By Bart Barry

Quick, off the top of your head, name the contracted terms of Sugar Ray Robinson’s rematch with Jake LaMotta in 1943. No? OK, how about the purse split between Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Thomas Hearns for “The War” in 1985? Not springing to mind. What about the name of Israel Vazquez’s advisor during cable-network negotiations for his second fight with Rafael Marquez?

It’s hard to recall such trivia because, contrary to today’s coverage of our beloved sport, history rightly consigns these details to its dustbin, recalling only the swapping of punches. And it does not remember at all fights that were never made – hell, not even a YouTube search can find Floyd Mayweather’s matches with Kostya Tszyu or Antonio Margarito.

Saturday, Russian light heavyweight titlist Sergey “Krusher” Kovalev stopped someone named Cedric Agnew in forgettable fashion to set-up a long-longed-for fight with fellow titlist Adonis Stevenson, one Kovalev and Stevenson’s network, HBO, dedicated quite a lot of its subscribers’ time to setting-up – except that shortly before Kovalev’s match, subscribers learned Stevenson was no longer with HBO, rendering them suckers for caring a whit about Kovalev’s meaningless tilts with Agnew and someone else named Ismayl Sillah, or Stevenson’s 13 forgettable rounds with, let’s see, Tony Bellew and Tavoris Cloud.

As 2014 continues along, matters become incrementally more futile. If an aficionado took every fight worth seeing this year and added them together, he would have trouble paying for a month’s subscription to HBO or Showtime, and no chance of justifying both, much less both and a gaggle of overpriced pay-per-view offerings. Everything is marketed to him like it is portentous; nothing is meaningful in and of itself, but each thing might be consequential someday in a where-were-you-when sort of way.

HBO has taken two Russian-speaking prizefighters, Sergey Kovalev and Gennady Golovkin, and promised its subscribers historic things from them, creating hours of highlight reels in lieu of paying meaningful opposition to fight them. After losing Floyd Mayweather, the network locked-in Andre Ward as its pound-for-pound superstar, giving him a microphone without requiring that he fight. It marketed Nonito Donaire in all his portentous finery only to see him lose the first meaningful fight of his HBO tenure, only to have no apparent opposition for Donaire’s vanquisher, only to transition to Mikey Garcia – as settled along a path as the network’s Next Nonito as any fighter currently plying his wares.

Maybe Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. is not serious about his craft as Ward or Donaire, but he does a lot more fighting than they do, and he does it in matches that sell tickets and happen on HBO. That’s scheduled to change, though, as it appears Chavez may fight Golovkin on pay-per-view in the summertime, in a fight with no right whatever to an additional tariff: Chavez is 0-1 against world class opposition, and Golovkin has yet to face any. In a serious era, Chavez-Golovkin would make a fantastic Boxing After Dark main event and a passable World Championship Boxing offering, and so it takes tremendous chutzpah to threaten beleaguered subscribers, the long-suffering fools who’ve sat through meaningless Golovkin match after meaningless Chavez match, seasoned in Golovkin’s case with hysterical allusions to all-time greats before Golovkin has proved himself even an all-time good, with tollgated access to their match.

Last week’s machinations with Adonis Stevenson’s migration to Showtime, after a pair of preparatory Stevenson fights on HBO to prepare us for more preparatory fights on HBO, since HBO hadn’t the budget to cajole Stevenson’s signature onto a contract with Sergey Kovalev – a possibility too absurd to consider – are relevant to Golovkin and Chavez, and Mikey Garcia and Andre Ward and Guillermo Rigondeaux and a roster of hitherto anonymous lads whose greatest collective attribute is being unmarketable enough not to interest Al Haymon, for this reason: HBO’s want of credibility now subverts its marketing of every fight and fighter.

Kovalev appears to be an excellent puncher whose offense may be susceptible to a touch on his chin, but he’s fighting in a division Roy Jones Jr. dominated in bygone days, and even Krusher’s kinfolk might have a konniption at komparisons between Kovalev and Jones. When Jones fought meaningless matches, that is, at least subscribers knew they were seeing a once-in-a-generation talent icing unknowns, instead of a man who may or may not be better than a hard-punching Haitian journeyman unhinged when unhooked from his canary-yellow bra-cape.

Kovalev-Stevenson was the fight aficionados most wished to see in 2014, and it was wholly makeable, and HBO deserves all the blame for not making it; it shall be remembered as the greatest failure of the current regime and possibly its last. So much of the promotion of Kovalev’s fight with Agnew focused on Kovalev’s fight with Stevenson that not-overlooking Agnew was the advice served to what journalists attended Kocktails with the Krusher in San Antonio a month ago, when Kovalev was in town for Chavez-Vera II and answering questions, sort of, in his rich Russian brogue.

Kovalev is a large man, an alpha male, who should have no trouble being moved to cruiserweight, if Andre Ward cannot be enticed out of semi-retirement to fight him, but Kovalev probably will not go anywhere, or fight Ward, because, you know, promotional issues and purses and all the complications of making a prizefight, ideas so legally entangled and algorithmically indecipherable no member of the laity should expect to understand them. No member of the laity should be expected to understand them, regardless of complexity, because they make not a whit of difference to the experience for which any audience member at any spectacle pays.

There is nothing Adonis Stevenson will do on Showtime that will have him remembered long enough to show up on a Canastota ballot after he retires – he chose currency over legacy, and his accountant will have to render ultimate judgment on him because boxing historians shan’t be bothered. By agreeing to fight the Ismayl Sillahs and Cedric Agnews of the world, Kovalev now unwittingly ambles a similar path to well-paid obscurity, or however one says “if it makes dollars it makes sense” in Russian. If Krusher hopes to be remembered at all, he’ll have to do something far more audacious than Saturday’s offering.

Bart Barry can be reached at bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

By Norm Frauenheim
Just when Bernard Hopkins, Floyd Mayweather Jr., most of the NFL, NBA and major-league baseball have us convinced that disrespect is an athlete’s best friend, along comes Timothy Bradley with a different take and some real friends because of it.

“I don’t feel I’m disrespected at all, honestly,” Bradley said.

It was an astonishing comment, straight out of the man-bites-dog variety, especially from Bradley, who wondered if there was anything resembling respect in a world overrun by social-media vigilantes with no accountability and armed with 140 characters to express anger at his controversial decision over Manny Pacquiao.

Disrespect isn’t just another cliche when it comes in the form of death threats.

Bradley heard them, battled them and exorcised them in a personal journey through what he called “a bad place.” He whipped them and Ruslan Provodnikov in a blood, sweat and tears drama that was the 2013 Fight of the Year. He had “a look of anger in him” against Provodnikov, Bradley trainer Joel Diaz said of reckless tactics that earned him a unanimous decision at the price of a concussion. He followed up with a patient, poised split decision over Juan Manuel Marquez. The disrespect was left behind in a passage that has transformed Bradley into a fighter who sounds more confident, self-assured and perhaps wiser than ever.

Convenient excuses and that tired pursuit of motivation from imagined slights just aren’t there in Bradley’s clear sense of who he is and what he must do to beat Pacquiao on April 12 at Las Vegas’ MGM Grand in a rematch of his split decision over the Filipino icon on June 9, 2012.

“It’s all about staying on TV, showing my craft,” Bradley said Thursday during a conference call. “It’s about fighting. That’s what it’s all about. Staying on TV, fighting the best fighters out there and beating them. That’s it. I came up the hard way. I came through the back door.”

Over time Bradley said, fans have gotten to know him and the way he works at his craft.

“I think now fans and people are beginning to gravitate toward me,” said Bradley, who is convinced he can beat Pacquiao with a decision that will leave no doubt on the cards or among those in the social-media mob who attacked him as if he were responsible for scores turned in by judges C.J. Ross and Duane Ford. “Before, they didn’t know me. They didn’t know me before Pacquiao. And after the controversy, they really didn’t. Like I had something to do with anything. I didn’t have anything to do with anything. I’m not a judge. I always did my job. But it’s hard to make people realize that. At the end of the day, all I’ve got to do is to continue to win. Then, they’ll have no choice.”

No choice, but to respect him.

By Bart Barry

Tuesday the WBC’s official Twitter account posted a picture of Roberto Duran embracing the late Esteban De Jesus, a picture I retweeted excitedly. Saturday, May’s edition of The Ring magazine arrived, and while it bore a cover photo of Timothy Bradley and Manny Pacquiao beneath a title that read “The Rematch Issue,” it might well have included a subtitle like “The Roberto Duran Appreciation Issue.” On page 20, Anson Wainwright captured Marvelous Marvin Hagler thrice citing Duran in his “Best I Faced” feature, declaring Duran the best Hagler faced in three of 10 categories, including its most important. On page 80, Thomas Hauser published the results of a 26-expert poll that, when asked to determine the greatest modern lightweight, found definitively in favor of “Las Manos de Piedra.”

The photo of Duran hugging De Jesus has a spontaneous sheen to it belied today by a realization nobody might have had, in April 1989, a smartphone with which to snap it. A camera was present when Panama’s greatest celebrity, some months after decisioning Iran Barkley to become the WBC’s middleweight champion, visited the bed of Puerto Rican Esteban De Jesus – the man who gave Duran his career’s first loss, in Madison Square Garden in 1972, and dropped Duran on the canvas for the first time in Duran’s professional career too, in round 1, a feat De Jesus repeated 2 1/2 years later in their rematch, a fight Duran won by 11th round knockout.

Four years later, Duran and De Jesus fought a third time, and Duran, concluding his reign of terror over the lightweight division – his record was 62-1 (51 KOs) when he vacated the WBC and WBA titles and moved to welterweight – stopped De Jesus in round 12. Before the fight Duran said he did not like De Jesus “for a lot of reasons” but then, once pressed, conceded to Sports Illustrated’s Pat Putnam, “mostly because he is the only man ever to beat me.” De Jesus, a bad man by any workable definition, got the better of Duran in prefight quotes, imparting gratitude for what he declared evidence of Duran’s squeamishness:

“I tell him that I will fight him in the street anytime for nothing,” De Jesus said. “He ignored me. For this I am glad, because I need the money.”

De Jesus murdered a man named Roberto Cintron Gonzalez 3 1/2 years later, 16 months after retiring from boxing, and was still in a Puerto Rican prison when symptoms of the AIDS virus led to a gubernatorial pardon allowing him to return to his family to die from a disease it is believed he acquired from sharing needles with a brother who also died of the AIDS virus. It is important, for context’s sake, to revisit for a moment the pre-Magic Johnson era in which Duran comforted De Jesus. It is not nearly enough to say little was known about how the disease was spreading; I recall distinctly my parents, educated and openminded folks in a suburb of Boston, deciding to forego anniversary meals at their favorite restaurant, cancelling a 10-year tradition, because the restaurant was gay-owned, and well, what if one of them inadvertently came in contact with the food?

