15 PREDICTIONS FOR 2007
IT’S A WONDERFUL SPORT
STILL TRYING TO DEFINE JERMAIN TAYLOR
COMEBACKS & CONFLAGRATIONS
THE RING LAUNCHES RATINGS ADVISORY PANEL
HOPING THEY KNEW WILLIE
MORALES NEEDED HELP NO ONE COULD GIVE
SHOWDOWN! MANNY PACQUIAO vs. ERIK MORALES
KLITSCHKO MAKES HIS CASE
HOPKINS ITCHING FOR A FIGHT
KLITSCHKO-BROCK: ANOTHER STEP TOWARD HEAVYWEIGHT CLARITY
BRIGGS, BALDOMIR … WINNERS & LOSERS
TREVOR BERBICK & THE SHARED END
DON’T CRY FOR THESE HEAVYWEIGHTS
STILL NOT BUYING WHAT CALZAGHE’S SELLING
NICOLAY VALUEV: TOO GOOD & NOT GOOD ENOUGH
ONE LAST GASP FOR IRON MIKE
RING CHAMPIONSHIP POLICY UPDATE
END-OF-SUMMER MISCELLANY
FOR BARRERA, BORING IS BETTER
JERMAIN TAYLOR: NO SOFT TOUCHES ALLOWED
FOR TONEY, THE BIGGER PICTURE NOT A PRETTY ONE
HEAVYWEIGHT SOAP OPERA WORTH THE PRICE OF ADMISSION
MY FINGERS ARE CROSSED FOR THE OLD GUY
MASKAEV PROVES WHAT WE SHOULD ALREADY HAVE KNOWN
FORREST GETS A GIFT; I GET A REMINDER
SHOWTIME, SHAW, AND THE IBO: A CURIOUS ALLIANCE
FORGET BIGGER; BALDOMIR JUST BETTER
MAYWEATHER-MOSLEY HAS NICE RING, BUT SHANE’S NOT ANSWERING
SPINKS KEEPS HIS FINGER IN THE DIKE

2007 RING UPDATE ARCHIVES

PREVIOUS RING UPDATE ARCHIVES

JANUARY-JUNE 2006

2005

15 PREDICTIONS FOR 2007 (December 26, 2006)

By William Dettloff

My predictions from last year, dear readers, were so eerily on the mark that I couldn’t stop myself from whipping up a fresh batch for 2007. Here they are:

A survey conducted by the Association of Boxing Commissions will determine the average age of a Las Vegas fight judge to be 181.7 years. A separate report will conclude the association can’t do anything about it. A related report will determine the association can’t do anything about anything.

You will not again see the words Mike-Tyson-World-Tour in the same sentence anywhere.

Bob Arum and Gary Shaw will issue a joint press release announcing their intent to vigorously pursue their civil suit against Jose Luis Castillo, claiming they suffered significant financial loss when Castillo failed to make weight for his fight against Diego Corrales. Then, after lunch, they’ll buy Australia.

With his Rocky saga finally complete, Sylvester Stallone will make a charming film about a gregarious liquor salesman from Bayonne, New Jersey, and promptly get sued by Chuck Wepner.

Boxing commissions everywhere will agree to ban Evander Holyfield, using as evidence of his diminished capacity his willingness to sign a promotional contract with Murad Muhammad.

The commissions in the United States will continue their ban on junior lightweight puncher Edwin Valero, who will make a hell of a good living doing overseas what he’s told is too dangerous for him to do in the U.S. … Damn do-gooders.

The bodies of a couple of great old legends will wear out and die and we’ll all be sorry we didn’t tell them how great they were when they were still with us.

The Floyd Mayweather-Oscar De La Hoya fight will generate more money than maybe any prizefight in history and 80 percent of the articles written about it by mainstream sportswriters will claim boxing is dead.

While refereeing a bout in Louisiana between Nate Campbell and Jose Santa Cruz, Laurence Cole will club Campbell over the head with Campbell’s own ring stool and then count him out. The following week, he’ll referee an HBO-televised bout in Arkansas.

In keeping with recent trends, the International Boxing Hall of Fame in Canastota will posthumously induct Blinky Palermo, Frankie Carbo and Jim Norris, and, for the hell of it, Pete Rose.

Much to their mutual embarrassment, Shelly Finkel and musician Paul Shaffer will be outed as the two most annoying identities of a fairly likable man who suffers from multiple personality disorder.

To his great disappointment, HBO’s Jim Lampley will go the entire year without getting an opportunity to use the term "Archipelago" during a fight broadcast.

Sports Illustrated will run a special section on “The 10 Greatest Fights In Sports History,” and not a single boxing match will be included on the list.

Richard Steele, who as you might have heard recently retired again from refereeing, will sign on to play the lead role in a Hollywood biopic of Scatman Crothers.

Lennox Lewis will be forced to retire from broadcasting when environmental scientists investigating strange seismic activity on the East Coast identify the cause to be the corpses of Howard Cosell and Don Dunphy spinning in their graves.

Remember, you heard it here first.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

Was surprised to see Oleg Maskaev’s recent win over Peter Okhello aired on delay on FOX Sport Net. If you didn’t catch it, Maskaev looked a lot more relaxed and composed than he did while beating Hasim Rahman in August. Against the right kind of guy, Oleg can fight. Then again, Okhello makes a heavybag look dangerous.

Wouldn’t it be nice if just once, after a broadcaster congratulated a fighter following a win, the fighter said “thank you”?

Looks like Shane Mosley and Kermit Cintron may get together in February. That’s an interesting fight, but don’t be fooled by how confident Cintron looks these days. A guy who freezes the way he did against Antonio Margarito will freeze again. I don’t know if Mosley is the guy to make him do it, but somebody is.

File this under Some Things Never Change: Jean-Marc Mormeck is world cruiserweight champion O’Neil Bell’s WBC mandatory. What has Mormeck done since last year, when Bell knocked him out, to gain that much-desired ranking? Beaten sub-.500 Sebastian Hill, who has lost eight of his last nine fights.

Wonder if it has anything to do with Mormeck’s relationship with Don King, who won the purse bid to make the rematch. Ask me again why I support The Ring Championship Policy, and why you should too.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

IT’S A WONDERFUL SPORT (December 18, 2006)

By William Dettloff

The scene: Christmas Eve. Pay-per-view numbers are down, the heavyweight division is a mess, and Golden Boy Promotions has just signed Travis Simms. As Don King’s limo crosses the Veterans Memorial Bridge overlooking the Cuyahoga River in Cleveland, King seethes over all the fighters being snatched up by Richard Schaefer and Oscar De La Hoya and the money he’s had to pay his guys to keep them.

He bolts from the limo and leans over the bridge, contemplating a leap into the toxic waters below. “This business is ruinin’ me,” he cries. “I’m down to my last $70-million and the best heavyweight I’ve got is Shannon Briggs. I wish this sport never existed!” With that, he hears a splash and sees someone thrashing in the water. He removes his 78-pound diamond encrusted necklace and lowers it into the river, fishing out a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and holding a dry, unlit cigar.

KING: Bert? Bert Sugar! What are you doing here?

SUGAR: Don King? What the hell? I’m supposed to be at the Friar’s Club. Oh well. Hey, last night I ordered a whole meal in French. Even the waiter was amazed—it was a Chinese restaurant! Ha ha!

KING: What are you talking about, Bert? I’m doing some serious thinking here.

SUGAR: I know, Don. That’s why I’m here. I’m your guardian angel. [Sugar snaps his fingers] And I just granted your wish. Boxing has never existed. You have no fighters to worry about, no more investigations, no more blank contracts. It’s all gone. Hey, did I ever tell you the one about the doctor who gave a man six months to live? The man couldn’t pay his bill, so he gave him another six months! Ha!

KING: What? Six months? Bert, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have to get outta here. I’ll call Bob Goodman. He’ll know what’s going on.

King runs over to a corner bar and walks in, where he sees a familiar face wiping the counter with a rag.

KING: Carl? Carl, what are you doing here? No son of mine works in any two-bit bar! Have you gone crazy?

CARL: Son? What are you talking about, man? And how’d you know my name? I’m not your son. And what the hell’s up with your hair?

KING: Never mind. Never mind. Where’s the phone in here?

Just then, a disheveled, stout little man teeters in, wearing rags and holding a tin cup.

CARL: Hey! Hey you, out! How many times have I told you not to come panhandling around here? Out!

KING: Carl, no! That’s Jose Sulaiman! Don’t do that! He’s the president of the WBC! Jose, what happened? It’s me, Don King! Did the bankruptcy finally take you down?

JOSE: Um, si, yes. The bankruptcy. May I borrow a few dollars for a drink, friend?

CARL: Now I know I don’t like you. As far as I’m concerned, anyone who knows that creep can’t be any good. Both of you out! Through the door or through the window!

King staggers out into the snow shaking his head in confusion. Sugar waits there for him.

KING: What’s the hell’s going on here, Bert? What have you done?

