- always on the light side for a heavyweight, given that's he's undersized -- has come back in spurts, he appears to have recovered the ability to defend himself somewhat and he's throwing good combinations again. No one seems to much doubt that Holyfield has performed better of late than he did prior to his license-stripping run. But is he good enough at his advanced age to defeat a decent heavyweight? And why does beating the people he beat get him another title chance?

If he does win, this will be a big story. Sure, most everyone is pissing all over this fight, given the shoddy state of heavyweight boxing. It remains to be seen if the big story of Holyfield's win would be a mostly good one -- a la George Foreman winning a title at age 45 -- or another black eye for the sport. Holyfield is under investigation for buying steroids (Really? They were for "Evan Fields?" And this Fields chap has the same birthday as Holyfield? And they were delivered to what looked like Holyfield's address?), so that could be a knock on the virtuosity that helped making him popular, thereby morphing the story from positive to negative. On the other hand, Holyfield would become a five-time world heavyweight champion. That's remarkable. For that reason, it can't be totally ignored. But if I was king of the universe, people would be talking more about the Juan Diaz-Julio Diaz shootout happening Saturday, not this.

MY PREDICTION: I don't know if it's sentiment primarily driving this, but I'm picking Holyfield by decision. At the conscious level, I've got some good reasons. He's way more experienced than Ibragimov, who's had just about 20 pro fights. Ibragimov seems eminently hittable, and, once hit, slightly hurtable. Austin's no world-beater, and he had Ibragimov on the deck. But Holyfield isn't a big puncher, either, so I see Ibragimov ending the fight on his feet, but narrowly out-pointed. I'm not totally crazy to make this prediction, even though Holyfield is a severe betting underdog -- veteran scribe Kevin Iole made the same call.
CONFIDENCE: 55%. Ibragimov is younger, fresher and the fight's in his home country. Biased judging is a real risk. Maybe, though, the crowd turns on Ibragimov the way they did Ivan Drago, and the judges are swayed. Either way. Can you tell I'm phoning this one in?
MY ALLEGIANCE: Not unlike Arturo Gatti's last fight, I'm torn. I've always liked Holyfield. I spent a lot of time saying so when this fight was announced. But unlike Gatti, I'm not convinced Holyfield will retire if he's beaten, so I don't even have a rooting interest in seeing Holyfield lose without suffering, a kind of mercy loss. He wants to unify the titles, nearly impossible in the fragmented heavyweight division. Some of them, such as Vladimir Klitschko, would probably pose serious threats to Holyfield's life. This ends badly, folks, whether it's this weekend or down the line. Until then, I guess I'll go with the Holyfield I know over the Ibragimov I don't.














At least the commercials for Holyfield-Ibragimov are cute.

Two More Things To Get Rid Of, Of The Smaller Variety

These may be glorious days for the health of the sport, starting with the biggest fight of all time, money-wise, having just transpired this summer between Oscar De La Hoya and Floyd Mayweather, Jr. What's more, this fall and winter will spotlight incredible fights pitting the best against the best, the highest-profile against the highest-profile, the most evenly-matched against the most evenly-matched. So glorious is the lineup for the rest of the year that when combined with what's already happened in 2007, veteran boxing commentators are calling it the best year for the sport in perhaps a decade.

Some of boxing's self-inflicted wounds have healed themselves in order to make 2007 what it is and will be, foremost among them the civil war between the sport's top two promotional companies, Golden Boy and Top Rank. But now is the time to be ever-more vigilant. Boxing needs to seize the day and rid itself of its other problems -- the endless number of belts, for instance, and all that silly hugging. I've recently raged about excessive holding, and perhaps I'll someday soon address some of those other, larger topics. But for now I'm advocating something like the "broken windows" theory of crime-fighting be applied to boxing. That is, as the founders of the theory wrote: "Consider a building with a few broken windows. If the windows are not repaired, the tendency is for vandals to break a few more windows. Eventually, they may even break into the building, and if it's unoccupied, perhaps become squatters or light fires inside." The theory -- disputed by many, I must admit -- holds that fixing those windows immediately is key to prevention of crime.

