Help/Guidance for boxing writing

[Liam]

I've been wanting to write something, a book, anything, for ages. Recently, I decided to return to an idea I'd had for a while, which was to write about 1995 boxing. Specifically, I was looking at the Nigel Benn vs Gerald McLellan fight, as it was one I remember pretty vividly and had such tragic consequences. I then shifted my approach to look at a range of different fights, looking at big fights/specific moments for each month.

Below is my piece for January, where i looked at Roberto Duran vs Vinny Pazienza II. Realistically, this one became a bit more of a potted history of Duran style piece, but I hope it is OK. I've posted it here for people to have a look at, but also for people to give feedback/guidance/etc. I'm not pretending it is amazing, but I've enjoyed the process thus far.

Thanks

 

Spoiler

"Many people did not believe I could make it, but I did. Many people believed I was too old to win, but I was not.”

Roberto Duran after defeating Sugar Ray Leonard, 1980

Chapter 1

Roberto Duran vs Vinny Pazienza

14th January 1995, Atlantic City New Jersey

When I was little, two of my favourite books were books on the history of sport. One of them charted the history of the Football World Cup, and through this I was able to appreciate and understand the precocious talents and majesty of players such as Pele and Diego Maradona, alongside tracking the development, the rise and the fall of many of the bigger footballing nations who had competed since the tournament’s inception. The second book was an Encyclopedia of Boxing. Resplendent with historical photographs, it comprehensively covered the biggest names, fights and events in a long and storied account of boxing from birth until the beginning of the 90s.

Unlike the footballing chronicle, the Encyclopedia left less of an impact in terms of my overall knowledge and understanding. Looking back, it seemed that I was too young to show more than a passing interest outside of the pictures liberally dotted around every page. I remember faded black and white photos of Jack Johnson, Ali represented in his prime, and one particularly shocking image of a Benny Paret, a boxer killed following an Emile Griffith onslaught in a bout in 1962, slumped on the canvas following eighteen unprotected shots to the head in six seconds.

As well as highlighting the legitimate danger for the men who stepped into the ring, the sheer amount of fights that they would contest over the course of a career was eye opening. It was not uncommon for boxers in the early to mid-1900s to fight upwards of a hundred fights from their debut onwards. Jake Lamotta would hear the opening bell one hundred and six times in his career (winning 83), whilst his long term nemesis, Sugar Ray Robinson, would put on the gloves two hundred times in his twenty five year stint (winning 173). True, there were also fighters like Rocky Marciano, who famously would retire undefeated with forty nine victories to his name, but the idea of someone fighting into triple figures amongst modern boxers is a very unlikely concept.

The changing world of the fight game stands out as one of the reasons this is becoming more of a rarity. The world of PPV television fires the ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ spirit, yet also brings with it a fear of defeat; one telling blow could cost the entourage collectively above and beyond what they are willing to risk. Coupled with an industry, and a world for that matter, geared towards profit and protecting one’s own, fewer boxers are left in a position where they have to fight for scraps, appearing on the card for any promoter that will write them a paycheck.

At the start of 1995, Roberto Duran was about to put on the gloves and boots for the 103rd time in his career. Having had doubts voiced over his age and whether he would be able to get it done in the ring in the lead up to his initial battle with Sugar Ray Leonard, the fact that Duran was appearing on cards fifteen years later was a choice solely driven by money; the IRS and child-support payments would soak up the majority of any money due to come Duran’s way. A love of the playboy lifestyle meant that not only did he have numerous children with a variety of different women, but that he also spent millions of dollars earned during his heyday, when he was able to stand toe-to-toe with greats like Leonard, Marvin Hagler and Thomas Hearns. Unlike the Panamanian, these three sporting luminaries were able to walk away from the ring after forty, sixty seven and sixty seven fights respectively; a mere drop in the ocean when compared to Duran’s record.

Beginning his career in 1968, Duran would bounce between the renowned boxing nations of Panama and Mexico, ratcheting up twenty four wins in his first three years. To crown this achievement, he would reach his half century by making his debut in Madison Square Garden, the mecca of boxing, in a one minute beating of Benny Huertas. Both men came to fight and trade in the center of the ring, but very few could match up to Duran’s durability and his power behind his punches. Tit for tat shots soon degenerated into a one sided blowout as several combinations rained down on Huertas, felling him with an innocuous right cross following a left that seemed to put his opponent down through sheer force of will and accumulation of punishment. Duran had arrived in the eyes of America.

Duran’s next two outings at the Garden would showcase the best and worst of the dangerous brawler. His determination was fuelled by a fiery temper that could occasionally get him into trouble and often seemed to bubble just below the surface. The desire to be the best and provide money for people back in his homeland led to liberal deployment of the dark arts of boxing.

In his first world title fight against Ken Buchanan, the Scot was clearly not prepared for the level of legal ferocity and illegal ‘strategy’ that Duran would bring into the ring. The challenger would score a knockdown in the first minute of the fight (Buchanan’s fists against the canvas would stop his fall, but the ref would administer a standing eight count). Getting in close at every opportunity, Duran never allowed Buchanan to settle, and hit him with relentless combinations to the head and body, liberally sprinkling his offense with headbutts, elbows and shots south of the belt line. Buchanan seemed to want greater protection from the referee, and wasn’t able to regroup when it wasn’t forthcoming. Several punches after the round thirteen bell ended up with the champion down on the canvas holding his groin. With the Scot unable to continue, and the ref unable to see any clear foul outside of the after bell blows that both men connected with, Duran was awarded the contest, and with that, his first world title, the WBA Lightweight title.

It wouldn’t be until his 32nd fight that Duran would first taste defeat in the ring, losing a unanimous decision to Esteban de Jesus, a fellow boxer who learnt his trade in Panama, in a non-title fight fought at Light Welterweight. A charging and reckless Duran would be dropped flush with a left hand from De Jesus, en route to a unanimous decision loss. De Jesus was a competent knockout puncher, and it didn’t take much to pierce the moving guard of Duran, yet the punch only left him grounded for a little under five seconds.

When he stood back up, he was smiling.

The smile would be plastered across his face for the next seven years, though this time through success rather than an attempt to brush off an opponent’s success. Seven years and forty-one fights would pass before he would taste the sting of defeat again. In this reign of terror, not only would Duran twice beat De Jesus to a bloody pulp in retribution for his first loss, the second match gaining him the WBC Lightweight Title, he would also afford Sugar Ray Leonard his first ever loss in the forty first contest of his win streak. A decision by Leonard not to run and instead to try and fight Duran’s style of fight left him defeated in a close Unanimous Decision, losing his WBC Welterweight Title as well. There was one positive: due to the amount of interest generated by Duran’s win streak and Leonard’s Olympic Gold and subsequent undefeated start to his professional career, Duran would receive the biggest payday of his career, $1.5 million; Leonard, a massive-for-the-time $9 million

The forty-second fight would be notable, but for all the wrong reasons.

Whether you believe Duran’s story of stomach cramps caused by the process of making the weight limit, or you feel that eight rounds of jukes, jives, fancy footwork and bolo punches by Leonard finally broke him, but the infamous ‘No Mas’ incident changed everything for the Panamanian. Before the fight, Duran knew that Leonard would try and get him angry, throw him off his game, but he felt he could handle that. Midway through the eighth round, Duran decided he had had enough. Though he never uttered the famous appellation ultimately linked to this fight, he did the one thing a boxer should never do: quit. Overnight, he went from a hero in his home country to something of a national disgrace; how times change over the course of six months.

Just looking at Duran’s record in the 80s, you could see that he wasn’t the man that first burst onto the scene in Panama at the age of sixteen. Losses against Marvin Haggler (by Unanimous Decision) and Thomas Hearns (by a less than impressive 2nd Round TKO) shouldn’t really be held up against him; if you are willing to stand up and take on the best in your chosen field, you aren’t always going to win, no matter what level of competitor you are. However, losses against fighters like Wilfred Benitez, Kirkland Laing (a match that won the Ring Magazine award for ‘Upset of the Year’ in 1982) and Willie Sims were less forgivable. These weren’t cans, but they were nowhere near the standard of competitor Duran had been known to defeat handily. Between them, these three boxers would retire with a cumulative total of thirty losses; none of them to Duran.

After summoning up some of the old fistic magic at the age of thirty eight to defeat Iran Barkley for the WBC Middleweight Title, and one last slow dance with Sugar Ray Leonard where he was out fought by a long way, Duran’s career would seem to enter terminal decline. Winning matches was not necessarily the issue; the quality of opponent was. Following a three year gap from the Leonard fight in which his only contest was a TKO loss to Pat Lawlor, Duran would win the next seven fights in a row, but against a quality of boxer noticeably weaker than the likes of Haggler, Hearns and Leonard.

Arguably, the most impressive record of this bunch of opponents was Sean Fitzgerald, who was yet to be defeated. Duran would knock him out in the sixth round. Fitzgerald would retire six years later having never made a defence of the USA New England Middleweight Title that was the pinnacle of his career; Dana Rosenblatt would blast him out of the ring in the first round to win the belt shortly before Fitzgerald’s would call it quits.

Duran’s style was still geared towards relentless pressure and pushing his opponents backwards with work that targeted both the head and the body with equal ferocity, just someone had hit the slow motion button. The mind was willing, but the body wasn’t able to execute his gameplan to the same level as he once was capable of. His victories at this time often came when he managed to get in close to his opponent, connect with multiple punches before the overwhelming force that was seemingly the last thing to go accumulated and put them down.

His opponent in January was Vinny Pazienza, somewhat of a journeyman with delusions of glory beyond his boxing acumen. What Paz did bring to the ring was the ability to take a punch and keep on going, as well as the stamina to keep him moving and throwing for all twelve rounds, and the lack of scruples required to occasionally bend a rule once in awhile. Pazienza wasn’t apologetic when it came to this side of his character. As far as he was concerned, he was in the ring to have a fight, and that was what he was willing to offer.

In a match involving one of the premier boxers of any era of the sport, it could be easy to neglect Pazienza completely, focusing solely on Duran. However, Pazienza had a story that arguably eclipses that of ‘Hands of Stone’.

A boxer very much of the Duran mould, but with a few rougher edges, Pazienza was workmanlike in a 40-5 record, with many of the forty wins coming against boxers who had numbers that looked like a bad cricket score. A defeat of Greg Haugen would give Pazienza a IBF World Lightweight gold, only for him to relinquish the title back to Huagen only eight months later.  It often felt as if Pazienza was more than capable, but lacked the spark of quality required to defeat notable opponents; he would lose contests against Roger Mayweather, Hector Camacho and Loreto Garza, all fights contested for world titles.

In the fight against Garza, Pazienza would show that he was not above letting his frustrations boil over a la Duran. As the eleventh round came to a close, a bloodied and beaten Pazienza would use a clinch as the perfect opportunity to try and life Garza off his feet and slam him to the canvas. Though the infraction was quick and not completed, the referee was quick to wave off the fight and award it to Garza. Noticeable, Pazienza and his corner didn’t seem to complain about the decision: the general sign of a fight who knew he did wrong.

Up until his battles with Duran, Pazienza’s biggest moment had been a victory over Gilbert Dele in 1991, winning the WBA World Light Middleweight Title in the process. It seemed like a reward for his perseverance as much as anything else; it was harder to doubt Vinny’s effort than it was his ability.

He would never get the chance to defend his title. On the 12th of November 1991, a car he was passenger in skidded and collided with another vehicle. Though his father would report to the NY Times that “he's not banged up that bad” in the initial aftermath, it would turn out that Pazienza had broken his neck in the accident. With doctors unsure whether he would be able to walk again, let alone box, Vinny not only trained with his protective Halo on (all against doctor’s orders), but would be back in the ring in thirteen months, winning his return fight against Luis Santana in a ten round decision. By the time he was due to meet Duran in the ring, he was on an eight fight winning streak.

