Despite the taint of blood lust attaching to any boxing fan who emerges from the closet, there are still celebrities who show up when the heavyweight championship is on the line. Still, even the famous fans only tend to confirm boxing's outlaw status -- two of the more notable ringside faces at MSG belonged to Keith Richards and Jack Nicholson (inspiring visions of a truly interesting 12-round bout). Some celebs are probably just past caring, as evidenced when Bo Derek appeared on-screen. "She's, like, 80 now, right?" asked a woman staring up at the TV. A solid rabbit punch and the fight hadn't even begun.

Heavyweight is the glamour class, but these days serious fight fans pay more attention to the lower weight divisions. Undisputed light heavyweight champ Roy Jones Jr. is often called the best fighter currently active. But the hottest division at the moment is definitely welterweight, and it's the home of boxing's hottest star, Oscar de la Hoya, the subject of Tim Kawakami's recent biography, "Golden Boy." The gulf that separates boxing fans from the rest of humanity is best measured by his magic name. Among the faithful, the man is bigger than anyone in the business -- bigger than Tyson, Lewis, Holyfield -- anyone. You can hear the special savor when his name rolls off the tongue of famed ring announcer Michael "Let's get ready to rumble" Buffer: "Here he is ... from East L.A. ... the UN-defeated, WBC WEL-terweight champion of the WIIIIRLD ... The GOALLL-den boy ... OSSS-car de la HOOOOOO-yaaaaaaa ..."

And outside the boxing bubble, there are still many who have never heard of him. In May, when de la Hoya knocked out Oba Carr for his 31st professional victory, I searched the paper the next day for news of the bout. Under the heading "Boxing," there was one story: Mike Tyson was about to get out of jail. Even when boxing has a legitimate superstar to sell, sleaze trumps quality in media reporting every time. This despite the 26-year-old de la Hoya's status as the glamour act of the boxing world, an undefeated warrior who actually gives good interview.

It's the latter quality that often creates boxing superstars. Like Sugar Ray Leonard before him, de la Hoya makes boxing fans feel less guilty about their favorite sport by convincing them that they are watching not homicidal thugs whose career choice is an indictment of the system that made them what they are, but bright, talented young men who know exactly what they're doing and why. De la Hoya's failure to transcend the narrow boxing world may simply reflect the historic difficulty of marketing welterweights. Or it may be a symptom of boxing's current bad odor -- the wider world is accepting no celebrity applications from sluggers just now, unless they're belting horsehide over a ballpark fence. One more reason for boxing fans to hunker down and draw the drapes.

Not surprisingly, charisma like de la Hoya's is rare in the fight game. More common is the type of dull prattle spooled out by fading legend Pernell "Sweet Pea" Whitaker before his February bout against IBF welterweight champ Felix Trinidad. His disconnected ramble is not worth quoting here and, in any case, it was the least of his difficulties.

As it turned out, Whitaker, 35, had big problems with Trinidad, 26, a mighty Puerto Rican puncher with a 35-0 record who easily dominated the former champ. Trinidad's victory set up a long-awaited battle Sept. 18 against the somewhat more polished de la Hoya. That's the kind of matchup that might even give boxing a good name someday. The fascination with seeing which fighter's contrasting strengths will win out easily rises above mere blood lust. Larger meanings come naturally when the game is as elemental as this: Use your feet to survive and your fists to destroy.

It's a reminder that once upon a time boxing was central to public life, celebrated by romantic scribes as the Sweet Science, the purest of all sporting contests. For all its perceived brutality, there is no other sport that speaks so clearly about basic human strengths, both in victory and defeat. Thirty-seven "Rocky" movies can't be wrong.

