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.

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.

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.

Giving The Devil His Due And Two Other Thoughts

• Wrap-up. I'll comment more once I (reluctantly) view the fight on replay, but all accounts suggest Bernard Hopkins-Winky Wright was slightly better than the worst big fight of all time, as I feared it might be. Some are discounting Hopkins' win, arguing that Hopkins essentially defeated a smaller guy, and not very convincingly, who was moving from the middleweight limit of 160 lbs. to fight Hopkins at 170 lbs, thereby proving nothing. True, true, in part. But let's not forget who this little guy is: One of the most flummoxing, avoided defensive fighters of the last couple decades. Humiliator of all-time greats Shane Mosley and Tito Trinidad, and on some scorecards, conqueror of fan favorite Fernando Vargas and Jermain Taylor, the latter being the one who dethroned Hopkins' long middleweight reign. A man who hasn't been beaten in more than seven years. Pound for pound, no worse than the third best active fighter around on most unofficial lists. And a hall-of-famer. Yes, I'd rather endure waterboarding than watch Hopkins in action. But I don't know how this doesn't rise to the level of a significant accomplishment by a 42-year-old man. That he did this in part with a -- perhaps -- intentional headbutt is not surprising; the essence of Hopkins is that he finds a way. It doesn't make me like him any more, but how he did it matters less than that he did.
• Preview. In its beneficence, HBO has deigned to broadcast the Wright-Hopkins replay with another event that no one asked for, Carlos Baldomir versus Vernon Forrest, live. There's a lot to like about Baldomir, no relation to anyone from Middle Earth. He used to sell mops in the streets of Argentina to get by, and as a massive underdog, he upset Zab Judah, along the way nearly knocking him out and making him do that hilarious little dance he does when he gets staggered by a good punch... the one that resembles a puppet getting its strings entangled. And Forrest is praised for his devotion to charity work. But Baldomir is not the world's most exciting fighter -- he's an all-out plodder with little knockout power. And Forrest looks like he has never recovered from the shoulder problems that sidelined him for so long. I'm going to pick Baldomir to out-hustle Forrest on the way to a decision, although I could see Forrest keeping his distance and out-boxing him from the perimeter.
• Update. My pick accuracy is abysmal so far, such that readers might not know of my amazing precognitive powers in predicting things like, for example, Ricky Hatton easily defeating a shot Jose Luis Castillo recently in anything but a candidate for fight of the year, as it was hyped. However, I've synced nicely at times with far more experienced boxing writers. Just today, MaxBoxing's Doug Fischer wrote, in response to a reader's description of Hopkins that was a near-carbon copy of mine, "Regarding Hopkins, I think this line sums it up best: "Now, all Bernard can do is make just enough contact to win rounds, and enough rounds to win a fight." Last week, the New York Post's George Willis, hot now off his NBA referee scandal scoop, noted that Paul Williams would have a rougher time with Miguel Cotto than he did Antonio Margarito, for the same reasons I cited -- although many writers believe everyone will avoid Williams now. Unless Margarito gets a rematch with Williams or the Cotto fight he would have earned by beating Williams, it looks like I'll be in good company with Yahoo's Kevin Iole, formerly of the Las Vegas Review-Journal and one of the better-regarded boxing writers around, who wrote, "He couldn't get the big names in the ring when he had a world title, and he's certainly not going to get them now." Williams' championship heart, one of my central points in the post-fight wrap-up, got headline status the Orange County Register: "Williams shows plenty of heart." ESPN's Dan Rafael remarked, as I did, that Alfonso Gomez scrapping with Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. would make some decent dough. Most every expert would like to see Williams rumble with Kermit Cintron, if neither can get a bigger fight. And while I was off in my predictions, I've proven astute in explaining the reasons why I might end up wrong. Williams' fresher legs against Margarito, Arturo Gatti's size deficit against Gomez and Wright moving up in weight too swiftly to take on Hopkins all were major factors in the outcome of their respective bouts.

Carlos Baldomir has an, um, remarkable get-up that he wears into the ring... Oh, wait. that's Boromir from Lord of the Rings. (From canmag.com)























If you look closely, you can see Vernon Forrest hiding in the... Ahh, I now see the mistake I made here with this one. (From desktopscenes.com)