The contest in January would not be the first time Duran and Pazienza had stood on opposite corners of the ring from each other. In a match that was for the IBC Super Middleweight title, the two met in June 1994, in a contest with an atmosphere that could charitably be described as ‘fractious’. During the lead-up to the fight, Pazienza promised to make Duran ‘bark like a German shepherd’, whilst Duran (via translator) vowed to put The Pazmanian Devil back in the hospital.

By the end of the fight, both men had been cut open; Pazienza above the eye, Duran in the middle of the forehead, both seemingly following a clash of heads. Several times Pazienza had to be told to stop holding onto the ropes, with repeated warnings for both men to punch above the belt - a wayward shot on Pazienza would lead to a short break whilst he readjusted and caught his breath. Punches after the bell and taunting in the later rounds would get the crowd on the back of the brash young pretender, willing on their hero to show them a glimpse of what brought him to the dance all those many years ago.

The fifth round perfectly encapsulated the nature of the fight. Duran, following a slip by Pazienza in round two, was able to finally able to use his experience to lure his opponent to overbalance on a punch, dropping him to the canvas with a right hand. It was a highlight far too infrequent for the Duran fans in attendance, made even more frustrating by Roberto’s inability to capitalise. Indeed, Pazienza would finish the round much stronger than the veteran, purely through his ability to throw punches in bunches. Every time Duran landed with one shot, Vinny had moved out of reach of the second punch, if a second punch was actually thrown. In all reality, Duran was slowing even by the time he scored the knockdown, and would arguably lose every round after the fifth. All three judges even scored that round 10-10, suggesting that Pazienza had done enough to draw the round following his trip to the mat. That was debatable, but in the rest of the contest, he outworked, outfought and out-willed the living legend almost from the opening bell.

Duran looked and felt like an old man, attempting to rage against the dying of the light of a career that had sparkled, but ultimately failing. As the twelfth due to close, even the commentary team mused over whether Vinny Pazienza had finally forced Duran into retirement. But Duran wasn’t finished. With an impetuousness which could only come from being forty three and a five weight world champion, not only did he claim the moral victory in the fight by telling the NY Times "If this kid's so tough, look at his face and look at me. I didn't lose the fight.", but by also quickly denying any potential thoughts about retiring with words as quick and to the point as one of his acclaimed body shots.

“No. I will fight.”

It has to be believed that the only reason we ever saw a Duran vs Pazienza II in January 1995 was the bad blood that seeped into every aspect of this rivalry, as well as the knockdown in Round Five. In that moment, we saw a glimmer of what Duran had been capable of throughout his career, and there was always the chance he could unleash one shot that would drop the mouthy American for good. Outside of his name, the resonance of past glories that he had built up in the 70s and 80s, it was all he had.

The second bout was dubbed ‘A Matter of Pride’, a fitting sobriquet for Duran’s career since ‘No Mas’. Even before the bell had rung, it was clear that the ill feeling the surrounded their first fight hadn’t dissipated in the six month gap between contests. Pazienza almost knocked the referee out of the way to get at Duran during the reading of the rules, and he would talk the whole way through the ref’s spiel, telling Duran that he was ready and he was not afraid. He was met with Duran’s trademark cold and steely gaze, seemingly unaffected by the brashness of youth. The ref would physically have to force the men to touch gloves; neither man willing to show the other any hint of respect.

Visibly bigger and more out of shape than in the first fight, Duran would struggle throughout the fight to raise the tempo in a manner that could put Pazienza in danger. In the lead up to the fight, the footage of Duran’s recent victories showed a propensity for him to lean into the opponent on the ropes and drop them with combinations, the single shot knockout power a distant memory. Pazienza just never let him use this technique effectively.

The first punch by Pazienza, though just clipping Duran, seemed to surprise the Panamanian, and the opening round felt like a rehash of the previous fight. Not only had Duran’s legs gone by now, but the speed of his punches offered little in the way of trouble for his opponent, as Pazienza was able to get in, hit a right and a left, and get out without Duran even getting close to catching him. Wary of Duran’s potential punching power, Pazienza would throw unorthodox strikes, often with his arm and head moving in completely opposite directions. This ability to stay out of range, but hit combinations with ease when moving closer, gave Pazienza the first round. Once again, it would require the referee to get in between both boxers as Pazienza would move to square up to Duran, but that hostility would dissipate as the fight progressed.

Over the next couple of rounds, Duran would find himself in a position to drive his opponent back into the ropes, echoing his most recent victories. However, Pazienza seemed happy to fight off of the ropes, and would even will Duran on with taunts. Each time Duran would let fly with his solitary shots, all too often Pazienza would slip the punches and retaliate with several of his own. It felt like Duran was swatting at flies for long stretches, and even when he managed to force Pazienza back against the ropes in round three, Duran was all too easily shrugged off by the younger man.

In hope more than expectation the crowd followed Duran into this fight, and by the third round they could see that their man wasn’t likely to show us any glimpses of the dangerous fighter that once was. Restlessness seeped in as Pazienza took another round, with several punches thrown after the bell for good measure. Though the first contest between the two was heated, this all felt tokenistic; both men occasionally giving the fans the scrap they had paid to see, but the gulf between the two so vast that any real needle was lost at the first bell.

It took until the fifth round for Duran to throw a punch that felt like it had something resembling meaning, a left hook. Smiling, Pazienza would rattle his head to taunt, often a sign of a man who doesn’t want to admit to the pain the punch caused. Having taken large chunks of the fourth round off, Pazienza was back to nipping in and out of range, using levels to hit Duran at will with punches that were never going to end the fight, but were doing enough for him win the rounds. Anytime Duran looked like he was loading up a significant strike, Pazienza would quickly disengage, knowing that Duran was never going to chase after him. His guard would remain low also, with his chin rarely in hitting distance.

Duran’s biggest successes in the fights would come in the later rounds, as a slowing Pazienza would leave himself open for the odd counterpunch. When moving forward, Duran’s work to the body was workmanlike, but he would always take several blows to the head for his troubles. As the fight continued, he would stumble forward, rarely throwing anything with conviction, holding on to Pazienza and breathing heavily.

Even Pazienza seemed to offer little of quality in this fight. The contest in June would have been seen as a big opportunity; this fight felt like it rehashing old news. Like the first battle between the two, Pazienza would hit the canvas, only this time it would be due a slip rather than any pressure from the fading Duran. The tiredness of ‘The Pazmanian Devil’ would impact upon the form and fury of the strikes in the later rounds, with several wild swings borne out of a desire to conclusively finish his opponent. Yet, for the most part, he was able to do enough work to win the rounds, without ever putting himself in danger like he had back in June. At times, it felt that his mouth was doing the most work of anything in the ring as he continued to berate Duran into the latter stages.

Both men would touch gloves at the start of the eleventh and twelfth round, a modicum of respect seeping into proceedings. That the resigned thump Duran gave Pazienza’s gloves in the penultimate round was the hardest he’d managed to hit his opponent tells its own story. The commentary in the final three minutes would take on the tone of an elegy for Duran’s career. As if to finish this sequel in a manner befitting some of the action we’d seen across the twenty four rounds, Duran would hit Pazienza with a last second low blow by mistake. Like he had been in the face of the rest of Duran’s offense, Pazienza was barely phased as the bell went to seemingly put Duran out of his misery and leave him little option but to retire.

Even within the usually steely gaze of Roberto Duran, there seemed a hint of sadness as the scorecards were read out and declared Vinnie Pazienza the victor in a lopsided result (118-10, 117-111, 116-112). Both men would show respect for each other at the post-fight press conference and share a hug, singing the other’s praises for the pay cheque each would receive (Pazienza, at $750,000, earning over $100,000 more out of the fight). Clearly hating to lose, Duran would look for any excuse other than his failing body, and this time would suggest that Pazienza took steroids, a repeated claim among some in the boxing world.

As if to highlight how far Duran had fallen as a viable contender, Pazienza would be comprehensively out-boxed in his next contest against the IBF Super Middleweight Champion, Roy Jones Jr. Undefeated at the time, Jones would finish Pazienza in the sixth round, knocking him down three times following a fifth round where Jones would avoid all five punches thrown by his opponent. Though he didn’t even get close to taking the title from Jones, Pazienza would pocket over one million dollars for his fight purse.

Following the loss to Pazienza, many people would have been waiting for Duran to finally hang up the gloves and call it a day. However, just like the first fight, he was already quelling the hopes of many who wanted him to get out of the game with his mental faculties in working order. Whilst it was likely to be subject to the rule of diminishing returns, it is understandably hard to walk away from any endeavour that affords you paycheques upwards of half a million dollars. This is especially the case when you are used to living the standard of life Duran had cultivated for himself, by competing in the one thing you consider yourself good at.

For a man who was considered ‘too old’ when he bullied Sugar Ray Leonard around the ring in 1980, Duran’s last fight would be a losing effort against Hector Camacho in 2001. After the Pazienza fights, he would go on to fight another fifteen times, a frankly dangerous amount for a man whose sole skills at this point in his career was the desire to lace up the boots and the ability to soak up punishment. In those fifteen fights, Duran would win ten and lose five, though the most serious loss would come at the hands of William Joppy, a young contender from the US. In a match that resembled a massacre, Duran would be knocked out in round three, soaking up a large amount of punishment in the eight minutes he lasted. By this point, his purse was down to a quarter of a million dollars.

In the end, the decision on when his career would end was taken out of Duran’s hands, as he had little choice but to call it a day following a near-tragic car accident. With the nature of his battles in 1994 and 1995 with Pazienza, his subsequent beatings by Camacho and Joppy, and other losses to fights like Jorge Fernando Castro and Omar Gonzalez, the thought of Duran boxing into his 50s was a worrying, yet legitimate, concern. Luckily, Duran would recover well following the accident, and would retire seemingly with his faculties intact.

With title belts won in four different divisions and the longevity to fight in five different decades, it isn’t much of a stretch to suggest the legacy of Duran is written in stone. If ever we wanted proof that Duran possibly outstayed his welcome, look no further than his match versus Vinny Pazienza on the 14th of January 1995.

 

[Elsalvajeloco]

I thought it was pretty good for the most part. There is enough context there to make it compelling.

However, I would argue that Duran's loss to Benitez was perhaps one of his most forgivable especially when you look at the rest of his career in the 80s. Duran didn't look great in that fight but Benitez was on the rise and had fought stiff competition himself. It was only after the Laing loss where shit started to go south in a hurry with Don King dropping him. That's what made the Davey Moore win so thrilling for his career. For a moment, the Pipino Cuevas victory and how he so brutally dispatched Moore seemed to reinvigorate his career and show that he still had that fire. Most importantly, it rehabbed his image. If he didn't win the Moore fight, I doubt he would have gotten those other fights where he lost.

So if you need a backdrop on Duran's career, it think that is important to insert into that timeline.

[Liam]

23 minutes ago, Elsalvajeloco said:

I thought it was pretty good for the most part. There is enough context there to make it compelling.

However, I would argue that Duran's loss to Benitez was perhaps one of his most forgivable especially when you look at the rest of his career in the 80s. Duran didn't look great in that fight but Benitez was on the rise and had fought stiff competition himself. It was only after the Laing loss where shit started to go south in a hurry with Don King dropping him. That's what made the Davey Moore win so thrilling for his career. For a moment, the Pipino Cuevas victory and how he so brutally dispatched Moore seemed to reinvigorate his career and show that he still had that fire. Most importantly, it rehabbed his image. If he didn't win the Moore fight, I doubt he would have gotten those other fights where he lost.

