DE LA HOYA GETS HIS FOOT IN THE DOOR
ROY JONES: OLD AND IMPROVED
WHAT IT MEANS IF DE LA HOYA WINS
WHAT IT MEANS IF FORBES WINS
DENY, DENY, DENY
CORNERING MAYWEATHER
WELTERWEIGHT & LIGHT HEAVY TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS
CONTENDER ALUMNI GROWING UP
JOEL CASAMAYOR, WORLD LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION—STILL
THE FIGHTING MARQUEZ BROTHERS: AT AN IMPASSE
NATE CAMPBELL: NO REVERSE GEAR
VAZQUEZ-MARQUEZ: OUR TRILOGY
VAZQUEZ, MARQUEZ, KLITSCHKO CUT FROM DIFFERENT CLOTHS
JERMAIN TAYLOR AND THE BITTEREST PILL
JERMAIN TAYLOR: A CHANGED MAN?
13 REASONS BOXING IS BETTER THAN FOOTBALL
LITTLE HEAVYWEIGHTS: WELCOME BACK
ROY JONES: VISIONS OF YOUTH RESTORED
MAYWEATHER-DE LA HOYA II: THE WORLD SNORES
BOXING AS KILLER AND SAVIOR
FLOYD MAYWEATHER NAMED FIGHTER OF THE YEAR
16 PREDICTIONS FOR 2008
HOLIDAY MAILBAG
HOPKINS PLAYS THE RACE CARD
HATTON AND GREAT BRITAIN: PERFECT TOGETHER
THE SELLING OF MAYWEATHER-HATTON
VARGAS: A WELL-EARNED GOODBYE
MAYORGA PROVES BAD IS GOOD FOR BUSINESS
COTTO: TWO FIGHTERS IN ONE, BOTH SUPERB
PAVLIK REQUIRES 100 STITCHES FOR CUT HANDS
MIGUEL COTTO vs. SHANE MOSLEY: Analyzing Saturday’s Welterweight Showdown
IN PRAISE OF JOE
CALZAGHE-KESSLER: GIVING CREDIT WHERE IT’S DUE
CASAMAYOR-DIAZ IS THE FIGHT AT LIGHTWEIGHT
HOLYFIELD NEVER NEEDED PROTECTING FROM HIMSELF
BARRERA & McCLINE: OPPORTUNITIES LOST
IN LOSING TITLE, TAYLOR WINS SOMETHING ELSE
AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM OUR EDITOR
JERMAIN TAYLOR’S IDENTITY CRISIS
IT COULDA BEEN A CONTENDA
RING ACQUIRED BY GOLDEN BOY ENTERPRISES SUBSIDIARY
WAITING ON PANCHITO’S LAST CHANCE
RICARDO TORRES & SECOND CHANCES
GOOD TIMES FOR BOXING AND THE RING
RICARDO MAYORGA: A VILLAIN FOR ALL SEASONS
TITO’S RETIREMENT NEVER HAD A CHANCE
THE FILIPINOS ARE COMING! THE FILIPINOS ARE COMING!
MORALES’ FUTURE WHERE IT SHOULD BE: IN HIS OWN HANDS
A LITTLE COMPETITION NEVER HURTS
HOPKINS STILL FINDING HIS HEROES
WILLIAMS: THAT HE HADN’T DIDN’T MEAN HE COULDN’T
KLITSCHKO-BREWSTER: A WIN FOR BOTH
SUMMERTIME MAILBAG

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DE LA HOYA GETS HIS FOOT IN THE DOOR (May 5, 2008)

By William Dettloff

To the extent that Oscar De La Hoya’s win over Steve Forbes in California Saturday night was an infomercial for his rematch with Floyd Mayweather, it worked. It did for me, at least.

That’s not to say De La Hoya so impressed me that I’d favor him over Mayweather or that I buy his prefight claim that, after 43 pro fights and a couple hundred amateur he finally learned to relax in the ring.

There’s always some breakthrough or revelation with him that compels him to declare beforehand that he’s in the best shape of his life. And then he deflates down the stretch. You know how it goes. It’s marketing.

I’m gullible, but not so much that I expect De La Hoya to do to Mayweather what he did to Forbes. For one, Forbes is no Mayweather. If that wasn’t evident by the fight’s midway point, by when it was clear Forbes would be content with lasting the distance, it certainly was in the moments after the fight ended, when he could be seen laughing and joking with his cornermen.

Talk about handling a loss graciously. I don’t profess to know Mayweather all that well, but I get the sense he’d sooner lop off a leg than lose to De La Hoya—especially with his father on the other side of the ring looking at him. And if he did lose, he wouldn’t be laughing about it.

One of the many things that makes Mayweather special is a nearly pathological refusal to lose. All the great ones have it—until they’ve lost a couple times.

De La Hoya didn’t do anything to show me he will beat Mayweather, but he didn’t do anything to rule it out, either. To the contrary, his jab looked as fast and as stiff as ever. He moved pretty well on his feet for a 35-year-old. He threw nice, tight combinations with lots of nifty, short little uppercuts and left hooks. And he wasn’t gasping at the end.

De La Hoya looked good. Not so good, even against a second-rater like Forbes, that I would pick him against Mayweather, but good enough that the possibility can be entertained. Good enough to have created the old legal standard, a reasonable doubt.

"The Golden Boy’s" infomercial didn’t make the sale. Not against Steve Forbes. But it got his foot in the door. And as any good salesman will tell you, that’s half the battle.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

Jeff Mayweather seems a nice guy and all, but I’ve yet to hear him impart any useful between-rounds advice to anyone.

Much to the dismay of our friends over at maxboxing.com, there were no phony-baloney titles at stake during De La Hoya-Forbes. Cripes, how are these fighters supposed to make any money?

In a related story, representatives of the WBC deny reports that Jose Sulaiman was seen in The Home Depot Center stands instigating brawls that he then offered to sanction as title fights in exchange for a fee.

Nicole Scherzinger: Hottest rendering of "The Star Spangled Banner" ever.

Who else is mildly surprised that Johnny Tapia, who pulled out of a scheduled comeback fight on Friday night, is still above ground?

The only reason Evander Holyfield hasn’t formally announced his retirement is Mike Tyson isn’t completely broke yet.

If Golden Boy Promotions is so concerned about how business will be after their stars retire, why do they keep putting together such deplorable undercards?

Good for Andre Dirrell and Joel Julio for taking potentially dangerous fights and winning them in good form.

So exactly how many WBA cruiserweight "champions" are there now—17? 18?

More proof that bulging biceps don’t win fights: Firat Arslan’s relatively easy win over Darnell Wilson in Germany on Saturday.

Bernard Hopkins managed to get on camera about 117 times during the De La Hoya-Forbes telecast. Sure. He’ll retire.

ROY JONES: OLD AND IMPROVED (April 28, 2008)

By William Dettloff

Show business, like its not too distant cousin, prizefighting, is busting with axioms. One from the old days goes like this: Be good to the people you meet on the way up, because you’re going to meet the same ones on the way down.

It’s good advice for fighters, who are all but guaranteed to finish up about where they started. They never see it that way, though. Most of the gifted ones burn bridges on the way up, and if they’re good and lucky enough to stay at the top for a while, they take the ashes and blow them into the wind.

Bridges? We don’t need no stinkin’ bridges.

Which brings us to Roy Jones.

Those who tired quickly of Jones’ prima donna act in the glory days must be giddy at the sight of the once pound-for-pound king all but groveling for a shot—in Wales, no less—at super middleweight and light heavyweight champion Joe Calzaghe.

This from a guy who, at the top of his game, simply refused to face the less formidable Dariusz Micalczewski, though there was good reason to, and whom by most credible estimates he’d have beaten easily.

Many believe Jones wasted the largest part of his prime avoiding big fights. But with the exception of Micalczewski, he thoroughly cleaned out a light heavyweight division that happened to be weak, yes, but was no weaker than the middleweight class Bernard Hopkins was similarly decimating. (And, for the record, it was far superior to the detritus over which Calzaghe was presiding.)

Still, with the exception of his win over John Ruiz, Jones was largely content to do most things the easy way, and that didn’t change until he decided to give Antonio Tarver a rematch. We all know what happened then.

Fast forward to the present: Jones, still aglow with a rediscovered and probably ill-informed pride and vigor since his win over Felix Trinidad in January, attended Calzaghe’s ugly win over Hopkins last week in Las Vegas. Afterward, he lobbied hard, trusted sources tell me, making his case for a Calzaghe fight. And he used a surprise weapon: charm.

Gone was the too-cool-for-the-room Jones who, back in the 1990s, would sit through a two-hour interview and refuse to smile or even attempt to appear interested. This is a new, friendly, accessible Roy Jones who is all of the sudden on ESPN a lot getting interviewed and making nice with Calzaghe and reporters and showing up on time for appointments.

Maybe this is a ploy by Jones for something else. Maybe he’ll price himself out of the fight, though there are rumors already that it will happen in November. I hope it does. I like this new, humble (and maybe delusional) Roy Jones. I hope he stays around a while.

Some random observations from last week:

So does Jesse Feliciano not care what happens to his brain when he gets hit so much like that, or is he too muddled already, at 25, to get it?