SUGAR: I didn’t do it, Don, you did. You wished boxing never existed. So it doesn’t exist. By the way, I had a nightmare last night. I dreamed Dolly Parton was my mother and I was a bottle baby. Har har!

KING: You’re crazy, Bert, and you’re making me crazy, too. I’m getting out of here.

He hails a cab and jumps in.

CABBIE: Where to, Mac?

KING: What the—Bob Lee? What the heck? Oh, to hell with it. Take me to, uh, Marciano’s Gym at 25th and Clark. I’ve got to get around some fighters.

CABBIE: To what? Who? I never heard of it.

KING: You never heard of what? I don’t care. Just take me downtown.

CABBIE: Whatever you say, Mac.

The cab lets King off at 25th and Clark, but there is no Marciano’s Gym. Sugar is on the corner waiting for him.

KING: All right, Bert. Where’s the gym?

SUGAR: Gym? What gym?

KING: You know damn well what gym. Marciano’s Gym, right here in Cleveland.

SUGAR: Don, there is no Marciano’s Gym because there is no boxing. Never was. Rocky Marciano never put on a pair of gloves. He worked himself to an early death in the same shoe factory his father worked in and barely made enough money to support a family.

KING: I’ve had it with you, Sugar. I’m Don King, the greatest promoter in the world. I promoted Muhammad Ali, Joe Frazier, George Foreman …

SUGAR: No you didn’t, Don, because boxing never existed. None of those men ever saw the inside of a boxing ring. George Foreman never went to the Olympics, never beat Frazier in Kingston, or lost to Ali in Zaire. He works at a muffler shop in Texas. Frazier never got out of the slaughterhouses in Philadelphia.

KING: No … Ali?

SUGAR: Ali never changed his name to Ali, never won a gold medal or electrified sports. When that kid stole his bike, there was no local gym to turn to, so he couldn’t learn how to box. He never found anything that made him feel good about himself. He was a miserable person. So he became a … a …

KING: Please, no …

SUGAR: Yep. A lawyer.

KING: Nooo!

SUGAR: That’s right, Don. And it gets worse. Floyd Paterson went from one reform school to another until he graduated to prison. Matthew Saad Muhammad too. And Dwight Muhammad Qawi. Same with Jake LaMotta and Rocky Graziano and Archie Moore. Sonny Liston and Bernard Hopkins became career criminals. Mike Tyson too. Nobody’s heard of Sylvester Stallone. Nobody outside Ailey, Georgia, ever heard of Walker Smith, and Henry Armstrong worked his whole life in a factory. Same with Joe Louis.

KING: No, it can’t be. No Pep-Saddler or Zale-Graziano? No Danny “Little Red” Lopez or Wilfredo Gomez? No Emile Griffith or Alexis Arguello or Aaron Pryor? No Julio Cesar Chavez? No Thomas Hearns or Bennie Briscoe? No Jack Dempsey or Roberto Duran?

SUGAR: No, Don. Sorry. None of those men exist as you remember them because they never became fighters. Some of them were plumbers and garbage men, roofers and carpenters. They had it all right. They all were strong, proud men, even without boxing. But they never heard a crowd chant their name, never saw a big paycheck, never knew what it felt like to land one on the sweet spot. They never knew any of it. They led bland, unfulfilled lives.

KING: Please, Bert. Let me take it back. I want boxing back again. I want the options and negotiations and even Shelly Finkel. I want Nicolay Valuev and Sergei Liakhovich. I want HBO and Showtime and Golden Boy and Jim Gray interviews. I want it all. I want Shannon Briggs. I want Larry Merchant! 

King is back on the bridge staring out over the water. His cell phone rings. It’s Dennis Rappaport and Finkel.

RAPPAPORT: Hey, Don. Where you been? We’ve been looking all over for you!

FINKEL: Yeah, Don. HBO is trying to get us all together so they can put on a tournament and get a unified heavyweight champ. The winner of Briggs-Valuev against the winner of Klitschko-Maskaev. It’s a miracle! We were about to tell them to go screw and wanted to see if you’re on board.

Just then King’s limo phone rings. It’s Sulaiman.

SULAIMAN: Don! Don! I’m in! I’m in the Hall of Fame!

The limo driver, who’s been with King for 40 years, perks up.

DRIVER: Hey, boss, you always said, whenever that phone rings it’s an opportunity for boxing to shoot itself in the foot calling.

KING: That’s right. That’s right. At a boy, Jose!

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

You’ve got to feel for Bob Van Syckle. Before the start of the eighth round, he told Jason Litzau four times to move to the right. Litzau did what he wanted, and Jose Hernandez pancaked him. Tough job being a trainer.

If Jermain Taylor wants to stay the middleweight champ, he probably should avoid Edison Miranda, no?

Great. Now James Toney wants to get in shape. A little late, James.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

STILL TRYING TO DEFINE JERMAIN TAYLOR (December 11, 2006)

By William Dettloff

I’m always a little startled during the opening rounds of a Jermain Taylor fight. I manage to forget, between fights, how technically shaky the world middleweight champion is. How he goes straight back with his hands down. How he pulls back his right hand when he jabs. How high his right elbow gets and how far out from his body it flaps when he throws the right cross. Bad balance, poor execution. The list goes on.

With all that, he goes out and wins, as he did against Kassim Ouma on Saturday night. And Ouma is no slouch.

There have been other guys who did things spectacularly “wrong” in the ring and won anyway. Ali. Roy Jones. Naseem Hamed. But each of those guys had profound natural gifts that made strict loyalty to convention unnecessary. Ali had great heavyweight mobility. Jones uncannily fast hands. Hamed unusual punching power.

What does Taylor have?

Damned if I know.

He’s fast, but not overly so. He’s a good, hard puncher, but he’s now gone 48 rounds without coming close to scoring a knockdown. The quality of the guys he’s faced over four fights—Bernard Hopkins twice, Winky Wright, Ouma—has a lot to do with that, and taking on that many top-notch guys in a row is unheard of among today’s upper-tier fighters.

But not even a flash knockdown in 48 rounds? That’s not a huge puncher.

Taylor’s fight against Ouma was supposed to be his opportunity to blow someone out again, the way he did second-raters when he was coming up. In retrospect, Ouma was a poor choice. Though naturally a full weight class smaller, his resolve and chin were up to the task of lasting the distance, a charge to which he applied himself with some vigor once he recognized he lacked the firepower to do Taylor any harm. A moral victory is still a victory.

Still, even if Taylor couldn’t seriously hurt or stop Ouma, you’d have thought he at least would stand his ground, or back him up even (Emanuel Steward suggested as much later in the fight). But by the second round, there was Ouma chasing Taylor around the ring. Eating big shots all the while, but chasing nonetheless. It went against the natural order of things.

At this point, Taylor remains in my mind a talented, gangly, earnest, man-child of a fighter who happens to be the undefeated world middleweight champion and an outright ambiguity in terms of his real value in the ring. His relative value can’t be questioned: He’s done everything asked of him and then some. In the end that’s probably all that matters. He wins.

But if his ambition is to be recognized among the great 160-pounders, he’s got a long road ahead.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

I’m not pointing fingers, but you’d have thought a few of the millionaires who walked through the doors of The Kronk could’ve passed around the hat to save it, no? That it no longer exists ranks as maybe the most depressing story to come out of the fight game all year.

I was saddened and not surprised to see that Stevie Johnston is fighting again. I’d hoped the beating he took from Vivian Harris had convinced him to move on. But herein lies the problem for him and for all fighters: What does he move on to?

I’m not ashamed to admit I’m looking forward to the Christmas release of Rocky Balboa, Sylvester Stallone’s latest and surely the final chapter in the Rocky series. It’s true that all of the Rocky films were overly reliant on sentiment and were clumsily acted to be kind, and today the sequels are dated and largely viewed as high camp. Even the first installment, clearly the darkest and the best, gave us Talia Shire, possibly the worst actress ever to appear in a major role in an Oscar-winning film.

Still, each Rocky chapter contains some truly hilarious moments—some intentional, many not—and some interesting meditations on the human condition. And in each there exist too at least a couple of scenes that demonstrate how deeply Stallone loves the fight game and, as importantly, understands fighters. I don’t know how he came upon that understanding, but he has it and it has made for some compelling movie moments. I expect the same from Rocky Balboa.

In case you missed it, comebacking Michael Moorer knocked out Cliff Couser in the first round in Florida Saturday night. Take that, Teddy Atlas.

Jose Sulaiman in the Boxing Hall of Fame? What an abomination. For shame.

Andre Berto’s win over Miguel Figueroa was fairly impressive, but I have a hunch Berto isn’t all he’s advertised to be. We’ll see. Speaking of that fight, Figueroa’s cornerman was a little stern, don’t you think? Figueroa was probably wishing he were in a sport where there’s no shame associated with quitting. Well, don’t fret, young Miguel. There’s always the UFC.

One more thing about the Berto fight: The selection of Laurence Cole as the referee—just a couple of weeks after his highly questionable actions in the Juan Manuel Marquez-Jimrex Jaca fight—was meant to convey a simple message: Fans and media have no sway whatever in the political affairs of local boxing “regulators.” Nepotism is alive and well; and “screw off.”