So if you need a backdrop on Duran's career, it think that is important to insert into that timeline.

Excellent. This is the type of stuff I really need, as I'm looking at stuff that I wasn't following when I was younger (I was only 9.).

The idea in theory is to collate these when I finish, though with fixes based around suggestions such as this.

I've got various ideas for matches for different months, but the next month will be Nigel Benn vs Gerald McLellan - Youtube becomes a bit of a Godsend when it comes to checking out older fights.

[Liam]

Eubank vs Collins I

Whitaker vs Vazquez

Foreman vs Schulz

Mike Tyson vs McNeeley

Frank Bruno vs Oliver McCall

Naseem Hamed vs Steve Robinson

Lennox Lewis vs Tommy Morrison

Riddick Bowe vs Evander Holyfield

The rise of Joe Calzaghe

Are there any other big matches in 1995 that I should probably cover that don't have a man already listed above. About one short if doing 12, four short if doing 15. I'm not going to do it month by month anymore, due to the dearth of big fights in some months, but any guidance as to things I might have missed would be really helpful.

[Elsalvajeloco]

Benn vs. McClellan comes to mind just for the ramifications.

Maybe Bowe vs. Jorge Luis Gonzalez to set up what you might mention for the third Bowe-Holyfield fight.

[Liam]

22 minutes ago, Elsalvajeloco said:

Benn vs. McClellan comes to mind just for the ramifications.

Maybe Bowe vs. Jorge Luis Gonzalez to set up what you might mention for the third Bowe-Holyfield fight.

Ooops, forgot to mention that I already have Benn vs McClellan on the go.

Hmm...I might have to end up 'doubling up' on some fighters. Bowe vs Hide was one that I was tempted to have a look at, considering the occasional slant towards UK fighters and it would see Bowe win the world title. Could also cover Eubank vs Collins II, but not sure I could get significant enough a second 5000 odd words.

[Elsalvajeloco]

Man, I was wondering if it was 94 or 95 but Hopkins vs. Mercado II was in 1995. That begins Bernard Hopkins' 10 year of run holding at least one version of the middleweight crown. One of my favorite BHop performances.

You can probably add Chiquita Gonzalez vs. Saman Sorjaturong.

Arturo Gatti vs. Tracy Harris Patterson I was perhaps the emergence of Arturo Gatti.

[AxB]

Baby Jake Matlala vs Paul Weir, in Glasgow. How many years see a 4'10" guy win a World title? 1995 did.

[Liam]

Excellent suggestions guys, I'll have a look and see what works.

2,500 into the Benn/McClellan one - man, Gerald was a mean puncher, as was early Benn.

[Liam]

Chapter 2

Nigel Benn vs Gerald McClellan

25th February 1995, London Arena, London

 

‘Fucking hell, Nigel, you’ve really got him in trouble, mate!’

Corner man Dennie Mancini after a first round that saw Gerald McClellan knock Nigel Benn into the first row.

 

By the practical and physical nature of sport, injuries are bound to occur. In athletic pursuits, where the muscles and sinews are primed in the pursuit of glory, sometimes the smallest deviation can cause a problem. Strains, sprains and tears become par for the course.

 

Some sports do come at a higher price in terms of the potential risks inherent in participation. Jockeys falling off of horses over jumps at high speeds potentially throw themselves under a cacophony of thundering hooves, every one a potential life threatening occurrence. Whilst many steps have been taken to improve the safety of motor racing in all its forms, it doesn’t detract from the fact that streamlined chunks of metal travelling at vast rates of acceleration and speed can be a recipe for serious injury.

 

Even football has had its fair share of recent brushes with near-death and fatalities within its less obviously threatening surroundings. One need only to look at Fabrice Muamba, the Zaire born Bolton player whose heart stopped for seventy eight minutes on the White Hart Lane pitch, to see that the spectre of death lingers over every sport.

 

Then we have boxing.

 

From the earliest recordings of the fistic arts, there have been examples of fighters dying. As far back as 1725, there are reports of men stepping into a boxing ring and meeting their ultimate demise. In 1833, Simon Byrne would die from injuries caused during a 99th round defeat against James Burke. The official reason given for his passing was ‘congestion of blood in the brain’, though in the four days between fight and death, he told his chambermaid that it wasn’t likely to be the beating that killed him, but the mortification of losing the fight.

 

There have been over one thousand reported deaths in boxing, and the clamour for boxing to be banned in some circles only increases each time a young fighter ends up in the papers for all the wrong reasons. To those who haven’t been able to see past the bombasticity and bludgeoning violence of the sport, it seems like a no brainer. Why would someone want to stand in a ring and punch or be punched by someone else, and what type of person would willingly choose to watch?

 

Unfortunately, the fight that saw me pass through the barrier between casual observer and pugilistic enthusiast was a contest with almost such an outcome. Gerald McClellan would require emergency surgery to remove a blood clot from his brain, leaving him permanently disabled; not something that is easy to digest or fully understand during the immortality of childhood. My perception of the fight was one of sheer awe, as both men took and gave punishment like nothing I’d ever seen. Regardless of the outcome which naturally overshadows the reminiscence, this was boxing at its most volatile, aggressive and passionate.

 

Boxing out of my home town of Ilford, Greater London, Nigel Benn was a dangerous fighter in the early years of his career. The nickname ‘The Dark Destroyer’ wasn’t a misnomer; Benn would defeat, by knockout or technical knockout, every one of his first twenty two opponents. Though the boxing equivalent of wet paper bags are often used to feather a fighter’s record in the early years of his career, this statistic still stands out as impressive, especially when Benn would knock out fighters such as Winston Burnett, someone whose 20-98-3 belies the fact that only fourteen of those losses came by facing a ten count or ref stoppage. Two of those belonged to Benn; in contrast, Chris Eubank would beat Burnett six months this second defeat on points.

 

In the first Burnett match, we were already beginning to see the prototypical Benn fighting style, as he stalked his prey around the ring with limited, if any, remorse. Hands held low like the street fighter he was, he invited opportunities for his opponents to hit him, knowing that he trusted his hands to do the talking when necessary. Targeting the body as often as the head, punches were thrown with intent to hurt; there was never a sense of Benn trying to find his range or feel out his opponent. The ref would Burnett out of his misery in Round 4 following several shots that snapped back the Jamaican’s head and forced his whole body to recoil. Unsurprisingly, the second fight went no better: Burnett was stopped in Round 3 after a combination of shots that had him hanging limply against the ropes and almost out of the ring. Benn wasn’t looking to mess around.

 

It would be the twenty third fight of his career which would see him lose for the first time, an all English clash seeing him face Michael Watson for Benn’s Commonwealth Middleweight Title. Not only was Benn defeated by Watson, he was comprehensively outboxed. The favourite of both the fans and the bookies, Benn attempted to walk through Watson’s offense time after time, only for many of his hooks to meet the high guard of the challenger, or miss completely. Using the space afforded to him in the ring to maintain distance where possible, Watson would snap Benn’s head back with jabs and combos, slipping back into the guard before any retaliatory shot could be fired.

 

The champion was rocked in Round Four, though was able to fight back and land some significant power punches before the bell. The same could not be said for Round Six; as both men traded punches on the ropes, Benn was caught with a left hook that seemed to take him, and his body, by surprise. As if in slow motion, his body tilted and crashed to the canvas, a look of shock registered on his face. Though he would be in the process of getting up at the time, he was not able to beat the ten count. Watson, a 5/1 bet for the victory, had pulled off the unthinkable, and had beaten ‘The Dark Destroyer’.

 

What would have worried Benn, his fans and his promotional team was the inability to switch gameplan. What had worked so well in the previous fights, Benn’s power punches to head and stomach often forcing his opponent’s guards to drop, hadn’t worked at all against Watson. Whilst Watson was a class above a lot of the men who had stepped into the ring to fight Benn, it was the inability to recognise the danger he was in, or to offer something resembling a plan B. Every time Benn would get hit with a Watson punch, he would leave himself open for two or three more, almost confused as to how best to fend off the rapier jabs of the more experienced opponent.

Following the fight, Benn and his team realised that for all the pomp and circumstance surrounding his boxing career up to date, things weren’t working out. It was one thing to beat a string of relative no-hopers, but when facing up against his first opponent of any real quality, Benn had been found wanting. A renewed focus on training and sparring was necessary, as well as a selection of opponents that would get him the rounds under his belt that were so clearly needed. Even more importantly for Benn was that the next five fights would be Stateside, allowing him to get away from the circus that had been created around his brand and quietly rebuild his reputation post-Watson.

 

Benn’s US debut would see him go the full ten rounds with Jorge Amparo, a man who had never been stopped and had fought four former world champions. Finally, Benn was beginning to get substantial in-ring time against opposition of a better quality. That isn’t to say that his ability to punch his way past opponents was lost; his second fight in the US didn’t see its way out of the first round, Jose Quinones almost getting punched through the ropes on a first knockdown before dropping to the floor shortly afterwards to leave the ref little choice but to stop the fight. Whilst he could still hit his opponents with power that belied his stature, this one round knockout also showcased a wiser Benn, as he picked his shots until he sensed weakness, clinically finishing Quinones off with several heavy shots.

 

Following a split decision victory over Sanderline Williams (comprehensively won on two cards), there were still murmurings that Benn couldn’t consider himself amongst the top echelon of middleweight fighters. The next two fights would arguably change that. In the first, he would pick up his first world title by defeating Doug De Witt for the WBO World Middleweight Title. A brutal beating saw De Witt drop three times in the first minute of the eighth round following seven previous rounds that saw cuts above both eyes and a serious ear injury. An even more impressive first round TKO of Iran Barkley followed, though this resembled a bar fight as much as a boxing contest. Barkley would hit the mat three times, though Benn would be chastised post-fight for a punch thrown when Barkley was on the mat for the second time.

 

It was time to come home. With an offer of a substantial payday to fight Chris Eubank, Benn would put aside his own desires to take on Thomas Hearns, Roberto Duran or Sugar Ray Leonard and contest another all-English affair. The two men were the antithesis of each other in terms of style, with Eubank arguably more stylish and definitely more elusive. After nine close rounds, a tiring Benn would be stopped by a flurry of Eubank shots, forcing the referee to stop the contest with four seconds left of the round. For the second time, Benn would lose a title to a fellow British boxer.

 

This time, the rehabilitation would take place primarily in the UK, outside of a stop in Italy to pick up his second world title, the WBC Super-Middleweight Championship, in a four round TKO victory over Mauro Galvano. Rather than the conclusive victory Benn might have wanted, the fight ended in controversy when Galvano was unable to continue due to a cut above his eye. With the Italians angling for a technical draw due to it being at the end of Round Three, confusion reigned until it was announced that Benn had been awarded the fight by TKO. To put any lingering doubt to rest, Benn would subsequently defeat Galvano by unanimous decision in Glasgow.

 

Between winning the title and fighting McClellan in 1995, Benn would accumulate a record of twelve wins and one draw, the draw being the controversial rematch with Chris Eubank. The fight would be a record breaker for UK boxing as Benn would become the first man to get paid £1 million for a UK fight. Benn would technically win on two of the judges’ scorecards, only for a docked point for a low blow in the sixth round would leave the score tied: one judge for Benn, one for Eubank, one tied. The fans in attendance weren’t happy - they clearly thought Benn had done enough to unify the titles (Eubank being the current WBO Super Middleweight Champion).

 

In the lead up to his match with McClellan, Benn would have two unanimous decision victories, the first over Henry Wharton, the second over Juan Carlos Giminez Ferreyra. Whilst both fights were comprehensive victories for the champion, they lacked the fireworks and ferocity expected of Benn between the ropes. With his 31st birthday behind him, and forty two fights of escalating length and competitiveness, people began to wonder how long Benn had left at the top of the pile.