I don’t know which is more embarrassing—that Jose Sulaiman is in the International Boxing Hall of Fame or that the Parade of Champions Grand Marshals this year are Pat Cooper and Ed “Too Tall” Jones. Who’s on tap for 2009, Soupy Sales and Bubba Smith?

Anyone looking to make a Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. vs. Hector Camacho Jr. match for the novelty of it should be ashamed. That would make the fight between their old men—in which Chavez pummeled Camacho almost sympathetic over 12 one-sided rounds—seem competitive.

Thanks goodness Trinidad, according to reports, has passed on a fight with Jermain Taylor. No one needs to watch Tito take punches anymore for no good reason.

The one question I have after watching HBO’s countdown to De La Hoya-Forbes: How long did it take Floyd Mayweather Sr. to memorize that entire poem? That was amazing.

I would gladly pay my cable carrier cash money for the pleasure of hearing Roger Mayweather’s expert analysis from ringside.

Raise your hand, if, like me, you forgot that Paul Spadafora is undefeated.

It is very shrewd indeed of Dana White to prohibit Anderson Silva from facing Jones in a boxing match. Brilliant bastard.

If it happens that Calzaghe meets and defeats Jones, there will be no end to this “Legend Killer” nonsense. When the combined age of the two legends in question is almost that of a rookie Las Vegas fight judge, it just doesn’t mean as much. Sad but true.

So Keith Kizer and the Nevada Commission found “no evidence that an eight-ounce glove would be significantly less safe than a 10-ounce glove” at the very same time that Bob Arum was out there trying to convince them of that exact thing. What a marvelous coincidence.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

WHAT IT MEANS IF DE LA HOYA WINS (April 28, 2008)

By Don Stewart

Although some of us can only pray we’ll be as youthful at 58, an aging Bruce Springsteen is starting to show some of the wear-and-tear that comes with a life spent entertaining. His concerts are getting shorter, but his ticket prices are getting higher. Still, “The Boss” packs them in, thanks to a dedicated fan base and the ability to attract others who just want to see a good show.

There are parallels between Oscar De La Hoya and an aging rock star like Springsteen. At 35, De La Hoya’s “Golden Boy” looks, smile, and charisma are as strong as ever. His fights, however, come less often these days. The wins come even less frequently. Yet Oscar remains one of the few sure things in the sport when it comes to packing venues and attracting viewers, thanks to a loyal fan base and the ability to draw those who just want to see a good fight.

Still, sports and music are two distinct industries. Unlike some musicians, our athletes don’t get better with age. The De La Hoyas, the Trinidads, the Holyfields, they could battle into their 50s and still attract mainstream interest because of their names. But at what point do the fading stars become less of a source of excitement and more of a spark for nostalgia?

It’s far too early to place De La Hoya in the relic category. Just a year ago, he came within two rounds on two judges’ cards of beating the best pound-for-pound fighter on the planet in an event that shattered every pay-per-view record. There’s still reason to get excited about a De La Hoya fight. It’s why Saturday’s bout against Steve Forbes in Carson, California, will draw a huge crowd to The Home Depot Center and am enormous HBO audience.

Forbes should be an easy first down in De La Hoya's three-and-out plan, with a September rematch with Floyd Mayweather and a farewell fight to follow sometime thereafter. But the pressure is on De La Hoya to do more than just beat Forbes, to prove he’s no washed-up former champ just cashing in on his name. A victory against Forbes is supposed to be a given. But if De La Hoya gets past Forbes with a pedestrian performance reminiscent of, say, his 2004 escape against Felix Sturm, how eager will the casual fan be to plunk down another $55 for Act Two of a fight that wasn’t exactly Hagler-Hearns the first time around?

De La Hoya, who was the aggressor throughout against Mayweather, has put the onus on “Pretty Boy” for the less-than-scintillating action last spring. True as that might be, a stinker of a win against the crafty Forbes could do almost as much damage to the Mayweather rematch as an upset loss.

It could come down to inspiration. In 2006, 20 months after his loss to Bernard Hopkins, De La Hoya booked agitator Ricardo Mayorga for his comeback fight. It was a brilliant choice. Mayorga’s trash-talking motivated De La Hoya, who blasted out the Nicaraguan in six rounds. Forbes, on the other hand, is candid and confident, but not the type to give an opponent any added incentive to pummel him.

For his part, De La Hoya said all the right things after the Forbes fight was announced in late-February. He mentioned training like a young contender, going back to camp at Big Bear, avoiding a repeat of the near-debacle with Sturm. De La Hoya has also reunited with trainer Floyd Mayweather Sr.

Maybe De La Hoya, the businessman, realizes what’s at stake here, that The Golden Boy is at risk of being dubbed “The Olden Boy” if he doesn't shine May 3. To help his cause, he made a careful selection in Forbes, who doesn’t figure to have the size or strength to pull the upset.

The flip side of that is if De La Hoya wins ugly, or boring, against a guy he’s supposed to dominate, it will be almost as detrimental to him as a loss. The last thing a former champ with three losses in his last five fights needs is an uninspired effort on a big stage against someone with the same name as a geeky billionaire.

With a forgettable win, De La Hoya remains a big star with big drawing power, but how does that help promote the Mayweather rematch? And if the Mayweather rematch is a commercial dud, how does that help the sport? The pressure is clearly on De La Hoya to make it look pretty against Forbes, to prove he can still provide a thrill, that he’s no faded remnant of his former self.

An impressive win revitalizes De La Hoya the fighter as a serious player at the top level of the sport. It adds some spark to the Mayweather rematch. It fuels speculation about whom he might meet in that farewell bout—Felix Trinidad? Ricky Hatton? Manny Pacquiao? Basically, it sustains De La Hoya’s superstardom.

That can only be good for a sport that needs all the star power it can get. No, boxing doesn’t need a dominant De La Hoya to “save” it. Pacquiao, Hatton, Miguel Cotto, and Kelly Pavlik are among the younger guns who have emerged as guaranteed draws. American stars are precious commodities, though, and De La Hoya remains the most popular fighter in the U.S. An impressive win against Forbes keeps him ahead of Pavlik and Mayweather in that regard.

What’s good for boxing is good for De La Hoya’s business interests. Like an old band hitting the road one last time, his farewell tour will generate plenty of revenue. But De La Hoya knows it will bring in much more if he can prove that he can still excite, that he’s more than just a novelty act relying on his name to sell tickets.

WHAT IT MEANS IF FORBES WINS (April 28, 2008)

By Don Stewart

Steve Forbes has called this a real-life Rocky story. That might be understating it a bit. For Forbes, landing a shot at Oscar De La Hoya is kind of like a presidential candidate digging up a councilman from Paducah or Sheboygan to be his running mate.

“The Golden Boy” remains boxing’s most visible star and its top draw. Who could have envisioned that Forbes, a likeable but unheralded former junior lightweight beltholder, would be De La Hoya’s first opponent after last year’s record-shattering showdown with Floyd Mayweather?

Apparently, not even Forbes. The Las Vegas-based Oregon native reportedly thought someone was playing a prank when he was told he’d been picked as De La Hoya's opponent for Saturday’s fight at The Home Depot Center in Carson, California.

Seriously, we’re talking about a tough but light-punching 140-pounder who enjoyed his widest exposure on Season Two of The Contender, a hard-luck vet of 38 pro fights who is running a cleaning business on the side to help pay the bills. By getting De La Hoya, Forbes became that random mill-worker who hit the Powerball.

It’s an interesting choice for De La Hoya, but there are reasons he picked Forbes. This is the same Forbes who couldn’t quite get past Grady Brewer in The Contender finale, the same Forbes who hasn’t scored a knockout since 2005. Forbes isn’t supposed to be in the same chapter as De La Hoya, let alone the same sentence.

De La Hoya has big plans as he finishes his career, and Forbes is expected to provide nothing more than a good workout on Oscar’s march back to Mayweather and beyond. But with any long shot, there’s always that what-if? question. What if Forbes stuns the boxing world Saturday?

If he beats De La Hoya, you’ll be sure to see plenty of stories about how Forbes heaved another heap of dirt on boxing’s coffin, courtesy of the same hacks who give us the tired “fight to save boxing” or “heavyweights all suck nowadays” angles whenever they have to write about the sport. A Forbes win wouldn’t necessarily be a disaster for boxing, though.

Let’s start with the guy who’s supposed to win. The assumption would be that the embarrassment of a loss to the feather-fisted Forbes would be enough for De La Hoya to call it quits. Boxing’s biggest name would be done. The rematch with Mayweather would be toast, as would any farewell fight Oscar was thinking about.

Or would it? Erik Morales went ahead and took on Manny Pacquiao (twice) after dropping a decision to Zahir Raheem in a supposed tuneup in 2005. Mayweather still fought Zab Judah in 2006 after Judah was stunned by Carlos Baldomir. Felix Trinidad lost to Roy Jones in January, but his name was dropped as a potential opponent for middleweight champ Kelly Pavlik this summer.

Sure, some luster would be lost from Mayweather-De La Hoya II. But De La Hoya could write it off as a Felix Sturm type of effort and move on. Maybe his going-away fight could be a rematch with Forbes. Whatever he does, fans will still pay to watch. At 35, De La Hoya can only add to his legacy at this point.

It’s all about name recognition, and Oscar still has it. De La Hoya fighting off pay-per-view represents one of the biggest events in the sport this year, despite the fact that he’s lost three of his last five bouts and is coming off another year-long layoff. Even with a loss, De La Hoya would have options.