Message received.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

COMEBACKS & CONFLAGRATIONS (December 4, 2006)

By William Dettloff

Conventional thinking coming out of Jeff Lacy’s close win over Vitali Tsypko on Saturday night, in a comeback that is just beginning, is that the punishment he took against Joe Calzaghe ruined him. Overlooked by proponents of this theory is that Lacy never was the monster he was advertised to be.

Astute viewers will remember the trouble Lacy had with Omar Sheika, never quite a world-class fighter and past his best anyway when he troubled Lacy a bit in December 2004. Syd Vanderpool also had success early, as did Rubin Williams.

Shrewd matchmaking helped to convey the sense that Lacy was something close to invincible. Scott Pemberton crumbled at Lacy’s roundhouses as one would in the face of a typhoon. Then he did the same thing against Peter Manfredo.

Lacy was, on Saturday night, what he always has been: a strong, willing, athletic puncher with a look we like our fighters to carry, and some defensive liabilities almost all sluggers possess. Tsypko, not a terrible fighter and pretty durable, exploited some of those liabilities to good effect, surely aided by an apparent injury to Lacy’s left shoulder and also to his recent inactivity.

Calzaghe’s extended pummeling of Lacy ruined Lacy only in the way and to the degree that Buster Douglas ruined Mike Tyson: It introduced him to the uncomfortable reality that he is human and can be beaten by another man, and showed other men how it is to be done. Functionally, it didn’t change him as a fighter.

As Lacy’s comeback began, Ike Quartey’s ended, one would imagine, with Winky Wright’s dominant but vaguely passive and not unexpected decision win. Though one suspects Quartey could very readily drop back down to junior middleweight and do quite well for himself, the hope here is that he goes back to his life as a successful businessman and enjoys the fruits of his work.

Still, Quartey’s comeback was remarkable: five years off, then in his second fight back a win over a fine fighter in Verno Phillips, and another against Vernon Forrest (the official result be damned). Then, in his final showing, “Bazooka” had enough left at age 37 to trade shots all night with Wright.

Successful retirements, probably like successful deaths and divorces, are built on the knowledge that one fought well and hard in defeat. Quartey should rest easy.

* * *

It’s hard to express how solid Miguel Cotto looked demolishing Carlos Quintana in two rounds. Save your e-mail; I know the fight was stopped after the fifth round. I say after two rounds because there were only two rounds in which Cotto got work done offensively—the first and the fifth. And they were enough.

Quintana did what he had to do in the second, third, and fourth rounds. Cotto had two good rounds and that was all he needed. Quintana looked at the end as though he’d gone 12 rounds with the unfriendly end of a ballpeen hammer. Impressive.

Antonio Margarito was somewhat less convincing against a spirited Joshua Clottey, and from my seat it looked as though Clottey would have done quite well had it not been for a hand injury suffered around the fourth round.

It’s difficult to say for certain, though. Margarito often starts slowly and the possibility exists that he would have ground down Clottey even if Clottey had three fists with which to fend him off.

Either way, the fight to be made at welterweight is not Cotto against Hatton or Castillo, or Margarito against Paul Williams, attractive though those fights may be. It’s Cotto-Margarito. For that one you lock the doors and keep the women and children away. That’s the one to make.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

There were so many white guys on the untelevised undercard of the Cotto-Quintana show that I thought Top Rank had hired Michael Richards to be the show’s matchmaker.

Who was the jackass that kept bellowing something unintelligible in support of Quartey and how come there’s never a cop with a stun gun around when you need him? Are they all hanging out in college libraries?

Does ring announcer Lupe Contreras remind anyone else of a really creepy version of Ricardo Montalban? Also, he might want to save the “en mas macho” thing for a fight that has a Latin guy in it.

Steve Smoger is a fine referee in most respects, but in my view gets way too friendly with the fighters.

Sorry to see HBO’s cameramen are still boycotting round card girls. Who’s directing these shows, Gloria Steinem?

Who else is sick of seeing the guys from Golden Boy Promotions—De La Hoya, Hopkins, Mosley—mugging for the camera every time one of their fighters is in a postfight interview? Haven’t these guys gotten enough face-time during their careers?

Margarito’s a fine fighter, but he doesn’t win a round against Floyd Mayweather. Not a round.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

THE RING LAUNCHES RATINGS ADVISORY PANEL(November 29, 2006)

As a rapidly increasing number of fans and much of the boxing industry turns to The Ring for honest, accurate ratings, free of politics, we have created a Ratings Advisory Panel to help make The Ring Ratings even better.

The Panel is comprised of highly respected boxing journalists from four continents who will make recommendations on a regular basis. As has been The Ring’s policy since it pioneered the concept of rating boxers in 1928, the editors will make the final decisions, but all suggestions from Panel members will be given serious consideration.

Following in the footsteps of The Ring Championship Policy, The Ring Ratings Advisory Panel is the latest step in the publication’s effort to restore credibility and integrity to the sport of boxing.

The core group of in-house participants—Publisher Stu Saks, Editor-in-Chief Nigel Collins, Managing Editor Joe Santoliquito, Contributing Editor Eric Raskin, Senior Writer William Dettloff—remains unchanged. The new Panel members are listed below in alphabetical order, followed by their affiliations.

The makeup of the Panel may change from time to time, and if and when it does, the changes will be noted both in The Ring and on thering-online.com.

HOPING THEY KNEW WILLIE (November 27, 2006)

By William Dettloff

I’m not sure what I was expecting when I called the West Hill Convalescent Home in Connecticut, where the great Willie Pep died on Thanksgiving Day. I told myself I was calling just to get a short quote about him from an administrator or spokesman about what his final days were like, a memorable anecdote maybe, or something that might comfort us that his death was peaceful, at least.

As the line rang at the other end, it occurred to me too late that that wasn’t at all why I was calling. I didn’t care what his last days were like—the last days of patients with advanced Alzheimer’s are all pretty much the same: a jumbled mishmash of seeded, long-ago memories mixed in with the confused sights and smells of a rootless here and now. Intermittent consciousness. Occasional, terrible, fleeting clarity. Pills in paper cups, intravenous drips, bedpans. Finally, sweet acquiescence.

I didn’t care about any damn anecdotes either, because pleasant ones are a little hard to come by in the dementia ward of a nursing home, yet any stories one would get from the administrator of such a place would nevertheless be pleasant—and therefore complete hogwash. Lastly, I imagine death must necessarily come peacefully for all old former prizefighters. Any fight they had in them had to have been used up decades before.

So why was I calling?

I had to know if the people who took care of Pep toward the end, who spooned creamed rice into his mouth and wiped his chin and changed his bed sheets knew who he was before his mind and body went to hell. I wanted to know if any of them realized he was one of the great ones, and not great like Azumah Nelson was great, but great, like Louis and Robinson and Armstrong were great. Like Sinatra was great.

I had to ask if anyone there knew, if they really knew, that he was a genius when he pulled on shorts and laced up a pair of gloves, a genius on the order of Bach and Einstein and Shakespeare were in their fields. Did they have any idea how rare that was, genius like that? Did they know he was royalty?

Could they have known that among the thousands upon thousands of men who have toiled in squared rings over the last couple hundred years, Pep was one of the four or five best? Could they have known what an honor it was to have been around him, even in the state he was in, and how lucky they were to know him?

I left a message asking for someone at the nursing home to call me back. Nobody did. It’s just as well. There couldn’t have been a satisfactory answer anyway. Of course they knew who Willie Pep was. And, of course, they didn’t.

* * *

Juan Manuel Marquez won’t make anyone forget Willie Pep, but he’s a hell of a featherweight all the same and has been for a while. Still, I thought he could have looked better against Jimrex Jaca Saturday night. He had more trouble than he should have because he was trying to be someone he isn’t. We all get into trouble when we do that.

I still want to see Marquez against Manny Pacquiao, but I agree with Emanuel Steward’s assessment that since their first bout, Marquez has lost a step or two, while Pacquiao has improved. Pacquiao’s still the clumsy, wing-from-the-hips type Marquez should excel against, but he has weapons now he didn’t have in their first fight, namely, a right hook and a pretty good jab.

Some random observations from last week:

If you didn’t hear it, Bernard Hopkins is officially “out of retirement.” He’ll get blasted now by some snooty writers who will want to know how he could break the promise he made to his dying mother. Oh, boo-hoo. I say, good for him. She doesn’t know a thing about it where she is, and life is for the living, folks. Also, no fighter who looked as good as he did against Antonio Tarver should be sitting home getting fat. There will be plenty of time for that later. Go get ’em, Bernard.

Those hair plugs in Marquez’ corner were the worst I’ve seen in a ring since before John-John Molina said to hell with it and started shaving his head clean.

Doesn’t Lawrence Cole look like every butt head jock you hated in high school?