 

For a fighter who had had questions about his chin ever since the fight against Michael Watson back in 1989, Benn couldn’t have chosen a more potentially difficult opponent. Gerald McClellan, fighting out of Illinois, was as dangerous a puncher as had ever set foot in a boxing ring. Around the time of the Benn/Watson contest, McClellan would lose his eleventh and twelfth fights on points. He wouldn’t lose another fight for the next five years. More worryingly, after a points victory over Charles Hollis in 1990, he would win his next fourteen contests by knockout or TKO. Ten of these fights would not see the bell for the end of the first round.

 

On McClellan’s first trip to the UK, he would win the WBO Middleweight Title that had been vacated when Chris Eubank moved up to Super-Middleweight, a belt that Eubank had taken off of Benn with his ninth round victory. John Mugabi would be his opponent for the vacant championship; Mugabi would hit the canvas three times in the first round. A fighter notorious for having no fight go the distance in his career up to this point, Mugabi would be hit multiple times with shots that stiffened his entire body, punches akin to walking into a brick wall staggering the veteran. That the referee allowed the fight to continue after the second knockdown was questionable, allowing Mugabi to take several more heavy shots to the face before collapsing face first to the mat. Jumping and punching the air as the ref waved off the fight, McClellan had proved to the British crowd his immense power. He would clearly be a danger for any opponent, no matter how lauded they might be.

 

Unlike Benn, who seemed to be slowing down, McClellan continued to improve as he knocked out challengers with relative ease. His impressive record would see him earn a shot at the WBC Middleweight Title in 1993, a match against the Virgin Islander Julian Jackson, a man who had only lost one fight of a forty seven fight career up to this point. Even successive low blows in the fifth round would not be enough to stop the American, as he got up after a short delay to land a left hook that almost had Jackson sliding under the bottom rope. The game champion was able to get back to his feet, only to take more punishment as McClellan smelt blood. The second knockdown saw Jackson once against get back up, but Miles Lane waved off the fight with him in no state to continue. A rematch would take place in 1994, the final fight before McClellan would meet Benn; this time Jackson barely made it out of the first minute, dropped by a body shot for a ten count. The speed, power and accuracy of McClellan was frightening as he swarmed all over Jackson after the first punch of note. Future glory seemed within his grasp.

 

The opening to the show was pure 90s; lurid colours flashing across the screen supported by synth music of the most basic. ‘The Big Fight’ emblazoned across the screen in gold, symbolic of the glory ahead for the victor. Vox pop style promotional snippets of interviews sat next to a montage of each mans’ impressive in-ring action, numbers dancing across the screen to remind the viewer watching at home that they were in for some destructive and explosive action. In the lead up to the fight both men were confident that they would come out the champion. McClellan criticised Benn’s ability to box; Benn reminded us all that he had more knockout victories than McClellan had matches.

 

The contest came at a good time for ITV Sport. Having only the week before showcased a one-sided ‘mugging’ (the words of Jim Rosenthal) between Frank Bruno and Rodolfo Martin, the broadcaster would have been looking for action that was a little more inspiring. The coverage pre-fight seemed to highlight the belief that they would get exactly that, everyone effusively selling the contest as a potential ‘fight of the decade’. Worryingly for the British fans, popular consensus was that the fight would be short, with McClellan likely to be the one with his hand raised at the end. The Times and The Mirror had the American winning in the sixth and fifth round respectively; The Guardian and Today didn’t even have Benn making it out of the first round.

 

Those who had lumped on the bookies’ tip would have liked what they saw as the introductions boomed out over the PA system in the London Arena. Lead to the ring by a flag waving Don King, McClellan looked unfazed by the hostility of the pro-Benn crowd, like a man ready to take what was rightfully his. In contrast, Benn appeared more wide-eyed and on edge as he followed his crew to ringside, a man who might have been beginning to regret the choices he had made.

 

After the ring introductions, the first round proved to be beyond the expectations of all the pundits who had expected a ferocious start. With a reminded of the thirty three first round wins each men shared, it shouldn’t have been surprising that one boxer was on his back within the first three minutes. Benn, after looking surprised by a couple of decent shots and the power within them, would get caught against the ropes with relative ease. Using his left hand to seemingly identify the places to aim for, McClellan would knock Benn out of the ring and onto the apron. A couple of shots that had managed to connect on Benn’s chin, a target ducking underneath the belt line in a vain attempt to avoid the inevitable, stiffened the legs, before the next shot had Benn almost amongst the glitterati in the front row.

 

What followed has been debated about ever since the fight, as Benn would get what was perceived longer count to get back into the ring. Whether he had fallen far enough into the crowd to get a twenty count, or the ref offered a very calm and considered ten count, Benn was somehow able to get back into the ring. Inside my house, the fear of an early stoppage (and an early night) grew exponentially. How could Benn manage to see out this onslaught to finish the first round, let alone the fight?

 

And an onslaught it was.

 

McClellan was like a pitbull, snarling and chomping to get at Benn as quickly as possible, a fighter who knew he wasn’t paid by the hour and sensed it wouldn’t take much more to put Benn out for good. Stumbling around like a drunkard after closing time, Benn was lucky not to get stopped by the referee at several points - some officials would have stepped in for less. A token left hand before the bell rang would be the only offense of any note from the Brit, though it was at least a signal that he had managed to weather the storm and was still not only standing, but swinging as well.

 

In the Benn corner, a sense of worry was pervasive amongst not only the boxer, but his team also. Choosing not to dwell on the massacre that was the first round, Dennie Mancini would champion Benn’s cause, extolling the virtue of his work in that first round and reinflate a sense of belief in the almost beaten man. The second round would not be a repeat of the first, not if Benn could help it.

 

The street fighting instincts seemed to kick in, though many punches were high, wide or handsome, yet every connection would send a capacity crowd into rapture. As if exhausted by the early flurry and confused by the fight even entering a second round, McClellan would show little in the second round, resorting to holding onto Benn after receiving several stinging left hooks to the face. It was as if Benn drew energy from every punch that connected, his legs working hard to allow McClellan no space to escape.

 

The danger with a powerful fighter like McClellan was always going to be his ability to turn a contest on one jaw-shattering punch. Even though Round Three and Round Four saw Benn make multiple use of his left hook from out of a crouch position to good effect, the American still looked the more dangerous. Benn still needed to be wary of his opponent, a point highlighted when he was stopped in his tracks by a McLellan left hook, a desperate clinch enough to allow him to stay upright. These punches were becoming less frequent as the fight went on, however.

 

With the rarity of McClellan being dragged past Round Three, a longer fight felt like it was going to favour Benn. The commentary mentioned McClellan’s seeming inability to defend, and whenever the camera focused on the man, he looked dazed and tired by the constant barrage of blows from Benn. The wars across the UK and the US to get Benn to this night were paying dividends - he knew what it took to dig deep.

 

As hindsight is always perfect vision, it is easy to look now and see the warning signs that things weren’t quite right as the contest progressed. What could easily dismissed as the struggles of a boxer who had never been challenged in this manner, or been forced to box this many rounds more than a handful of times, looks damning when viewed in retrospect. The mouthguard seemed to have a mind of its own, popping in and out of McClellan’s mouth with every breath he forced into his exhausted body.  Between rounds and as he circled away from the onrushing Benn, his eyes flickered rapidly, a feature of his countenance noted on commentary. Every shot that Benn landed that somehow McClellan managed to absorb was testament to his capabilities at the time, as well as a steady march to the inevitable tragic ending.

 

That is not to say that Benn had it all his own way up until the eleventh round. The pundits went back and forth on whether Benn had done enough to recover on the scorecards following the first round knockdown, whilst arguably McClellan would win Round Seven after a barren spell since sending his opponent through the ropes. The frustration of the crowd was tangible, and spilled over for Benn at the end of Round Six, a couple of heavy shots landing after the bell, shrugged off on commentary as the instinct of a fighter who has his man hurt.

 

Just as it seemed like the home favourite was doing enough to peg back the points, disaster struck. A right hand by McClellan would send a flailing Benn into the ropes, before follow up shots would leave him propped up against the corner. Though suggestions would be made that the resulting knockdown was a slip, connection by McClellan’s glove seemed to be the catalyst for Benn’s trip to the canvas. Irrelevant as to whether it should have been considered a knockdown or not, all of the hard work that Benn had put in to closing the points gap was undone, much to his visible frustration.

 

McClellan would have his heart questioned in Round Nine, as an overreaching Benn would hit the American with his glove and then a glancing headbutt as he tumbled down to the canvas. As if to try and force the referee’s hand to give him the time that he so desperately needed, McClellan would kneel on the floor, much to the chagrin of the crowd in attendance. Boos reigned down as the ref told him to get back up to his feet, to resume the war of attrition that only occasionally threatened to break out into a boxing contest.

 

Even in a fight where every shot feels liable to leave a man laying on the canvas, the end came suddenly. At the time, I felt it was an anti-climax, buying into the commentary team’s suggestions that McClellan’s will and desire had been broken by Benn over the course of the intense battle. A big right hand from Benn in Round Ten would send McClellan down to his knees, the crowd’s fervour for their champion to win reaching a fever pitch as the first real sign of weakness from the American played out in the middle of the ring. He would get up to his feet, but there was no doubt that he was in no real condition to continue, each following punch taken with limited attempts to defend the swarm of blows from Benn’s right and left gloves. In testament to his will and desire to win, McClellan would manage to avoid ending up flat on his back, instead heading back to one knee for the second count of the round.

 

With the referee clearly signalling the count to the kneeling warrior, McClellan looked stunned. The crowd, every man and woman standing on their feet, has a sense that neither man would give in if they had an ounce of fight left in them. Yet, as the count continued to move towards ten, McClellan didn’t move. As the referee waved off the contest following the splaying of both of his hands to signal the ten had been reached, the realisation that Benn had managed to defeat the American against all odds hit. Rapture mixed with relief, for Benn and for the crowd in attendance. At the time of the knockout, McClellan was ahead on two of the three judges’ scorecards.

 

It wasn’t long before the feeling in the ring changed from celebration to concern as McLellan would end up flat on his back, the corner and the medics rushing to try and administer first aid. With the TV viewers to consider, the post match interview with Benn was tinged with a sense of ill timing, as he lauded it over his fallen opponent at a time when oxygen masks were being administered and people were trying to clear the ring. Noticing the situation, the interview would be cut short, with McClellan’s condition unclear and the coverage finishing with questions left hanging in the air as to how serious things were. Was he just exhausted after a war that would end up putting Benn in hospital as well? The crowd crossed their fingers and hoped for the best.

 

In a bittersweet turn of events, it would be the disabling of Michael Watson at the hands of Chris Eubank in 1991 that may have saved McClellan from a more serious condition, or even death. When Watson had required immediate medical attention, no paramedic or ambulance had been in attendance, leaving his brain to be starved of oxygen and a long wait for the required treatment was received. This time, five doctors, four paramedics and two ambulances were on the scene; an army of medical personnel that probably saved McClellan’s life.

 

In the ensuing hours that followed McClellan’s collapse, the adrenaline and aggression that surged through the body of Benn led to him declaring ‘rather him than me’ when challenged by a journalist on the condition of his opponent. Crass, but unfortunately all too understandable from a man who felt the world was against him in the lead up to the fight. When they ended up in the same hospital, Benn would show a more tender side to his personality, kissing the hands of the stricken warrior.

 

Understandably, calls from the British Medical Association to ban boxing were instant, especially considering all conceivable measures had been put in place to try and stop this type of tragedy occurring. In a comment that seemed almost too obvious and simplistic, a spokesperson for the medical body would say ``The problem is that boxers are punching each other's heads.''  However, just like McClellan would survive his brush with death, boxing would also survive, yet with the lingering spectre of tragedy never too far away.