So a Forbes win wouldn’t necessarily break De La Hoya, but there’s no doubt it would make Forbes.

Being the feel-good underdog might make for some nice press clips in the weeks leading up to the fight, but it doesn’t mean much if said underdog is utterly embarrassed (see Peter McNeely vs. Mike Tyson). There’s nothing, however, quite like when that long shot comes through. Jimmy Braddock, Buster Douglas, Appalachian State. When Everyman takes down Superman, it gives hope for some that anything’s possible. Maybe, less dramatically, it just reminds us that there’s a reason they fight the fights.

If maneuvered correctly, the 31-year-old Forbes should be able to ride an upset of De La Hoya into at least one more substantial payday, possibly a shot at junior welterweight champ Ricky Hatton or a rematch with De La Hoya. True superstardom would be tougher to come by. Forbes can be fun, but he lacks the type of power that keeps fans from running to the bathroom. Still, it would be a life-changing win, one that would make him the second-richest guy named Steve Forbes.

It is a long shot, though. Forbes will be fighting a bigger, stronger opponent in front of a partisan crowd. He’ll have to find a way to outbox De La Hoya convincingly enough to win over the judges.

But Forbes is a natural in the underdog role, having earned his nickname, “2 Pounds,” from the fact that he weighed just two pounds at birth. Should De La Hoya lose, there would be much weeping and gnashing of teeth from the doomsayers, but why couldn’t people get excited about his unlikely conqueror? De La Hoya is supposed to be on his way out anyway, right? Maybe Forbes isn’t the young stud most would envision as the ideal candidate for the passing of the torch, but we’d settle for an underdog hero instead. And that torch might still be passed in a roundabout way.

He doesn’t have to go, but if De La Hoya does decide to walk away, boxing would lose the lucrative Mayweather rematch. In that case, the sport could win by losing. The elimination of De La Hoya as an opponent could finally convince Mayweather to meet rising star Miguel Cotto. The Mayweather-Cotto winner would likely assume the mantle of boxing’s top star. An ideal ending for Forbes’ real-life Rocky story? Maybe not, but it won't be the death of boxing, either.

DENY, DENY, DENY (April 21, 2008)

By William Dettloff

Following his loss to Joe Calzaghe Saturday night, Bernard Hopkins, who is nothing if not a kind of politician, tried to use his considerable powers of persuasion to convince everyone that they had seen something they clearly had not.

"I wanted him to run into my shots," Hopkins said. "I think I made him do that, and I think I made it look pretty easy. I think I controlled the pace, and I controlled the fight."

Politicians do this sort of thing all the time.

What most of us saw was a competitive, close fight (from my recliner I scored it 115-114 for Calzaghe) that Hopkins controlled early, but whose tempo and choreography came under Calzaghe’s control about midway through and only in the briefest moments thereafter swayed back the other way.

One such moment came in the 10th round after Hopkins, obviously stalling either to slow Calzaghe’s burgeoning momentum or to gain a respite for his 43-year-old lungs, feigned real injury after what appeared to be a harmless cuff to his "privates" (or "junk" to those of you under 30 years old and in need of translation).

Whatever the motivation, the delay energized Hopkins sufficiently to get his hands moving, and for the first time in several rounds he was able to bang off a couple of combinations. But even that demonstrated that Calzaghe had succeeded in getting Hopkins to fight in the way that he wanted.

Calzaghe is especially good at drawing opponents into the kind of small-arms firefight that favors the Welshman’s odd, aesthetically displeasing but irrefutably effective style. His unusual combination of blazing hand speed, stout jaw, superb stamina, and southpaw stance conspire to render irrelevant (and then some) his amateurish propensity for slinging arm punches.

That at his age Hopkins was able to floor Calzaghe, as he did in the opening round, and to control the early rounds too is testament to his remaining, if dwindling, presence in the ring, where, in the end, politicking can take you only so far.

That so much late money came in on Hopkins, knocking the odds from 4-1 down to 2-1 by fight time is evidence of his ability to sway the minds of even the fight-betting crowd. You could say a lot of that was bet with the heart, but Hopkins has never been the kind of fighter (or the kind of personality) that engenders that kind of affection.

Those who came over to Hopkins’ side in the final days—even those who had favored Calzaghe all along—did so at the strength of his conviction and of the memory of having been proved wrong by him in the past.

As occurs to all politicians eventually, Hopkins let slip what he really thought when he said that he did what he wanted to for "half" the fight, and that he knew he had nothing of which to be ashamed.

It happens to the best of them. And he was right on both counts.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

If ever there was a rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” that warranted booing, it was the one that preceded Calzaghe-Hopkins. Where are Ricky Hatton’s fans when you need them?

I remain perplexed by all of the moral outrage over Hopkins’ "white boy" comment. Oh, boo-hoo. Haven’t any of you ever seen The Great White Hype, or White Men Can’t Jump? When did we all get so damned sensitive?

In 1989, long before I had ever been published in a boxing magazine, Michael Buffer very graciously met with me for an interview whose transcript I hoped to sell to KO magazine. The article didn’t get published (I still have the rejection letter from Steve Farhood; call me a sentimentalist), but it is largely for this reason that I was happy to hear Buffer, who has hit a rough spot, in fine voice on Saturday night.

All right, when is someone going to tell Antwun Echols he’s completely shot?

A couple of years ago I wrote a piece suggesting that O’Neil Bell might be on his way to becoming a latter day Matthew Saad Muhammad. I apologize to Saad Muhammad, unreservedly.

Kevin Johnson-Terry Smith went the distance? No way!

So Arthur Abraham, who already fought Edison Miranda once and got a busted jaw for his trouble, has signed to fight him again. What does that tell you about Mikkel Kessler?

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

CORNERING MAYWEATHER (April 14, 2008)

By William Dettloff

Let’s count ourselves lucky that if Floyd Mayweather seems more interested these days in play-fighting than in facing his most serious challengers, Miguel Cotto and Antonio Margarito are not similarly inclined. As they demonstrated (and not for the first time) on Saturday night in Atlantic City, they are fighters all the way through.

You could make the case that Cotto proved little by bludgeoning poor, outgunned Alfonso Gomez, but he handled him exactly as he was supposed to and thus exhibited the vast gulf that exists between him and a great number of other welterweights. Moreover, no upper-tier fighter doing business today has faced solid competition more consistently than has Cotto. To the extent that Gomez was an easy payday, Cotto earned it in advance.

Margarito’s mugging of Kermit Cintron was no less impressive for its similar inevitability. That he walked through any number of booming right hands to chop Cintron down is testament to his will and to his unshakable confidence in his own toughness.

That taking punches is not Cintron’s strong suit does not diminish his standing as a prodigious puncher whose right hand has pulverized lesser welterweights, but never once discouraged Margarito’s forward progress.

It seems unfair that these two prime, fearless prizefighters should now be required to further prove themselves by fighting one another, while Mayweather plays footsies with professional wrestlers and awaits the big money-grab that is his rematch with an undeserving, 35-year-old Oscar De La Hoya.

Cotto was perfectly deserving of a shot at Mayweather (maybe a little too perfectly) even before his win over Shane Mosley last November. And certainly Margarito’s performance against Cintron qualifies him as well. A fight between them eliminates a worthy challenger.

Of course, Mayweather hasn’t said a word about meeting the winner of Cotto-Margarito, which is scheduled now for July 26. And we shouldn’t complain that Cotto and Margarito are facing off—there’s not a better fight to be made in boxing.

But in a fairer world, they wouldn’t have to face one another in order to corner Mayweather into a fight.

In a fairer world, he’d have fought them already.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

Right after Joe Calzaghe beat Mikkel Kessler, I was convinced he’d do the same to Bernard Hopkins. Now I’m not as certain. Hopkins has a way of shutting guys down, and if there’s anyone that can shut down Calzaghe, it’s the old man.

For what it’s worth, off TV I scored the Chad Dawson-Glen Johnson match a draw.

So the IBF has granted Wladimir Klitschko an “exception” so he can fight Tony Thompson. Can someone grant him an exception to being boring?

Karen Bryant, to my surprise, did a very solid job conducting the postfight interviews in Tampa. Still, it always seems a waste not to have Al Bernstein up there. No one does that job better.

If the IBF title is worth so much, why did Clinton Woods hand it over so agreeably?

Speedo has invented a bathing suit that’s so buoyant that the competitive swimmers who wear it are breaking records left and right. To all of you who worry that Babe Ruth is in heaven right now crying into his shot glass over steroids in sports: How exactly is wearing that bathing suit different from taking performance enhancing drugs?

The news that ESPN has canceled The Contender is bad only if you believe that last season (with the exception of a thrilling finale) wasn’t insufferably pedestrian.

Buddy McGirt’s kid has a very bright future ahead of him in some field that doesn’t involve getting punched on the jaw.

One more note about the “revelation” that Luis Resto used plaster of paris on his hands before his infamous fight with Billy Collins Jr.: A dear friend reminded me that in 1964, Boxing Illustrated conducted an experiment in response to the old Doc Kearns claim that Jack Dempsey’s gloves were loaded with plaster of paris prior to his butchering of Jess Willard. They wrapped the hands of heavyweight puncher Cleveland Williams, soaked them in plaster of paris, let them dry, and had Williams hit the heavybag five times. The stuff crumbled to bits on impact. As a weapon, it was entirely useless.