Speaking of Cole, what the hell was he doing trying to convince Marquez to say he couldn’t continue? First, it’s none of his business; second, he couldn’t know for certain that Marquez was ahead on points unless he asked; and third, shouldn’t the doctor decide when the blood is too much? If I was king and Marquez had decided to stop, he’d have lost by TKO. And Cole would be banned.

Hey what are those producers in the truck good for if they let Max Kellerman say twice that Pacquiao stopped Barrera in the fifth round? (Barrera lasted into the 11th round.) Are they too busy directing cameras away from the round card girls?

Here’s hoping Steward permanently replaces Lennox Lewis on Boxing After Dark shows.

Don’t know about you, but I think Joe Calzaghe against Peter Manfredo is very interesting indeed.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

MORALES NEEDED HELP NO ONE COULD GIVE (November 20, 2006)

By William Dettloff

When heavyweight prospect Duane Bobick was getting ready to face John Tate in 1979, Bobick’s management hired a team of sports doctors, nutritionists, and fitness experts to test Bobick, counsel him and run him through a battery of what was, for then, high-tech drills and sophisticated endurance exercises.

Bobick was, after all, a white, American heavyweight who could punch and therefore seemed worth the investment.

A writer asked Ace Miller, Tate’s great old trainer, what he thought of Bobick’s training methods. “They make it seem real complicated,” he said. “It’s simple. Either your boy can fight, or he can’t fight. My boy can fight.”

Tate knocked out Bobick in the first round.

That was one of the thoughts that ran through my mind as I watched Manny Pacquiao obliterate Erik Morales on Saturday night. Morales, you’ll recall, gave himself the best chance he could by hiring, at a reported cost of somewhere between $50,000 and $75,000 and to great fanfare, the Velocity Sports Performance Center in Los Angeles.

They helped him get down to weight gradually, without starving himself, and you could see the difference: Morales looked ripped, but not desiccated and weak, as he normally did in the last few days before a fight. He was light and right.

It didn’t matter. Either your boy can fight or he can’t fight, and Pacquiao can fight. Morales can’t anymore, at least at the level he’d need to in order to stay with Pacquiao. It may be that no one can.

The other thought I had, as I watched Morales at the end sitting on the canvas clear-eyed and shaking his head, is that he looked just like Alexis Arguello did at the end of his second fight with Aaron Pryor.

Arguello was one of the great warriors of his era, just as Morales has been of his. To see him quit like that was disquieting, but understandable.

Pryor’s speed and power overwhelmed Arguello in their first fight, just as Morales was overwhelmed by Pacquiao’s in their second meeting. Both Arguello and Morales gave it another shot against their obvious superiors, and were thrashed to such a degree that they submitted.

Arguello fought a couple of times after the second loss to Pryor, retired, came back 12 years later, fought twice and struggled mightily through a largely hellish post-boxing life.

I’m hoping things turn out better for Morales. He’s earned it, and then some.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

If I’m Marco Antonio Barrera, I’m having my publicist draft my retirement announcement—today. For my money, Pacquiao-Barrera II isn’t the fight to be made anyway. What is? Pacquiao-Juan Manuel Marquez II.

When did Morales start hanging out with Mil Mascaras?

I don’t know what’s happened to Ricardo Torres, but he looked nothing like the guy who came within a punch or two of beating Miguel Cotto last year. Off TV, I had Mike Arnaoutis winning by five points.

Hey, was that Emilio Estevez singing the Mexican National Anthem? He really chubbed up.

I don’t know who’s scarier, Sam Soliman or his unfortunately named corner man, Dave Hedgecock.

When he put that headband on, I half expected to see Freddie Roach strut into the ring wearing a red leather jumpsuit and lip-synching “Hot Girls In Love.”

I find John Ruiz far less objectionable now that Norm Stone isn’t in his corner. When I heard that Ruslan Chagaev won their match Saturday night, I was almost sad for “Jawny.” Almost.

I’ve seen circus tents smaller than the trunks Juan Carlos Salgado wore and that he and Marcos Licona bled all over Saturday night.

Who else thinks Shannon Briggs would have been a better pick than Antonio Tarver to play the heavyweight champion in Sylvester Stallone’s new Rocky movie?

Like you, I was shocked to hear the “Superfighter” tournament was cancelled. Shocked!

SHOWDOWN! MANNY PACQUIAO vs. ERIK MORALES (November 17, 2006)

Although it seems as if the first meeting between Manny Pacquiao and Morales occurred years ago, it actually happened on March 19, 2005, and was won by Morales. How quickly we forget. That’s because Pacquiao helped erase the memory of Morales’ victory when he smashed “El Terrible” into a 10th-round knockout victim in their rematch, January 21, 2006.

The rubber match, which will take place Saturday on HBO Pay-Per-View at the Thomas and Mack Center in Las Vegas, is a genuine crossroads fight for underdog Morales. Another lopsided defeat at the hands of “Pac-Man” could possibly spell the end of Morales’ Hall of Fame career.

Pacquiao, meanwhile, is on the verge of becoming a crossover star. The pint-sized puncher already has monumental popularity in his native Philippines, and another powerful display against Morales could boost his appeal in the United States to new heights.

A big key to the first fight was Morales’ ability to keep Pacquiao at the end of his jab and score from the outside. In the rematch, Pacquiao found a way to counter Morales’ reach advantage by ducking under the jab and banging right hooks to the body, which eventually helped break down Morales’ resistance. The end was almost merciful, as a battered and helpless Morales was stopped for the first time in his career.

Will we see Morales’ last stand or his miraculous resurgence? Perhaps the following will help you decide.

RECORD AND WORLD RATING
Pacquiao: Is 42-3-2 with 32 knockouts … Turned pro in 1995 and soon captured the attention of Filipino fans with his all-out style … Won WBC flyweight title in December ’98, but lost it due to not making weight for his second title defense … Annexed IBF junior featherweight title in June ’01 in his U.S. debut … Made three successful defenses before moving up and winning the world featherweight title in November ’03 … Is rated first at junior lightweight by The Ring.

Morales: Is 48-4 with 34 knockouts … Turned pro in March 1993 in his hometown of Tijuana … Won WBC super bantam title in September ’97 … Made nine successful defenses before moving to featherweight … Won WBC featherweight belt in February ’01 … Failed in bid to win world featherweight title in June ’02 … Regained WBC feather title in November ’02 … Won WBC junior lightweight strap in February ’04 and added the IBF version in July ’04 … Lost WBC 130-pound belt in November ’04 … Has lost three of last four fights … Is rated third at junior lightweight by The Ring.

AGE AND PHYSICAL EQUIPMENT
Pacquiao: Is 28 years old … Stands 5’6” with a 67-inch reach … Excellent hand and foot speed … Good upper-body strength … Quick reflexes … Boundless energy, despite busy out-of-ring lifestyle … Nasty cut suffered in first Morales bout has not reopened in three subsequent fights … Looks comfortable making 130.

Morales: Will enter ring 30 years old … Stands 5’8” with a 72-inch reach … Strong mental outlook … Broad shoulders … Uses size and strength as advantage over most junior lightweights … Granite chin … Has struggled lately with weight … Questionable stamina … Ordinary hand speed … Eyes tend to cut and swell.

BEST WEAPONS
Pacquiao: Powerfully accurate left hand thrown from southpaw stance one of the most devastating weapons in boxing today … Right hand starting to become more effective punch, especially to the body … High degree of confidence … Carefree attitude compliments aggressive style.

Morales: Combination puncher with above-average power in both hands … Straight right still most dangerous punch … Left hook is also an attention grabber … Tough and determined … Plenty of big-fight experience … Strong, steady jab … Inexorable desire to win.

PREVIOUS FIGHT
Pacquiao: Won 12-round unanimous decision over Oscar Larios before raucous crowd at the Araneta Coliseum, in Quezon City, Philippines, in July ’06 … Overcame a rocky third round to achieve emphatic victory … Punctuated win by knocking down Larios in the seventh and 12th rounds, setting up the third confrontation with Morales.

Morales: Suffered perhaps his greatest setback as a pro when Pacquiao stopped him in the 10th in January ’06 … Trailed on all three judges’ scorecards by 87-84 (twice) and 86-85 when referee Kenny Bayless called a halt at 2:33 … Was actually winning the fight through first five rounds before Pacquiao turned things in his favor by going to body with right hooks.

QUALITY OF OPPOSITION
Pacquiao: Fought a passel of name opponent between 112 and 130 pounds … Has competed at a high level since 1998, when he won the WBC flyweight title by stopping Chatchai Sasakul (KO 8) … Owns significant victories over Marco Antonio Barrera (KO 11), Lehlo Ledwaba (KO 6), and Morales (KO 10) … Fought to a 12-round draw against Juan Manuel Marquez.

Morales: Has competed at a world championship level since beating Hall of Famer Daniel Zaragoza for the WBC super bantam title in September ’97 … Quality victories read like a who’s who, including Junior Jones (KO 4), Wayne McCullough (W 12), Kevin Kelley (KO 7), Injin Chin (W 12), Guty Espadas (W 12, KO 3), Paulie Ayala (W 12), Marco Antonio Barrera (W 12), and Manny Pacquiao (W 12).