It is impossible Duran knew any better how the HIV virus was spread, and yet there he is in as aggressive a display of humanity as one might find in a decade of searching. There is no politician’s curled lower lip or straight-armed show of hand-holding compassion. It is Manos de Piedra, instead, his arm thrust beneath his former opponent’s withered body to wrap him in a lover’s desperate embrace and ensure Esteban wherever death took him, he would go swaddled in his friend Roberto’s arms.

The photo, and the text of my retweet of it – “¡Puro Duran (Pure Duran)!” – sent me spiraling back in the 15rounds archives for Roberto Duran’s Magical Realism, a column I wrote nearly eight years ago when Duran’s shortlived tenure as a promoter, the ‘R’ in DRL Promotions, brought the Panamanian to Phoenix for an inaugural press conference that comprised more fighters than media in a fortuitous twist that allowed The Arizona Republic’s irreplaceable Norm Frauenheim and me an opportunity to converse with Duran, nearly as good a raconteur as a fighter, through more than 40 minutes of absurd and absurdly engrossing stories. Norm was through his third decade at the craft by then and didn’t hesitate to call the encounter with Duran a highlight of his time covering boxing. I was not yet in my 15th month of boxing writing but suspected something time has confirmed: The conclusion of those 40 minutes, at which I wore the scent of Duran’s cologne for the number of times he embraced me, held euphoric a moment as boxing writing would provide.

It is Duran’s enormous humanity that makes one feel ownership of his career even at a distance from it as large as mine. When I opened the plastic wrapper of The Ring on Saturday afternoon, anxious to see whom Marvelous Marvin Hagler, my all-time favorite fighter, told Anson Wainwright was the “Best I Faced,” I did not even remember Hagler and Duran had fought and expected various allusions to Thomas Hearns and Sugar Ray Leonard. To see Hagler call Duran – whom Hagler faced very near the top of Marvelous’ powers as middleweight champion, in Duran’s 82nd prizefight, one that happened 25 pounds above Duran’s prime weight and came after a 5-3 stretch that saw Duran decisioned by someone named Kirkland Laing – the “Best Overall” Hagler faced induced in me a brief and totally unexpected spike of euphoria, one whose height exceeded its brevity.

Sixty pages later, Thomas Hauser’s “Greatest Modern Lightweight” poll found Duran running away with the prize, scoring 23-percent better than runner-up Pernell Whitaker, 34-percent better than Floyd Mayweather and more than 100-percent better than Manny Pacquiao and Juan Manuel Marquez. Combined.

Or as the legend likes to put it: “¡Roberto Duran es extraordinario!”

Bart Barry can be reached via bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

By Norm Frauenheim

It’s not everyday that Bob Dylan just drops by. But there he was last week at the Wild Card Gym to see Manny Pacquiao. The singer, song-writer, poet and Sixties’ icon posed for photos with the fighter, Congressman, singer and Filipino icon. It was an intriguing meeting, in part because both are as enigmatic as they are likable. No telling what they said to each other, if anything at all. I have no idea whether Dylan is a fight fan. The guess here is that he likes fighters and their compelling stories, yet isn’t sure what to think about their brutal craft.

We have only his lyrics, and they are full of an ambivalence about boxing. Dylan is best known for Hurricane, the popular song about ex-middleweight contender Rubin Carter, who was convicted in 1967 for a triple homicide, re-convicted in a 1976 trial and released in 1985 after the conviction was overturned. Dylan’s powerful lyrics about a wrongful arrest and conviction have long been disputed. But the song’s influence on the controversial case never has. It turned Carter into a cause célèbre.

Before Hurricane, Dylan wrote Who Killed Davey Moore?

Moore, a featherweight champion, died after a 1963 loss to Cuban defector Sugar Ramos at Dodger Stadium. The lyrics are a pointed examination of the circumstances, attitudes and business that are part and parcel of a sport where death is always a risk.

Who killed Davey Moore
Why an’ what’s the reason for?

“Not me,” says the boxing writer
Pounding print on his old typewriter
Sayin’, “Boxing ain’t to blame
There’s just as much danger in a football game”
Sayin’, “Fist-fighting is here to stay
It’s just the old American way
It wasn’t me that made him fall
No, you can’t blame me at all”

Laptops have replaced typewriters at ringside, but there’s still no answer for the question in Dylan’s refrain. I couldn’t help but think about the uncomfortable lyrics as I read about his visit and looked at photos of the poet and the Pac Man. Pacquiao is in camp, trying to regain his “killer instinct” for a rematch on April 12 with Timothy Bradley at Las Vegas MGM Grand.

“We are training for big game in this fight,” Pacquiao trainer Freddie Roach said in a press release Tuesday, just a few days after Dylan’s visit. “Manny knows he is going to have to hunt Bradley down and close the show this time. The first fight with Bradley was so easy for Manny that after six rounds he just took it easy on him. Not this time. Our Mantra is ‘Close the show. No Mercy.’ ”

For the last few years, Roach has worked hard to re-instill aggressiveness that Pacquiao had in his astonishing emergence to international stardom. Somewhere along the way and for some reason, he lost his finishing touch, or perhaps his will to deliver it. Since becoming more religious, Pacquiao hasn’t scored a stoppage since a 12th-round TKO of Miguel Cotto in November, 2009. He appeared to back off against Antonio Margarito in winning a decision in 2010. In his last fight — a November comeback from the 2012 KO he suffered against Juan Manuel Marquez, he appeared to do the same against Brandon Rios.

Against Bradley, the stage is set with plenty of motivation for Pacquiao. It’s a rematch of Pacquiao’s controversial loss, a split decision, on scorecards condemned by nearly everybody who witnessed the 2012 fight. In the rematch, Pacquiao can correct the mistake, can take back what was stolen from him. But Bradley appears more confident than ever, especially after a gritty stand in a decision over Ruslan Povodnikov and then a poised decision over Marquez. Even he has asked whether that “killer instinct” is still part of the Pacquiao persona.

“For Bradley to say ‘Manny doesn’t have the hunger anymore and it’s never coming back’ and ‘Manny no longer has his killer instinct,’ that tells me that Bradley is still suffering from the concussion Provodnikov laid on him,” Roach said in the press release.

Dylan had another way of saying it at the end of his haunting song.

Who killed Davey Moore
Why an’ what’s the reason for?

“Not me,” says the man whose fists
Laid him low in a cloud of mist
Who came here from Cuba’s door
Where boxing ain’t allowed no more
“I hit him, yes, it’s true
But that’s what I am paid to do
Don’t say ‘murder,’ don’t say ‘kill’
It was destiny, it was God’s will”

It sounds like something Pacquiao might say.

By Bart Barry
A few weeks back I did something I rarely do: I made plans to attend a Las Vegas fight, Timothy Bradley versus Manny Pacquiao on April 12, without having much of an idea why. What follows, then, is an effort to understand better my interest in this event.

If there was a hint of the overrated about Pacquiao going into his first match with Bradley in June 2012 at MGM Grand, a hint that became still more than a clue six months later as Pacquiao laid on the same blue mat, facedown and motionless, there is a similar if somewhat more subtle hint of the overrated about Bradley as we head to April 2014. I believed in his third match with Juan Manuel Marquez, Pacquiao was credited with punches that didn’t land, footwork that didn’t exist, and power that didn’t remain. Is that why I scored close rounds for Bradley in June 2012? Sure, yes, guilty.

In retrospect, that match might have gone either way but should have gone to no man widely. And yet. Spurred by an irresponsibly lopsided broadcast, complete with an unofficial scorecard that told few truths, a large number of persons to this day think the decision for Bradley was farcical. It was not.

While Manny Pacquiao looked considerably better in his final conscious rounds with Marquez six months later, able to land punches more cleanly, certainly, than he’d been able to land them on Bradley in June or Marquez in any of the 35 rounds that followed his three-knockdown blitz of the Mexican master way back in 2004, the probability is that Marquez was more open to be punched because Marquez – perceiving with a preternatural predatory precision – took note of Pacquiao’s eroded reflexes, married those to a powerfully newfound belief in his illgotten new physique, and looked to make offensive ploys he’d not have dared pursue in their 2008 rematch. It’s not that Pacquiao was suddenly a much better fighter for a few rounds in December 2012 than he’d been in June or the previous December – his defense hadn’t improved a jot, as evidenced by gloves unnaturally folded beneath his body in perfect serenity at the end of round 6 – just that Marquez was emboldened by how much less Pacquiao was then than the guy he’d spend 108 minutes being punched by in bygone fights.

There is an argument to be made Pacquiao’s reflexes dulled sometime during his Silly Season, the two-year stretch, 2009-2011, between his match with Miguel Cotto and his third fight with Marquez. The reduced competition did this, yes, along with an improved risk-to-reward ratio and the decadence that wrought, but there may have been, too, the sockdolagers Margarito put on his body and, perhaps most to the point, the brutality of Pacquiao’s sparring with campmate Ruslan Provodnikov.

“Siberian Rocky” is in a different class; veteran writers will describe the way a world champion sounds on handpads as opposed to a career challenger, but much of that is show, and none tells of a chin. The sound of Provodnikov’s fists on Mike Alvarado’s body in October, though, was in a different class and far more telling than handpad tricks because, well, Provodnikov had to throw those punches under the rational assumption a world titlist might endeavor to punch him at the exact same moment, and assumptions like that scumble one’s commitment.

Provodnikov is relevant, here, because he is the one man, apart from Marquez, whom Pacquiao and Bradley have in common, and while Marquez iced Pacquiao in a special sort of way, one would almost prefer the cutting of the lights to what excruciating happenings must compose rounds opposite Provodnikov on a blue mat. Almost always the term “most feared” is a marketing slogan applied by someone who has never fought to a client who never makes big fights, but Provodnikov should be called most feared by any and all; he is the man who shortens careers and changes men, compromising the very fabric of their identities, and if Timothy Bradley never again sells it out to fight like a noble fool, Provodnikov will be the reason why.

