Roy Jones, Jr. and the Art of Losing

I have always been more interested in the way a fighter loses a bout than in the glory that goes to the winner. A losing boxer is, perhaps more than any other athlete in any other sport, exposed and embarrassed in a visceral, humiliating way. And so it was last Saturday that Roy Jones, Jr., once the best boxer in the world, submitted himself to a beating at the hands of light heavyweight champion Joe Calzaghe, a cocky Welshman known for his rapid-fire assault that overwhelms opponents not through power–most of his punches are really just slaps–but rather a kind of accumulation of indignities, as his opponent is hit over and over and over and over again until he does not know what to do about it any more.

Against the 39-year-old Jones however, Calzaghe’s punches seemed more than slaps–by the middle rounds they had opened an ugly cut over Jones’s left eye that kept spraying blood across his face and down his chest, minute after minute, round after round. Jones’s cutman was unable to do anything with the cut–all the normal tricks failed to work. It was perhaps after the ninth or tenth round that Jones was heard to ask the men in his corner, innocently, as if a child, “Is there any way to make it stop bleeding?” No, there wasn’t. But to his credit, Jones kept going out into the ring and taking another beating. It was clear he had no shot at stopping Calzaghe, who was well ahead on the scorecards and too fast for Jones to handle, but he went out anyway, to take more punishment, until the bell mercifully tolled at the end of the twelfth and final round, and the 36-year-old Calzaghe was declared the winner by three judges who all marked the bout 118-109 for the younger man.

Calzaghe acted like an arrogant schoolboy throughout the fight, in a reprise of the role Jones used to play when he was in his prime. But Jones, unlike Calzaghe, was good at looking cocky, whereas Calzaghe simply looked absurd, as if he were caricaturing himself. So he wiggled his shoulders, shook his butt, mimicked Jones’s style of fighting with one forearm raised at a perpendicular angle to his elbow. Perhaps this is just Calzaghe’s way of expressing the joy he experiences in conducting his business in the ring, but I suspect to most of the non-partisans in attendance it was severely off-putting. The only joy the Calzaghe haters got came in the first round, when Jones floored Calzaghe with a straight jab followed by an awkward punch that connected Jones’s forearm to Calzaghe’s face, sending the Welshman to the canvas and, momentarily, into a stupor that seemed to hold out hope that Jones could finish off his opponent early.

But the killer instincts of a finisher that Jones once possessed, many, many years ago, long before he was beaten twice by Antonio Tarver and once by Glen Johnson, were clearly gone. In truth, Jones had just gotten lucky with that first round punch, and all that was left after that was for the business of boxing to commence. And in that contest, Calzaghe was the quicker, stronger, and more skilled man. Jones looked every part the shot fighter who should retire rather than subject himself to any further beatings of this kind in the ring.

This is my card. Out of pity I gave Jones three rounds. In reality he won two rounds at the most, and probably, only one. It was not even remotely close.

Fight Recap: Darchinyan Destroys Mijares

See, this is why Cristian Mijares is not a top pound-for-pound fighter. Because a top pound-for-pound guy does not lay the kind of egg Mijares did tonight against Vic Darchinyan. In a unification bout for the 115-pound division, heavy underdog Darchinyan silenced his critics by completely dominating the supposedly superior boxer, Mijares.

From the opening bell, it looked like Mijares refused to take Darchinyan seriously. Even as Darchinyan was easily winning the first round, raking his opponent with vicious left hands (as he would all night) Mijares stood there and smirked. Then, in the final seconds of the opening round, Darchinyan crumpled Mijares with a left uppercut, sending the Mexican champion to the canvas for only the second time in his career.

Mijares got up, but after that it was all Darchinyan. He controlled the fight with his powerful left hand, which staggered Mijares repeatedly. Mijares never got his work rate going, often missing badly with his jab, never getting into any kind of rhythm. It was a dreadful showing. Dreadful in large part because Darchinyan, it now seems clear, is an underrated boxer. Everyone who has seen him fight knows the Australian can punch. But tonight his defense was also on display, as he picked off, blocked, and ducked Mijares’s best punches for most of the night, landing significant blows himself in every round.