 

Benn would fight two more times in 1995, defeating Vincenzo Nardiello and Danny Perez by TKO. This would be the last hurrah for a boxer that many felt had been on a downward slide before triumph over McClellan. His WBC Super Middleweight Title would be lost in a match against a forty year old Thulani ‘Sugarboy’ Malinga in 1996, one that Benn himself admitted he had been complacent in and put in a lacklustre performance. Later that year, two consecutive losses to the Irishman Steve Collins would signal the end of his career.

 

As for McClellan? He would spend eleven days in a coma, losing his eyesight, ability to walk and powers of comprehension in the process. Over time, the ability to get around with a cane would allow him an element of freedom, but he required full time care that would be administered by his three sisters.

 

The tragedy of the fight rightly overshadows the quality of the contest, but it would be remiss of the boxing public to choose to bury their heads in the sand and forget about it. The battle between the two champions encapsulated the best and worst of the fighting game; the lengths that a man would go to to take a punch and keep on moving forward; the potential for debilitating injury and death ever present.

 

This was the fight that made me fall in love with boxing as a sport. Perhaps too young to realise the overarching narrative that played out in the days that followed, it became emblematic of persistence in the face of adversity. Even after over twenty years, it grabs and engages me in a way that no other fight has and possibly will since. The epilogue may be tragic; the talents of the men who were willing to die for victory, unquestionable.

 

My second chapter/essay, covering Benn/McClellan.

[Liam]

A look at Pernell Whitaker vs Julio Cesar Vasquez. Think it tails off a bit towards the end, but is otherwise fine.

"You see what you're doing?" Duva kept asking as they ran the tape twice. "You're moving straight in and he's unloading on you."

"But that's the way I fight," said Whitaker, puzzled.

"And that's why you lost," said Duva.

A pep talk by Lou Duva, Whitaker’s soon-to-be professional manager, after an amateur loss to Joey Belinc, 1984.

Chapter 3

Pernell Whitaker vs Julio Cesar Vasquez (4th March, 1995)

The most important thing in boxing is to not get hit.

Fighters like Ali and Tyson have transcended the sport, for bad and for worse. Features such as their charisma and brutal punching power gave the audience a hook that allowed them to attach themselves to a sport that potentially didn’t excite them in any way. You didn’t need to be a follower of the fistic arts to enjoy Ali’s shuffle and quickfire verbal wit, or the relentless forward aggression of Tyson in his heyday. Their work spoke to the masses; intelligence and savagery lauded in equal measure.

To the uninitiated, the defensive is always a harder sell than the offensive. The immediacy of a jab, verbal or otherwise, allows instant gratification; often, the elusivity of a fighter only bears fruit as the fight progress, each missed swing as mentally debilitating as physical. For the boxing fan, the boxer who can weave, bob and sway with the punches may not satiate a carnal urge for blood and thunder, but is the distillation of the craft into arguably its purest form.

Hit. Don’t get hit.

‘Sweet Pea’ Pernell Whitaker would be some people’s choice for the greatest defensive boxer of all time. Considering his personable nature (thus the less than threatening nickname), and an offense that often centred around a very good defense, he was always going to struggle to rack up the column inches in the tabloid media per se. However, his reactions in the ring made the boxing world stand up and take notice. Hitting Whitaker was akin to grabbing water; every time you think you got him, he would slip through your fingers.

Whitaker’s shot at Olympic Gold in the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics would almost slip through his own grasp following a 4-1 defeat against Joey Belinc during the Olympic team box-offs. A quirk in the organisation gave him a reprieve; having won the Olympic trials the previous month, he would only need to win one fight, unlike the losers who would need to win both to qualify. Even after a tantrum threatened to derail his chances, Whitaker would get back into the ring the following day and defeat Belinc 3-2. Close, but just enough to send him to Los Angeles as the Lightweight contender.

During these trials, a host of other notable names would also aim to make their Olympic box. Both Evander Holyfield and Meldrick Taylor would qualify, but for one Michael Tyson, the opportunity had come too soon. Henry Tillman would be the obstacle in his particular path twice, both at the trials and the box-offs, and he would defeat Tyson both times.

Whitaker would make it clear that he didn’t want to be considered one of the challengers at the Games, wanting to ‘be a guy nobody notices as I work my way up’. His desire to stay as hidden as his ringwork often allowed him to be was wishful thinking. In a Games that would involve a boycott by seventeen countries (fourteen led by the Soviet Union), not only would Whitaker go on to win Olympic Gold, he would win it in style. Adolfo Mendez (Nicaragua), Geoffrey Nyeko (Uganda), Reiner Gies (West Germany) and Chun Chil-Sung would be dispatched following a first round bye, cutting Whitaker a path through to the final. Even more impressively, he wouldn’t lose a fight on any judges’ scorecard, walking into the Gold medal match with a perfect 20-0 record.

Even if people weren’t excited by him already, his performance in the final surely raised the interest of more than a few onlookers. Luis Ortiz from Puerto Rico would be his opponent, a man who himself would become a legend for achieving the highest medal by a Puerto Rican athlete in history. Unfortunately for him, it was only silver, as Whitaker put on an amauteur masterclass. From the moment the bell rang, his speed had Ortiz chasing shadows, whilst combinations were fired at lightning speed, leaving the Puerto Rican little chance to avoid the incoming barrage.

What made Whitaker stand out in this fight was his ability to dodge and avoid punches. He could block a punch when he wanted to, but would often trust his eye for an incoming punch and his speed to avoid a shot rather than take it on his arms. More often than not, he was justified in this faith. Ortiz would land a decent uppercut in the first round, but would otherwise fail to come close to troubling Whitaker. Although at times Whitaker would look sloppier on offense than he did when counter-punching, he would force Ortiz’s corner to throw the towel in after two standing eight counts in the second round. The shots that left Ortiz needing time weren’t even the best in the round; you could hear the commentator crowing as a left to the body had Ortiz gasping for breath and hoping for the end.

Following an amateur record of 201-14, Whitaker would step into the ring for the first time as a professional later that Olympic year, taking only two of the six rounds advertised to defeat Farrain Comeaux. Whilst much has been made of his elusiveness, Whitaker would win nine of his first fifteen fights via knockout or TKO. The biggest victories to that date would be a unanimous decision over Roger Mayweather and a TKO win over Miguel Santana. They would give Whitaker his first titles as a pro; the NABF Lightweight Title, followed by the USBA Lightweight Title. In the grander scheme of things, titles that didn’t amount to much outside of minor recognition and a heavier bag to get through customs. Whitaker was ready to go for a World Title, and would get that opportunity in his sixteenth fight - an impressive feat by any conventional standards.

Unfortunately, things didn’t exactly go to plan.

His opponent: Jose Luis Ramirez. A man who, whilst only five years older than Pernell, had fought over ninety more fights than the Olympic champion in his career thus far. Admittedly, many of these were in a spell fighting in Mexico where Ramirez would often fight twice a month from the year of his debut (1973). This wasn’t to suggest that he didn’t have any pedigree. He had been in the ring with fighters such as Edwin Rosario, Alexis Arguello, Ray Mancini and Hector Camacho. His one hundred wins to this date wasn’t anything to mess around with, and it was a marked step up in class for Whitaker.

Oddly enough for a match between an American and a Mexican, the match would take place in France due to the management of the champion residing there.

The first four rounds couldn’t have gone more perfectly for the challenger. Ramirez was known for his punching power and durability, yet Whitaker didn’t let him get anywhere near him in the opening twelve minutes. Whitaker would circle around, feint, bob and weave, always working behind the repetitive percussion of his right jab. It didn’t matter too much that these shots often didn’t faze his opponent; if you are hitting and not getting hit, the rounds are yours.

Ramirez, as would be expected of a man with over one hundred fights under his belt, continued to march forward, and would even catch Whitaker with the odd straight left. The problem for the champion was that every shot was hitting a man moving backwards, nullifying the power of the blow. Still, it could be argued that the fifth round was the first which he may have wrestled away from the challenger.

Unfortunately, it would be Whitaker’s movement that would cost him in the long run. He would continue to tag Ramirez with jab after jab after jab, but as early as round six, the commentary team were beginning to question how the judges might view this continuous backwards movement. Added to this, it was often Whitaker who would clinch first, a move that didn’t endear him to the fans in attendance whatsoever. However, by the time the bell rang for the end of the twelfth round, everyone felt that Whitaker had done more than enough to win his first World title.

Everyone that is, except for two of the judges.

In a decision that would end up on multiple ‘Worst Boxing Decision’ lists in years to come, Ramirez would retain his title on a split decision. The Ring would even dub it the ‘Worst Decision of the Decade’ in a Lightweight fight in their March 1990 issue. A 117-114 scorecard in Whitaker’s favour sounded too close; a 115-116 and a 113-118 card a complete aberration of judgement. Rumours swirled around that a Ramirez versus Julio Cesar Chavez contest had already been committed to, one that would lose its lustre if Ramirez lost his title. Whatever the conspiracy theorists believed, Whitaker had lost his first contest as a professional boxer.

As Ramirez went on to lose the following contest against Chavez by technical decision (a cut opened by a clash of heads sending the match to the scorecards in the eleventh round), the Olympian had to rebuild his career. A defeat of a 3-8-1 Antonio Carter was to be expected. His next fight would see him win his first world title, the IBF World Lightweight championship, beating Greg Haugen by unanimous decision. Haugen had only been defeated once before in his career, and Whitaker would follow up with his first defense ending in a technical knockout of Louie Lomeli, undefeated up until this point.

Considering the contentious nature of the first fight, a rematch against Ramirez was always a possibility in the near future, and they would meet once more in 1989. This time the fight would be in the US, and Whitaker would not be stopped. Outside of one judge, Whitaker would whitewash Ramirez, winning every round and picking up the vacant WBC Lightweight Title in the process. When asked what would have happened had history repeated itself, Whitaker replied, "They never would have got out of the building.”

Winning the World Title wasn’t enough for Whitaker. He would go on a tear over the next four years, winning thirteen bouts, many by unanimous decision after outboxing his competitors. This wasn’t the only weapon he had in his arsenal though, as he proved when taking out Juan Nazario (a match that won him the WBA Lightweight Title), Jerry Smith and Ben Baez in the first round. Whitaker knew how to punch just as much as he knew how to defend. The undefeated streak would coincide with Whitaker being named The Ring Magazine Fighter of the Year and the Boxing Writers Association of America Fighter of the Year for his exploits in 1989, as well as him being the first Unified Lightweight champion since Roberto Duran.

During these four years, Whitaker would begin to make his move up the weight ranks. In 1992, he would win the IBF Light-Welterweight Title by defeating Rafael Pineda, before defeating James McGirt to win the WBC Welterweight Title. This would make him a five time world champion, going some way to fulfilling the promise evident since his time at the 1984 Olympics. Whitaker was not content; there were bigger paydays and challenges out there which he sought.

Sitting with a record of 33-1, Whitaker would go up against his toughest opponent to date in 1993. Following his defeat of Ramirez, Julio Cesar Chavez had added twenty-five victories to his undefeated record, leaving him on an envious 87-0. Unlike Whitaker, many of Chavez’s victories would come by way of knockout or technical knockout.

An offense that relied on relentless pressure coupled with hooks to the body had chopped many an opponent down to size. Whether Whitaker would be able to stay out of range of the hard hitting Mexican was the big question heading into the contest. Chavez was also a master of defense himself, often making shots miss or taking the bulk on his gloves and forearms, whilst ducking under many punches to allow him to attack from different angles. It was never going to be an easy night for the American in a contest considered to crown the best pound for pound boxer on the planet, as well as for Whitaker’s WBC Welterweight Title. The New York Times dubbed it ‘Fight versus Flight’.

