One perspective on a tragedy narrowly averted

Get any prizefighter alone and ask him if he is willing to die in the ring. Even the least flamboyant will say something like this: “I don’t like to think about it, but, yes, it is part of what I signed up for.” Then ask him if he is willing to kill in the ring. He’ll reply with discomfort and reticence.

It cannot be stated often enough that boxing is a brutal craft practiced by gentle souls. Athletes who are willing to hurt and be hurt by others. Much of our sport’s greatness reduces to these constant displays of courage. But there must be limits.

These limits can only be maintained by a public that understands the risks involved. A public that sympathizes with the consequences of blows taken, and given, to a human head. Such a public empowers regulators. And empowered regulators protect fighters.

Thursday night brought another chance to reflect on how to protect prizefighters. In the co-main event of a six-fight card at Celebrity Theatre in downtown Phoenix, Arizonans Jonathan Taylor (6-3, 3 KOs) and Anthony Bartinelli (20-10-2, 13 KOs) fought a six-round middleweight match. Bartinelli would win by knockout when Taylor collapsed in the first minute of the final round.

Recent reports indicate that Taylor did not require surgery, however, and now remains in the hospital for precautionary reasons only.

I was not in the general media section for this card. In Celebrity Theatre writers sit below the ring in the orchestra pit. As part of a GoFightLive.tv webcast, I was in a loft-like area about 10 feet above the top rope and 15 feet before the stage. I did not take notes. I have not seen a tape of the fight. This account is based on what images I remember three days later.

Jonathan Taylor appeared tight in the opening round, his hands held cautiously high. But as the fight progressed and fatigue began to affect him Taylor appeared more natural and relaxed. He was able to land right-uppercut/left-hook combinations on Bartinelli. As the bell rang to open the sixth round, two ringside judges had him leading. My broadcast partner Marc Abrams agreed Taylor was ahead, though Bartinelli was coming on.

Neither man had been in trouble. In 41 collective fights Taylor and Bartinelli had knocked-out fewer than 40 percent of their opponents. There was a small exchange at center ring. No clean punches were landed. A second or so passed. Taylor took a step backwards. He reset his feet. Then his hands dropped. The rest of his body followed. Taylor fell to his right. His forehead was the first thing to hit the mat.

Taylor seemed to reach for the bottom rope. Referee Wes Melton began his 10-count. One of the men in Taylor’s corner rushed up the steps. Before his count was complete, referee Melton crouched over Taylor and signaled for the nearest doctor. Arizona State Boxing Commission chief John Montano stood. Marc Abrams said, “Whoa!” and I replied, “Taylor did not go down from a punch!”

The doctor, cornermen and referee all huddled over Taylor. Taylor’s feet began to shake. Promoter David Feldman rushed towards the ring. Taylor was gradually lifted onto a stool. He dropped his head then responded then dropped his head again. His legs continued to shake.

The ring announcer reiterated a call for the paramedics, this time over the PA system. One of the paramedics brought a board in the ring. The other pulled the wrapper off a head cushion and stuck it to the board. Taylor was lowered onto the board. He resisted being strapped to it, his feet kicking – perhaps involuntarily. His trainer straddled his legs, pinching them between his knees. The straps were applied. On the other side of the ring two men struggled to separate the ropes enough to pass the board through.

As Taylor, prone on the board, arms crossed, was raised from the mat, the crowd applauded. Taylor was handed through the ropes by a team of at least six people. He was carried down the walkway to a waiting ambulance.

The grasping for a best-case scenario began. “He was much more responsive in the parking lot,” said someone. “It was fatigue and an accumulation of punches,” said someone else. We permitted ourselves to think about the next fight. But this irony didn’t escape us: The calming period between the main and co-main events happened solely because another fight could not begin until another ambulance arrived.

There are sadists in the ranks of boxing fans, I know, and I’d like to address them. You don’t really want what you think you want. There is nothing cathartic about a man’s body losing contact with his brain. It is simply failure. There is nothing exciting or erotic about it. Were it not tragic it would be monotonous.

Everything about Thursday’s collapse indicated a preexisting condition in Jonathan Taylor. He had not boxed professionally in 42 months. Were there fights in the gym? On the street? Other self-destructive behaviors? We don’t know. He looked fine until the moment he didn’t. No one had any reason to consider stopping the fight.

But what happened Thursday night broke a compact boxing had with Anthony Bartinelli: You may try your best to hurt your opponent, knowing you will do no permanent damage.

How can boxing repair this broken compact? With mandatory annual MRIs for all fighters. A standard physical did not uncover the seed of brain failure in Jonathan Taylor. An MRI might have.

Ah, but there’s the problem of cost.

Here’s a possible solution. Earlier this month Barack Obama became President-elect, promising a reformation of the American healthcare system. The man he defeated, John McCain, has long championed fighter safety. They’ve pledged to work together. Making mandatory MRIs affordable for every licensed prizefighter might be a compassionate place to start.