To beat Pacquiao again, Bradley will not need to engage at nearly the maniacal level he engaged Provodnikov. Las Vegas judges are already sympathetic to Bradley, as evidenced by his winning more October rounds against Marquez in Las Vegas than he deserved, and they will look thrice as closely at how many of Pacquiao’s actual punches actually land in an actually effective way this time, thrice as closely as HBO’s broadcast crew did the first time the two men fought.

Another note about that, and the effect it takes: I was a member of boxing’s laity in 1999 when Felix Trinidad decisioned Oscar De La Hoya in what I remembered from that time to be perhaps the most egregious superfight robbery since Julio Cesar Chavez’s 1993 draw with Pernell Whitaker. Apropos of a retrospective I worked on last week for a magazine piece timed to coincide with Trinidad’s June induction in the IBHOF, I reviewed the fight and was flabbergasted by the bias of its commentary – a piece of work that comprised one veteran broadcaster calling every Trinidad right cross “another left hook by Oscar!”, and a former heavyweight world champion finding himself so enamored of De La Hoya’s jab that he eschewed speaking Trinidad’s name altogether in the match’s opening half. One’s sense of the match 15 years later is that a draw was fair, but if not a draw then tie-goes-to-the-puncher, and De La Hoya’s skittering flight from Trinidad in the final six minutes subverted his claims on any lasting dissent. So different was the tone of that match in Puerto Ricans’ eyes that in December, at the press conference announcing Tito’s selection to the Hall, Trinidad was asked sincerely if he thought De La Hoya even belonged there (Trinidad stated empathically that he did).

The cost to attend superfights anymore is prohibitive, I know – even for credentialed media – so do not consider this a remedy for bias’ woes, but I will be at MGM Grand on April 12 because I’m interested in the descent of Pacquiao’s career and the prime of Bradley’s, and frankly, I do not trust what I see on pay-per-view broadcasts.

Bart Barry can be reached via bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

By Norm Frauenheim

Danny Garcia might be the only fighter not trying to elbow his way toward the front of the line that leads to the big paycheck that comes with a bout against Floyd Mayweather Jr.

Garcia wouldn’t turn down the opportunity. Too many numbers after the dollar sign to do that. But he’s not going to launch a social-media campaign in a noisy attempt to get himself on Mayweather’s short list. Yeah, all that money can buy a lot. But there’s a sense that Garcia is investing in something that can’t always be bought.

“At the end of the day, I’m working on my own legacy,’’ he said.

Legacy-building is a gamble. It’s also long-term, which can require patience when confronted by the temptation to cash in as quickly as possible. Garcia is in the Mayweather mix whether he wants to be or not. Media speculation, twitter and the blogosphere have put him there. So has he, of course. But he hasn’t talked his way into consideration.

The junior-welterweight’s unbeaten record (27-0, 16 KOs) including upsets of Amir Khan and Lucas Matthysse, says it all. It’s a resume tough to ignore and perhaps wise to avoid. He wasn’t a finalist in Mayweather’s last deliberations, which led to him pound-for-pound kind picking Marcos Maidana over Khan for May 3.

But the Garcia name was there, maybe as an alternate or a future possibility for a spot on Mayweather’s Showtime dance card. It’s difficult, if not hazardous, to guess what might be next for Mayweather, anyway. The latest example of that is explosive allegations in a TMZ story about Mayweather’s role in a beat-down of two people, whom he suspected of stealing jewelry. The story is short on sources. But TMZ is often right.

Whether the story unravels or leads to further trouble with law enforcement for Mayweather, it’s a warning for any fighter who hooks his hopes on to the Mayweather bandwagon.

Garcia hasn’t.

“If a Mayweather fight came along, I’d fight him,’’ Garcia said. “I’d fight anybody. But don’t expect me to call him out or anything. That’s just not me. I’m just trying to stay in my own lane.

“Whoever they put in front of me, I guess that’s who gets beat up that day.’’

On Saturday, that somebody appears to be Mauricio Herrera (20-3, 7 KOs) of Riverside, Calif. In part, the Showtime-televised bout is a way for Garcia to introduce himself to his roots. He’s fighting in Puerto Rico, the boyhood home for his outspoken dad and trainer, Angel. Although unknown, Herrera has shown he can be dangerous. He beat Ruslan Provodnikov in 2011. Garcia only has to look in the mirror to know the price of overlooking anyone. He was overlooked by Khan and Matthysse. He promises that he won’t commit the same mistake. Besides, a loss might damage his chances at ever facing Mayweather.

“As a fighter, I deserve to fight him more than anybody,’’ he said. “But there’s a plan to all of this.’’

Garcia’s plan. About that, there’s little doubt.

By Bart Barry

Saturday in Las Vegas the redhead anointed by one very powerful Mexican television network as the man most likely to continue his country’s outstanding pugilistic tradition, mainly on the virtue of his unique hair color and pigmentation, victimized, via 10th round technical stoppage, a hopeless fellow Mexican in a dog collar. In preventing the man in the dog collar from fighting any further, the match’s outstanding referee did what a trainer and team of evaluating Nevada neurologists should have done long before. For this act of mercy, the outstanding referee was treated to bald derision from morons.

The redhead, of course, was Saul “Canelo” Alvarez – a prizefighter who, had he appeared on Shobox with a last name like O’Brien, Friday, instead of a Mexican-themed pay-per-view broadcast on Saturday, would not have caused more than an obligatory second glance. The man in the collar was Alfredo “El Perro” Angulo. The outstanding referee was Tony Weeks. And the morons were a myriad, though only one had a microphone.

The horse sense of the generally Mexican, generally intoxicated crowd congregated in the MGM Grand Garden Arena being what it was, the boos were misplaced, or perhaps misinterpreted, but they were an accurate reflection of what becomes increasingly plain about Cinnamon Alvarez: He is not that good. Canelo is an A-list guy in a B-list era, as was made plain by his inability to win convincingly a minute against Floyd Mayweather on Mexican Independence Day weekend, or fell a pre-ruined man like Angulo despite hundreds of clean shots to do so.

Saturday’s match was not competitive. Did Tony Weeks stop it too early? Only for sadists and those who pander them. For those interested in fair competition, Weeks might have stopped “Toe to Toe” after the second minute of its first round when, already, Angulo’s head was getting sent shoulderwards by Canelo’s hooks, and coming off his shoulder in a motion somewhat less elastic than a verb like “snap” should connote.

In the fight’s opening 30 seconds, Alvarez threw a left-hook lead Angulo did not know was coming and hadn’t an idea how to counter with any but the absorption method he and trainer Virgil Hunter apparently perfected in training camp, a method, acceptably nicknamed rope-till-a-dope, wherein a fighter allows himself to be punched hard as possible by an opponent, in the lunatic hopes striking a man repeatedly on the chin with one’s fist will be more taxing for the attacker than his victim. And the lighter the victim punches in the opening minutes, the better this method works, it appears, as Angulo moved his arms perfunctorily enough in round 1 to be salsa dancing, as if his hands were in motion to accessorize whatever his feet and hips did.

Not sure what folks said while y’all watched the fight, but round me were a trainer, a former amateur fighter, and a professional basketball player, and before 90 seconds were done in the main event, there was nothing but disbelief, expressed in phrases hopping about like “Are you kidding?” and “Really?” and “My God!” OK, the last was mine, and it came when I saw how uninhibited Alvarez was in his punching, how oblivious he was of Angulo’s volition, much less his power, as Alvarez stretched his arms wide as an eagle taking flight while throwing the hook and stepped into his cross like a pitcher delivering a full windup to the plate.

Then the second round came and Alvarez landed a right-uppercut lead, a punch that began near his right hipbone, traveled across his chest, traveled across Angulo’s chest, and struck “El Perro” flush on the inch of flesh just beneath his chin, all, before Angulo detected the punch and so much as blinked his consent. Should Tony Weeks have stopped the fight in the 10th? We’re not being serious. Boxing ought to incorporate a mercy rule like little league baseball: The moment one man is so overmatched his opponent has the chutzpah to throw, let alone land, a right-uppercut lead, the judges quietly rise from their stools and walk to the parking lot.

That a group of fans, deep in their cups, expressed displeasure with Weeks’ intervention is exactly no indictment of Weeks, and yet, there was Showtime’s postfight performer trying to get to the bottom of the malcontents’ discontent, and bless Weeks for giving Jim Gray the Major League Baseball treatment, whether it was for Pete’s sake or his own, leaving his new boss at NSAC to feign seriousness concerning Angulo’s incoherent protest afterwards. That’s not an English-as-second-language issue, either; Angulo speaks Spanish in a halting, laboring, frustrated way that argues convincingly his Saturday fight with Canelo should have been stopped in the fifth round of Angulo’s 2011 match with James Kirkland – a loss Angulo attributed to then-trainer Nacho Beristain’s distraction with training Juan Manuel Marquez.

The truth of what actually caused Angulo’s extended stay in a California immigration detention facility shortly after that Kirkland fight likely will never be known, though in our 20-minute conversation 15 months ago, he struck me as a person to whom life happens much more that what a violent criminal the detention facility was designed for. He has a nervous, high-pitched giggle, surprisingly effeminate, that disarms any inquisitor, and he’s quite good at sweet openers that lead quickly to acidic criticisms, as he did to Tony Weeks after Saturday’s match. Angulo might be punchy, but he’s far from stupid. There’s no way he or Virgil Hunter actually thinks he was on the precipice of anything but a terrible ending when Weeks’ mercy did what Hunter should have done rounds before, stopping the sort of winding-down vacuousness no fan pays to see, however much he enjoys the luxury of booing another’s consciousness afterward.

Mexico’s anointed star won by technical stoppage, Saturday, and nary a centile of Americans cared at all. Had Mexico’s anointed star put Angulo on a stretcher, in a coma, or in the ground, live from Las Vegas, today would feel considerably different for anyone reading this. Thank Tony Weeks for sparing us another such examination of conscience.

Bart Barry can be reached at bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

By Norm Frauenheim

LAS VEGAS – Floyd Mayweather Jr. was an hour late Saturday for his own news conference. But a crowd stuck around, waiting for him to arrive anyway. It just goes to show that Mayweather can draw a crowd even if he’s fighting nobody.

Marcos Maidana is next on Mayweather’s rich Showtime card, May 3 in a pay-per-view bout at the MGM Grand. Maidana didn’t make it to the first formal news conference since he was picked to fight Mayweather instead of Amir Khan. Maidana stayed at home in Argentina to be with his pregnant wife.

“He did the right thing,’’ said Mayweather, who apologized for being late and blamed it on a late night at the
tables in the MGM Grand’s casino. “He’s supposed to stand by his wife.’’