The lesson: Be suspicious whenever some new angle to an old story is revealed at the same time that a related film is being marketed.

Has Glen Johnson stopped sweating yet?

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

WELTERWEIGHT & LIGHT HEAVY TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS (April 7, 2008)

By William Dettloff

While it is lamentable that HBO and Showtime have chosen yet again to put on shows opposing one another next weekend, there’s no getting past the happy circumstance that there is real and productive business taking place in Atlantic City, New Jersey, and Tampa, Florida, respectively. Seven of the eight fighters involved are rated in the top 10 of their divisions by THE RING.

Consider it a bonus that it is highly unlikely that any of the four featured bouts will require the use of metal folding chairs, posses, or brass knuckles to produce a satisfactory conclusion. That combined the two cards will generate a small fraction of the revenue drummed up by Floyd Mayweather’s “knockout” of a bearded airbus in tights is unfortunate but inevitable: Fantasy always will trump reality at the box office (and with good reason).

Nevertheless, Miguel Cotto-Alfonso Gomez, Antonio Margarito-Kermit Cintron, Antonio Tarver-Clinton Woods, and Chad Dawson-Glen Johnson is an outstanding weekend in boxing, even if seeing it all will require that you use your VCR for something other than watching dirty movies while your wife is at her mother’s for the weekend.

The least productive contest clearly is Cotto-Gomez, which is seen largely as a placeholder for Cotto while he waits to get Mayweather in a ring. That it takes place on the same card as Margarito-Cintron shouldn’t be seen as a prelude to a fight to determine Mayweather’s most worthy challenger. That would be an insult to the good work Cotto has already done. He is Mayweather’s top challenger, and nothing short of a knockout loss to Gomez changes it. That almost certainly will not happen.

Cintron’s rematch with Margarito might be the most interesting fight of the weekend for the psychological question it begs: Can Cintron avoid freezing the way he did when Margarito mugged and terrorized him in five one-sided rounds in 2005? Clearly he’s a better fighter now, but that’s not the question. The question is if he’s emotionally stronger. I say no, at least not so much that he will be able to withstand Margarito’s indefatigable aggression without a similar, though delayed, collapse.

The Showtime card is no less productive, matching The Ring’s second, third, fourth, and fifth contenders at light heavyweight. When was the last time that happened? It helps that each fighter on the card is scrambling to replace Bernard Hopkins at the top, assuming Hopkins beats Joe Calzaghe April 19. Not insignificant in this context was Hopkins’ revelation during a conference call last week that the fight with Calzaghe will likely be his last.

Hopkins also did everyone the good favor of admitting what we all know: He has no interest in facing 24- or 25-year-old kids. Technically, that leaves the door open for Tarver, who is 40, Johnson, who is 39, and Woods, who is 35. What it really means is that Dawson, by today’s standards all but embryonic at 25, should ascend to the division’s top post-Hopkins after he beats Johnson, though not by much, on Saturday night. Should Tarver get by Woods, and I suspect he will, it sets up Dawson-Tarver for the fall, if Tarver remains willing.

We’ve been spoiled this year by Israel Vazquez-Rafael Marquez and Manny Pacquiao-Juan Manuel Marquez II and even Joel Casamayor-Michael Katsidis. It’s unlikely any one of this weekend’s fights, on its own, will produce the kind of drama those fights did. But taken as a whole, they represent a rare confluence of important action whose results we will no doubt appreciate—even if they are on different channels.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

Good for Teddy Atlas for suggesting that the revelation that Luis Resto’s handwraps had plaster on them during his infamous match with Billy Collins was concocted to create publicity for an upcoming documentary. That wasn’t the most popular or the safest position for him to take. Kudos, Teddy.

For the record, it’s romantic nonsense to say, as his many biographers do, that Collins was all but certain to be a champion had it not been for the Resto fight. He’d had only 14 fights, beaten no one of note (outside a novice Harold Brazier), and was coming up in a very strong welterweight division that included, among others, Simon Brown, Tyrone Trice, and Marlon Starling, none of whom would have needed any special assistance to beat him.

Speaking of doctored gloves, I started wishing about halfway through the Jason Estrada-Lance Whitaker borefest that Panama Lewis was in one of their corners—I didn’t care which. Panama would have moved things along.

If Joe Mesi thinks boxing is dangerous, wait until he gets his feet wet in politics. A brain-bleed will be the least of his worries.

Cruiserweight Aaron Williams has the speed and athleticism that heavyweights used to have before they all started benchpressing Range Rovers or choosing football or basketball over boxing. I want to see him again.

I am convinced, finally, that Ivan Calderon, and not Mayweather, is the best pure boxer in the business. Why? Against the right guy and when he wants to, Mayweather can punch—ask Ricky Hatton. Calderon can’t knock out anyone and keeps winning anyway.

This is overdue, but what the hell: I’ve never been prouder of my association with The Ring than I was when I read about Bob Arum’s hysteria over The Ring’s editorial staff all having given Marquez a close win over Pacquiao in their fight last month. (Arum suspects we all were trying to please Marquez’ promoter.) Why so proud? Because when you’re derided by a person whose singularly famous and most telling line is, “Yesterday I was lying; today I’m telling the truth,” it can only mean one thing: You’re doing something right.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

CONTENDER ALUMNI GROWING UP (March 31, 2008)

By William Dettloff

Kassim Ouma may be a spent bullet, but Cornelius Bundrage’s win over him last Friday night is not without significance.

Bundrage’s victory demonstrated that, increasingly, contestants from The Contender reality show are growing up, taking risks, and behaving like, well, real prizefighters. For a vehicle that has been characterized in some circles as, at best, meaningless, and at worst, damaging to the sport, the show has produced viable (if unexceptional) fighters—not just reality show TV stars. Consider:

On April 12, Alfonso Gomez will face the presumed second-best welterweight in the world, Miguel Cotto. Will he win? Almost certainly not. But he was superb against Arturo Gatti last year, and in my view beat Ben Tackie in much better form last October than did Kendall Holt, a “legitimate” contender. His struggles with Jesse Feliciano are more forgivable in light of Feliciano’s win over Delvin Rodriguez, and in the wake of Feliciano’s stubborn challenge of Kermit Cintron in November.

A little more than a week ago, Brian Vera, who fell apart against Jaidon Codrington in Season Three, scored a shocking stoppage win over the relentlessly hyped and well-connected Andy Lee. (Jeff Wald says a rematch won’t happen; I say he’s playing hard to get.)

Season One finalist Peter Manfredo bombed against Joe Calzaghe, but was reasonably competitive against comebacking Jeff Lacy on the Floyd Mayweather-Ricky Hatton card and appears to be a full level above the clubfighter types with whom he is frequently associated.

Season One winner Sergio Mora, despite recent struggles, is slated to face the still-formidable Vernon Forrest in June. Forrest will be favored, and rightly so. He represents a huge jump in class for Mora, who demonstrates in taking the fight that he is as serious about this business as is anyone in the junior middleweight division.

A month later, Season Two finalist Steve Forbes (who admittedly was a bit overqualified for the show) will try to upset the world order when he takes on Oscar De La Hoya in De La Hoya’s tuneup for his rematch with Mayweather. Fights don’t come much bigger than that.

Season Three’s David Banks got starched by Edison Miranda, but at least he got in there with him. The far more experienced Mikkel Kessler—another “real” fighter—couldn’t be enticed into a fight against Miranda, even with a contract that promised him everything but between-round foot massages. Good for Banks. Professional fighters fight.

And, finally, last year’s season finale, which featured a thrilling slugfest between Codrington and Sakio Bika (won by Bika in the eighth round), was one of the best fights of the year. No one could reasonably question the authenticity of either guy.

There’s no doubt The Contender, like all reality shows, makes TV stars out of people unworthy of the attention. That’s our culture. And I’m doubtful anyone on the show will ever be a world champion. But that applies to 99.9 percent of the fighters on the planet. It doesn’t make them any less real.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

I’ve always rather liked Ouma, but if his departure from the game means I don’t have to hear his story again, for the 3,118th time, I’m okay with it. Really, did we need to hear it every single time he stepped in a ring?

It’s not often I applaud state boxing commissions, but Texas’ licensing of Edwin Valero, whatever their reasoning, is brilliant. Valero now gets to decide for himself how much personal risk he is willing to accept in the pursuit of his goals—a right every competent adult should be able to exercise.

No truth to the rumor Floyd Mayweather will delay a fight with Miguel Cotto until after he beats Bob Backlund, Bruno Sammartino, and Oscar De La Hoya, in that order.

I like Joe Tessitore as much as the next guy, but Brian Kenny was damned good doing blow-by-blow. Is there anything this guy can’t do behind a microphone?

It’s hard not to be happy for Verno Phillips, one of the real hard-nosed, competent veterans in this business. But is he a three-time world champion? Not by a long shot.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

JOEL CASAMAYOR, WORLD LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION—STILL (March 24, 2008)

By William Dettloff

Recent events in the lightweight division have served to underscore the wonderful concision and logic of the existence of a single world champion per division and of THE RING Championship Policy.

You’ll recall that not very long ago, certain elements in the boxing media got all snarky because THE RING, as a matter of policy, continued to recognize Joel Casamayor as the world champion following the horrendous decision he received over Jose Armando Santa Cruz.