DEFENSE
Pacquiao: Frequently abandons defense in favor of all-out assault, but has incorporated more upper-body movement in recent years … Sturdy chin and conditioning enable him to withstand powershots … Lone stoppage loss came against Medgeon Lukchaopormasak, who took the WBC flyweight title away via third-round knockout in September ’99.

Morales: Has reach and range to offset smaller opponents’ offense … Prone to neglect defense during the heat of battle… Superb chin and tremendous courage compensates for defensive flaws … Was able to use constant pressure to frequently put opponents on defensive in past, but questionable stamina in recent years has decreased work rate.

STYLE
Pacquiao: Southpaw knockout artist with rapid-fire attack that now features blistering power in both hands … Throws wide array of punches from every conceivable angle … Always in crowd-pleasing fights, regardless of opponent … Seldom retreats … Enjoys fighting.

Morales: Classic boxer-puncher with excellent technique … As effective on the inside as he is from the outside … Patient when stalking an opponent … Great finishing skills … Counterpuncher with crowd-pleasing style … Faded work rate during later rounds in recent years … Has battled reputation as a slow starter.

THE QUESTIONS
Pacquiao: Will overconfidence be an issue after the lopsided way he beat Morales the first time? Will the pressure of being a national icon wear on him? Will he be sidetracked by outside business responsibilities? Will we see an even faster demise of Morales this time?

Morales: Can he make 130 pounds without limiting his stamina? Can he reintroduce the jab that he worked so effectively in their first bout? Does he have an answer to Pacquiao’s right hook to the body? Will realizing that another loss could end his career be a big enough motivation to power Morales to an upset victory?

THE OUTCOME
Count on Morales and Pacquiao putting on another entertaining fight, as they are virtually incapable of anything else. This time, a better-conditioned Morales devises a way to stick around a little longer as he tests Pacquiao’s patience with jabs and rights from long range. But Morales will whither in the later rounds, as Pacquiao get stronger and stronger, finally stopping Morales in the 12th.

KLITSCHKO MAKES HIS CASE (November 13, 2006)

By William Dettloff

Whether or not you like Wladimir Klitschko or think he’s the best heavyweight in the world, you must concede this: He made a hell of a case for himself Saturday night, which is more than you can say for anyone else in the division.

Calvin Brock is an entirely competent, proficient if unspectacular heavyweight fighter, and once Klitschko got his legs under him, remembered to jab and started landing the right, the contest was over.

All the other top guys have had chances to stake their claim. None could do it. They couldn’t escape their mediocrity.

Hasim Rahman was given more chances than Marion Barry—against Evander Holyfield, John Ruiz, Monte Barrett, James Toney, even Oleg Maskaev. And he never could pull it together, never could be that guy.

Toney had his chances, too—against Ruiz, Rahman, Sam Peter. He couldn’t do it either, at least twice because he was too damned stubborn to listen to his trainer (and everyone else in the business) and diet a little, preferring instead to show up looking like Buster Mathis after a pizza bender. Good plan, James.

Chris Byrd hasn’t looked good since beating David Tua. Before that, you have to go all the way back to Jimmy Thunder.

Maskaev didn’t beat anyone to earn a shot at Rahman and didn’t look particularly formidable that night, even in winning.

Ruiz is, well … Ruiz.

Peter, supposedly the division’s great puncher, had his chances also—against Klitschko and then Toney. The best he could manage against Klitschko was to lose every second of every round in which he did not score a knockdown. He received a gift decision over a Toney who by the third round was looking for an iron lung in his corner.

Nicolay Valuev had his chance for a big coming-out party against Barrett and though he wasn’t as bad as advertised, in the end his lasting achievement may be that he substantiated long-dismissed claims of the existence of a Sasquatch.

Sergei Liakhovich and Shannon Briggs could have shone against one another. Both performed miserably—yes, even the winner, who blamed his languid performance on the amount of energy he expended in the first round.

Forget about a second wind; Briggs is still waiting for his first.

Klitschko is far from Joe Louis. He’s still full of anxiety, his stamina is in doubt, and any big, strong, willful puncher has a decent chance of knocking him cold. But he comes to fight, he shows up in shape, and if he walks forward and hits you on the chin, chances are you’re going to sleep.

That’s good enough for me.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

All of us geniuses who picked Fres Oquendo to beat Holyfield forgot that not all psyches are created equal. Oquendo, rather a pacifist to begin with, was apparently so spooked by the right hand that floored him in the first round that he wouldn’t risk getting tagged again all night. Holyfield will beat some guys solely by virtue of his enormous self-belief.

Congratulations to Golden Johnson for his win over Oscar Diaz. I thought Johnson was done around the time the old Tuesday Night Fights went off the air. So did the Duvas, apparently.

While my stomach turned when Michael Buffer introduced Klitschko as a "two-time heavyweight champion," I find it interesting that he was not announced as the IBF heavyweight champion.

With his win over Kevin Kelley, Manuel Medina is one win away from beginning his 167th reign as a featherweight/junior lightweight titlist.

I don’t know what will come of the investigation of Orlando Salido’s alleged positive test for steroids following his win over Robert Guerrero, but I’ll say this: I’d never seen him look that good before.

Isn’t it time we stopped calling Madison Square Garden "The Mecca Of Boxing"? This is a little like calling Michael Grant the heir apparent.

I’ll be interested to see what comes of Liakhovich’s claim that time had already run out when referee Bobby Ferrara stopped his fight with Briggs. Whatever the outcome, I’m sure we’ll all agree there’s no need to rush these two into a rematch right away—or ever.

What the hell is Emanuel Steward always chewing on?

HOPKINS ITCHING FOR A FIGHT (November 9, 2006)

In an exclusive interview with Editor-in-Chief Nigel Collins held at The Ring’s Blue Bell, Pennsylvania, editorial office, Bernard Hopkins said that he’s ready to return to action.

“It has to be a meaningful fight,” said the world light heavyweight champion. “I don’t want to fight just to fight. At this stage of my career, and knowing that I’m going to have to deal with a lot of topics—I thought you’d retired, I thought you promised your mother, etc.—I’m gonna make sure it means something in order to handle the possible backlash.

“Like I’ve been saying, the fight I want the most is Oleg Maskaev, but if that doesn’t happen, I’d also take a fight with Roy Jones because we have some unfinished business. I would love to redeem myself against Roy. And if the money is right, I would fight Joe Calzaghe, but not at 168 pounds. Calzaghe would have to move up to light heavyweight.”

Although he conceded that bouts with Jones and Calzaghe are possible, Hopkins made it clear that WBC heavyweight titleholder Maskaev remains his main target.

“We, and by we I mean Golden Boy Promotions CEO Richard Schaefer and I, are still in negotiations with Maskaev’s manager, Dennis Rappaport,” said Hopkins. “We are giving them to the Thanksgiving weekend to decide. But if that fight doesn’t happen in a timely fashion, and I’m going to do something else, I’m going to get that ball rolling to preserve that date in April or May that has been set aside by HBO for me to do a pay-per-view bout.”

“I need a major threat, where if I don’t win I’m dead,” Hopkins said when asked why fighting Maskaev was so important to him. “I need that is-he-crazy kind of conversation going on. That’s what sells in boxing. That’s what my career has been about. I’m a daring person. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t mind walking that tightrope.

“But I’m not going to take a fight I don’t think I can win. Maskaev is tailor-made for me; I know I can beat him. I have ring generalship, smarts, and speed. He’s one-dimensional. The only thing he has working in his favor is that he’s big. But he’s not a giant. He’s a puncher who has to get set and he has to get you to fight his type of fight. With Mackie Shilstone to prepare me, to put on those 25 to 30 pounds on me, which I can carry because of my height and the width of my shoulders, Maskaev will be missing more and paying more. I see it as a cat-and-mouse game, with the mouse, Bernard Hopkins, beating the cat.”

During the wide-ranging interview, Hopkins also talked about:

• Why he’s now happy that he went through so many hard times during his career
• His two losses to Jermain Taylor
• Why his upset victory over Antonio Tarver wasn’t as satisfying as some might think
• What his wife thinks about him fighting again
• The only fight he ever felt nervous about and why
• Why he had to go to jail to become the man he is today
• His financial situation
• His work as the president of Golden Boy East and the future of the promotional company
• Why he wouldn’t make a good trainer

Read the entire interview in the March 2007 issue of The Ring Double, on sale January 2.

KLITSCHKO-BROCK: ANOTHER STEP TOWARD HEAVYWEIGHT CLARITY (November 7, 2006)

By Don Stradley

When examining the heavyweight division, we feel a little bit like Goldilocks searching for that perfect bowl of porridge. There’s something wrong with all of the big guys: This one is too fat, this one is too old, this one has a glass jaw, and this one has no personality. Hopefully, a heavyweight will eventually come along and inspire us to say, “Ah! This one is just right.” Saturday’s bout between Wladimir Klitschko and Calvin Brock at Madison Square Garden may not get us any closer to our perfect heavyweight, but with the division being up for grabs, every heavyweight match has a touch of importance to it.