Maidana’s understandable absence didn’t matter much anyway. It’s the Mayweather brand that accounts for the biggest numbers in boxing these days. The HBO audience for his victory over Oscar De La Hoya in 2007 is still the pay-per-record. His victory on Showtime over Canelo Alvarez in September set the revenue record.

“They used it to call it pay-per-view,’’ Mayweather said in a video promo for a fight dubbed The Moment. “Now, it’s May-per-view.’’

Some early odds indicate that Maidana will go the way of Robert Guerrero and Canelo, who was getting ready to fight Alfredo Angulo while Mayweather was holding court. Some off-shore odds-makers have favored the unbeaten Mayweather by as much as 10-1. That’s the kind of chance a nobody gets. Yet, Maidana’s heavy-handed power and his December upset of Adrien Broner, a Mayweather wannabe and friend, moved him to the head of the line, or least ahead of Khan.

“Marcos Maidana is young, strong, a great competitor and one I can’t overlook, because anything can happen,’’ Mayweather said, his promotional mouthpiece firmly in place.

By now, it’s no secret that Mayweather picks and carefully choose who he fights. Maidana was the choice in many social media polls. In his own poll, Khan was the choice. But he picked Maidana anyway. The decision, he said, was based mostly on each fighter’s last four fights. Maidana had earned his way onto the ticket; Khan had not.

But it’s clear that polls didn’t make the choice. Only Mayweather did. And does

“I’ve earned my stripes,’’ said Mayweather, who said he began sparring last week. “I earned the right to pick and choose who I fight.’’

Nobody at the MGM Grand had any complaints about that prerogative Saturday. Golden Boy CEO Richard Schaefer, Mayweather’s promotional partner, said 14,700 tickets were gone within hours after they went on sale at 10 a.m. (PST). According to Schaefer, the early rush amounts to a live gate of more than $12 million. Tickets were still for sale. A crowd of about 16,000 for a gate of about $16 million is expected.

“Nobody is forced to watch,’’ Mayweather said.

But they do.

By Norm Frauenheim

Canelo Alvarez hears the question more often than he saw Floyd Mayweather Jr.’s shoulder roll, roll and roll on a long, one-sided night nearly six months ago. Defeat is a lesson, says Alvarez, who really can’t say anything else about his first pro loss. If it’s not a lesson, it’s a problem. Simple as that.

Multiple-options are nice, but Alvarez doesn’t have that luxury Saturday night against Alfredo Angulo in his first bout since suffering his first loss in a September wipeout administered by Mayweather.

Win, and he leaves the ring with proof that the lesson was learned and his identity intact. Lose, and he leaves with damage to his career and agonizing self-doubt about whether he was ever the fighter who had been hyped as perhaps the brightest prospect in a new generation.

It’s not complicated. It’s just dangerous.

“This will be a savage, savage affair,” Angulo trainer Virgil Hunter said Thursday during the formal news conference at Las Vegas MGM Grand.

Hunter’s prediction probably helps boost the pay-per-view sales for the Showtime bout from the same Grand Garden Arena where Canelo lost a decision to Mayweather. Savagery, or even the promise of it, sells. It’s hard to to judge whether the always cool Canelo is buying into all the talk about a knock-down, blood-and-guts encounter between Mexican warriors. Angulo is known for his well-advertised power. He knocked down Erislandy Lara twice, Yet, he suffered a grotesque welt above one eye in losing a 10th-round TKO to Lara because of a couple of other things well-advertised:

Angulo gets hits often. His scarred face bloodies and bruises easily.

The 23-year-old Canelo (42-1, 30 KOs), seemingly wise beyond his years, must know that and even more. At the news conference, he talked about how styles make fights as if to say that, yeah, watch this one, because it will provide the violence so often promised. But Angulo’s style also seems to be perfect for Canelo’s skill-set. He couldn’t find Mayweather. But Angulo (22-3, 18 KOs) figures to be there, stubbornly moving forward and providing a willing target for Canelo’s arsenal of well-executed combinations. There’s a hedge, however. There’s growing sentiment that Angulo might have a chance after all, because of lingering questions about Canelo’s endurance. He seems to tire in later rounds. The task for Angulo is to take him beyond the sixth. Perhaps, Angulo has learned how to do that in sparring with the Hunter-trained Andre Ward and Amir Khan.

“There seems to a shift going on,” Golden Boy Promotions CEO Richard Schaefer said about a tide of second opinion that suddenly favors Angulo.

A patient, cautious Angulo in the early going could lead to a more tactical fight and not the one promised in the Toe-To-Toe advertising. Hunter, in a somewhat ominous tone, made it sound as if a wild, chaotic fight is the only possibility. He talked almost as if he feared for each fighter.

“I don’t think both men will walk out the same,” said Hunter, who during Thursday news conference also said: “It’s been taken out of my hands.”

Hunter sounded nervous. Perhaps, he knows that Angulo will have a hard time resisting the temptation to slug it out early, especially in the first pay-per-view fight of his career. The junior-middleweight also will be making his debut at the MGM Grand.

Canelo has been there. Has lost there.

Maybe, learned there too.

Angulo will be the first test of whether in fact he has.

SAN ANTONIO – In this city’s Alamodome on Saturday, before Mexican Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. could whup Austin’s Bryan Vera and position himself for a match with undefeated Kazakhstani Gennady Golovkin, Mexican Orlando Salido took undefeated Ukrainian Vasyl Lomachenko to school and found him wanting, decisioning him by split scores of 113-115, 116-112, 115-113. Salido also forced upwards a number of tardily raised eyebrows about the propriety of his vacated title even being available to such an untested challenger.

What was lost on most, prefight, and understandably so, was the injury to Orlando Salido’s pride the Lomachenko match inflicted. There were other matters that needed consideration, of course: Vasyl Lomachenko was in pursuit of an ambiguous sort of history, one that came with editorial disclaimers galore of the sort that sparks proportionate debate among insiders as yawns among fans; the ongoing invasion of boxers from the former Soviet Union was set to continue; and Orlando Salido didn’t care enough to defend the WBO title, one he won from Orlando Cruz in 2013 after losing it to Mikey Garcia in 2013 after winning it from Juan Manuel “Juanma” Lopez in 2011, to come within 2 1/2 pounds of the featherweight limit.

For the second time in about as many months, one is put to remembering Mexican Marco Antonio Barrera’s 2001 victory over Englishman Naseem Hamed, or at least the disproportionate attention the business of boxing paid the sparkly object that was “Prince Naseem” at the expense of a former world champion and possessor of 52 professional victories. Lomachenko was polished to be another of our sport’s sparkly objects, a man of incomparable sparring prowess, one who emerged from behind an Iron Curtain that exists, anymore, solely in the collective imagination of what ageing generations still buck giddily round allusions to the Cold War.

Salido had earned his featherweight title, though, and if he was unable to retain it at Friday’s weighin that did not change what natural resentment he harbored for a rival and boxing infrastructure that allowed a man in only his second fight since turning “pro” the sort of title-challenging opportunity Salido was not afforded till his 34th prizefight. In some sense, it is not unlike what distrust and faint derision an autodidact feels for a degreed colleague, whichever their field. One man toiled in obscurity, often doing a number of coincidental other jobs in the hopes of someday having but one, learning his craft quietly and passionately, delaying indefinitely a wholly unguaranteed reward, while the other enjoyed an academy’s protection and comfort, longer in others’ expectations, yes, but much much shorter in risks.

If Salido and an army of other veteran fighters did not give voice to what resentment they surely felt for Lomachenko – going from headgear, spongy gloves and a cutiepie points system straight to a title challenge, via a 12-minute way station named Jose Ramirez in October, and getting a chance to wear a world championship belt without first navigating others’ elbows and heads and shoulders and skinned gloves and irregular calendars and hometown favoritisms – they surely felt the resentment in their collective marrow and cheered unsilently at home for Salido. Or as the Mexican journalist to my left said about the entire idea of the fight, after round 4, when it appeared Salido had a very real chance of beating Lomachenko: “¡Que insulto!”

That sense of insult was expressed best and most graciously by the aforementioned Juanma Lopez, a man twice vanquished by Salido, who nevertheless called Salido in his Alamodome dressing room before Saturday’s match.

“I’m with you 200-percent,” Juanma told his surprised former rival. “Go win the fight!”

And it was a fight for Salido, from the opening bell, in the sort of personal sense December’s match with American Adrien Broner was a fight for Argentine Marcos Maidana. Salido fouled Lomachenko continuously. He used a rangefinder hook to Lomachenko’s protective cup in the first round, and when that went undetected by referee Laurence Cole, he drove the knuckles of his right fist, bolo-style, at the front of Lomachenko’s left hipbone whenever Cole meandered over to break them. Salido’s awareness of Cole’s positioning was fantastic and very much better than Cole’s awareness of Salido’s positioning, which is a special sort of indictment when one considers Salido was extrapolating Cole’s position while calculating, at once, the acceleration and trajectory of another man’s onrushing fists.

Lomachenko had little idea what to do with Salido for much of the fight. The Ukrainian’s defense of Salido’s body blows, and later Salido’s mere feints, was a jackknifing sort of motion that involved throwing his abdomen backwards to where his spine had been and causing a forward-folding that anticipated no chance of retaliation. Salido might not have seen such amateurishness since he was a teenager in Sonora, if ever, but 54 previous fights told him one thing: This man is not in a position from which he can strike me. The American journalist to my right, happily enough my favorite Monday columnist, recognized early the surprising fact Lomachenko did not know how to use an uppercut to discourage Salido’s attack on his abdomen (and hips, and cup, and thighs, and right knee).

Lomachenko deserves plaudits, nevertheless, for comporting himself like a fighter, realizing in round 1 he was in a state where fights are often barely sanctioned things and reserving his complaints only for Salido’s most egregious infractions. After the fight, one that ended with Lomachenko very nearly stopping Salido, who made a four-limbed poncho of himself when hurt in the final 90 seconds, reveling in what lawlessness governed the small blue patch of Texas territory policed by Sheriff Cole, Lomachenko shrugged away questions of Salido’s tactics with an appeal to the profession both chose.

Sometime before Lomachenko’s 0 had to go, Saturday’s press section rippled with news that, mourning the recent death of his father, undefeated Kazakhstani middleweight titlist Gennady “GGG” Golovkin would be unable to make his unofficially scheduled next match, affording Julio Cesar Chavez Jr., in town primarily for Friday’s weighin, one chance at least to proctor for Golovkin the sort of stern test Salido gave Lomachenko. GGG’s legion of enthusiasts should welcome it.