To return to my original metaphor, below are two of boxing's colds and hangnails, none of which can by themselves ruin the sport, but that must be eliminated for optimal health. Or maybe they're just pet peeves that I'm trying to elevate into something meaningful with some overheated rhetoric. Either way, they've got to go. I'll file these kind of things from now on under the label "cures":

Lennox Lewis as a commentator. I will defend his oft-lamented heavyweight title reign unto my death, but in the announcer's booth, he is nearly as grating as the NBA's Bill Walton. His praise of Andre Dirrell following what I saw as the single most detestable boxing performance I've ever viewed -- he nearly sprinted away from punches and landed only a few jabs a round en route to a horrid victory over Curtis Stevens -- is exhibit number one. Lennox actually said he wanted to see Dirrell again, and he has to be the only one. More recently, Lennox was completely flummoxed about how Daniel Ponce DeLeon knocked out Rey Bautista in one round, because Lennox somehow thought DeLeon was not a power puncher. In fact, a power puncher is all DeLeon really is, and he's very good at it. Had Lennox witnessed even a single DeLeon fight other than the highlights he'd seen of a very poor performance in his most recent prior bout, he would never have said any such thing. I don't belabor him too much his inability to pronounce anyone's name, because boxer-turned-commentator predecessors George Foreman and Roy Jones, Jr. were guilty of the same sin. But from the smallest mis-calls such as mispronunciations, to regular-sized mis-calls such as whether anything like what he's describing is happening in the ring, to the truly awful mis-calls like those of Dirrell and DeLeon, everything about Lennox as a ringside commentator works me into a frenzy.

Referee Laurence Cole. There is no worse referee alive who regularly gets high-profile assignments, but perhaps a zombie would do a better job. He is the beneficiary of flagrant nepotism, multiplied by conflicts of interest. And besides that, he sucks. Cole's father is one Dick Cole, who runs the Texas state department that regulates boxing, where his son regularly receives assignments. Dick also insures boxers; Laurence has more than once been accused of prematurely stopping fights when one combatant was losing, with the sub-allegation being that he did so so as to spare his father's company from having to pay out for any extra damage incurred. One of the strangest things I've seen a referee do was during the Juan Manuel Marquez-Jimrex Jaca bout. When Marquez suffered a nasty cut, Cole took him to a neutral corner and, with his hand over his microphone, uttered a bafflingly inappropriate series of messages. Cole informed Marquez that if the fight was stopped, rules-wise, it was in an advanced enough round that it would go to the scorecards. He told Marquez he was ahead on the scorecards and asked if he wanted to continue. In no way should Cole know whether Marquez was ahead on the scorecards; only the judges know that until the final results are announced. And if Cole didn't know, he was guessing, which is even worse, because he could have been wrong, and Marquez could have lost. And at any rate, Cole shouldn't be in the business of advising fighters -- he's a referee, supposedly impartial. He was fined and suspended in Texas, but only a few weeks later he'd received another nice assignment on TV, this time in Arkansas. Oh, and he blew a call during that fight, if I remember correctly. Type "Laurence Cole" and "controversy" into any search engine, and you'll find dozens of complaints about calls he's made during fights, the kind that have a tendency to influence the outcome. Perhaps aware of his reputation, he did next to nothing to put a halt to the foul-a-thon between Celistino Caballero and Jorge Lacierva that marred the undercard of the rematch between Israel Vasquez and Rafael Marquez. Someone, please, stop Laurence Cole. It wouldn't be premature.











If you see Lennox Lewis in a suit...














...or Laurence Cole refereeing a fight -- it's going to be a clumsy, embarrassing night for boxing.

Evander Holyfield: Like Don Quixote, But With A Storied C.V. And A Better Chance Of Defeating The Windmills

Bite his ear off, dislocate his shoulder, palpitate his heart, turn him in a 44-year-old man... nothing stops Holyfield, at least not for one more big fight. (from slam.canoe.ca)


I never experienced Evander Holyfield the way more veteran boxing fans did, in real-time, from his prime to his endless tragedies and resurrections when he was still one of, if not frequently the, best that the heavyweight division had to offer. Rather, I have experienced him as he was in the distant past via the wonders of old fight replays and as he has been for the last several years. The former is by far the preferable.