Looking back, there is a sense of irony that a lot of the build up was overshadowed by squabbles between the camps about who would be the judges for the contest. Chavez wanted no-one American; Whitaker’s camp wanted none of the chosen judges changed. In the end, there would be one American on the list - Jack Woodruff from Texas.

Chavez was the overwhelming fan favourite that night in San Antonio, and he took the first couple of rounds with relative ease. Round Three was when Whitaker began to pick up the pace, throwing combos with delicious speed and accuracy, whilst also finding the opportunity to slip and dodge the majority of Chavez’s attack. Even when he was caught, Whitaker showed more chin than he had perhaps been given credit for, often firing back with several punches as a swift retort to any stiff blows.

By round eight, the crowd was silent.

At range, Whitaker was jabbing Chavez to a standstill, snapping his head back with every ramrod right. In Chavez’s world, close and in the trenches, Whitaker was dishing out more punishment then he was taking. By every conceivable measure, Whitaker was winning the fight.In some people’s eyes, the only real negative for Whitaker was several low blows, though the same could be levelled at Chavez.As the rounds slipped by, Whitaker looked calm and collected; Chavez looked a broken man.

The delivery of majority draw decision was greeted with some boos even by fans loyal to Chavez. Sports Illustrated would chose to emblazon the word ‘Robbed’ on their September cover. They had scored the fight 117-111 in favour of Whitaker, and would not be the only press agency who felt that the American had been cheated out of a just victory. Attention turned to Duva, and the power to choose the judges that was conceded to Don King. Whatever the shadier business behind the scenes, Whitaker had the moral victory, if not the one in the record books.

In March 1995, it would be about continued development of the Whitaker legacy. The next two fights after Chavez were victories (Santos Cardana and James McGirt), and though concepts such as an undefeated record and the recognition as the pound for pound best boxer in the world had been stolen from him, he stood on the verge of making history. Only Thomas Hearns, Sugar Ray Leonard and Roberto Duran had ever won legitimate world titles at four different weights. Whitaker had the chance to join greatness when he took on another Julio Cesar, though this time it was Vasquez rather than Chavez, for the WBA Light-Middleweight Title.

Vasquez embodied the old credo ‘have gumshield, will travel’ as he traversed his way around the world defending his title. Not content to just box in Argentina, he had taken in France, Spain, Kazakhstan and the United Kingdom in a ten fight win streak with the belt on the line. A crass fighter in some ways, he did little that was flashy in any conceivable way, with his head often caught due his lack of movement. What he did offer was power and the ability to endure punishment; this had been enough to get him to a World title.

That is not to suggest he wasn’t going to be a challenge for Whitaker. Though boxing titles can sometimes feel like the detritus of a decaying sport, there is usually some semblance of quality in a boxer who has ascended the ranks to the top. Vasquez would show what he was capable of in the ring in 1994, when he would defeat a young Ronald ‘Winky’ Wright by unanimous decision. Though Wright was the better technician, Vasquez walked through his offense, knocking him down in the second, seventh, ninth and twice in the twelfth. It was a victory for doggedness above all else, and showed that Vasquez had the force in his punches, both singularly and cumulatively, to put Whitaker in danger.

Vasquez would eschew his most common hunting ground of France to travel to take on the American in New Jersey. This would be his fourteenth fight since he won the title a little over two years previously, an insane fighting schedule but one that had reaped dividends with thirteen wins. In fact, he had only lost one fight in his career up until this point, and that was by DQ against Verno Phillips. There was no doubt that a Vasquez win would have been considered an upset, but there was also no doubt that he was in the ring with a fighter that would keep him honest throughout.

If the number of people who entered the ring with you before the introductions was indicative of the likelihood of you picking up the victory, Vasquez would have won handily. As Michael Buffer allowed his trademark voice to sell the importance of this contest, the champion was surrounded by men holding flags and belts, almost symbolic of the battles and stories he had collected along the way during his tenure as champion.

The commentary narrative that was still being spun was whether Whitaker would be able to take a punch from Vasquez, if the Argentinian was able to find him. Unlike the Whitaker of several years ago, the older fighter now tended to trust his instincts and stand ‘in the pocket’ rather than circle around the ring. Feints and bobs became his defensive weapon of choice, rather than the occasionally negatively perceived backwards movement. With the move up in weight and the punching prowess of the Argentinean, this could have proved to be a dangerous tactic.

In the early rounds, Whitaker showed why he was still considered one of the best pound for pound boxers walking the face of the Earth. Early ducking allowed him to avoid several big Vasquez punches, whilst the first left of an significance seemed to stun the champion, as if he hadn’t expected Sweet Pea to punch that aggressively. Like the Chavez fight, Whitaker was not afraid to trade with his opponent, considering his unshaken belief in his ability to avoid his opponents’ offense. As if to highlight his easygoing attitude towards the contest, we even get a little bit of showboating in Round 1, whilst Vasquez himself gets a pat on the backside for good measure in Round 2.

With the first two round under Whitaker’s belt, the tone is set for the rest of the fight. For the majority of the contest, Whitaker and Vasquez would land a similar amount of punches; Whitaker relying on his jab, Vazquez looking for knockouts with power punches. Yet, the percentages of actual punches thrown would work vastly in the American’s favour - he just didn’t have to swing as often as Vasquez did to connect.

Vasquez would seemingly win his first round of the fight in Round Three, though it only took a couple of showy combinations to take what was a fairly slow three minutes work from both men. However, in Round Four we began to see the capabilities of the champion, and the potential for a really tough night for the Whitaker camp. A ducking and feinting Whitaker would get dropped by a punch combined with almost a shoulder tackle, leaving the referee little option but to start to the count. A rueful laugh would escape Whitaker’s lips as he got to his feet, but in a close fight like this was shaping up to be, 8-10 rounds were not what the challenger wanted.

As both fighters came out for Round Five, the pundits on the commentary team had Vasquez in the lead, either by way of the additional point loss for the knockdown, or by winning three of the first four rounds. Several combinations by Vasquez had seemed to rock Whitaker near the end of the previous round, and if ever there was an opportunity for the upset to be caused, it felt like it was now. The corner suggested to their man that they thought Whitaker was out on his feet and there for the taking, yet the Argentinean would spend the majority of the fifth round flicking his jab at his opponent, rather than really pushing the tempo. Whether Whitaker was there to be taken out in this round or not, a brief flurry near the end probably did enough to steal the round for the challenger without really having to do much.

At the halfway point of the fight, the sweat had almost turned Vasquez’s shorts translucent, threatening the crowd in Atlantic City with an X-rated title defense. Without using lateral movement as much as in previous fights, Whitaker was often able to slip by the powerful punches of the champion, using the jab to keep the fighting mostly on the outside. As the bell would sound for the end of the round, the connection percentage would be 67% for Whitaker, even though not one of those punches had been truly memorable.

In a close fight, the outcome often hinges on the decisions made, whether by the contestants themselves or the people who have the ability to impact upon the action in the ring. Although he had had success throughout the early going by attacking Whitaker’s body, Vasquez seemed to make an unconcious decision to target the head for long stretches of the fight. As was noted on commentary: heads move, bodies don’t. Rather than make the choice to focus on a tactic that had worked up until this point of the fight, Vasquez seemed to play into the hands of his more elusive opponent.

Then, some separation for the challenger. Following several altercations throughout the fight, Vasquez would be deducted a point in Round Nine for what originally seemed to be holding behind the head, but would later be discussed as rabbit punches. At the end of Round Eight, the pundits had the fight even; a 10-8 round at this time could be the difference between immortality and a mere footnote in boxing history.

It felt like the tiredness of Vasquez was evident in the final few rounds. Perhaps that globetrotting, take on all comers nature had finally got to his legs, as he seemed unable to maintain the pressure, landing only the occasional punch rather than the combinations that rained freely earlier in the bout. He would end up on the canvas himself, though it would be adjudged a slip, and would see charges avoided with relative ease, like a bull unsuccessfully attacking the matador.

With the fight slowing down and sliding towards a judge's decision, the commentary team mused about the stories and rumours that had circulated in the previous weeks. At the age of 31, the word was out that Whitaker perhaps didn’t train as vigorously or in as focused a manner as he used to; a story used to explain Whitaker’s lack of movement throughout the fight. The judges themselves were discussed, with the Vasquez team apparently unhappy about the make-up of the judges (one from Canada, Thailand and New Jersey respectively). It almost felt like it wouldn’t quite be a Pernell Whitaker contest without undue focus on the judges at ringside.

Any potential for controversy seemed to ease when, in the eleventh round, Vasquez was deducted another point due to his propensity for rabbit punching Whitaker. By the time the bell sounded for the end of Round Twelve, it seemed like Whitaker had done enough to win. In the final round, Whitaker would be booed by a small minority of the crowd for his exaggerated bobbing and weaving, a trait that the audience in attendance didn’t seem to admire and perceived as offensive towards a champion who had shown he deserved more respect. The unofficial scorecard was given as 114-111, with those two deductions turning a potentially close decision into one that looked a little more comfortable on paper.

For once, a Whitaker match would end with weird looking scorecards, but in his favour. Throughout the contest, it had seemed like Vasquez more than held up his end of the bargain, and won his fair share of rounds in the process. How exactly two of the judges managed to score the fight 118-110 and a quite staggering 118-107 was beyond the commentary team; a solitary score of 116-110 at least feeling somewhat representative of the action in the ring. Irrelevant of the scorecards that seemed more than a little on the generous side, the more important thing was that Whitaker was the new WBA Light Middleweight Champion. He would enter the pantheon of greats, alongside Duran, Hearns and Leonard, and leave the sport safe in the knowledge that he was one of its greatest ever.

If we wanted a signal that this was as much about legacy as anything else, Whitaker would vacate the title without making even one title defense. The step up in weight seemed to negate some of Whitaker’s most important defensive traits, whilst the inability to move as freely as he had in the past potentially left him prey to more powerful punchers at this level. It would be the WBC World Welterweight Title that would consume Whitaker’s interests for the next couple of years.

From a career standpoint, 1995 and this fourth World title at a fourth different weight would have been a poetic ending for a fighter who turned defense into an art form. Even with a loss and a draw on his record, the disputed nature of both of them left him little to feel ashamed about. However, Whitaker was only 31, and was still a name guy. There was no way that he was over the hill, and there was big money potentially still out there against some of the best up and coming boxers who would prove themselves by picking up the scalp of someone of Whitaker’s calibre. In some ways, Whitaker had become like Chavez before him; a guy to be targeted for the incomprehensible glory of victory.

Five more defenses of the WBC World Welterweight Title would see him end up in the ring opposite Oscar De La Hoya. Another controversial decision would go against Whitaker, and he would end his career with three losses and one No Contest following a failed drug test. The most notable of the matches that saw out his career was one against Felix Trinidad, one of the best Puerto Rican boxers of all time. Trinidad would win via a lopsided decision, effectively ending Whitaker’s run at the top. A broken clavicle would force him to retire from his last fight against Carlos Bojorquez. As is often the case, even the best of boxers go out on the end of several damp squib defeats - to go out on top would be too much like a happy ending.

To suggest that his defeat of Vasquez was somehow the pinnacle of Whitaker’s career would be crass and self serving - as if to fit a narrative that I have tried to force upon every fight I come across. However, in some ways it symbolised the rubber stamping of Whitaker’s legendary status. To be up with luminaries such as Roberto Duran, Thomas Hearns and Sugar Ray Leonard speaks volumes of what Whitaker was capable of. With some of the higher profile losses, fair or otherwise, he suffered, there might not be that one big victory that he truly deserved, but no-one can take that title record away from him.

