Eleven rounds into the second defense of his IBF super middleweight title, Lucian Bute looked to be in complete control against the iron-chinned Librado Andrade. Bouncing on his feet for most of the fight, Bute was stifling most of Andrade’s relentless pressure, and raking him repeatedly with beautiful combinations that stalled the Mexican challenger. In a fight that had been billed as a classic battle between the boxer and the puncher, the boxer–Bute–showed himself to be a surprisingly adept puncher when need be, and the puncher–Andrade–once again demonstrated that while he possesses an indomitable will, he has very little boxing ability. Andrade, whom Showtime commentator Steve Farhood described as a “poor man’s Antonio Margarito,” kept coming forward, but was unable to maintain the kind of workrate necessary to frustrate Bute or to bank many rounds. Indeed, heading into the twelfth round, I had scored the fight nine rounds to two for Bute, with an extra point for a dubious knockdown in the tenth round, when Andrade tripped over Bute’s foot.
Then came the twelfth round. It was one of the best rounds of the year in boxing. Andrade knew he needed a knockout. Bute, well ahead on the cards and fighting in front of 17,000 of his hometown fans in Montreal, simply needed to stay away to retain his title. Yet his trainer gave him advice that seemed odd to me the moment he said it: he told Bute to fight the twelfth round like a true champion, in the kind of tone of voice that trainers use when they want their fighters to summon every last ounce of will and go out on their shields if necessary. Bute heeded this dubious advice, and proceeded to engage himself in a slugfest for the final three minutes. The only problem was that, one minute into the round, it was clear that Bute was completely spent physically. Taking shot after shot, Bute struggled to stay on his feet, staggering around the ring like a five-year-old who has just made himself dizzy by spinning around in circles. With about five seconds left in the fight, Andrade finally dropped Bute with a devastating right hand. Bute crumpled to the canvas, completely shot. The look on his face said it all: he was done. Because a fighter cannot be saved by the bell in the last round, he would have to get on his feet before the count of ten in order to earn the victory by decision. He would not have made it. About nine seconds after being dropped, Bute staggered to his feet, but was still wobbly. Any referee would have counted him out.
The only problem was that the fight was being refereed by a novice from Bute’s hometown. And this novice decided to fuck up a brilliant ending to a classic fight. He delayed picking up the count because Andrade wasn’t standing precisely where he wanted him to in a neutral corner. This sort of shopminding by a fight referee always strikes me as tedious; but it’s infuriating when it actually determines the outcome of the fight. By the time the referee was satisfied that Andrade was standing in the proper spot, a good 15 seconds had passed since Bute fell to the canvas. He finally picked up the count, but Bute was standing and holding himself steady by then. The ref declared Bute able to continue, and then the bell sounded ending the fight.
I don’t know what it feels like to “win” a fight in which you spend the last seconds knocked out on the canvas. Somebody should ask Lucian Bute. Meanwhile, Andrade’s corner, after reacting with initial fury, seemed more comfortable with the situation as the cards were announced and Bute was given a unanimous decision. Their fighter had not come out ahead on the cards, but he had actually won the fight. There is nothing more dramatic in boxing than a fighter knocking out his opponent in the last seconds of a bout in which he is hopelessly behind on the cards. Andrade accomplished this feat tonight, even though the home-cooking of a pitiful referee ensured that Andrade’s triumph will not show up in the record books.
My card:
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