It seems that Mijares, known for his defensive prowess, didn’t know what to make of Darchinyan’s style. It is certainly an ugly thing to behold. Arms out, elbows extended, Darchinyan looks like a gangly, lurching spider in the ring. He fights dirty at times, hitting his opponents with stray elbows and tossing them around in the clinches. On the inside Darchinyan did a lot of holding throughout the fight, stifling Mijares’s offense. But Mijares, who failed to use his superior height and reach to his advantage, invited these tactics by coming in with his neck bent, opening himself to the overhand lefts and uppercuts that battered him all night long.

Judging by the scorecards on fightjudge.com, it seems that some people had Mijares climbing back into the fight, beginning in the seventh round. I didn’t see that at all. Mijares’s best round, it is true, came in the seventh, when Darchinyan looked a little fatigued for the first minute or so and got caught with a couple effective combinations. But then the tide turned again and Darchinyan started firing that awesome left hand once more. By the end of the round he was backing up the Mexican, making for a 10-10 round on my card. In the eighth, Mijares landed little of note, while Darchinyan continued to land the more effective, telling blows.

The outcome clearly decided should the fight have gone to the cards, Mijares kept coming forward in the ninth round, and Darchinyan kept making him pay. The Australian put Mijares down again at the end of the round, with two flush shots to the face, knocking Mijares against the bottom ring rope and then flat on his back, ending the fight.

Darchinyan was his usual boastful self in triumph, proclaiming his own greatness and touting the fact that he had “kept his promise” by becoming the first man ever to knock out Mijares. As the new king of the junior bantamweight division, there should be no doubts about him now. As for Mijares, who slinked away from the ring in disgrace without giving the customary post-fight interview, it is safe to say that he will not be reappearing on anyone’s top pound-for-pound list anytime soon. Will Darchinyan? Wait and see…

Robbery in Montreal

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:

Fight Recap: Pavlik v. Hopkins

When people start questioning Bernard Hopkins’s ability to continue fighting at an elite level, he takes it personally. Last night he effectively silenced his critics by completely outclassing an undefeated opponent 17 years his junior. In many ways it was the most impressive win ever for a man over the age of 40. Yes, George Foreman knocked out Michael Moorer at the age of 45 for the heavyweight championship, but in that fight Foreman lost just about every round until he scored the knockout. Last night, Hopkins won just about every round, and most of them in convincing fashion. In the last round, Hopkins looked like he was ready to close the show by knocking out Pavlik, who had spent much of the run-up to the fight boasting that he would become the first man ever to knock Hopkins out. Not even close.

There were two huge unknowns heading into this fight: 1.) Could Bernard Hopkins turn back the clock at age 43 and summon the fighter who thrashed Antonio Tarver in 2006 and 2.) Could Kelly Pavlik fight with the same power and intensity at 170 pounds that he had demonstrated at the middleweight limit of 160? By the third or fourth round of last night’s fight, it had become clear that the answer to both those unknowns were swinging dramatically in Hopkins’s favor. Not only did Hopkins turn back the clock, he really dialed it back several more notches than would have been needed for a victory. The 43-year-old had the faster hands, better movement, and better workrate. It wasn’t even close. He made Pavlik look unskilled and sloppy the entire night. By the late rounds, Hopkins’s corner was calling Pavlik a joker, a fraudulent superstar who didn’t even know how to handle a jab. For his part, Pavlik looked dreadful at 170 pounds. With little snap on his punches, he was always too slow and too clumsy. He would go to throw a punch, and by the time he did he had telegraphed the blow so much that the slippery Hopkins was already gone. Pavlik’s corner kept imploring him to “double up on the jab,” but the truth was that Pavlik could not find Hopkins with one jab, let alone two.

But Hopkins’s success was more a product of his preparation than Pavlik’s conditioning. As Hopkins explained after the fight, studying films of Pavlik he realized that he was not comfortable moving to his left, and that he could not throw his powerful right hand across his body. Accordingly, Hopkins trained himself to move constantly to his right, away from Pavlik’s power. As a result, the awkward Pavlik was open for right hands throughout the entire fight.