Bart Barry can be reached at bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

Floyd Mayweather Jr.’s biggest challenge on May 3 won’t come from Marcos Maidana. Not even Maidana’s heavy-handed power has much of a chance at knocking Mayweather off his pound-for-pound perch.

But Mayweather’s promotional skill faces a real test as he reaches what could be the halfway point of a Showtime deal for a possible six fights and a potential $250 million. Maidana-Mayweather looks to be a tough sell, especially at a pay-per-view price for the Showtime telecast that figures to be $60, or $70 for high definition.

Mayweather’s biggest rivals will be in a busy PPV market during the next few months. There’s Canelo Alvarez-Alfredo Angulo on Showtime PPV on March 8. On April 12, Manny Pacquiao and Tim Bradley engage in a PPV rematch offered by Home Box Office. After Mayweather-Maidana, there’s Miguel Cotto-Sergio Martinez on June 7, also an HBO pay-per-view bout.

To watch all four in high-def, it’ll cost $280. That’s not much if you’re in Mayweather’s income bracket. For the average fan, however, that’s a lot of groceries.

Mayweather’s marketing team will invest time and ad money into saying that Maidana is dangerous. He is – he was – in beating Adrien Broner in a December upset that shoved Amir Khan to the back of the line and earned Maidana the big payday that comes with a shot at Mayweather.

But some of the early betting odds indicate that the public will need a lot of convincing. Mayweather could be a 10-1 favorite. Translation: The bookies are saying that the betting public thinks that Maidana has no chance. Compare that to Pacquiao-Bradley in a sequel of Bradley’s hugely controversial decision over the Filipino Congressman in June, 2012. Pacquiao is a slight favorite.

Odds are, Pacquiao-Bradley is the better buy.

There’s a theory, often offered by Showtime, that people will watch Mayweather no matter who he fights. OK, Mayweather possesses singular speed and skill. But this isn’t Olympic figure skating. It’s a fight. If there isn’t much doubt, there isn’t much drama.

Maidana is a tough sell for at least two reasons:

· Khan, whose reputation has taken the biggest beating in the polling and guessing game over who Mayweather would anoint as his next foe, beat Maidana in what was the 2010 Fight of the Year.

· Maidana lost a one-sided decision to Devon Alexander in 2012. On only one of three scorecards did Maidana win a single round. He was shut out on two cards. The 10-round loss to the quick Alexander could serve as a preview to what might happen to Maidana against Mayweather, who has lost some foot speed but still had enough to confound Robert Guerrero and Canelo. Maidana has one thing in common with Guerrero and Canelo. He’s flat-footed, which represents two more reasons to think he has virtually no chance on May 3.

Mayweather, whose career has generated a reported 12.8 million PPV customers for about $800 million in gross revenue, is averaging 1.5 million PPV buys over his last eight bouts, according to reports from the networks and television media.

It’ll be harder to maintain that average than it will to stay unbeaten.

SAN ANTONIO – Mexican “Son of the Legend” Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. returns to this city sometime in the next few days, returns to a local scale sometime Friday afternoon, and returns to an Alamodome ring Saturday night against Austin’s Bryan Vera. The middle spectacle, Friday’s, should prove the week’s most suspenseful, and if Chavez somehow misses weight also its most tragic. If Chavez makes weight, evincing proper preparation for his rematch with the profoundly limited Vera, though, let us hope Saturday’s match does not end tragically.

But for that possibility, this is all a bit tired, isn’t it? The “Road to Chavez Jr. vs. Vera II” promotional piece felt obligatory as a husband’s trip to the mall. Gone are the mildly alluring touches of collaring whichever journalists were in town for whichever other event, to give aficionados a chance at least to see admired writers mention, in very short clips, why they think this fight may be compelling (with the flashed and handsome exception of our site’s intrepid editor at 1:21). Instead we get HBO’s commentary team rehashing what they said the night of the first fight with what they’ve digested since, in promotional spots that boast all the journalistic panache of actors from this season’s cast of “Dexter” holding their fists aloft while advising viewers they’ve been buzzed – and if that is a mashup, as the kids are calling it, of two different networks’ original programming concepts, it’s honestly arrived at because no enterprising mind should keep 2014’s thus-far-banal prizefighting offerings compartmentalized.

That promises to change, at least in spirit, Saturday, when this city opens its gracious arms to a rematch of a not particularly compelling 2013 match, one that finds Chavez once more collecting his father’s back wages from his promoter or his network or his Mexican fans, a collective that must be dwindling.

Into the curiousness of this arrangement meanders Junior, never hurried, marking promoter Top Rank’s return to a city whose venues it has not graced in the 23 months since Kelly Pavlik used the force to smash apart Aaron “Jedi” Jaco in the debut of Leija-Battah Promotions, an outfit that looked a temporary license-holding company for Las Vegas- and Los Angeles-based promoters, alike, before evolving, quickly and audaciously, into something more and better. What consequently drove the local promoter from Top Rank after one show is anyone’s guess, but it was a thing that did carry consequences, as Top Rank has since made medium-sized Texas shows in Houston, Dallas, Corpus Christi and Laredo but not Alamo City, a place where Son of the Legend began to become more than a mascot by decisioning John Duddy in 2010 at Alamodome, the venue where his father, The Legend, set an attendance record still standing.

There’s no telling how ticket sales might be going for Saturday’s show for a couple reasons: First, there isn’t an engaged local promoter endeavoring to recoup its large investment by blitzing inboxes with promotional tidbits, and second, with most of the money for this fight coming exclusively from HBO, there’s not nearly the same urgency there was round this time last year when, openly snubbing his proximate rival, Mexico’s Saul “Canelo” Alvarez declined to fight on Floyd Mayweather’s May undercard – firing the starter’s pistol on a frantic effort to find a venue, and accompanying local entrepreneur, to host Alvarez on short notice. What resulted, an April match between Alvarez and New Mexican Austin Trout, brought nearly 40,000 fans to Alamodome, an attendance figure that established in a bold stroke Alvarez’s coveted standing as Mexico’s most popular prizefighter. Alvarez then sprinkled cinnamon in his promoter’s gears in September, winning perhaps 90 seconds of his 36-minute match with Mayweather.

Displaying his father’s relentlessness and talent for smashing microscopic fissures into gaping wounds, then, Chavez Jr. snatched the corona right off Alvarez’s bowed redhead by icing his countrymen’s bruised national pride, 14 days later, with a victory over Bryan Vera that is remembered, still, for its preparation, savagery and workrate.

Oh, if ever a sentence were typed round derisive giggles.

Instead of doing something memorably good or even forgettably bad, Son of the Legend chose that inauspicious time to hold a pound-auction at the Friday weighin, having done the considerate thing, he explained for HBO’s “Road to” cameras, and informed the Vera camp ahead of time he would weigh, well, something higher than what 168 pounds he was legally obliged to make. Then Son of the Legend made a lionlike contender of Bryan Vera, a good guy of good work ethic and giver of a goodish impersonation of Colorado’s Mike Alvarado, were Alvarado not a once-great high school athlete.

Wait, Vera a “contender”? Yes, contender: As Son of the Legend reminded viewers, apropos of his figurative hunger – unmistakable in its modesty for Junior’s literal hunger – he was a “world champion” once, wearing proudly the garish, gold-and-whipped-pea strap the WBC stole from lineal middleweight champion Sergio Martinez in 2011, making Chavez technically a champion and making Vera technically a contender – cute a reminder as any that Vera outworked television’s original “Contender,” Sergio Mora, in August 2012 at the converted Alamodome venue called Illusions Theater, in a Leija-Battah-promoted rematch of Vera’s finest hour, a controversial 2011 decisioning of Mora in Fort Worth, an hour not nearly fine as Vera’s decisioning of Chavez Jr. in a September match official judges, alone, scored widely for Son of the Legend.

We circle back to Saturday, then, meandering round the subject like a pothead in peach underwear doing living-room laps for roadwork – so great is his hunger as world champion – to address briefly a match that should not be competitive, and, one prays, will not end tragically for Vera. Whatever long list of bad habits Vera’s trainer Ronnie Shields credits himself with red-penning from the Austinite’s dossier, he sure as hell did nothing for Vera’s plunging right hand, a hand Vera holsters at his waist before throwing either glove at opponents. That flaw portends nothing good for Vera.

I’ll take Chavez, then, KO-11, in a terribly lopsided spectacle even Junior’s legion of detractors will wish had been stopped after nine.

Bart Barry can be reached at bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

The first two Saturdays in March are a window that will provide a look at whether two heavily-hyped fighters, Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. and Canelo Alvarez, have retained their popularity among their loyal fan base.

Chavez comes off controversy on March 1 in a rematch of his hotly-debated decision over Bryan Vera. Then, Canelo tests his Q rating on March 8 against Alfredo Angulo in his first bout since losing to Floyd Mayweather Jr. in a decision seen as one-sided by everybody but a judge, C.J. Ross, who scored it a draw.

Chavez and Canelo may never share the same ring because of all the usual divisiveness in boxing’s balkanized business. Still, they are linked, almost like a couple of rival politicians, in an ever-shifting race for allegiance among Mexican and Mexican-American fans. If presented a ballot these days, some of those fans might be tempted to vote none-of-the-above. Neither distinguished himself in his last outing.

Of the two, however, Chavez suffered more damage to his reputation and legendary name than Canelo sustained in a predictable loss. The difference: Chavez did it to himself. Canelo had it done to him.

Chavez appears to be closer than ever to losing a nation of fans who revere his dad, yet have grown ever more exasperated with the son’s apparent sense of entitlement and lack of maturity. Chavez continued to make a mockery of making weight and training before he got a gift on the scorecards against Vera in September. They booed him.

“I owe the fans,’’ says Chavez, a brand new father.

Is Chavez just talking or serious about sustaining a commitment to his craft this time around? It’s fair to wonder about that. Ratings for his HBO rematch at San Antonio’s Alamodome with Vera will say a lot about whether fans have given up on him.

That said, fans also might decide to wait-and-see. It will take more than one good fight from Chavez to win them back. If he is in shape, he figures to beat Vera easily. But the real proof would be in what he does over the next couple of fights. After a victory, he too often gets comfortable, falls off the wagon and into a lifestyle with no discipline. Roadwork consists of midnight laps around the couch and to the fridge.