Also, sometimes it is just nice to think that occasionally it is more about your ability not to get hit as it is about your ability to hit someone else. Small pleasures.

[Liam]

It has been a while, but I finally went back to finish my look at Hopkins/Mercado II.

“I saw worse stuff inside prison than I ever saw in the streets. I saw guys raped, beaten and tortured. When I saw a guy murdered for a lousy pack of cigarettes, something in me snapped. I knew that I had to be responsible for turning my own life around.”

Bernard Hopkins on his time spent in prison and the catalyst for his boxing career.

 

Chapter 5

Bernard Hopkins vs Segundo Mercado (29th April, 1995)

 

Boxing saved Bernard Hopkins’ life.

 

That is a bold statement to make, but it is one that would probably ring true with ‘The Executioner’ himself. Fighters like Chris Eubank and Nigel Benn would find boxing as a way of escaping a troubled past, channeling youthful aggression into something tangible. Hopkins, on the other hand, would already be in prison by the time that decisions was made - something to save him from the dangerous streets of Philadelphia, and from himself.

 

Having initially begun by getting in scraps, intimidation, and petty theft, Hopkins would eventually be arrested for his role in an armed robbery. With his peers celebrating their graduation, he would be looking at an eighteen-year stretch in Graterford State Penitentiary. No stranger to violence having been stabbed three times himself, Hopkins would be distressed over what he saw within those gated walls. Being stuck in with rapists and murderers truly highlighted the severity of his situation, and he witnessed the murder of one inmate with a makeshift ice pick, all just for a packet of cigarettes. Realisation dawned; this would either be the type of life that he led, whether in or out of prison, or he could try to make something better for himself.

 

Not only was the prison system instrumental in opening Hopkins’ eyes, the friendship he formed with former boxer Michael ‘Smokey’ Wilson - a convicted murdered - and the opportunity to rehabilitate through boxing allowed him to focus on life outside of incarceration. A successful prison boxer, Hopkins would be released after only 56 months, perceived to be a changed man, yet with nine years of parole hanging over his head. Considering the life he led before Graterford, the fact that he went nine years without any form of misdemeanour emphasised the new man he had become.

 

In some sports, 23 would be too late to really take a tilt at the best in the world, but with several years of prison boxing under his belt, Hopkins would plunge straight into the professional ranks.

 

Unlike many fighters, he would never step foot in the ring as an amateur. Unlike many of the most successful fighters, he would also lose his first contest.

 

A fight against fellow debutant Clinton Mitchell (with 3-1-1 numbers upon retirement) would see Hopkins not only box at Light Heavyweight, but would lose by majority decision. This would lead to a period of soul-searching as Hopkins would debate whether he was willing to commit himself to boxing for the long run. He was also left frustrated by his manager’s decision to have him fight at Light Heavyweight; a weight only made through gorging on fast food if the stories are to be believed. The resultant weight gain and sluggishness that followed would be the main factor behind this losing start to his career.

 

It would be sixteen months before Hopkins would step back into the boxing ring once again, though this time at Middleweight and with Bouie Fisher in his corner. Hopkins had made his choice to pursue a boxing career, and as he later suggested, he ‘came back with a terror’. Gone was the bloated Bernard who lost his first fight. Following a points decision against Greg Paige to even his record at 1-1, Hopkins would go on to win his next twenty-one contests. At Middleweight, he had found not only a winning formula but the power of the punch, picking up sixteen of these victories by knockout, technical or otherwise.

 

In his fifth fight, he would defeat Jouvin Mercado on ESPN with five hours notice after Mercado’s opponent dropped out. Without the past glories of an amateur career or Olympic gold, this would be the first opportunity for many more casual boxing fans to see Hopkins in action. What they would see was impressive, even forgoing the short notice with which he took the fight. Mercado would be dropped in the first, and leave the referee little option but to stop the fight when he was knocked down once again in the second round. The ability to hit combos with speed, making every punch count, was notable and flagged up Hopkins to the boxing public as someone to watch.

 

In this first substantial winning streak, it was rare for Hopkins to let many of his opponents get out of the first round. Eleven times, Hopkins wouldn’t hear the bell for the end of the first three minutes of the fight, including a TKO victory over Wayne Powell that would earn him his first notable title: the vacant USBA Middleweight Title. Powell had many more years experience under his belt, but this counted for nothing in a twenty-one second destruction. The first big right hand would have Powell backed against the rope, and although he would complain that the ref stopped the fight too early, he looked out on his feet as Hopkins wailed away even as the official tried to step in the way. With less than three minutes to finish his last three opponents, Hopkins was certainly living up to his ‘Executioner’ moniker.

 

At the time Hopkins would be picking up his first championship of note, he would also be ranked number one in his weight class by the IBF. James Toney, the IBF champion, would finally move up to Super Middleweight after several years of strength and stamina-sapping weight cuts, thus vacating the title. Therefore, Bernard Hopkins would get his first world title shot on March 22nd, 1993.

 

Unfortunately for Hopkins, he was opposite Roy Jones Jr.

 

A fighter with an impeccable amateur pedigree and a silver medal from the 1988 Seoul Olympics (the clear robbery of the gold medal by the judges leading to a change in the way boxing would be scored at the Olympics), Roy Jones Jr. was also beginning to build his own legacy as one of the greatest pound for pound boxers of all time. A record of 21-0 propelled him to be the opponent to crowd the newest IBF Middleweight Champion.

 

Hopkins had never met someone of the calibre of Jones Jr. before. Whilst Hopkins moved forward gamely throughout, he was made to miss often by his elusive opponent. Coupled with the range of punches that Jones Jr. would throw, covering a multitude of heights and angles, it was no real surprise when he was declared the winner on points. The numbers told no lies: Jones Jr. would throw fewer punches over the course of the fight, but would comfortably connect at a higher percentage than Hopkins (35% to 23%). He was just too fast.

 

Hopkins was not to be deterred. Over the following year, he would defend his USBA three times, as well as defeating Melvin Wynn over three rounds. With his last USBA title defense of the three a unanimous decision victory over Lupe Aquino where all three judges gave Hopkins every round, another title shot could only be just around the corner. Coming into the Aquino fight, Hopkins would be ranked 5th with the WBA and 7th with the WBC. Most importantly, the IBF had Hopkins sitting second in the rankings. By the time he had comprehensively outboxed Aquino, a second shot at the IBF Middleweight Title was assured.

 

Not only would this be a second opportunity to be crowned one of the best fighters in the Middleweight division, it would be the first meeting between Hopkins and a man who would develop to be somewhat of a nemesis over the next decade: Don King.

 

On a card that would also see Frankie Liles defend his WBA Super Middleweight Title against Michael Nunn, as well as fights including boxers such as Antwon Echols, Julian Jackson, and Frans Botha, Hopkins would fight Segundo Mercado for the vacant IBF Middleweight Title. In an almost carbon copy of the events that lead to Hopkins’ first title shot, Roy Jones Jr. would vacate the title after defeating James Toney for the Super Middleweight. With no Jones Jr. in the way, the path seemed clear for Hopkins.

 

However, it wouldn’t be a card ran by Don King Promotions without a little something extra. As Mercado was one of his stable of fighters, the odds would always be stacked one way. The fight would take place at the Ruminahui Coliseum in Quito, Ecuador - essentially a bullfighting arena - and there would be fifteen thousand Ecuadorians willing to pay to see one of their own ascend to the top of the Middleweight division.

 

Not only would Hopkins need to be at his best to defeat the fighter ranked one spot below him in the IBF standings, he would need to contend with the conditions. Whilst the temperature would not be too dissimilar to a Christmas spent in Hopkins’ native Philadelphia, the elevation of Quito was potentially crippling. It stood almost two miles above sea level - the highest capital city in the world - and altitude sickness was a limiting factor for most tourists, let alone a boxer competing for a world title. Arriving only two days before the fight was due to take place, it was unlikely that Hopkins would be fully acclimated to the conditions by the time the first round bell rang.

 

The lead up to the contest had not been without problem for the hometown fighter. A few weeks previous, a close friend and mentor had passed away in a tragic helicopter crash. Whilst this couldn’t help but impact upon Mercado’s focus, worse was still to come. With only a week to go, Mercado’s sister, Marta, would commit suicide. He would dedicate the fight with Hopkins to both of their memories.

 

As if to really drum home that Hopkins was in Mercado’s backyard, Segundo would wear trunks decked in the red, blue and gold of the Ecuadorian flag, his introduction finishing with loud whistles of appreciation from the fans in the Coliseum. The executioner’s mask that Hopkins wore to the ring would have covered any signs of distress or concern, yet even as he whipped off the garment with a flourish, he looked undeterred by the hostility to his reception.

 

Hopkins would easily take the first round, showing boxing capability that felt beyond that of Mercado. With his chin tucked in to avoid eating any potential knockout shots from the Ecuadorian, Hopkins would spend the majority of the round moving him back into the corner and against the ropes, working him over with relentless aggression. The clear desire both men had to raise the world title was only highlighted by the struggle the referee had to separate the two men as the bell went to end the first three minutes.

 

The debilitating heat and the oxygen depleted atmosphere seemed to catch up with the men as early as the second round. There was a noticeable slowing of the action, with Mercado struggling to find his range against the counter-punching of Hopkins. In the third, Mercado would hit the canvas; the referee would deem it a slip, the commentary team would query whether a Hopkins’ punch had contributed to his fall. It definitely seemed as if Mercado’s legs were stiffened somewhat as the round ended, the subsequent loss of his mouth guard hinting at heavy breathing even at this early stage.

 

It would take over ten minutes before Mercado began to show the reason he was the number two in the IBF rankings. With his head down and admittedly limited flair, Mercado would bull forward, every hint of contact or control raising the temperature of the passionate Quito locals ever higher. A right hand with thirty seconds to go in the round would have Hopkins visibly rocked for the first time, but he was able to avoid any further difficulty before the bell for the end of the fourth round sounded.

 

He would not be so lucky in the fifth.

 

Hopkins’ work rate was clearly being impeded by the conditions of the Ecuadorian capital, leading to more single punches rather than combinations being thrown. Mercado, sensing weakness, would begin to work more on the inside, eventually putting Hopkins down on the canvas with a right hand. Especially considering how quickly he would get up, it would be easy to attribute the knockdown to tiredness more than any real power in Mercado’s shot, but either way Hopkins was heading for an 8-10 round. Mercado, feeling he had the chance to finish his opponent off, almost had to be dragged away from Hopkins by the referee at the end of the round.

 

Considering the knockdown in the previous round, Hopkins would come back stronger in the sixth, forcing Mercado to spend the majority of the three minutes holding on, sucking in what little oxygen was available. Mercado’s body movement would also keep him out of range of many of Hopkins’ punches. The sweat and water from overzealous cornermen would cause both Mercado and Hopkins to slip over: Mercado in the seventh, Hopkins in the twelfth.

 

Unfortunately for Hopkins, he would hit the canvas for legitimate reasons in the seventh round. A knockdown that seemed to owe as much to the visible tiredness that oozed out of Hopkins’ demeanour than any real power, the shock of the blow would almost send the Executioner through the ring ropes. Still, he was once again able to get back to his feet, and would often outwork Mercado in the rounds that he managed to stay on his feet.

 

Outside of an accidental headbutt in the tenth round that would split Mercado open above the eye, the match would largely pass with no further incident. The question became: had Hopkins done enough to overcome two knockdowns and won the title on points?