This position was made all but indefensible, the argument went, in view of the impressive performances turned in by Juan Diaz, who, until a couple of weeks ago, held a pair of alphabet titles.

How could THE RING continue to recognize a guy as its champion who clearly was on his last legs and had lost to his challenger in the eyes of everyone except two inept judges, when there was a perfectly capable, young, exciting, and popular alphabet titlist in the same division?

Here’s how: By doing the right thing.

Those advocating for Diaz mostly came to boxing in an age when sanctioning-body madness has obliterated any sense of logic around championship lineage.

You don’t like a decision the champion got? No problem—just recognize another guy in the division. He has an alphabet belt anyway, so what’s the difference? What does it matter?

Guess what—it matters.

Relatively few world champions in the modern history of our sport deserved, in the majority of the viewing public, every single decision they received. That includes those in the pantheon.

Everyone thought Jersey Joe Walcott got robbed against Joe Louis in their first fight. Muhammad Ali got a whole string of debatable decisions toward the end. Larry Holmes too.

The answer was not simply to recognize a different guy as the champion. To do so would have been to invite chaos, which is precisely what we have today.

And it’s only possible because so many have been brainwashed into thinking two or three or four “world champions” per division is normal—or, even more reprehensible, desirable.

Casamayor’s exciting knockout win Saturday night over highly regarded challenger Michael Katsidis didn’t just rejuvenate his career and set him up for some big paydays down the road. It validated his standing as the lightweight champion of the world, which never really required validation in the first place.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

I’ve got nothing against Andy Lee, but it’s always fun when a relentlessly touted prospect gets his head handed to him by a guy no one figures can win. The timing of the stoppage was a little odd, but good for Brian Vera. If he never wins another fight, he’ll always have this one to look back on.

“It’s time to do battle in the square ring of champions” doesn’t carry quite the same zing as “Let’s get ready to rumble,” does it? Poor Bruce Buffer: There’s apparently a limit on inventing the most famous catchphrases in the history of the universe, and it’s one per family.

A lot of guys are going to wear themselves out banging away on Librado Andrade’s skull. Andrade is just the worst kind of guy to fight: big, awkward, indefatigable, and, from years spent working in a fast food joint, all but numb from the neck up.

So will Joe Tessitore be traveling to the fights on his Sky Stalker Interceptor Jet, or the Rolling Operation Command Center? Will he crush the microphone with his Kung-Fu grip?

How in the hell does Aaron Pryor have an eight-foot tall kid?

In the Mayweather family, it’s not just water that’s thicker than blood—$30-million is too. Go figure.

Speaking of the Fighting Mayweathers, what is Steve Forbes thinking? Didn’t he see Klitschko-Ibragimov?

After all these years, I still can’t figure out why Butch Lewis’ patented shirtless tuxedo look never caught on.

Kudos to Anthony Peterson for this refreshingly honest answer to Brian Kenny’s question about why he’d never fight his brother, Lamont, even though they spar all the time: “In the ring I’m really trying to hurt those guys.”

So Don King is suing ESPN for $2.5-billion for saying his business practices are, um, unethical. As luck would have it, I got my hands on a list of all the fighters who have volunteered to testify on King’s behalf. Here it is:

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

THE FIGHTING MARQUEZ BROTHERS: AT AN IMPASSE (March 17, 2008)

By William Dettloff

One can’t be certain, but as Juan Manuel Marquez listened to his brother, Rafael, gripe over the decision that went against him earlier this month, it’s reasonable to assume he didn’t think he’d be in the same position a couple of weeks down the road after his own big fight. Yet here we are.

You can argue it’s not the same. Not many people outside the Marquez camp had a significant problem with Israel Vazquez getting the nod over Rafael. Even if you had Rafael outpointing Vazquez (as I did) the decision was made more palatable by the fact Vazquez had him all but gone in the last round of a distinctly memorable fight.

Big brother Juan Manuel’s decision loss to Manny Pacquiao Saturday night was more debatable; most of the press reports I’ve read had Marquez winning. Off TV, I had him up 115-113 at the end, and the two very knowledgeable boxing people watching with me, along with Managing Editor Joe Santoliquito, who viewed the fight from ringside in Las Vegas, had about the same score.

There hasn’t been much of an outcry on Marquez’ behalf, and why that is I haven’t been quite able to figure out. Maybe because Pacquiao is so likable. Maybe because Marquez has never inspired the kind of impassioned loyalty as did his contemporaries, Marco Antonio Barrera and Erik Morales, whose similarly razor-thin victories over one another always produced postfight finger-pointing.

Whatever the case, it is noteworthy that both Marquez brothers, for all their considerable talent and skills, have pretty simultaneously found opponents that brought out the very best in them and at the same time represented the barriers to their further success.

In many respects, Rafael has never been better than he’s been against Vazquez, particularly in the third fight, when he mixed sound boxing and powerpunching (powerboxing, the Mosleys used to call it), and yet he’s down 1-2 in the series (best of five, anyone?).

Juan Manuel, even with the left hook he walked into in the third round, and even if he’s a hair slower than he used to be, could not have fought better than he did against Pacquiao Saturday night. Against Pacquiao’s explosive speed and power, he fought him to, at worst, a standstill (again), which is no small feat. He was superb, as was Pacquiao.

It will be interesting now to see if the Fighting Marquez Brothers, so close to being the very best in their field, will accept their stations (damned good as they are) or continue to try to break through as their bodies and minds sooner or later lose their taste for the fight.

It will be interesting to watch.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

That Pacquiao and Marquez entered the ring as welterweights contesting for the junior lightweight world title is a little silly, no?

If John Leguizamo ever lands a movie role in which he has to act like he’s being shoved into a wood chipper, he should study David Diaz’ upcoming match with Pacquiao to see exactly how he’s supposed to look as it happens.

Of all the feather-fisted journeyman lightweights out there, Ramón Montano has the best hair. Hands down.

If HBO insists on sullying its otherwise high-quality pay-per-view shows with provocative, between-rounds shots of shapely round card girls, I'll have no choice but to say, well, it's about damn time.

Bob Arum talks about matching Tye Fields against Hasim Rahman as if it would mean something if Fields beat him. Please. Rahman hasn’t been any good since Don King took back his duffle bag.

Larry Merchant's wonderfully pithy observation during the Diaz-Montano fight about the ropes being “no place for cowards” was a perfect illustration of why he is still the best there is at what he does. No one comes close.

So Mikkel Kessler has decided to face Edison Miranda after all. Great. Another Saturday night shot to hell watching a top-notch fight. This getting ridiculous already.

Terdsak Jandaeng is one tough, angry little guy—and who can blame him?

Peter Manfredo can build a nice little winning streak beating guys like Shane Benfield. There are worse ways to make a living.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

NATE CAMPBELL: NO REVERSE GEAR (March 10, 2008)

By William Dettloff

At the bell ending the second round of his fight with Juan Diaz Saturday night, Nate Campbell looked at Diaz and yelled, “All night!” Diaz shrugged and walked over to his corner.

Campbell wasn’t talking about how long Don King prattles on at press conferences, or about the length of time Wladimir Klitschko likes to let guys hang around that he could knock out in 40 seconds if he tried a little.

He was letting Diaz know, if I may presume, how long he’d be in his face, matching him hook for hook, bodyshot for bodyshot, right hand for right hand. It was quite a boast for a 36-year-old to make to a kid of Diaz’ considerable stamina and enthusiasm. And it was still early.

By the end of the night, Campbell had backed it up. It was he, not Diaz, who was still fresh. After the ninth round, one of his cornermen asked if he had three more rounds in him. “I got five in me!” he replied. By that time Diaz looked like he wished he’d been kept after class to bang clean the erasers. In a sense I guess he was.

It was hard not to be happy for Campbell, given what he’s been through. If there’s anything more embarrassing than being from the ghetto and getting flattened by a white guy, as he was by Robbie Peden several years ago, it’s getting flattened by a white guy a second after you stick your chin out and show him where the sweet spot is. Anybody that can show his face in the gym after that is a legitimate badass.

That Campbell said all along that he would whip Diaz wasn’t just bravado. He has been around long enough and with his eyes open to know that unless you are a superb and especially mobile technician, you don’t beat a pressure fighter like Diaz by trying to outbox him from the outside. That’s how everyone tries to beat Diaz. That’s what he trains for.

You beat a pressure fighter by not allowing him the forward motion he needs to execute. There were moments when Campbell allowed Diaz to back him up, but they were mostly strategic. For the majority of time—and importantly, in the fight’s opening moments—he put his left shoulder in Diaz’ face, planted his feet, and fired away.

There were many little things that Campbell did on the inside to open Diaz up, and his hand speed and conditioning were big factors. Neither was more important than his refusal to allow Diaz to move him backward.

History tells us that having King as his promoter may not be the best thing for Campbell now that he’s won an alphabet belt. He’s got a small window to make his money and get out. We should hope he’s able to use the time wisely.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

You had to marvel at the wonderful brevity of referee Jesus Salcedo Lopez’ final instructions to Campbell and Diaz: “Good luck to both of you. Fight!”

I’ve never heard of Creed Fountain either, but that might be the coolest name ever.

The curse of the cruiserweight division continues: World champion David Haye said even before demolishing the over-hyped Enzo Maccarinelli Saturday night that he was going to move up to heavyweight. It’ll be fun seeing what he can do against the big guys.

