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In defense of boxing | page 1, 2
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. Buy "Golden Boy" by Tim Kawakami 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.
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