Klitschko, 46-3 (41), has tons of talent, but occasionally his legs buckle like The Scarecrow’s in The Wizard Of Oz. If we found him during our travels down the yellow brick road, he’d probably sing a song called, “If I Only Had A Chin.” But Emanuel Steward, Klitschko’s trainer, is great at taking wobbly characters and extending their careers. If Brock was stepping in with the Klitschko of a few years ago, we might see an upset. But with Klitschko listening to Steward, Brock is facing a heck of a fighter. It will also be interesting to see if Klitschko’s massive Ukrainian following turns up for the bout, since it takes place in Klitschko’s new adopted home of New York City.

Brock, 29-0 (22), is one of those heavyweights who looks the part and occasionally acts the part, but lacks magic. A lot of fans were disappointed when a proposed bout between Klitschko and Shannon Briggs fell through, because Briggs is the sort of roughneck that might give Klitschko problems. That sounded more fun than watching Klitschko fight a guy whose nickname is “The Boxing Banker.” Still, Brock, even if he is a bit of a snorer, has the self-possessed assurance that comes with being a young, undefeated fighter. That confidence, more than anything else, makes him a legitimate threat. And with Klitschko’s past problems hovering over the bout, Brock might slip through and land a bomb. He does have some pop, and Klitschko should be aware.

This fight helps us sift through the division. If Brock beats Klitschko, we can write off the Ukrainian once and for all. If Klitschko wins convincingly, we can throw Brock into the pile with Dominick Guinn, Jameel McCline, Michael Grant, and the rest of the young heavies who seemed to have potential. Either way, we’ll be another tiny step closer to figuring out this heavyweight mess, and maybe even finding a Ring champ.

Prediction: Klitschko is ruffled by free-swinging brutes like Sam Peter and Lamon Brewster, but has great success against boxers like Brock. He and Brock will box evenly for a while, but Klitschko’s heavier blows will wear down Brock and finish him off by the 10th.

BRIGGS, BALDOMIR …WINNERS & LOSERS (November 6, 2006)

By William Dettloff

Both Shannon Briggs and Carlos Baldomir were given the chance on Saturday night to make meaningful advances in their careers and to accomplish things for which they would be remembered. One succeeded, one did not.

Briggs succeeded when his profound physical talent won out, just barely, over the limitations imposed by a temperament poorly suited to his vocation. Conversely, Baldomir was so handicapped by his physical ordinariness that no amount of self-belief, which he has in abundance, could save him.

Briggs is so damned personable that it’s almost impossible not to be happy for him for his last-round knockout of Sergei Liakhovich. But make no mistake: He remains the quintessential underachiever and a maddening heavyweight for whom to root.

I wrote some months ago in this space that Briggs is more Hollywood actor playing the role of a fighter than he is a fighter, and his largely passive performance against a similarly submissive Liakhovich did nothing to disassemble that characterization.

Briggs’ great curse is that he’s a self-styled Renaissance Man trapped in a gladiator’s body—a heavyweight with the physical talents of a young Sonny Liston but the sensibilities of Truman Capote. He subjects himself to the fight game’s considerable rigors and vulgarities only with great effort and reluctance, and solely for the reflected celebrity and financial rewards it provides.

Watching Briggs struggle with self-doubt and anxiety (which are the true causes of his fatigue, not asthma) against Liakhovich was not unlike watching a Corvette laboring to outrun a minivan because the Corvette’s driver is unsure of its reliability and thus hesitant to step on the gas. One shudders at the thought of what a supremely confident and relaxed fighter, like James Toney, for example, could do if only he had Briggs’ body.

Baldomir’s problem against Floyd Mayweather was exactly the opposite. Say what you will about Mayweather’s reluctance to engage Baldomir down the stretch when it was clear “Tata” had nothing with which to worry him, Mayweather’s victory was as complete, in my view, as any first-round knockout you’ll see.

There is always something to be said for the fighter who, though his back is against the ropes, nonetheless slips combination after combination, as Mayweather did throughout, causing Baldomir to appear a raw amateur. If this weren’t a prized ability, Willie Pep wouldn’t be in the Hall of Fame.

At any rate, it mattered not a bit what strategy Baldomir tried or what inspiration might be gained in the contemplation of a return to selling feather dusters on the streets of Santa Fe. The swagger he gained in wins over Zab Judah and Arturo Gatti was no match for Mayweather’s speed and skills, and he didn’t need to want it any more than he did.

Baldomir didn’t need more confidence or to be able to relax. He would have benefited from a lighter, more mobile head and perhaps a time machine. But mostly he needed more fast-twitch muscle fibers and a whole lot more talent and physical ability. In short, he needed to be a little more like Briggs. And Briggs, if he cares to extend his win streak, will need to be a little more like Baldomir.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

Did I miss an e-mail? My better-rounded friends tell me that in the parlance of contemporary sports broadcasting, the phrase “selling out” has come to mean something other than compromising one’s principles for financial gain. Where have I been? For that matter, when did fighters start “dialing in” right hands or left hooks?

Good for Kenny Bayless for keeping his head and not stopping the Chris Arreola-Damian Wills fight in the second round. A lot of refs would have. Speaking of Arreola, when did Johnny Tapia move up to heavyweight?

Kudos also to the normally bothersome Jay Nady, who was all but invisible in the Mayweather-Baldomir fight and whose final instructions to the fighters consisted of a wonderfully terse, “Let’s touch gloves and go to work.”

For my money, Santos Pakau was the toughest fighter on any card all weekend.

Only in boxing would we get a prefight interview from behind prison walls. HBO’s segment with Roger Mayweather, behind a security window and on the phone, was unintentionally hilarious and limitless in its potential for satire.

Who knew Orlando Salido was that good? Or is “The Ghost” that bad?

Do you think Larry Merchant hated Harold Johnson fights?

Jim Gray’s postfight interview with Briggs, Liakhovich, and Don King was very fun stuff, and not just because Briggs revealed he’d wanted to knock out Gray when Gray interviewed him before the fight. Briggs is a charming guy, and in my estimation would make an excellent commentator—certainly better than Lennox Lewis.

Kendall Holt was superb on ShoBox and is ready for a major fight. What do you say, David Diaz?

TREVOR BERBICK & THE SHARED END (October 30, 2006)

By William Dettloff

We should remember Trevor Berbick as an entirely sturdy, willing, but fairly unremarkable heavyweight who at the top level didn’t have many great nights inside the ring. We should recall too that even before he was killed last weekend, in an apparent machete murder of all things, he didn’t have an easy go of it outside the ropes either.

Berbick had been convicted over the years in separate cases of assault, rape, and grand theft, had done hard time, and been deported twice. I was reminded of that while reading several obituaries over the weekend and it surprised me in a mild way to read about him in those terms.

I’d forgotten that side of him. It seemed easier to recall the Berbick who, in 1991, so earnestly and skillfully insulted Larry Holmes that Holmes felt compelled to climb atop a parked SUV to get at him (which, for the record, he failed to do). The incident was made memorable by its repeated airings on sports news shows, which favored it for its clumsy hilarity.

It was easier, too, to recall the Berbick who, cursing his mediocrity, pounded the canvas in frustration at being unable to convince his legs to work properly after he took a perfect left hook from a prime Mike Tyson.

By most accounts, Berbick was a troubled, unstable man, and seeing his pained history recounted and learning of his gruesome death, reminds one that the fight game draws in great number the alienated, the irreconcilably angry, the compulsives, the addicts, the paranoids. I can think of no other vocation, outside perhaps American politics, which draws so heavily from the diseased pool of the emotionally fractured.

I know, every game has its nut jobs and its broken people, and the world is full of them in any event. Pick up a newspaper for proof; we’re all a mess. For many lost or deserted men, the ring is an odd sanctuary.

That’s not to say fighters can’t be good men, or strong men, or humble men. A great number are all three. It’s to say a man more at ease with himself and the world and his place in it, in general, wouldn’t choose to do this for a living. He wouldn’t need to.

The fight game, for all its vulgarities, gives lost souls something to live for and, for a while at least, shields many from their demons. You see how good it is at that as soon as they retire.

No less a pugilistic god than Joe Louis appeared a model citizen when he was fighting. When he couldn’t do it anymore, he descended into a living hell of drug addiction and mental illness.

Riddick Bowe snapped when he couldn’t fight anymore, when there was no reason anymore to be disciplined. You remember: the Marines, the kidnapping. All the money in the world couldn’t do for him what an involuntary three miles in the morning and five rounds on the heavybag could.

There are dozens more examples of troubled fighters suffering bizarre ends that, ultimately, seem perfectly appropriate relative to their lives. It’s one of the many things they share.

You could argue that it’s what happens to them in the ring, the punches to the head, that makes fighters irrational and anti-social after their fighting days end. Certainly there’s some truth to that, as Bowe claimed during his trial (not terribly long before starting a comeback).