Speaking of curses, I think Diaz is the 1,345th fighter in a row to lose immediately after severing ties with King. How does King do that?

It looked to me as though Oleg Maskaev was about the most relieved guy in Mexico when the referee pulled Sam Peter off of him and waved it over. Peter straightened and shortened his punches when he had Maskaev hurt, which shows he has indeed been listening in the gym.

Let’s hope Peter and Klitschko tell the organizations to go screw, so the world can have a heavyweight champion again.

I like Juan Manuel Marquez over Manny Pacquiao next week. For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, that’s code for “bet the farm on Pacquiao.”

Reliable reports suggest that the new John Ruiz we’ve been hearing so much about morphed back into the old one during his win over Jameel McCline underneath Peter-Maskaev. I, for one, am shocked.

If the reports are accurate that Mikkel Kessler has without a good reason turned down a fight with Edison Miranda, it makes you wonder if he is interested in restoring his reputation following his loss to Joe Calzaghe. My guess would be “no.”

I defended Jose Luis Castillo when he came in over weight against Diego Corrales—twice. Now that he’s done it again, forcing the cancellation of his fight against Timothy Bradley, there can be just one explanation: He’s been hanging out with James Toney.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

VAZQUEZ-MARQUEZ: OUR TRILOGY (March 3, 2008)

By William Dettloff

Israel Vazquez and Rafael Marquez put on another fireworks display on Saturday night, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn Wladimir Klitschko was so mortified by the level of violence that he filed an indecency complaint afterward with the Federal Communications Commission.

Dr. Klitschko, after all, is a general practitioner in there and a damned good one at that, we should note. But he leaves the gruesome stuff, the blood and the bruises and the risk and the courage part of the job to the real performers: the guys who get in there with the scalpels and saws and get tissue and brain matter and everything flying all around. They get dirty. Up-to-their-elbows dirty.

Klitschko wants to win and all, but not at the risk of mussing up his hair or getting blood splashed all over his shredded quads—especially if the blood is his.

But we come here today not to castigate Klitschko or to highlight the obvious: that Vazquez and Marquez have more heart and balls in their little pinkies than Klitschko does in his Volkswagen-sized head. That would be too easy, and maybe too shortsighted. If Klitschko blows out his next couple of opponents, all will be forgiven.

What Vazquez and Marquez really did for us, whether or not you agreed with the decision (I had it 114-112 off TV for Marquez) was to shut the hell up all the dinosaurs who insist there hasn’t been a fighter worth a damn since Carmen Basilio retired.

You know those guys.

“Toady’s guys don’t fight often enough. They make too much damned money. They’re spoiled. And soft. There’s not a one of ’em that would last two rounds with a guy from the ’20s. Hell, I once saw Rinty Monaghan knock out 13 heavyweights and a rabid wolverine in a single afternoon!”

“Yes. Of course you did.”

“They get title shots too early. They don’t know the fundamentals. A fighter doesn’t know a damn thing until he’s had 300 fights and lost a couple dozen of them—three or four on purpose, just so the right people know he’ll play ball.”

“Obviously. I mean, how could anyone think otherwise?”

“They’re afraid to get hit. They run around too much. Boy, in my day, if a fighter took two steps backward, we shackled him to the ringpost between rounds and made him fight like a man.”

“Yes. Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you?”

Listen: You can have your Zale-Graziano and your Pep-Saddler and your LaMotta-Robinson. We don’t need them. You can keep your Basilio-DeMarco and your Robinson-Basilio and your Tunney-Greb too. Don’t need them anymore either.

They all were great; don’t get us wrong. Legendary fighters, wonderful series.

What Israel Vazquez and Rafael Marquez have put together over three fights is as good as anything that’s ever happened in a prize ring. That it happened today, and not 60 years ago, doesn’t mean it’s inferior. It just means it’s ours.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

So my fellow BWAA members gave the Sam Taub award for excellence in broadcast journalism to Nick Charles. Who’s the betting favorite for next year, Lennox Lewis?

I’d always heard boxing writers were a cynical bunch. I didn’t know they’re hard of hearing too. Charles seems a nice and earnest guy, but also one whose contract with Showtime apparently stipulates that he gets paid by the word. Nick: A little quiet never killed anyone.

Speaking of Showtime, I really could have done without the 10-minute commercial for whatever mixed martial arts bout they were plugging before the Vazquez-Marquez fight. Listening to guys (and Karen Bryant) gush over MMA is even less interesting than the slithering around on the canvas. But that’s just me.

Note to Jim Gray: If a fighter wants to speak Spanish in his postfight interview, that’s his prerogative. Besides, interpreters need to eat too, you know.

If I’m Brian Kenny, I do everything in my power to get Joe Mesi into that studio seat next to me as frequently as possible. I’m dubious about Mesi’s claims to be a top heavyweight, and given his medical problems, I think he shouldn’t fight anymore (notice I didn’t write he shouldn’t be allowed to fight). But he’s very good behind the microphone.

I hope our friends at ESPN learned a valuable lesson from Alan Green’s last-minute pullout: You can’t trust anyone who places the blame for all of life’s little problems on a spastic colon.

Sechew Powell vs. Kevin Finley was the worst mismatch since Gary Shaw vs. the cold cut platter at the press conference announcing Vazquez-Marquez III.

It’s Day 38 of the Joe Calzaghe Injury Watch in advance of Calzaghe’s showdown with Bernard Hopkins on April 19. Nothing yet from the Welshman’s camp, but stay tuned—I’m sensing a bruised uvula or something similar not far down the road (oh, don’t act so surprised).

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

VAZQUEZ, MARQUEZ, KLITSCHKO CUT FROM DIFFERENT CLOTHS (February 25, 2008)

By William Dettloff

It is a virtual guarantee that the Israel Vazquez-Rafael Marquez rubber match next weekend will be far more entertaining than was Wladimir Klitschko’s win in Madison Square Garden over Sultan Ibragimov Saturday night.

By itself, that’s not saying much—I’ve covered township zoning board meetings that were more exciting than was Dr. Klitschko’s protracted demonstration of how to jab loose an opponent’s brain stem.

To his credit, Klitschko did exactly what he wanted to—fans, commentators, and Emanuel Steward be damned. His strategy was perfectly conceived and executed. It disarmed Ibragimov entirely. Indeed, if there was anyone that wanted Klitschko to open up more than did the viewers, it was Ibragimov himself: It was his only chance.

Ibragimov could have done more to draw him out—insulted his mother, kicked him in the shin, called him “Vitali” a few times. I can hear it now: “Is that all you have, Vitali? You punch like my Babushka!” Maybe it wouldn’t have worked, but it was worth a try.

Really, deep down, Ibragimov was probably just as happy things went the way they did. Although a free-for-all would have given him his only chance, it might also have resulted in his head landing in the fourth row, and that’s never fun (except for the lucky fan with the sticky fingers).

This really was nothing new for Klitschko, who was prone to over-caution even before his meltdown against Lamon Brewster in their first fight. Ever since, and including Saturday night, he reacts to incoming punches the way the rest of us might to the sudden appearance in the passenger seat of a swarm of frenzied Africanized honey bees.

Given the amount of blood spilled in their first two fights, it would appear both Vazquez and Marquez could benefit in some way from the adoption of Klitschko’s mindset. In the second fight especially, they appeared to be in a race to see who could bleed more. By the time Vazquez won it with a terrific volley of powerpunches in the sixth round, the canvas looked like a prop from a Quentin Tarantino movie.

This, of course, was in followup to their riveting first battle when Marquez’ bombs so hideously re-arranged Vazquez’ nose that Vazquez surrendered on his stool. That he came back to outslug Marquez in the rematch exploded the myth that surrendering once guarantees surrender next time things get rocky.

It would be too much to ask of Klitschko to adopt some of the fighting spirit and abandon that have made Marquez and Vazquez so compelling and that will certainly produce more great moments next Saturday night. It’s just not him.

You can be certain that when all three are retired, Marquez and Vazquez will have more scar tissue and probably fewer high-functioning brain cells than will Klitschko. But for a real fighter, there’s more to this business than looking good and thinking clearly in old age.

It’s not just winning that gets you remembered; it’s how you win too. I suspect we’ll remember all three Vazquez-Marquez fights for much longer than we will Klitschko’s highly competent and profoundly soulless win Saturday night.

Some random observations from last week:

There’s such a thing as being too calm in the corner. Jeff Mayweather could have used an Espresso machine in there. When the ever-polite Miguel Diaz has time to ask, “Jeff, may I say something?” it means there’s not enough going on. I swear I saw tumbleweed blow by between the seventh and eighth rounds.

Before the 12th round, Mayweather told Ibragimov: “You gotta be smart.” Smart? I would have preferred something like, “Hey, Sultan, it’s the last round and you’re down by about 4,000 points. How about you go a little crazy in there and wing some punches?”

HBO’s Joe Louis documentary was fine, but did anyone else feel like there should have been some long-retired IRS spokesman on-hand to explain the government’s side of the story—just for balance?

Question: What this? Agrnskhtsnmsidsm.

Answer: Lennox Lewis trying to say “athleticism.”

Note to ESPN: Please, no more fighters crying on camera about their drowned little brother, unless they’ve got better than a snowball’s chance in hell of winning. Agreed?