 

One judge would give the fight to Hopkins; one would give it to Mercado. The 113-113 scorecard offered up by Paul Gibbs would leave the contest as a draw, a decision that incensed the fans in attendance, and seemed to sit uneasily with both camps who felt they had done enough to win. During the post fight interviews, things almost threatened to get ugly as Don King and Butch Lewis would shout over Hopkins’ attempts to talk to the media. The argument from King’s court would be that Mercado knocked Hopkins down twice; Lewis thought he did little more than that overall.

 

What we did get was the kernel of an idea being planted for the next step as Hopkins’ would offer out Mercado for a rematch, though this time in America. The IBF still did not have their world champion, and with the controversy surrounding the first contest, it felt only natural for the two to once again contest for the World Middleweight Title. Rather than being up in the Gods with the battle in Quito, the bout would be held nearly three thousand miles away. Landover, Maryland would be the city, the USAir Arena the place. It was finally an opportunity to see who was the more capable fighter, without such an extreme climate to battle within. Shorn of his natural acclimation to the conditions in Ecuador, could Mercado contend with Hopkins?

 

Between the two fights, a sense of the almost ridiculous events surrounding the contest in Quito continued to circulate. Believing himself to be the much better fighter still, Hopkins would talk about the fact that armed guards had been in his dressing room, even accompanying him to the toilet as a security measure. This, according to Hopkins, psyched him out and threw him off his game. Maryland would be a relative playground for both men, all things considered.

 

In a prescient sign of things to come later on in the fistic year, Mike Tyson would be in attendance, doing commentary for Showtime. He would be announced as the ‘Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion’, a title that did once belong to him, and one that he voiced he would be after again upon his return to active competition. Having had to listen to the first contest over the phone, Tyson told the viewers that he expected a ‘dynamite’ contest, with Hopkins running out the winner.

 

If Mercado worried about this rematch on foreign soil, you couldn’t tell it from his ring entrance. Wearing a royal blue dressing gown and accompanied by James Brown’s ‘Living in America’, Mercado skipped down to ringside, a right glove bouncing along to the beat, a smile plastered across his face. Upon stepping inside, Mercado would show his footwork extended beyond the sport of boxing with some shuffling and swaying in time to the music.

 

This would be Mercado’s first fight outside of Ecuador in four years - a run that saw him amass a record of eight wins in nine fights, with his only loss by DQ. America had been the site of Mercado’s only other loss; a TKO loss to Michael Dale in Kushers Country Club, New York. The distance from Ecuador would preclude Mercado from having his usual rabid fanbase in attendance, though this would not concern him. Expectation bought pressure, pressure that stopped him from staying loose. He felt he would need to knock out Hopkins to win, a feat he could only accomplish without the external impact of crushing belief.

 

Unlike his opponent, there was no hint of emotion on the face of Hopkins. Feeling cheated by the way the result had fallen in the first contest, his focus was on leaving the judges at ringside with no doubt as to who was the better man. Accompanied by luminaries of the sport such as Joe Frazier and Michael Spinks, Hopkins would only betray his feelings upon entering the ring. Here, he would walk over to Mercado, getting in his face and sharing a couple of quick words with his opponent, the Executioner mask at odds to the smile that had adorned the Ecuadorian face.

 

On paper, Mercado would have the advantage. He was two years younger than Hopkins, with two inches height, two pounds weight and three inches reach advantage over the older man. Whilst the commentators would mention Hopkins’ belief that the altitude in Ecuador didn’t affect him that much, he would admit that it forced him to change his fighting style to accommodate the difference. With Landover at sea level, there would be no need for such drastic actions that night.

 

The unblinking eyes of Hopkins would have unnerved even the most iron willed boxer as both men met in the middle for the referee’s final words before the bell. Having initially looked at the floor, Hopkins would raise his head and look unflinchingly into the eyes of Mercado for the duration. Having touched gloves, the IBF’s number one and number two middleweight would head to their respective corners, looking to begin what would effectively be Round Thirteen of their championship bout.

 

Donning a blue and white pair of trunks instead of his Ecuadorian flag ensemble from the previous fight, Mercado would fight the majority of the first round on the back foot, with only occasional forays into the center of the ring. The sense of tension that coursed through the boxer’s meeting in the middle seemed to spill over into the first couple of minutes, as each fighter would take the opportunity to hit several times in the clinch and on the break. The referee would feel compelled to make his awareness of the blows known, seemingly worried about the potential descent into an unnecessarily dirty fight. Even with this warning ringing in their ears, a couple of rabbit punches would also slip past the official as the round came to a close.

 

The Hopkins’ jab would find its mark several times in the round, but any power punches thrown by either man often found nothing but air. Segundo was able to use his reflexes to sway out of the way of Hopkins’ more damaging blows, whilst throwing counter punches that kept Hopkins honest. Unlike the first round in Quito, Hopkins hadn’t been able to come in and take complete control. A refreshingly honest Mercado had admitted Hopkins could have knocked him out if the energy had been maintained past the opening three minutes in the first contest; this time, Mercado was more than holding his own, even if Hopkins would probably do enough to win the first.

 

As if to highlight the even-handed opening, both corners would tell their men to keep doing what they were doing as they would head out for the second round. That Mercado had an all English speaking corner was noted by the commentary team, especially considering his limited English and lack of translator.

 

The second round sank into a pattern early on, with Hopkins lowering his head and pressing forwards, only to often get swallowed up by Mercado’s gangly arms and forced into a break. When Mercado moved back to the ropes, he traded punches gamely, with many of his shots hitting the body or lower, much to the chagrin of the commentators, especially when a low blow seemed to be timed as the referee was in between the two competitors.  Whenever Mercado aimed for the head, Hopkins was often quick to duck under the punches, fighting back with right hooks of his own. Though Hopkins was clearly pushing the pace, the round was once again even.

 

The first sense of distress for the Ecuadorian came early in the third round. With his legs still keeping him at a relative distance from Hopkins’ most powerful shots, Mercado was caught flush with a left hook as Hopkins closed the gap with frightening speed. Struggling to keep on his feet, Mercado would lean back on the ropes before trying to tie Hopkins up to allow him to clear the cobwebs and to stop his opponent unleashing anymore violent combos.

 

It seemed as if two rounds had given Hopkins enough opportunity to find his range and get his timing, landing several more right hands as the round drew to a close, before a flurry of lefts and rights had Mercado backed into a corner. Though several shots would send Mercado’s head rocking backwards, a combination of weaving and a couple more low blows that went without reprimand saw him manage to survive the round.

 

There was blood in the water, and the predatory instincts of Hopkins spelled trouble for Mercado going forward. After the third round battering, his legs looked as if they were gone already; the reliance going forward for his defense would be the elusiveness of his upper body movement. Whilst good, you couldn’t duck and dodge forever against a man of Hopkins’ explosiveness.

 

A tentativeness seeped into Mercado’s offense, knowing the potential danger of getting within the range of Hopkins’ power punches. The main worry seemed to be Hopkins’ own exuberance, as he often put himself in positions of difficulty out of his own desire to knock Mercado out. Several leaping punches left him vulnerable to counter shots, and Mercado managed to hit several uppercuts out of the corner as Hopkins pressed home his advantage. With ten seconds of round four to go, Hopkins would once again reassert his dominance; a right hook and left cross stood Mercado up, stiffening the legs visibly and raising the crowd to their feet - the relative lateness in the round the only thing stopping a finish, seemingly.

A finish seemed a mere formality as another Hopkins right hook had a clearly already stunned Mercado back on the ropes with over two minutes to go in the fifth. That the stoppage didn’t occur is testament to Mercado’s chin and dumb luck. At several moments, the referee leant in to warn Mercado that he had to offer something back, with the odd punch allowing him to be subjected to a further barrage from Hopkins. Staggering across the ring, any sweet relief Mercado felt for getting some distance between himself and his pursuer was limited, as Hopkins chased after him, the right hand always ready to do more damage.

 

That Mercado’s corner thought that Hopkins might be getting tired seemed to be out of hope rather than any substance of proof from the previous three rounds. With so many punches thrown in the fifth, Hopkins did seem to slow down and reserve some energy for another push in the second half of the contest. Even a ‘slow round’ for Hopkins saw several right hands crowbar their way through a Mercado defense that could charitably called loose.

 

It wasn’t a surprise that the finish came in the next round. What would be surprising was that Mercado never hit the canvas once in the contest. A right hand sent the Ecuadorian staggering back into the corner early in the seventh, and it would only be by holding on desperately to Hopkins that allowed him to stay standing. Blood would fly from his face, covering Mike Tyson at ringside, and the referee, after calling for the break, would allow Mercado to fight another day by calling it off having looked into his eyes. Eyes that had been cloudy and tinged with sadness and confusion since round three.

 

Ironically, the man who won the title celebrated by flopping to the canvas, an ambition finally realised after two earlier attempts ending in frustration. The finish itself wasn’t without an element of contention. As Hopkins kissed Mercado on the cheek, the early nature of the stoppage was questioned, as well as Hopkins gamesmanship in holding onto Mercado’s arm before the finish. Either way, it would have only been a matter of time before Hopkins had the IBF Middleweight Title around his waist.

 

After thanking God and his mother, Hopkins extolled the virtues of following the early career of Mike Tyson. Tyson steamrollered his first twenty opponents, showed them no respect, and Hopkins believed that was the key. When queried about Mercado’s low blows, Hopkins was honest - he hit him back low. Mercado, a confused look plastered across his face, also got a chance to be interviewed post-match, an interview that continued to query the referee’s decision to end the fight early. As Mercado’s trainer verbalised his own disappointment, Butch Lewis interrupted, making it clear that it is the boxer, not the trainer, who is soaking up all the punishment in the ring. With the focus once more on Lewis after a Hopkins contest, the two boxers once more shared a moment of respect, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

 

Hopkins would not lose for another ten years.

 

Though Mercado retired in 2003 with a record of 19-10-2, Hopkins racked up twenty four wins in twenty six contests after his second professional lost. For a man who stepped into the ring and lost his first fight, and for a boxer who was given a boxing lesson by Roy Jones Jr. only two years previously, the ascent of Hopkins to the ranks of the greatest boxers of all time was all the more impressive. As a fighter, he was ever evolving, and rather than letting age soften his skills, he only seemed to get better with age. The men Hopkins would go on to defeat included luminaries such as Felix Trinidad, William Joppy, Keith Holmes and Oscar De La Hoya.  Alongside this streak, he would furnish his legacy with title belts, laying claim to the WBA (Super), WBC, IBF, WBO, The Ring, and lineal middleweight titles by the time he lost to Jermain Taylor in 2005.

 

Ultimately, Hopkins even managed to avenge the loss to Roy Jones Jr., defeating him in 2010 at the tender age of forty-five; Jones Jr. not exactly a spring chicken at this time at the age of forty-one. Unsurprisingly, the calibre of his opponents has eased as the years have progressed, though it could be argued that he has maintained his competitive stature far beyond his age - a decision loss to Sergey Kovalev in 2014 evidence of that.

 

However, it is the Mercado couplet of fights that set the spark for the boxer that Hopkins would become. In fight one, Hopkins showed a spark of resilience that he had yet to really need, fighting in oppressive conditions and back against almost insurmountable odds. Picking himself off of the canvas twice to draw (if not probably win) showed the extent to which Hopkins sought recognition as world champion. That the second contest allowed him to bully Mercado from the third round onwards to prove Quito to be a fluke, a blip in his progress, recognised the IBF’s belief in him to be their newest title holder.

 

Boxing is full of narratives that see people managing to find direction and fight their way out of personal and familial situations that are hard to comprehend for many fans of the fistic arts. That may be the case, but you only reach the pinnacle of the sport through a desire to be the best and the willingness to put the hours in to make it so.

 

Facing prison, death or salvation through boxing, Hopkins made the right choice. For us, and for himself.