For Canelo, there’s a different kind of skepticism. His pound-for-pound credentials took a big hit when he was so out-classed by Mayweather in September. Not to worry, Canelo promised in a conference call.

“I learned a lot from that fight,’’ he said. “I learned a lot from the Mayweather fight. He’s got a style that’s very complicated. He’s got a style that’s very intelligent and he fights intelligently. I think that his whole purpose is just to win. But I learned a lot. I learned a lot about the fight itself inside the ring and outside the ring as well.’’

In Angulo, Canelo took a fight he figures to win. Still, it’s dangerous. Angulo is tough and heavy-handed. He knocked down accomplished Erislandy Lara twice in June, before losing 10th-round stoppage. He also might have learned some valuable new tricks in sparring with Andre Ward. Virgil Hunter trains both Angulo and Ward.

Let’s put it this way: Angulo has better shot at scoring an upset than Vera does.

Yet, Golden Boy Promotions is betting that Canelo will emerge with his career and popularity intact. Canelo’s Showtime-televised comeback against Angulo at Las Vegas’ MGM Grand is a pay-per-view bout.

“I have loyal fans and I’m very grateful for that,’’ Canelo said. “They’re always going to be with me. I feel that they’re going to support me through thick and thin. They’re going to follow me in this Pay-Per-View.’’

If they don’t, only Canelo will pay.

Philadelphia, PA (February 20, 2014)– Tomorrow night at the Edgewater Casino in Laughlin, Nevada, Boxcino 2014 kick offs with the opening round in the lightweight division. In addition to the four quarterfinal lightweight bouts, two members of the Banner Promotions stable will be in action.

2012 Olympic bronze medal winner Taras Shelestyuk will fight Francisco Flores in a jr. middleweight bout scheduled for four rounds. Also seeing action will be undefeated jr. welterweight Cornelius Whitlock battles Luis Hernandez in a 4-round bout.

Shelestyuk, of Sumi, Ukraine, has a record of 6-0 with 4 knockouts and will be making his first start of 2014 after a busy eight-month stretch in 2013 when he turned pro and racked up those six wins, including a decision over then undefeated Travis Hanshaw (7-0).

Shelestyuk fights out of the famed Wild Card Gym in Hollywood, California, and is managed by Vadim Kornilov.

Flores of Mexico City is 2-3 with 1 knockout.

Whitlock, of Baltimore, Maryland, has a record of 2-0-2 with one knockout and is coming off a first-round stoppage over Josue Rivera on November 14 in Washington, D.C.

Hernandez of San Bernadino, California has a record of 2-6 with two knockouts.

“We are very excited to have this great night of boxing,” said Banner Promotions CEO Arthur Pelullo.

“Obviously this is going to be a great tournament but we are also looking forward to seeing the continued development of Taras and Cornelius.”

February 21st lightweight quarter final
FIGHT WEEK SCHEDULE:

HOTEL & EVENT LOCATION:
Edgewater Casino
2020 South Casino Drive, Laughlin, Nevada 89029 Phone: (702) 298-2453

Thursday, Feb. 20th
Weigh-in: 5:00 PM
Location: Edgewater Casino – Rio Vista Room (down stairs next to the Buffet)

Friday, Feb. 21st
Fight Night: E Center at the Edgewater Casino
Doors open – 4:30 PM
First fight (and first fight on ESPN) – 6:00 PM

Former world title challenger and promoter Dmitry Salita talks about the recent political unrest that is going on his native Ukraine.

1. What are your thoughts of Vitali Klitschko going into Politics

I think Vitali is a man of the people. You look at his career and see how he over came difficulties early on
to become one of the greatest heavyweights in history that says something about a man. His character and persistence can not be denied. In the ring through sports and definitely through boxing you can see what ingredients a man is made off. Over coming learning from your experiences and becoming better is the goal of all of us in life and Vitaly was able to do that. He also represented Ukraine on the world stage in a very honourable way for many years. He has the education of Europe as well as America as a politician being able to identify with different people from all over the world is essential. I believe that Vitaly has those ingredients from being
an elite boxer and a star around the world.

2. What are your thoughts of boxers going into politics in General.

I think it’s very good! Boxers are hard working people that come from humble and usually poor beginnings! Boxing is a poor mans sport, and to be a good politician you need to identify with the common man and with people that are struggling you need to have empathy for those people and experiences. Most boxers understand what those feelings are about. Manny Pacquiao and Vitaly Klitchko are great examples of boxers that remember about their roots and want to improve the life of their countryman.

3. You are from the Ukraine. What Problems does that country face

Well Ukraine become more westernized and Democratic certainly since I left Odessa, Ukraine in 1991. People want to voice their opinion and make their feelings known. Now I believe is a crucial stage in the direction that the country will go. Most important is for the common man and people to feel satisfied. It seems that the situation has stabilized some what and both sides are talking.

4. Do you think with Klitschko being a high profile man, he will help or hurt The Ukraine.

I think it will help, the fact that world news is focusing on what is happening in Ukraine is to a large extent because Klitschko is the Heavyweight champ of the world. One of the premier titles in the sports world. He has the experience of dealing with people from all over the world and the Klitschko brothers are their own promoters so they made some pivotal decisions in their career as fighters and business man. The Klitchko brothers have proudly and positively represented Ukraine on the world stage. I think that their understanding of world culture, media and politics will only benefit the people. Several years ago when Wladimir fought at MSG he has a press conference for the Russian community in Rasputin restaurant. Vitaly was starting his political career then, I told him that he will make Ukraine proud and I think he will be president of Ukraine one day. He smiled and I think that day will come one day.

5. He was just involved in a couple of incidents that were obviously politically motivated. What were your thoughts when you saw those videos?

He is out in the street protesting with his people on the front lines a peoples man. I saw that he held himself back after he got attacked that to me was very mature and a sign of a leader.

Rene Alvarado scored a 9th round stoppage over Robinson Castellanos in a scheduled 12 round Featherweight bout at Centro de Convenciones in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, Mexico.

Alvarado beat Castellanos in the corner until the fight was stopped at 1:59 of round 9.

Alvarado is now 20-2 with 14 knockouts. Robinson Castellanos is now 19-10.

Roberto Manzanarez scored a 2nd round stoppage over Carlos Rodriguez in a scheduled 8 round Lightweight bout.

Manzanarez dropped Rodriguez in round’s one and two from body shots with the 2nd knockdown leading to the stoppage.

Manzanarez is now 26-1 with 22 knockouts. Rodriguez is 8-1.

Guillermo Rodriguez scored a 8 round unanimous decision over Ricardo Hernandez in a Super Bantamweight fight.

Rodriguez is 9-1. Hernandez is 6-12-1.

16-year Damian Vazquez remained undefeated with a 3rd round stoppage over Adonay Diaz in a scheduled four round Flyweight bout.

Vazquez dropped Diaz in round two and continued the assault until the bout was stopped at

Vazquez, 112.6 lbs is now 2-0 with 2 knockouts. Diaz, 117 lbs was making his pro debut.

HOUSTON – Returned to Texas’ largest city and the fourth-largest city in our country, a day before a day we celebrate the father of our country’s birthday by acknowledging all the presidents’ birthdays in a single day because federal holidays, if mismanaged, might force the private sector to pay time-and-a-half, I looked across boxing’s landscape, barren yet again, and thought making a reciprocal tribute of sorts to a tribute of sorts was a workable idea. To wit:

This city’s Museum of Fine Arts’ “Age of Impressionism” is an exceptionally good exhibition that has little to do with boxing but may be instructive in its parallels to boxing writing, a discipline that requires a weekly entry even though nary a meaningful thing is yet to happen in prizefighting this year, as we enter 2014’s eighth week. And so, afforded a chance to celebrate Presidents Day, I made a Friday decision to spend Saturday and Sunday at Museum of Fine Arts’ outstanding exhibition, one I initially partook of in December and was prompted to revisit by a guest piece Kelsey McCarson wrote for us Tuesday.

In “Juan Diaz and the Age of Impressionism,” McCarson juxtaposes Juan Diaz and Pierre-Auguste Renoir, among others, in a way I’d not considered, or at least not quickly as I’d considered juxtaposing McCarson and other fine young boxing writers, Jimmy Tobin in particular, with mid-19th-century Paris’ Salon de Refusés, a groundbreaking show in 1863 that came about when works by Impressionism’s predecessors – Gustave Courbet, Édouard Manet and Camille Pissarro, most notably – got rejected by the Paris Salon, the French state’s annual recognition of its best painters, and held an exhibition of rejects that was successful enough to erect a bridge between an academic style Manet mastered and an entirely new movement whose greatest practitioner, Claude Monet, initially found himself accused by Manet of stealing the great man’s name. McCarson and others who write regularly and seriously about our beloved sport, and take the craft of writing seriously, have been denied entry in the Boxing Writers Association of America, our craft’s equivalent of the Salon, and might be well advised to form their own association of rejects – an idea McCarson toys with on Twitter.

This city’s Juan Diaz remains one of my most favorite fighters I’ve covered, though I cannot think of a painter or movement to whom I would readily liken his style. He’s not an Impressionist, he’s not experimental enough, and he’s not an academic or Renaissance type, either, as his use of offense as defense offends purists’ sensibilities. He might be a Modernist or Surrealist but for his never effecting stylistically radical devices; he’s not endeavoring to interpret anything so much as strike his opponent often as he can.

The worst part of visiting an art museum is its patrons. Most are not interested in seeing art so much as being seen seeing art – Kelsey McCarson and his wife, of course, being noble exceptions – and the audio tours and white-plate explanations museums proffer do not palliate this. Viewing others viewing “The Age of Impressionism” shows all too clearly what is wrong with fields like art history, where future curators expend many times more time memorizing biography than practicing technique.

What makes unique the Impressionist painters, Monet and Eugène Boudin, especially, but also Renoir when he is best, as he is in MFAH’s current exhibition, is not that they painted outside or quickly or with fewer layers than Renaissance masters but that they offered an original rebuttal to the invention of photography, not an effort to imitate it. Perhaps the best piece in MFAH’s exhibition is Monet’s “Spring in Giverny,” a landscape done in light pastels. It is best, and Monet is his movement’s best artist, because it improves proportionate to the time one spends before it.

Writing about Renoir’s “Sunset at Sea,” McCarson partially captures why: “Isn’t this completely unlike any picture even the most advanced camera could help you collect?” It is exactly that because it is binocular, using the requisite imperfection of images pieced together with data from two different points, à la human sight, and not monocular, as photography is. Impressionism captures a moment, and in any moment, a human eye is unable to see with its fovea, the part that perceives fine detail (the part of the eye with which you are able to read no more than two of these words at a time, regardless of font), more than a comparatively tiny percentage of what its eye perceives. All the rest is perceived in the periphery and necessarily coarse.

