A beautiful spectacle

Chances are, even serious boxing fans didn’t know who Joseph King Kong Agbeko (given name) and Yonnhy Perez were before Saturday. One is from Ghana, the other Colombia. Neither speaks English fluently. Neither weighs 120 pounds. Let’s hope that didn’t dissuade. Saturday’s fight was a gorgeous thing.

It was a marriage of philosophies and prowess that should be mandatory viewing for every stylish American prizefighter who doesn’t think he gets just due. Tell you what: Fight like Joseph and Yonnhy, guys, and you’ll get heaps of credit.

Put together entertaining ring walks, and you’ll get some attention too. We’ll take things in good faith – never mind the fretting of public-relations types. More about that at the bottom.

Saturday night at Treasure Island in Las Vegas, Agbeko and Perez fought for Agbeko’s IBF bantamweight title. It was another off-the-grid masterpiece only Showtime, among all broadcasters, could televise. Perez decisioned Agbeko to take his belt. Ringside judges saw it 116-111, 117-110, 117-110.

I had it 116-113 for Perez. Rounds 1, 2, 6, 8, 9 and 10 went to the Colombian. Rounds 4, 5, 7 and 11 to Agbeko. I had 3 and 12 even. And the 10th went to Perez 10-8 because Agbeko went down.

The fight was a joy because it featured two volume punchers. Neither guy gave quarter to his opponent. Both relied on a principle that said, “When I’m comfortable in the ring your punches don’t affect me.” Both set out to snatch the other guy’s feeble will and learned there was nothing feeble about it.

When the opening bell rang both men assumed preferred posts at center ring. Neither intended to be moved. He might move himself, forwards of course, but he would not be driven off by the other man. Agbeko made the sort of intimidating start you want from every defending champion, flurrying with power punches for two minutes and 50 seconds. Then Perez buckled him with a counter right cross. Then Agbeko collected himself and resumed the attack.

Both guys found their rhythms immediately. Neither guy lost his rhythm. The first job of any volume puncher is to bring discomfort to his opponent. Hit him on the odd beat. Throw two right hands when he’s braced for a left. Press him with your hands low, head bobbing. Discourage him – in a way that celebrates the root of that word.

Agbeko and Perez established ferocious paces they were sure the other couldn’t handle. Wondrously enough, both were wrong.

After depositing quality hooks to Perez’s body early, Agbeko tried to make a withdrawal in the seventh round. He lobbed right-hand counters over Perez’s hung jab. He lobbed right-hand leads when Perez’s pace hung. He made Perez take a step backwards. It offered a scoring lesson.

On the rare occasion two volume punches get matched in a world-title fight, counting clean punches is the wrong way to score. It misinterprets the action in the ring. A bout between volume punchers is the one time it is permissible to eschew clean punching, effective aggressiveness and defense, for that fuzziest of criteria, ring generalship.

Who deserves the round? Whoever did not go backwards. The further you meander from that scoring strategy – the more you fixate on parrying, slipping or establishing the jab – the wider you miss the point.

This was most evident on the few occasions each guy did move backwards. Neither knew how, and both looked exhausted. Legs so sturdy when leaning on an opponent appeared spongy in retreat. Perez and Agbeko each stumbled; neither had shoes with properly worn heels.

An unfortunate thing happened in round 10. Progressing with his head in the lead, as is a volume puncher’s wont, Agbeko banged his eye on the top of Perez’s skull – lowered to fortify his chin. Then Agbeko’s inner thespian came out. He pulled up and turned away to ensure all knew he’d been butted. His theatricality was not rewarded; Perez punched him some more, Agbeko took a knee, and referee Robert Byrd ruled it a knockdown.

What is it with today’s Ghanaians? They are supremely conditioned, stone-chinned offensive juggernauts so long as everyone plays fair. Foul them once, though, and they metamorphose into European soccer players. Such was the case with Joshua Clottey in Madison Square Garden. Such was the case with Agbeko in Treasure Island.

The Ghanaian’s reaction to a butt he caused removed any doubt who deserved to be champion Saturday. Perez wore perpendicular gashes on the inside edges of each eyebrow, both likely butt-induced, yet complained not at all. “It’s not a tickling contest,” as a certain European-soccer fan once put it.

But forget the 10th round. Perez was going to win on the judges’ cards anyway. And both guys deserve to be celebrated. The best prospect either has for his next fight is the other guy. Pray for a rematch.

Now a thought or two about Agbeko’s ring walk. Keeping with both his middle name and the Halloween theme, Agbeko, dressed in a fearsome gorilla mask, entered behind a blond in a safari-like bikini. Agbeko was in chains, a frightening beast momentarily pacified by a sexy blond – just like his namesake.

Both Showtime commentators found the getup amusing, creative and rich with detail. Like the rest of us. Then a minute later, goaded by some producer no doubt, Al Bernstein told anyone offended by the ring walk it was not Showtime’s idea.

And just like that, thousands of us tried to solve the puzzle of Bernstein’s disclaimer. Oh, wait, now I see: A white woman leading an African man in shackles. An allusion to slavery!

Here’s why that’s so pernicious. No one but an incurable racist could have taken Agbeko’s dress as anything but a reference to “King Kong.” And what incurable racist spends his Halloween watching a bantamweight prizefight between a Ghanaian and a Colombian, promoted by an African-American?

Good grief. It’s time to start treating one another with better faith, already.

Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter.com/bartbarry