ESPN2 viewers can still tap in to that bygone enthusiasm courtesy of Max Kellerman, co-host of "Friday Night Fights." "I'm bouncing off the walls tonight," Kellerman pointed out helpfully during a recent broadcast. Accompanied by straight man Brian Kenny, Kellerman is the Quentin Tarantino of the boxing world, a young guy who seems to have been working at the boxing store all his life and consequently has an arm-waving opinion about everything. Most boxing telecasts are like telethons to fight sickle-cell anemia -- you know that any celebrity who shows up probably has a sister with the disease. Likewise, anybody on a boxing show has probably taken a few shots to the head, or at least sat in a corner barking like Burgess Meredith: "Come on, Rock! He's killin' ya!"

But Kellerman, 24, simply appears to be a young guy who loves boxing and wants to talk about it. In fact, never mind Tarantino -- Kellerman is pugilism's Little Stevie Wonder. He's had his own show on Manhattan cable since he was 16, and he's done Letterman. Not only is his enthusiasm infectious, his voluminous knowledge about current contenders and past greats is a reminder that boxing is bigger than Don King and the scandal du jour.

For a wider audience, it's still only the heavyweights who can put boxing back on center stage. Holyfield-Lewis caught the world's attention, and it would be just boxing's luck. By the time the two battlers left their dressing rooms, the smoky little Vancouver back room was full of fans, even a few women. (They enjoy the advantage of needing no apology, not to mention the balm of considerable male gratitude for their legitimizing presence.) Viewers had been treated to a few lopsided preliminary bouts and a bizarre spiel by King himself, evidently positioning himself for a run at messiah-hood. "This is the resurrection of boxing," he proclaimed to the camera. "I humbly submit that I love each and every one of you."

"Everybody loves you, Don," gushed the announcer hired by Don King Productions, to the man whose image on the Madison Square Garden screen had inspired torrents of jeers moments before.

Unfortunately, the fight itself was another shit sandwich for the sport. The much larger Lewis clearly dominated throughout, but in uninspiring fashion. It appeared he would accomplish the astounding feat of winning the undisputed heavyweight championship without gaining much respect in the process. As it turned out, he would not be granted even that. The contest was scored a draw, thanks in large part to Eugenia Williams' impression of a Russian skating judge. Williams, a veteran boxing jurist from New Jersey, somehow decided that Holyfield won more rounds than Lewis, including even the lopsided fifth round, in which Holyfield ate dozens of shots and delivered very few. In the Vancouver back room there was disgust but an alarming lack of surprise. By some odd coincidence, low-down weaseling often transpires when Don King's around, and there he was at the post-fight press conference, talking up the rematch and doing his best demonic-puppet-master cackle. Nobody does it better.

However, that rematch, tentatively set for Nov. 6 in Vegas, has hit a stumbling block, one that neatly skewers King's "What, me sleazy?" act. The New York Times reported Saturday that King is haggling with Time Warner, parent company of HBO and boxing channel TVKO, over a clause in the rematch contract. It stipulates King will be removed as lead promoter should he be indicted for any illegalities stemming from the first fight. King wants that particular provision dropped. Considering that King's Deerfield Beach, Fla., offices were searched by the FBI last Friday, his negotiating stance is understandable. If O.J. Simpson had possessed enough foresight to ask for a double-murder clause, he'd still be doing Hertz ads today.

The FBI raid related to an investigation of the IBF (International Boxing Federation) by the U.S. Attorney's office in Newark, N.J., over allegations of illegal payments and kickbacks in exchange for rankings. (Francois Botha, Mike Tyson's last opponent, was ranked the No. 9 heavyweight in the world by the IBF before he ever fought a heavyweight bout.) Coincidentally, judge Eugenia Williams was on the Lewis-Holyfield panel as the representative of the IBF.

Maybe the fix will be in with De La Hoya, too -- surely no one in the boxing hierarchy wants to kill the golden-goose boy. But for all its ugly flaws, boxing is not pro wrestling. The better fighter generally prevails on merit, and even when he's robbed there is at least a good-sized firestorm afterward. Yes, there will be more sad Tyson fights and more apparently engineered rip-offs. But when Oscar de la Hoya and Felix Trinidad climb into the ring in September, I know which dumpy little room my ass will be parked in. I'm already dreaming up an alibi to tell my friends.