After the fight, Hopkins went over to console Pavlik, who looked like his dog had just died, telling the young fighter that he would be a great champion, and giving him a few pointers. “Don’t let this destroy you,” he told Pavlik. Who knows how Pavlik will come back from a high-profile loss as embarrassing as this one was. And really, who cares. Because last night Bernard Hopkins cemented his place as one of the greatest fighters who ever lived, and probably the greatest over-40 fighter of all-time. Well done, and well deserved.

Fight Recap: Tarver v. Dawson

During the course of Chad Dawson’s surprisingly easy unanimous decision victory over Antonio Tarver tonight, a Showtime reporter asked the recently retired pound-for-pound king, Floyd Mayweather, Jr., who was attending the fight, for his thoughts. Mayweather declared that Dawson was the best fighter, pound-for-pound, in the sport. After watching his destruction of a determined-but-overmatched champion like Antonio Tarver, I can at least agree that such an honor will probably fall Dawson’s way in the future. In the meantime, I would have to regard him as the best light heavyweight in the world, which is itself no mean accomplishment given Dawson’s age (26), and the bevy of talent contained within the division.

I expected Dawson to win, but I did not expect him to look quite so impressive doing so. After all, in his last match the veteran Glen Johnson had given Dawson plenty of problems, enough to place Dawson as the loser on some of the cards (although not any of the ringside judges). Johnson’s constant aggression seemed to expose holes in Dawson’s defense, holes that I expected Antonio Tarver to exploit at some point during tonight’s match.

He never really did. As I expected, he did play the aggressor throughout the fight, constantly moving forward, trying to attack Dawson to the body and catch him with a straight left hand or uppercut. But he never really hit him flush the entire night, and his punches, when they did connect, seemed to lack power. Dawson, by constrast, fought beautifully, moving around the ring gracefully, throwing off crisp, dazzling five-punch combinations that Tarver occasionally blocked but never had any compelling answer for. What’s more, Dawson physically dominated Tarver, pushing him back many times throughout the fight with hard jabs to the face and ripping shots to the body. Tarver fought gamely, trying to push Dawson to the final bell (and being knocked down in the twelfth round for his efforts), but honestly, he never really had a chance. Dawson is now one of the true stars of the sport, and tonight was his coming out party.

Here’s my card. Most of the rounds that went to Tarver were rounds which Dawson seemed to take off.

Fight Recap: Klitschko v. Peter

Well, the Peter uprising that I hoped for certainly never materialized, as the taller, more skilled Vitali Klitschko pounded Peter into submission with a constant barrage of filthy right hands that bloodied the Nigerian’s face. Peter quit on his stool after eight rounds, for the second defeat of his career.

Heading into the bout, there were two main questions:

1. After four years of inactivity and at 37 years of age, what did Vitali Klitschko have left?

2. Coming off his impressive win over Oleg Maskaev, would Peter continue to show the improvements in technique and aggression that could have made this fight competitive for him?

Over eight rounds, it became clear that the answers were 1. quite a bit and 2. absolutely not. From the opening bell, Peter looked tentative and lethargic. Incredibly, he failed to work his way inside (the referree didn’t have to break the two fighters at all until the last round), didn’t use his jab to set up combinations, and kept himself, and most importantly, his face, right in the range of Klitschko’s long, powerful arms. If that’s all he was going to do, Peter should have thrown in the towel at the weigh-in. Under those conditions, he simply had absolutely no chance of winning, even if Klitschko had been a reduced, sloppy fighter.

But Klitschko wasn’t. Amazingly for a fighter who had not stepped into the ring for almost four years, Klitschko was supremely accurate with all his punches, and overall looked to be in excellent condition. He kept his back very straight, taking full advantage of his 6 foot, 7 1/2 inch frame. Every punch he threw was delivered with power and conviction. There is nothing to critique about his performance. But remember: Peter’s pathetic showing meant that he also was not hit with one significant punch the entire fight. A better opponent might have left us with a very different impression of his abilities at this stage in his career. Unfortunately for boxing, the dreadful heavyweight division only really has one fighter who is clearly better than Peter: Vitali’s younger brother Wladimir, and those two will never fight each other in the ring. In that sense, with Vitali Klitschko’s win tonight, the entire division has gone into something of a deep freeze, and will remain there until one of the two Klitschko brothers is defeated.