An American, Chicago born

By Bart Barry

“I am an American, Chicago born -- Chicago, that somber city -- and go at things as I have taught myself, free-style . . .” So begins The Adventures of Augie March, Saul Bellow’s heralded American novel. Augie March was a Jewish character, created by a Jewish author, but March’s identity came from Chicago.

WBC lightweight champion David Diaz is a Mexican-American character, self-created, but his identity too comes from Chicago. Despite being his Mexican parents’ only American-born child, Diaz is more Chicagoan than Mexican.

He’d argue that point. But that only helps make mine.

Last week Diaz came to Phoenix as part of a small reconnaissance press tour. On June 28, Diaz will defend his title against Manny Pacquiao. Top Rank fired the starter’s pistol for promoting Diaz-Pacquiao last week, but Pacquiao remained in the Philippines. So ace publicist Bill Caplan was sent across the fruited plain with an unknown champion -- the last Diaz standing.

Until October, we had Juan Diaz, Julio Diaz and David Diaz; three of the four lightweight titlists had the same last name. Then Juan beat Julio and lost to Nate Campbell. Now we only have one lightweight champ named Diaz. Time to introduce him.

Whatever Diaz, Caplan or Diaz’s publicist Bernie Bahrmasel expected last week’s media luncheon to be, it was more. Diaz came to a once thriving fight town, addressed a skeptical press corps and won us over. He also gave a tutorial on how to conduct a press conference.

Diaz was gracious, flippant, honest, self-deprecating, sarcastic and accessible, accessible, accessible. In about an hour, he went from the B-side keeper-of-Pacquiao’s-next-belt to an engaging former U.S. Olympian and current titlist. He made you want to know him better.

The gathering spot was El Matador restaurant, downtown. There was a press table set up, lights and a Top Rank banner. There were some fans, plenty of Diaz’s family and a few media folks. Introduced by Caplan, Diaz sat at the table and addressed mostly shadows. He finished by saying, “I’m not much of a talker.”

Most of Arizona’s boxing writers were seated behind him (in a single booth). When the questions began to come from our table, Diaz quickly turned. Then he put the lie to what he’d said about how much of a talker he is.

Among the first topics was Pacquiao’s power. How much of it would Pacquiao -- who began at 106 pounds -- bring with him to the 135-pound division? Diaz was quick and witty.

“His power? I don’t know about that. But I’ll definitely let you know on the 29th.”

So went Diaz’s answers. They were crisp and playful. There was little of the bland “I feel strong” fare that’s served up in press conferences round the country. Whether or not you liked Diaz afterwards -- and it would be hard not to -- you cared about his next fight. Suddenly you had more material for Diaz-Pacquiao than a new nickname for “Pacman” or a treatise on the Pinoy community of Scottsdale.

Diaz knew when to be serious about the craft. He knew when to handle questions as a Mexican prizefighter should. Told that HBO commentator Manny Steward had referred to him as a limited fighter, and asked how he saw himself, Diaz didn’t kid around.

“I see a good fighter. I see a good fighter who can fight with the best. That’s what I see.”

But when asked a technical question about fighting someone with Pacquiao’s offensive mastery, Diaz was more Chicago than Mexico.

“I think the best thing I can do is meet his left hand with my face,” he said. Then he laughed.

Can you imagine Julio Cesar Chavez or Marco Antonio Barrera giving an answer like that?

A few minutes later, a stock question was on its way -- one about Diaz’s preference, as a southpaw, for opponents’ stances. Pacquiao is a southpaw, of course, but most fighters are not. With a stock question coming, Diaz readied himself to give a stock answer. Then the questioner appended “in a perfect world” to the end of the question.

Just that quickly, Diaz’s face changed. “In a perfect world, I’d like an opponent who doesn’t punch!”

Asked later if he considered himself more Chicagoan than Mexican, Diaz said, “My whole family is from Mexico. I was born in America. I was in the Olympics, yeah. But my blood is Mexican.”

That’s true. But there’s something pleasantly enigmatic about Diaz. Enigmatic as it relates to his fighting style, too. Diaz has suffered early knockdowns in his career’s biggest fights. But each time, he has risen from the mat and fought harder. That’s not uncommon for fighters who can’t imagine how to fill their days without filling a prizefighting ring.

But Diaz is not one of them. Undefeated in his first 13 professional fights, Diaz took a two-year sabbatical from the sport. During that time, his mother suffered from a kidney illness and a brother died from AIDS. A call came for his mother, and Diaz almost disconnected it. He thought it was a telemarketer. It was the hospital, though, calling with a kidney.

“I just fell to the floor,” Diaz said. “What if my mother answered? Her English and her hearing’s not so good. She would have hung up. And there goes the kidney.”

Diaz has a sharpened perspective on timing, accidents and life’s opportunities. For a heavy underdog heading into a fight with his own promoter’s favorite, there are worse perspectives to have. No one doubts which way Top Rank envisions Diaz-Pacquiao going. But Top Rank is not infallible in all matters boxing.

Pacquiao remains the betting favorite. Mine and everyone else’s. But no one will go easily through Diaz.

Meanwhile, anyone looking for a novel way to cover next month’s fight ought to spend some time talking to Diaz -- David Diaz, Chicago born.