Human peripheral vision is marvelous and comprises what stimuli necessarily compose our senses of things. Peripheral vision, and the brain’s handling of its coarse data, are what the Impressionists were after, and for this reason, as one’s eyes fatigue, causing their neurons to misfire, the best of Monet and Renoir’s works begin to dance on the canvas, coming to life the same way, and for the same reason, Leonardo’s “Mona Lisa” smiles when you look her in the eyes but not the mouth.

The first work in MFAH’s “Age of Impressionism,” somewhat ironically, is a large portrait by William Adolphe Bouguereau, an academic painter whose later work “Admiration” received the highest award in the 1900 Paris Salon, 37 years after the first Salon de Refusés. And today, Claude Monet’s name is known even to philistines, while Bouguereau’s is lost to all but connoisseurs – something the BWAA’s membership committee might note.

Bart Barry can be reached at bart.barrrys.email (at) gmail.com

Sergey Kovalev’s projected path to the top of the light-heavyweight division is at a stage in a well-worn process that is necessary, yet often dangerous for promising fighters who don’t know their history. The good news is that Kovalev has a promoter who won’t let him forget it. Kathy Duva has lived it.

Duva’s historical lesson was delivered a couple of times Thursday during a conference call for Kovalev’s next fight, March 29 in a HBO-televised bout in Atlantic City against Cedric Agnew. Agnew, of Chicago, is unbeaten and has impressive amateur credentials. But he could have been Cedric The Entertainer for all anybody knew.

Repeatedly, Kovalev was asked more about Adonis Stevenson, possibly in a fight later this year. Repeatedly, Duva reminded an audience, which included Kovalev, about a fight that happened 24 years ago, almost to the day.

Main Events, the Duva’s family business, promoted Evander Holyfield. A Holyfield-Mike Tyson fight was a hot possibility. First, however, Tyson had a fight with Buster Douglas on Feb. 11, 1990 in Tokyo.

“We know what happened,’’ Duva said.

Douglas beat Tyson, scoring a 10th round knockout, in an upset as big as any in history. Momentum for Holyfield-Tyson was gone. Instead of late 1990, six years and nine months came and went before Holyfield and Tyson fought for the first time – Nov 9, 1996. Excuse Duva, but she doesn’t want to re-live the past. One Upset of the Century is enough in any lifetime.

Kovalev might not be as big a favorite to beat Agnew as Tyson was over Douglas. But it doesn’t matter. In real time, a loss to Agnew would be devastating for the Russian, who has stopped six straight opponents within four rounds.

For now, Kovalev finds himself in a situation similar to middleweight Gennady Golovkin. Both are at a stage where their drawing power isn’t enough for a big-name opponent to take the chance. They fall into that most-feared category. Like Golovkin, however, HBO is interested in Kovalev. If HBO begins to attract an audience for Kovalev, money and opponents will follow. It’s a potential formula that dictates some urgency, or at least due diligence.

“On March 29, Sergey will be fighting two things, in my opinion,’’ Duva said. “He’ll be fighting Agnew and the temptation to look past him.’’

Reasons to look past Agnew are on his 26-0 record, which includes 13 knockouts. Agnew went the distance with Yusaf Mack in March, winning a 12-round unanimous decision. Against well-known fighters, Mack didn’t last. Carl Froch knocked him out in three rounds in 2012. Tavoris Cloud stopped him in eight in 2011. Glen Johnson stopped him in six in 2010.

Agnew believes he has the right skillset to beat Kovalev, whose nicknames include Krusher and the Terminator. Kovalev’s intimidating record (23-0-1, 21 KOs) includes a tragic death. Roman Simakov died three days after he lost a seventh round TKO to Kovalev in Russia in December, 2011.

“I don’t look at him as no Terminator,’’ Agnew said. “He’s a human being. He can be hurt just like anybody can.’’

If Agnew was impressed by Kovalev’s knockout ratio and the hype that comes with it, he didn’t reveal it.

“My personal opinion: I think he’s ordinary,’’ Agnew said.

Meanwhile, Kovalev seems to understand the stakes. He can’t afford a misstep if he hopes for a showdown with Stevenson, a power puncher in his own right with 20 stoppages in 23 fights on a record that includes one loss. Stevenson might fight in May on HBO in Montreal. A possible opponent is Polish light-heavyweight Andrzej Fonfara (25-2, 15 KOs), now of Chicago.

“Last year, the best in my division was Stevenson,’’ Kovalev said. “I have to beat Stevenson if I want to be the best.’’

To get that chance, he has to remember to take care of business against Agnew. Kathy Duva’s history lesson is good reason to believe he will.

In the 1870s, a group of artists in Paris, including Pierre-Auguste Renoir, decided to stop submitting their works to the official annual exhibition of the Académie des Beaux-Arts, also called the Salon. Dubbed “Impressionists,” these brave new visionaries instead mounted eight independent exhibitions of their own, featuring works done in a new, informal style based on modern subjects of everyday life and leisure, an idea which had originally been pioneered at and rejected by the Salon.

At least, that’s what the sign outside the door told me as I entered the Houston Museum of Fine Arts last Saturday afternoon after spending the morning watching former lightweight titlist Juan Diaz train and spar at his new gym, Baby Bull Boxing Academy.

I don’t know as much as I should about art. My wife and I are members at the museum, but only because we like to look at the paintings. I don’t know much about history or theory, but when we travel through the giant halls of paintings and such, I can’t help but read all the boxes of text surrounding these magnificent works.

This particular collection, The Age of Impressionism, has traveled all around the world. It was put together over time by Sterling and Francine Clark, heirs of the Singer Sewing Machine Company fortune. It features 73 paintings by artists such as our friend Renoir, as well as Édouard Manet, Edgar Degas, Claude Monet, Berthe Morisot, Camille Pissarro and Alfred Sisley and others. This was the last stop of the tour. After traveling to Tokyo, London, Barcelona, Milan, etc., etc., etc., the collection would stop in Houston before returning back home to The Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Massachusetts.

Juan Diaz has traveled the world, too. He’s the heir to his own fortune, though, wrought the hard way and from a very young age. Diaz was born Sept. 17, 1983 in Houston, Texas to Fidencio and Olivia Diaz, a young couple from Guerrero, Mexico. When he was just eight years old, Fidencio, a rabid boxing fan, took little Juan to Willie Savannah’s boxing gym.

Diaz entered and won his first tournament at 12. At 16, he qualified for the Mexican Olympic team, but was three months too young to compete at the 2000 Summer Olympics. Later that year, with a 105-5 amateur record, Diaz decided to turn pro.

Diaz had a solid career as a professional. By the end of things, he was one of HBO’s regularly featured darlings. He won lightweight title belts and even fought two big money fights against all-time great Juan Manuel Marquez for the lineal lightweight championship. Diaz was a fan favorite during his heyday, and after the second loss to Marquez he seemed to be getting out of the fight game while the getting was still good. At age 27, with all brain and bodily functions still intact, Diaz decided to hang up the gloves and get on with the rest of his life.
But Diaz is back in boxing now. After almost three years of pause, Diaz unexpectedly returned to the ring and knocked out Gerardo Cueves in April 2013 in six rounds. Houston’s most popular fighter rounded out the year with two more wins over similar fare, knocking out Adailton De Jesus in five and going the 10-round distance with Juan Santiago.

Diaz is older now. He does not fight with quite the same frenetic energy but he still appears aggressive and hungry. At 30, he has won three straight on his way back up the ranks, and he’s still able to make the lightweight division with relative ease, something that should only help him in his effort to recapture former glory. And that’s what it’s all about for him.

“It’s not about money,” Diaz said. “It’s about world titles.”

I don’t know as much as I should about boxing. My wife and I cover the fights for various websites, but only because we like the sport. I like boxing history and theory but wouldn’t consider myself a great historian or anything. I’ll read a boxing book if I come across one that suits me, though, because I can’t help but read about these magnificent figures of sport.

As I watched Diaz spar that morning, I mostly wondered what he’d look like when he steps up past tomato cans like March 1 opponent Gerardo Robles. Diaz thinks he’ll be the same champion he was before, only smarter and more skilled. But fighters always think that. They have to. The minute they start believing otherwise is the minute their careers are over.

This is what I’m thinking about during the brief seconds between standing and staring at paintings at the museum. I don’t know many genres of art, but the Impressionists always seem to catch my eye. To me, they capture the beauty and the power of life but in a way that appears at once magical and realistic.

Take Renoir’s Sunset at Sea. Is this not what you’d see looking across the ocean at the glimmering majesty of the setting sun? But at the same time, isn’t this also completely unlike any picture even the most advanced camera could help you collect? To me, Impressionism is both less and more than life.

Diaz sparred eight rounds that morning. He went three against TV fighter Lanard Lane and five against local lightweight Danny Garcia. Diaz was aggressive but not stupid. His corner men, Derwin Richards and Timothy Knight, hurled instructions at him from across the ring, telling him more or less exactly that.

“Bend your knees,” said Richard. “Now turn…turn!”

“Keep that jab going,” added Knight. “Jab!”

Diaz did all these things, but he threw hooks and uppercuts to the body and torso of his opponent less like a man who wants to box smart and more like a man who just wants to be in a good fight. That kind of thing is what made him so popular in the first place, I suppose, but it was also his undoing.

But Juan Diaz is going to be Juan Diaz, and that’s something we could probably all learn from.

After witnessing the two Saturday exhibitions, Juan Diaz and The Age of Impressionism, I can’t help but wonder if Diaz will be able to pull off what the Impressionists did all those years ago. Reactionaries to the prevailing sentiment at the Salon, artists like Renoir have now become measuring sticks for others. No one who studies art skips over what they did during their time. And no one has forgotten them now that they’ve turned to dust.

In a similar way, our present culture’s Salon doesn’t think Diaz should be boxing anymore either. After all, they reason, Diaz has a college degree and several successful businesses. More than that, he’s smart, sharp and affable enough to get along better than most everyone else without trading punches in the ring for money.

So I think Diaz’s comeback might also be a reaction, one to the idea that men should only fight if they have no other way to earn, the one that says boxing isn’t suitable for Diaz now because he could make money doing other things. It’s as if we are to believe the dignity of a human being, the value of a soul, is something that can be measured by one’s capabilities or by how one chooses to make his way through the world.