But what then to make of Paul Spadafora blowing a hole in his girlfriend’s chest, or Cliff Etienne going on a crime spree in Baton Rouge, Oliver McCall smoking his purse in a crack den, or Ike Ibeabuchi mauling “escorts” and getting sent away? Active, competitive fighters all. Johnny Tapia, the poster child for emotionally unhinged fighters, will tell you he took harder shots outside the ropes than in.

In life, most fighters are born losers. In the ring they can be winners for a short while, which is all any of us wants to be.

Berbick had three very good nights: when he beat a drug-addled Pinklon Thomas for the WBC title in 1986, when he knocked out John Tate in nine rounds in Canada, and when he became the first of Holmes’ title challengers to last the 15-round distance.

That may not sound like much now, relatively speaking. I’ll bet to him it meant the world.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

Kermit Cintron may have claimed the IBF 147-pound belt, but he’s the welterweight world champion like I’m H.L. Mencken. That said, Emanuel Steward has worked his magic again.

Although clearly he weakened himself by fighting at 135 pounds, don’t expect Diego Corrales to be an appreciably different fighter at junior welterweight or welter, wherever he ends up. He has always been a very flawed puncher who has trouble with anyone who hits him on the chin. That won’t change.

That crashing noise you hear is fight writers by the dozen leaping off the Joel Julio bandwagon.

Looks like Acelino Freitas may beat Michael Moorer’s record for the shortest retirement in history. Great. It’s been a while since we’ve seen a fighter weep like a baby in the ring.

For the first three rounds, this weekend’s Sergei Liakhovich-Shannon Briggs match will be interesting. For nine minutes Briggs can whack. After that, not so much.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

DON’T CRY FOR THESE HEAVYWEIGHTS (October 23, 2006)

By Bill Dettloff

Leave it to Mike Tyson to speak the truth. In the run-up to his exhibition against Corey Sanders last Friday, a reporter asked the once "Baddest Man On The Planet" about the current state of heavyweight boxing, which is almost universally derided in the business. "I don’t think it’s as bad as everyone says it is," he said. How refreshing.

It’s refreshing because former heavyweight champions are loathe to say anything positive about the guys who come after them. Talk to one who’s been retired for five, 10, 15 years, and ask him how the fighters today rank compared to those in his era, and you’re almost guaranteed to get a dismissive wave from a gnarled hand and a similarly unflattering assessment.

It doesn’t matter how the fighters were judged in their own day. Seen through generational glasses, they were always better "then." Want a good example? Larry Holmes has said more than once that today’s heavyweights couldn’t hold a candle to the guys from his era. Who? Scott Frank? Scott LeDoux? Renaldo Snipes? Greg Page? Trevor Berbick? Please.

At the time, nobody thought the heavyweights of the 1980s were anything special. You can bet the stars of the ’70s—Muhammad Ali, George Foreman, Joe Frazier, and Ken Norton—didn’t either. And the guys that came before them weren’t sold either on the quality of the ’70s’ best big men.

Joe Louis once quipped that in his day, Ali would have been "January," a reference to Louis’ so-called "Bum Of The Month" tour. It goes back further. Jack Johnson wrote in his autobiography that Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney “ … would have been unable to reach [their] present station against the onslaughts they would have had to face had their contestants been the caliber of Jackson, Sharkey, Fitzsimmons, and their class."

On it goes and shall forever go. We're no different, of course, always grieving the loss of good old days that never existed.

So it was good to hear Tyson credit a division that will get more interesting in the coming weeks. How so, you ask?

Wladimir Klitschko-Calvin Brock is probably a win for Klitschko, but if Brock can land a hook like the one that planted Zuri Lawrence, who knows? Sergei Liakhovich-Shannon Briggs features a very flawed big puncher against a tough, resilient clubber. And, as suspicious as the mandated rematch is between James Toney and Sam Peter, it still gives us an interesting boxer-puncher matchup that will be more interesting if Toney should decide to diet a little beforehand.

So don’t fret about the heavyweights. Some day you’ll be telling your kid this was a golden age.

Some miscellaneous observations from last week:

I’m not sure what to make of Tyson’s purported claim that he’d fight Ann Wolfe in an exhibition. I suspect he was joking, or misheard the question, or the remark was taken out of context. Either way, the fact that CNN.com almost immediately put the question "Should Mike Tyson be allowed to box women?" on its Web site and invited readers to vote Yes or No is at once fascinating and nauseating.

So Tommy Morrison wants to fight again. I say let him fight Joe Mesi, and if he can beat him, what the hell. Maybe he and Ray Mercer can get together again too, with the winner getting Tony Tubbs.

The more bad press Lennox Lewis gets for his lousy broadcasting, the more likely he is to climb into the ring again in an attempt to feel good about himself. And no one wants to see that. Conversely, the more successful Kevin Kelley is in the ring, the less likely it is we’ll hear him behind a microphone. I’m hoping for a long unbeaten streak.

To everyone who blasted me with e-mail in response to my column last week about Joe Calzaghe: If within the next 18 months Calzaghe fights Bernard Hopkins, Antonio Tarver, Jermain Taylor, Winky Wright, Mikkel Kessler, or even Clinton Woods or Glen Johnson, I’ll give him credit. Otherwise, pound sand.

Several astute readers took me to task for asking in the same column who Roy Jones ever ducked. Fair enough. Relative to his talent, Jones sought out far too few superfights when there were plenty from which to choose. For all he accomplished, his gifts went largely squandered.

On the other hand, he beat Hopkins and James Toney, two certain future Hall of Famers, and potentially a third in Virgil Hill. During his reign as light heavyweight champion, he faced more top-10 Ring contenders than did any other titlist, and also beat a highly rated heavyweight in John Ruiz. That’s considerably more risk than Calzaghe has taken.

So Golden Boy Promotions signed Diego Corrales last week. Besides Juan Diaz, is there anyone left that they haven't gotten?

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

STILL NOT BUYING WHAT CALZAGHE’S SELLING (October 16, 2006)

By Bill Dettloff

So Joe Calzaghe wants Bernard Hopkins.

Forget for the moment that Hopkins has said he’s retired, that he’s 41 years old, and that “The Executioner” doesn’t come cheap—ask Roy Jones.

You can bet Hopkins would come back for the right fight and the right money—there has been talk of him facing Oleg Maskaev, of all people—and as Bernard showed against Antonio Tarver, he still can fight. Or at least he still could last June when he handed Tarver’s head to him over 12 rounds in Atlantic City.

What’s interesting about Calzaghe calling out Hopkins after a fairly sloppy win over Sakio Bika Saturday night is that people believe he’s serious. When will we learn?

I know, I know, I was one of those silly, biased, American fight writers who thought Jeff Lacy would expose Calzaghe for the second-rater we suspected he was, and that’s not the way it turned out. I was wrong.

I’ll be happy now, as I was then, to say yes, Calzaghe can fight. He sure did a number on Lacy. But I believe he’s satisfied enough at having proved himself that night and is happy to return to fighting guys the caliber of Bika. I’ll be surprised if we see him in another big fight.

I’ll get e-mails from our friends in Europe accusing me of more bias. That’s okay. Because Calzaghe had his chances to face the stars of his era—Jones, Tarver, Hopkins—and he didn’t. And let me ask you: Who did Hopkins ever duck? Who did Jones duck (outside Dariusz Michalczewski, and even that is debatable)? Who can you say Tarver ducked? Anyone?

Those three guys all ended up, sooner or later, fighting one another. All three were recognized, at one time or another—and for long stretches—among the top fighters in the world.

You can see the fact Calzaghe never fought any of them in one of two ways: that he didn’t want to, or that they didn’t want to. Which possibility do you find more credible? (Bearing in mind that no one was surprised in the least when, just before signing to face Bika, Calzaghe pulled out of a fight with Glen Johnson.)

So now Calzaghe is calling out Hopkins. It won’t happen. Soon you’ll hear him calling out Jermain Taylor or Winky Wright, two more guys who have shown their willingness to fight anyone. That won’t happen either. Then you’ll hear Calzaghe is fighting Robin Reid again, or Victor Oganov, all the while complaining he has to get big fights.

Let’s see if he proves me wrong.

Some random observations from last week:

Shame on anyone who wrote in glowing terms about Calzaghe’s alleged 18 title defenses or nine-year “championship reign.” The WBO is the same outfit that twice promoted Darrin “The Mongoose” Morris in its rankings—after he died in October 2000. It’s the same outfit that boasts Sergei Lyakhovich as its heavyweight champion, and whose top three heavyweight contenders are Sultan Ibragimov, Luan Krasniqi, and Shannon Briggs, for cripes sake. You can’t have it both ways, people.

So Gary Shaw is forming an MMA (mixed martial arts) company. Good for him. Let all the big promoters switch to MMA—the sooner the better. They’ll choke the life out of that business too, and then in the meantime maybe we can start fresh.

Filling in for Fran Charles, Jim Lampley brought a real pro’s sensibility to the Boxing After Dark telecast, and measurably improved both Max Kellerman and Lennox Lewis in the process.