So if Cuba becomes a democracy, what happens to the boxing program?

John Duddy has no defense, is easily cut, and has average skills. On the other hand, he’s no great puncher. You can see what all the excitement is about.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

JERMAIN TAYLOR AND THE BITTEREST PILL (February 18, 2008)

By William Dettloff

Jermain Taylor had a look on his face after losing to Kelly Pavlik on Saturday night that one typically sees at Little League baseball games, when nine and 10-year-old kids get their first taste of losing. “I trained every day. I really thought I was going to win it,” he said to HBO’s Larry Merchant after the decision, and then he had to look away a little. It was rather a touching and sad moment, and you couldn’t blame Taylor for almost breaking down. This was the worst kind of defeat.

You could argue that point, and many already have, making the case that Taylor fought well and hard and some in press row even had him winning what was a close, grueling match (I scored it 116-113 for Pavlik). Certainly that’s preferable to getting his clock cleaned, the way he did in their first fight, or, even worse, getting blown out early—right?

Not really—not from Taylor’s perspective. A defeat like the one Taylor suffered in the first fight can be rationalized in any number of ways, and Taylor engaged about all them: He wasn’t in shape, he wasn’t clicking with Emanuel Steward, he underestimated Pavlik, etc.

So he did what any proud athlete does who is used to winning: He took the immediate rematch, and then went about correcting the “mistakes.” He fired Steward and hired amateur coach Ozell Nelson, with whom he shares the memories of a successful amateur career; he trained harder and longer, and he took Pavlik seriously. It was a logical plan: You correct the mistakes you made last time and do everything right, you win. Winning athletes learn that at a young age.

That it didn’t work out will be Taylor’s singular misery for a long time. He can make no excuse; he did everything right: He got in wonderful condition. He jabbed. He went to Pavlik’s body. He stayed the hell off the ropes. He didn’t get stopped. He knew exactly who Pavlik was and fought him accordingly. He did everything he had to and it wasn’t good enough. He lost anyway.

You couldn’t blame Taylor for thinking beforehand that if he just covered all his bases he would be all right. Out of the ring, Pavlik gives the impression of the onetime high school tuff you run into as he’s rotating your tires at the corner Jiffy Lube—vaguely untamed but too unfocused to be a threat. Then he climbs into the ring and seems to grow five or six inches taller, and his back puffs out like a cobra’s. Kevin McHale’s shoulders appear from nowhere and he’s there to put some hurt on you.

Taylor is going to go one of two ways now. Either he’s going to retire immediately and never be heard from again, or he’s going to spend the rest of an up-and-down career trying hard to prove to himself that the lessons he learned as a young man weren’t hollow. I’d like it to be the former. He’s made his money and given his background, he’s in a good position to help some kids out there who are in the same place he was once. I’m not getting my hopes up.

***

There’s little reason to think Wladimir Klitschko will have much trouble with Sultan Ibragimov at Madison Square Garden next weekend. Klitschko is bigger, stronger, more experienced at a higher level, better technically, and, well, what else is there? Still, I get the sense Ibragimov could give him some uncomfortable moments. Ibragimov has an unusual style, good feet for a heavyweight, and fairly heavy hands. Plus, you cannot discount that he owns an alphabet belt and went after this fight anyway. He didn’t have to. He could have milked it like the rest of these guys do. He didn’t. He’s a very confident guy. That says something about him.

Also, don’t be misled by the terrible performance Ibragimov gave against Ray Austin; he was 20 pounds over his best weight. If he’s 221 or under on Saturday, I expect he’ll try to draw Klitschko in, then counter him with heavy shots. Klitschko is a model of caution in there, so it won’t be easy. But if he can get Klitschko to bite, it could get very interesting.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

I wrote in this space some weeks ago that Fernando Montiel was my favorite of all the tiny fighters. He reminded me why with his blowout of the formidable Martin Castillo underneath Pavlik-Taylor. What a performance.

At almost no time during Christian Mijares’ win over Jose Navarro did I feel compelled to stand and cheer, but I can’t recall the last time I so enjoyed watching two such well-conditioned and earnest prizefighters doing business at such a high level of skill. Not even the unspeakably ludicrous score of judge Doug Tucker, who saw a shutout by Navarro, could ruin the show they put on. Kudos to both guys.

That Navarro is now 0-4 in title fights helps to dispel the myth that there are no good fighters anymore, even if there are too many “champions.” Navarro is a heck of a little fighter, albeit one who is cursed with feather fists.

Worst rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” at a big fight ever.

HBO producers broke with recent tradition by letting the cameras come to rest on the stunning features of what we were told was a veteran Las Vegas round-card girl. Good for them! On a related note, I hear there’s an opening at HBO for a producer.

What, there are no words in Spanish that mean, “firm” and “fair”?

Nothing makes me appreciate the breezy genius of Brian Kenny as much as does a night with Robert Flores running Friday Night Fights.

Cory Spinks is even more fun in the studio than he is in the ring.

Who else was mildly shocked when Delvin Rodriguez opened his mouth and Tony Manero’s voice came out?

Am I the only one who had “The Name Game” (also known as “The Banana Song”) running through his mind after the first time Joe Tessitore said Ali Oabaali?

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

JERMAIN TAYLOR: A CHANGED MAN? (February 11, 2008)

By William Dettloff

Jermain Taylor says he’ll be a different fighter this time around against Kelly Pavlik. One assumes he means not just different from the guy Pavlik stretched in the seventh round last September, but different from the guy who was stinking out arenas all over the place leading up to the Pavlik fight.

The Taylor that Pavlik laid out was the same Taylor that was a flawed bore against Cory Spinks and Kassim Ouma and was backed up all night by Winky Wright. It’s not as though he was wowing everybody right up until the moment Pavlik landed the right hand that separated him from the world middleweight title.

In fact, in some respects the opposite is true: Taylor fought better and more valiantly losing to Pavlik than he did beating Ouma and Spinks and maybe even drawing with Wright, when he inexplicably gave away rounds by lying on the ropes.

Against Pavlik, a bruising right-hand puncher, he went straight to war. He didn’t have to be coaxed into fighting. And when he backed up, at least there was a big, hard-hitting guy moving him. Taylor has been saying that poor conditioning was to blame last time around, that when he had Pavlik all but gone in the second round, he was too tired (in the second round!) to get the job done.

He also acknowledged, during HBO’s Countdown To Pavlik-Taylor, an enormous tactical failure: slinging overhand rights at Pavlik’s shaven dome rather than coming underneath with uppercuts when Pavlik was stumbling around the ring trying to get his legs to work.

The question is whether Taylor’s reunion with Ozell Nelson, his original trainer, will serve to correct the flaws that by Taylor’s own assessment prevented him from winning last time. Taylor’s supporters would like to believe so.

But as Jack Loew, Pavlik’s trainer, has pointed out, Nelson is the guy who instilled and abetted Taylor’s myriad bad habits in the first place. So how can he be expected to correct them?

Taylor’s best chance to win was revealed in the first fight: He must ambush Pavlik early, hurt him, and get rid of him. It’s not out of the question; he came very close last time. Remember too that Taylor was leading on the cards when Pavlik stopped him. So a decision win for him isn’t impossible either. In fact, I can’t recall many other times when a guy came as close to winning a fight as Taylor did, both in the second round and on the cards, and then was such a decided underdog going into the rematch.

I like Pavlik again anyway. Like everyone else, fighters don’t change. They are who they are, and that includes Taylor. And it includes Pavlik too.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

Kudos to Carlos Quintana on his superb upset of Paul Williams Saturday night. The judges got it exactly right. My only question is why was Quintana’s wife seated in about the 19th row? Her husband was in the main event and she was watching from a different zip code.

Michael Buffer introduced Andre Berto as the “number-one ranked welterweight in the world.” I had to know who to hate for that, so I looked up all the governing body ratings. Turns out it’s the WBC, in whose welterweight rankings Miguel Cotto is nowhere to be found. These guys are just great for boxing, aren’t they?

Let’s all hope Michel Trabant’s plane ticket was marked “round-trip.”

Just how many Baldwin brothers are there these days and why are they all on reality TV shows?

After the mind-numbingly dull performance he turned in against a mostly harmless Ben Tackie on Versus, I can imagine almost no circumstance under which I would be excited to watch Kendall Holt again. Maybe if he were fighting a robot or a hyena or something, or Danny Bonaduce. Otherwise, not so much.

Alfonso Gomez, who doesn’t have near the speed and talent Holt does, gave a much braver and more entertaining show against Tackie, and no, he didn’t have to stand there and punch with him to do it. Holt acted like he was in there with Earnie Shavers.

Holt could learn something from B.J. Flores, who on Friday Night Fights stood right in Darnell Wilson’s punching range a lot of the time and just made him miss. He didn’t have to clinch every time Wilson got within 10 feet of him.

According to the Sunday Telegraph, Bernard Hopkins is sticking to his “I’ll never lose to a white man” theme. Good for him.

What in the hell is Lennox Lewis talking about?

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

13 REASONS BOXING IS BETTER THAN FOOTBALL (February 4, 2008)

By William Dettloff

As I write this, much of the industrialized world is glued to their couches watching the bloated, banal, sophomoric, over-exposed exercise in money-grabbing and homogenized excess that is the NFL Super Bowl. Its occurrence inspires this column, which lists just a few of the reasons American football cannot compare with prizefighting. It’s simply no contest.