It did not take long for me to recognize from fight tapes why "The Real Deal" was so beloved. The cruiserweight version of Holyfield may have been the best, but no one ever pays much attention to the cruiserweights; the division, now limited to boxers below 200 lbs., has always been a temporary stop-over for the visibility of fighting the biggest of the big at heavyweight. The cruiserweight Holyfield had it all. He was faster than most everyone, and certainly more powerful. He put together flashy, destructive combinations then nimbly bounced around on the way to throwing more beautiful, devastating flurries. Holyfield eventually succumbed to the temptation of becoming a heavyweight, where his speed still mattered but his power mattered less. It is here where Holyfield became a living legend. Routinely smaller than his gigantic opposition, he fought with such pure guts that he became the people's champion -- the small guy who could step into the ring against a monster like Riddick Bowe and soak up such punishment that it was impossible not to root for him when he stormed back into the fight, as he did in the classic 11th round of their first scrap. By the time he got his long-sought match with Mike Tyson, he'd been through so many vicious wars that people feared he would very likely die should Iron Mike connect with one clean punch. But whereas Buster Douglas' victory over Tyson looked like a fluke in so many ways, Holyfield more than anyone punctured the invincibility of Tyson. In every other fight I've seen of Holyfield's from his glory years -- even those down times when he lost and was suffering from heart conditions and shoulder injuries -- what stood out more than anything is that just when it appeared he was about to lose, he would find a way to reverse it all. The fifth round rally against George Foreman, the knockdown of Bowe in their rubber match... there were so many amazing moments.

The latter way I've experienced Holyfield is as a shell of his former self. When his boxing license was pulled in New York after his listless loss with Larry Donald in 2004, I couldn't have agreed more. All the signs of a magnificent boxing career coming to an end were there: He'd been defeated by a never-was; he looked bad losing, not like he was always clawing toward victory as he was in his defeats of old; and he'd won a total of two fights in five years, losing five and drawing once. Someone needed to pull the plug for Evander, because he wasn't going to do it for himself.

Holyfield insisted, upon his most recent comeback via the states that were willing to license him, that he was merely injured, not shot, and that now he had recovered. He insisted, once again, that he would win the heavyweight title. Even when he clobbered Jeremy Bates in his first two rounds back in the ring in nearly two years, no one was convinced. Bates was an insurance salesman who moonlighted as a boxer, although one who was very good at getting hammered around by better fighters and delivering the occasional dangerous-looking punch. Some of Holyfield's more recent competition was slightly more accomplished, but not a threat to even a B-level heavyweight. The pleas continued. We beg you, Evander, stop fighting. If you think you're going to win a title, you're delusional, and you need to stop getting hit in the head.

Having only moments ago viewed his defeat of Bates for the first time, I can vouch that he looked infinitely better than in his previous unflattering showings, but Bates, by virtue of walking directly into his punches, certainly helped on that account. With each successive win, though, boxing writers have warmed more and more to the idea that the now-44-year-old Holyfield was only injured after all, and that there are heavyweight champions Holyfield might stand a chance to beat in an era of heavyweights among history's worst.

And now he has just that heavyweight: Sultan Ibragimov. Ibragimov is probably the most vulnerable of the four men wearing a championship belt, and once a unification bout fell through with another vulnerable champion, Ruslan Chagaev, Sultan picked Holyfield as a replacement for Oct. 13. Unlike with Mexican warrior Erik Morales, a subject of a recent post, I am going to give Holyfield the benefit of the doubt. I am going to say I believe he will win this fight.

There is a type of athlete unique to boxing that simultaneously provokes thrills and anxiety. He takes unbelievable punishment and soldiers on still. He suffers career depths that are all but insurmountable and somehow surmounts them. He switches from victim to superhuman from round to round, fight to fight, year to year. You grow to love him because of this, but you fear for his life for the same reason. They are the Marco Antonio Barreras, the Aruto Gattis, and yes, the Evander Holyfields. I don't know for sure that Holyfield has more than one big fight in him, if that. But he's proven he has at least a little something left. May he summon it all for the conclusion to his latest, and hopefully last, resurrection.