Enzo Calzaghe isn’t shy about dropping the F-bomb between rounds, is he? Not that I minded, but for a minute I thought I’d tuned into a British remake of Scarface.

Good for Kellerman for reminding Lewis that he wasn’t always the cleanest fighter in there, particularly against Michael Grant, whom Lewis blatantly fouled in their fight in April 2000, won by Lewis in the second round.

Come on, admit it: You wanted Peter Manfredo to knock out Joey Spina too. And he sure looked good doing it, didn’t he? Manfredo against what’s left of Jones is interesting.

You just knew that at some point, sooner or later, Allan Green was going to catch Jerson Ravelo and stop him. We all did. Ravelo knew it too.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

NICOLAY VALUEV: TOO GOOD & NOT GOOD ENOUGH (October 9, 2006)

By William Dettloff

In a sense, the worst possible revelation came out of Nicolay Valuev’s methodical beat-down Saturday night of Monte Barrett in Illinois: The big guy is average. He’s nothing great and won’t ever be. But he’s not terrible, either. That means he fits in pretty well with the rest of the guys in the top-10.

It would have been better for everyone involved if Valuev crushed Barrett outright in a round or two, thereby creating a rush of excitement to complement the curiosity around his size, or was humiliated and stopped by Barrett, a heavyweight of mediocre talents.

If Valuev had blown Barrett out quickly, we might have a player in the division with the cache and look to generate considerable buzz. Nothing drives ticket sales in this business like a giant, hairy, fierce-punching foreigner. Valuev looks like something out of a Grimm’s Fairy Tale, for cripes sake.

This game needs great villains and if Valuev were a different kind of fighter, one with more pop and without so many flaws, he’d be perfect. By the time they were done marketing him as the most evil force in the history of mankind, there wouldn’t be stadiums big enough to hold all the fans willing to pay to watch him get knocked off. But he’s not that kind of fighter. He’s not good enough to hate. It’s a damn shame, really.

On the other hand, if Barrett had succeeded in slaying him, the return would be shorter-lived, but at least we’d have gotten the vicarious thrill that comes with watching someone like us, someone average-sized, chop down a giant. Jack & the Beanstalk and all that.

As it turned out, we got neither. Valuev is clumsy, slow, not difficult to hit on the chin, and not a huge puncher. On the other hand, he has good wind for such a big guy, takes a shot pretty well, and once he’s worn you down, he’s not shy about unloading. The right hand that hurt Barrett in the 11th started somewhere down around Budennovsk, and when it landed, the fun was pretty much over.

Where does it all leave us? About where we started. But it’s not all bad. Valuev and Barrett could have fought to a draw.

* * *

I’m generally not one to engage in schadenfraude (okay, yes I am), but I don’t know how anyone could avoid getting a chuckle out of Diego Corrales’ failure to make weight before his close loss to Joel Casamayor in Las Vegas. After everything he, Gary Shaw, and Bob Arum said about Jose Luis Castillo, this was just priceless.

That said, no fighter, Corrales included, should have to survive on a diet of ice chips in the days leading up to a fight. It’s time to abandon day-before weigh-ins and go back to having fighters weigh in on the day of the fight. It’s not a perfect system, but it will force fighters to do business at a weight that is more natural for them.

Either way, congratulations must go to Casamayor, who, with the upset, claimed The Ring world lightweight title. You might have expected Corrales’ weight issue to muck up things, but there’s a long history of titles changing hands in over-the-weight title bouts, and we’re honoring that tradition.

Some miscellaneous observations from the last week:

If you’re one of those complaining that Barrett didn’t deserve a "title shot," I have two questions for you: When in the history of this game did only "deserving" challengers get title chances, and why would you consider Valuev a "champion" in the first place?

Tuned into ESPN Classic a couple of times to find not Jason Litzau or Cory Spinks, but Floyd Patterson-George Chuvalo, and, a few days later, Joe Frazier-Eddie Machen. Now that’s classic boxing.

I hope never to hear the words "Sugar Boo" ever again.

Can anyone think of a reason Vic Darchinyan or Jorge Arce should fight anyone other than one another in their next fight?

For all the carping by Shaw about how much more "legitimate" Showtime’s super middleweight tourney would be than The Contender, is Anthony Hanshaw-Jean Paul Mendy in the finale any better than were Grady Brewer-Steve Forbes, or Sergio Mora-Peter Manfredo?

Had to laugh when referee David Mendoza, at the end of final instructions that covered about every regulation in the rulebook, looked at Henry Buchanan and Mendy and said casually, "Ya got all that?"

Good for Larry Merchant for calling Jim Lampley on Lampley’s assertion that Tomasz Adamek’s nose was broken rather than just bleeding. Note to all blow-by-blow guys: Either a fight’s dramatic or it isn’t. If it is, let it alone. We get it. If it isn’t, don’t try to make it so. It insults our intelligence.

I nearly sprayed potato chips through my nose when Merchant observed, "Valuev has a head like a St. Bernard." But as Nigel Collins noted during a conversation the following day, that’s an insult to St. Bernards everywhere.

Bill can be contacted at dettloff@ptd.net.

ONE LAST GASP FOR IRON MIKE (October 2, 2006)

By William Dettloff

It is fitting that it ends this way for Mike Tyson. Not with a precipitous slide toward “bolivion,” as he might say, but with a series of exhibitions, the first against a large, modestly talented heavyweight named Corey Sanders that will serve to ease him, more gradually, toward the final phase of his boxing career.

In case you missed it, the excitable Sterling McPherson last week announced that Tyson would box a series of four-round exhibitions in countries all over the world. You can’t reasonably blame McPherson, official promoter of “Mike Tyson’s World Tour” for nearly hyperventilating in his press releases.

McPherson, one-time Don King lackey, sees the venture as a big money-maker and the next logical step for Tyson, who has been working off his debt to, well, everybody, by holding open workouts in Las Vegas that reportedly were attracting in the area of 2,000 spectators a day.

The plan is to have Tyson hit markets in Europe, the Middle East, Asia, and other points unknown as the main event in cards padded with young prospects. The exhibition against Sanders, which is scheduled for October 20 in Youngstown, Ohio, will be available on what else but pay-per-view for $29.95.

Rest assured it is not lost on Tyson, one of the game’s better historians among fighters, that he is following in the steps of many heavyweight champions of yore—some great, some not—who wound up their careers, or took breaks in the middle of them, doing what he is doing.

Jack Dempsey fought in more exhibitions than title fights. Jack Johnson was fighting exhibitions into his 50s. Max Baer fought a slew of exhibitions in the year immediately following his win over Primo Carnera, and Carnera did the same after losing to Baer. Joe Louis fought countless exhibitions during World War II and countless more after he retired, primarily to help pay a huge tax debt.

It is testament to Tyson’s inexhaustible charisma that today, 16 months after he quit on his stool against Kevin McBride, that he has the juice left to even get this plan off the ground. Indeed, outside of the pay-per-view element, the whole production seems very 1940s, and Tyson is the only prizefighter of his generation that could pull it off. Leave it to him to carry the whole business back 60 years—in a good way.

I like the idea for its look backward and hope it brings Tyson some peace of mind, even if it’s temporary. The pessimist in me suspects the same demons that sabotaged Tyson at the peak of his powers will prevail here, and after a short, ugly run, the world tour will be history. I hope not.

At his best, Tyson was a hell of a good heavyweight (despite what the revisionists would have you believe) who turned an entire generation of fans onto boxing. To this day he remains the most honest, entertaining interview in the game. It would be good if this went well for him. You just know it won’t.

Some miscellaneous observations from the past week:

Congratulations to Kevin Kelley, who, by outpointing Carlos Hernandez on Versus, Thursday night, rather than folding the first time he was hit, as I predicted he would, made me look like an ass. Don’t get too excited, Kevin—you’re not the first, nor will you be the last.

Hernandez’ emotional breakdown and retirement announcement during the postfight interview made for compelling television, but for a minute I thought I was watching an episode of The Contender.

You’re probably tired of me ranting every week about referees who feel the need to personalize the final instructions with their idiotic slogans because they didn’t get enough attention from Mommy and Daddy (or maybe too much). Tough. Someone’s got to do it, and this week’s entrant might be the dopiest yet. Wilfredo Esperon, in the Kelley-Hernandez fight, instructed the two to “Let those punches fly.” Sigh. I’m starting to think those bow ties cut off blood flow to the brain.

Speaking of idiotic officials, anyone else notice that the ringside physician in the Raul Martinez-Ilido Julio prelim fight “examined” Julio from outside the ropes, over Julio’s right shoulder after the ninth round? I don’t have any fancy medical degree, but I’m pretty sure that if you’re checking out a fighter to see if he should continue, especially one who’s taken a bad beating, as Julio had, the best vantage point from which to do it might be inside the ring, in front of the guy, looking into his eyes with a little flashlight or something. But, hey, I’m no doctor.

I’ve written in this space before that I like the work Wally Matthews is doing on Versus, but I’m befuddled and not a little disappointed by his sudden affection for the IBO. When making a case for the quality of Julio, whom Martinez