1. When a microphone gets shoved in the face of a fighter fresh from the contest, you never know what you’re going to get. It might be religious rhetoric (from Evander Holyfield or Naseem Hamed) or platitudes (from Oscar De La Hoya), but it’s just as likely to feature unintentional hilarity (Mike Tyson heading off into “bolivion”), a fight over the microphone (Lennox Lewis versus Larry Merchant), or sincere emotion (Buster Douglas sobbing after beating Tyson). Football? The same clichés and inanities from every thick-neck: “We took it to the next level,” or “every guy out there gave 120 percent.” Snore…

2. Generally, round-card girls wear less clothing than do NFL cheerleaders. This is a good thing (unless, judging by what we saw on ShoBox last week, you’re in Hinckley, Minnesota—yikes). Of course, you only know this if you attend live cards, since most of the networks, while happy to air men bashing in one another’s brains (in high-definition, super slo-mo if you like) draw the line at comely women in short-shorts.

3. The last two minutes of a fight doesn’t last a half hour. It lasts two minutes.

4. You will never see a high-level prizefighter squirm around on the canvas and have to be helped to his corner because he’s got a spasm in his back or a cramp in his big toe.

5. No female broadcasters! With the exception of Karen Bryant, who has on occasion served as a roving reporter on Showtime Championship Boxing—and left me hoping she’d rove out into traffic—the Sweet Science is happily devoid of women in the broadcaster’s seat. And that’s the way it should be. On the other hand, you can’t watch an NFL game without seeing some skirt chasing after Tom Brady or some such chin strap when he’s trying to get into the locker room at halftime, just so she can get his brilliant analysis (“We’ve got to get every guy to give 120 percent,” etc.). Let’s be honest: The suits hire women to work NFL games because they know guys like to look at them. But isn’t that what the cheerleaders are for? If the female broadcasters in the NFL are hired for their brilliant football minds, why do none of them look like Janet Reno or Bea Arthur?

6. On the whole, boxing doesn’t know if any of its participants are into dog fighting. It doesn’t want to know. It doesn’t really care.

7. It’s becoming less frequent and the networks hate when it happens, but during a prizefight you can hear men talk the way men talk. Not so with football. You can watch every NFL game from now until doomsday and you will never hear anything as entertaining as you did the time HBO’s microphones picked up every syllable in Norm Stone’s wonderfully profane rant that so upset referee Jay Nady that Nady ejected him from John Ruiz’ corner. (If all the cursing in boxing bothers you, let me know and I’ll send you the address to which you can write to get tickets to a taping of The Ellen DeGeneres Show.)

8. A football coach rarely, if ever, carries giant Q-Tips behind his ears in case he needs to shove one so far up his athlete’s nose that the guy starts hallucinating.

9. Prizefighters are still allowed to be controversial and to say controversial things. They take heat for it—see the way everyone came down on Bernard Hopkins for his, “I’ll never lose to a white man” comment—but they can say it. Guys criticize Ricardo Mayorga for his rants, and still can’t get over Mike Tyson for saying he wanted to eat Lennox Lewis’ children. No one will forget what Larry Homes said about Rocky Marciano, or what Floyd Mayweather said about HBO’s “slave wages.” But they were allowed to say it. Nobody censored them. The NFL simply doesn’t allow that level of honesty from its athletes. What’s the most outrageous thing a football player can say—that the quarterback’s being distracted by his girlfriend? And even that gets an apology.

10. Football players fight like girls.

11. It is highly unlikely that you will ever turn on a boxing match and say, “Hey, that’s the meat head jock from high school that used to beat up the geeks and give everyone wedgies! I hate that guy!” Sit through an entire football game and you might say it four or five times.

12. Halftime shows suck. Boxing? No halftime shows.

13. Any screaming, beer-guzzling, head-shaving, body-painting lunatic can be a football fanatic. It takes a special kind of miscreant to take delight in getting splashed with blood at ringside or to pay $50 for a pay-per-view card that guarantees maybe one good fight.

Miscellaneous observations from last week:

Speaking of John Ruiz, his handlers issued a press release about his upcoming match against Jameel McCline on the Oleg Maskaev-Sam Peter card, in which Ruiz allegedly expressed his desire to “clean up the heavyweight division.” Isn’t this like Tom DeLay saying he wants to clean up the federal government?

Anyone else see Arturo Gatti smacking around a couple of hayseeds on Spike TV’s Pros vs. Joes? He was having way too much fun in there. Good for him. Let’s just hope it doesn’t go to his head.

How is that John McCain looks older than his mother?

Fearless prediction: Shannon Briggs’ asthma will disappear as soon as the money he made in his last fight runs out.

Just wondering: Why is it exactly that Ricky Hatton won’t fight Junior Witter?

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

LITTLE HEAVYWEIGHTS: WELCOME BACK (January 28, 2008)

By William Dettloff

A couple of truths were made evident during Alexander Povetkin’s win Saturday night over Eddie Chambers. One is that you can add Chambers, apparently, to that long list of maddening American heavyweights whose baffling reluctance to punch causes defeats their talent never should permit them to suffer.

Chambers thus joins Dominick Guinn, Lamon Brewster, Shannon Briggs, Michael Moorer, and, hell, Mike Weaver if you want to go back far enough.

The other is that the era of the giant heavyweight is over. That’s right. Povetkin, whom The Ring rates the 10th best heavyweight in the world, went in against Chambers at a mere 219 pounds. Chambers was a slightly pudgy 227. Nothing huge about either guy.

Check out the rest of the ratings: Sam Peter is as thick around as a Volkswagen but only 6'1"—shorter than Larry Holmes. Ruslan Chagaev, Oleg Maskaev, Sergei Liakhovich, Vladimir Virchis? None of them bigger than 6'4". Hell, the young George Foreman, with his Afro still intact, was easily that. And that was 30 years ago.

The only huge heavyweights in the top 10 are Wladimir Klitschko and the freakish Nicolay Valuev, and one of them can’t fight. The other one is facing Sultan Ibragimov in a few weeks—who, by the way, goes 6'2" and about 220. (Tony Thompson is 6'5", but he’s a skinny southpaw, so he doesn’t really count.)

What happened to all those giant heavyweights who were ushering in this new era of enormous but athletically gifted giants whose size supposedly conferred on them superiority over such luminaries as Joe Louis, Muhammad Ali, and Jack Dempsey?

Lennox Lewis is retired. So is Lance Whitaker. Vitali Klitschko hasn’t made it through a successful training camp in about nine years, though apparently he’s trying again. Jameel McCline had more title shots than Chuck Norris has wigs, and he still couldn’t pull it off. Riddick Bowe is finished, whether or not he knows it. Michael Grant too.

And eight of the world’s top 10 heavyweights are just slightly bigger than your average NFL quarterback. That’s sorry news to the contingent out there that thinks bigger automatically equals better.

Hate to break it to you, size queens: Your hopes rest on Tye Fields.

Speaking of little heavyweights, I suspect Chris Byrd is going to be sorely disappointed when he discovers he can do no better against good cruiserweights anymore than he can against good heavyweights.

At his best, Byrd excelled against much bigger guys because he was so much quicker than they were. He won’t be outsized against cruiserweights, but his speed advantage vanishes. It’s not going to be pretty.

Some random thoughts from last week:

If 500,000 people ordered the Roy Jones-Felix Trinidad fight, half of them e-mailed me afterward to chastise me for comparing Jones’ weight loss to Ricky Hatton’s. A surprisingly large number of Jones fans hold advanced degrees in physiology I’ve learned, though it’s apparently a field that doesn’t prize accurate spelling or a good understanding of e-mail etiquette.

At any rate, the point is made that Hatton’s famous weight reductions involve cutting back on the beer and, er, beer, and Jones’ involved stopping whatever he was doing that added 30 pounds of muscle to his frame prior to his fight with John Ruiz. I get it.

I maintain that it doesn’t take three years to recover from cutting 30 pounds of muscle, as Jones claims. Three years after having cancer in his brain and lungs, Lance Armstrong won the Tour De France, for cripes’ sake. Now, I don’t have the fancy degrees many Jones fans do, but I’m thinking if the recovery time for chemotherapy and radiation is three years, then for simply permitting your body to return to its normal state and size, the time should be what, a weekend or two? Maybe three?

I’m not surprised Zab Judah priced himself out of a fight with Antonio Margarito. I am surprised Kermit Cintron did not. Good for him.

Alfonso Gomez is such a likable little guy it’s going to be uncomfortable watching what Miguel Cotto does to him. I applaud Gomez for taking the fight, but … ouch.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

ROY JONES: VISIONS OF YOUTH RESTORED (January 21, 2008)

By William Dettloff

Roy Jones was understandably giddy following his decision win over Felix Trinidad Saturday night. In his mind it signified a return to form, a measure of validation that his rapid fall from grace a couple of years ago really was caused not by age, but by the 30 pounds he lost when he went back down to light heavyweight after outpointing John Ruiz.

It’s always seemed a kooky excuse to me: He lost to Tarver in their rubber match almost three years after the win over Ruiz. In the same amount of time, Ricky Hatton has gained and lost probably the equivalent of four or five cruiserweights, and you don’t hear him crying.

Fighters will always make excuses, es