Diaz rejects this premise. And who knows? Perhaps 150 years from now, some silly writer and his wife will roam around a museum on a Saturday afternoon to revere Diaz the way we did Renoir and the Impressionists.

I wonder what they’ll do that morning.

SAN ANTONIO – A small band of boxing media and bystanders gathered Sunday afternoon near an entrance of the Home Depot Center in Alamo Heights, an incorporated city in this city’s central-north quadrant, to see the weigh-in for Monday’s “Golden Boy Live!” show in the bullring of a local cowboy dance hall named, unerringly, Cowboys Dancehall. At least one of us was there because a Saturday blast email from Leija-Battah Promotions promised Paulie Malignaggi would host. Yet there was Jesse James Leija playing emcee.

Halfway through the roster for Monday, there was a slight rustling, and then, sporting a black sweatsuit of some crushed fabric or other, along strolled the 2013 winner of the Boxing Writers Association of America’s award for excellence in broadcast journalism, an award named after Sam Taub, a fellow New York commentator. Malignaggi’s eyes bulged in the nearest thing he has to a signature look, and his gestures, just as customarily, pushed through whatever it is that delimits energy and anxiety. Leija hurriedly handed boxing’s best broadcast journalist a microphone – whereupon Malignaggi announced he didn’t know anything about hosting the event, he’d just got off a plane, and he was exhausted.

It was a frank declaration with a staccatissimo delivery, and vulnerable. Just like Malignaggi’s best commentary.

The very thing that makes Malignaggi’s career knockout ratio slight is, in large part, what makes his insights on the air timely and exceptional. Malignaggi does not punch hard, and he did not punch particularly hard even before his chronically injured hands were so prone to injury. His smallish frame and surgically reconstructed right fist, both, contribute to his acclivity for icing opponents, especially at the championship level, but they also evince a courage that is easy, quite easy, too easy, to miss after a Malignaggi promotion comes to its end with an opening bell – after he finishes playing a caricaturist’s Yankee Fan, and sets about swapping blows, usually in a weirdly tassled trunk or eccentrically coifed do.

If journalistic compulsion has stayed me from ever exactly cheering against Malignaggi, I confess, it has hardly strained its binds in keeping me from cheering him on. Not until I prepared in January for a magazine piece that had nothing to do with Paulie Malignaggi did I pause long enough to realize how much my distaste for his pre/postfight persona had kept me from properly appreciating a fighting style every bit courageous, in its way, as any volume puncher’s.

Malignaggi needs more wiles than even that guy, really; he doesn’t move forward into opponents’ space and discomfit them. He courts their aggression even while knowing he hasn’t a punch, or reliable enough hands, necessarily, to keep-off him men who, first and foremost, endure human fists expertly hurled. Malignaggi must read other men’s bodies, and compile that data and send its resulting queries to his repository of foiling techniques, and incorporate whatever algorithm returns him, many times faster than a man possessed of a weighty punch. When he’s on the air watching what aggression he has watched for tens of thousands of rounds in gyms, he can’t help himself: He sees what happens many times faster than men who’ve never had their consciousnesses on the line in front of millions, and he says what he sees many times clearer than other pugilist-broadcasters.

Malignaggi is a talker, a social creature, a man who likes to be seen and talked to and challenged to explain himself; he is comfortable in a public role – he talks over an interviewer in a voracious desire to assert a new point or clarify an old one, in a way few prizefighters do – he wants to share himself and his mind. This is much of the rest of his talent for broadcasting; most fighters, whatever they tell themselves about their prescript and preheated shtick, know from experience in elementary schools they have little to contribute but autobiography, and untimely reticence recurs when their microphones greenlight.

Malignaggi, conversely, must be quieted – he has lots to share and a desire to share it – and in a very short amount of time, he has married this need to quiet himself with what proclivities for abnegation mark a man who makes weight to make money, and made himself, according to my peers in the BWAA, boxing’s very best broadcaster in 2013.

When I spoke to Malignaggi last month, the usable material of our interview didn’t exceed five minutes – still plenty – but we spoke for 47 in the sort of meandering way social creatures do, unscripted, vulnerable, free to differ in good faith, and it caused me to conclude our conversation by imparting an anecdote well-suited to close this column.

In 2008 I had the good fortune of exercising in the same L.A. Boxing gym in which cruiserweight contender B.J. Flores trained. Flores shares much of Malignaggi’s garrulousness, but where Malignaggi’s upbringing, New York, liberates him to disagree with a man even if he doesn’t dislike him, Flores’ Midwestern upbringing makes him more likely to be agreeable, and this makes his commentary, at times, vibrate with the low-growling hum of salesmanship. Both, though, are men who, unlike their peers, could have succeeded in fields where intellectual merit civilly delivered composed their essential parts. Apropos of a recent Malignaggi outburst – Texas judging maybe? – I told Flores in concise a way as I could muster I did not like anything about Paulie Malignaggi, and the following interaction resulted.

B.J.: Have you ever met Paulie?
Bart: No.
B.J.: You need to meet him.
Bart: Why would I need to do that?
B.J.: It’s impossible to meet Paulie and not like him. He’s a good man. Meet him.

It took seven years to prove, but I’m happy to say Flores was right. Congratulations to Paulie Malignaggi on winning the 2013 Sam Taub award for Excellence in Broadcast Journalism.

Bart Barry can be reached via bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

Polls can be as reliable as scorecards. About as scientific, too. That’s why it’s hard to know what to make of Floyd Mayweather Jr.’s question to fans about his next opponent.

Marcos Maidana?

Or Amir Khan?

From this corner, Khan still looks like Mayweather’s likely foe on May 3 no matter what the poll says. The only numbers that seem to matter are summed up by Mayweather’s nickname, Money. Follow it and you can get a pretty good look at what Mayweather is attempting. Against Britain’s Khan, Mayweather has a shot at a share of the UK’s big pay-per-view potential. Against Argentina’s Maidana, he doesn’t.

That’s a theory anyway. On second thought, however, perhaps it’s too simple. Mayweather is a gambler only at Vegas’ sports books. As a boxer, he’s careful about whom he fights and when he fights. He manages the risk, which helps explain his longevity and maybe his unbeaten record, 45-0 and counting.

The Maidana-or-Khan poll is the result of an argument that emerged after Maidana’s beat-down of Mayweather wannabe Adrien Broner in December. Then, there was already public discontent about whether Khan deserved the opportunity. He has won twice, yet struggled since Danny Garcia upset him. In April, he had to get up from a fourth-round knockdown for a narrow decision over Julio Diaz. Maidana, who lost to Khan in the 2010 Fight of the Year, has done more to stake his claim. Fair enough, but this is boxing. Fair is often an illusion, if not an artful feint.

Few give Khan a chance against Mayweather. Yet despite his vulnerable chin and recent struggles, he still possesses fast hands and agile feet. Mayweather has been at his dominant best against foes he has called flat-footed. Can it be a coincidence that Robert Guerrero and Canelo Alvarez were the first two opponents on his rich Showtime contract? He called them flat-footed and he proved it with dominant victories over both.

No matter what you think of Khan, he’s not flat-footed. Add his fast hands, and Mayweather could have a problem, at least for a while. It’s simple as that old line about styles. They make fights. Few understand that quite as thoroughly as Mayweather.

The risk against Khan might look slim, but it’s bigger than the one Mayweather would face against Maidana. The Argentine has heavy-hands, but they land in a predictable, almost plodding way. Put Maidana in a foot race with Canelo and Guerrero, and you’ve got a dead heat.

Mayweather figures to beat either Maidana or Khan. But if it’s Maidana, he limits the risk. Doesn’t he always?

The poll gives him a chance to pass off the responsibility. Madiana was the poll’s early leader. Let’s assume it finishes with Maidana as the pick. If somebody accuses Mayweather of taking an easier fight in Maidana, he can simply say that he’s only giving fans what they want.

For the moment, let’s assume that Khan is Mayweather’s opponent, regardless of the poll. Then, it could become another example of Mayweather’s gamesmanship. Khan, who said weeks ago that he already has signed to fight Mayweather, appears as nervous as a politician fearful of losing an election.

Within hours of learning that Maidana was leading the poll, Khan was on Twitter, saying:

“Mayweather says he needs a easy fight and fans want to see a knock out so maybe thats the reason he doesn’t want fight me n wants Maidana ??”

“for those that hate me & think FM can KO me, then let’s see him try. Fight me! #SkillvSkill SpeedvSpeed.”

No matter what happens in this poll, the only winner is the guy conducting it.

The meaningful part of American welterweight “Vicious” Victor Ortiz’s odd career ended Thursday night in an off-Broadway show with an off-Broadway opponent, about seven miles off Broadway, when Ortiz’s vicious tendencies got him corkscrewed in the blue mat of Brooklyn’s Barclays Center by a second-round right hook from Brooklyn southpaw Luis Collazo, while Ortiz’s own late-arriving right hook was still arriving. It was an ending sad in its own goofy, unpredictable way.

It was not a symmetrical close to a career that has made little sense over the years, but it was a close just the same – for a welterweight titlist does not need a Fight of the Year to best Andre Berto, go winless for the next three years, get his mouth wired shut by a junior welterweight, and then get penanced by Luis Collazo, without his empire needs erecting outside the fight game.

Ortiz was once the brightest prospect in the brightest stable in boxing; he shared top billing with Juan Manuel Lopez seven years ago on a ShoBox card in Phoenix’s Dodge Theater, a card whose photos were accompanied by a caption that read “Top Rank’s New 1-2 Punch.” Lopez, a man later described as a “world class dissipater” by someone who’d know, had a comparatively fulfilling career, despite shortening it with hard living, while Ortiz got himself alternately remembered for telling Staples Center he did not deserve to get beat up, getting his lights vengefully cut by Floyd Mayweather, getting his jaw broken by Josesito Lopez, and getting his face lubed while dancing with the stars.

Ortiz inadvertently leaped, Julio Cesar Chavez Jr.-like, from a dear place in aficionados’ hearts to a ridiculous one. He should not have said what he did to HBO’s viewers after finagling his way out a 2009 match with Argentine Marcos Maidana, telling them that, comfortable as he was with prizefighting’s rewards, he did not approve of its risks, but he never recanted, remaining defiantly defiant about it with those whose ticket and pay-per-view purchases enriched him, saying recently as March: “Sorry I’m not sorry.”

He speared Floyd Mayweather a couple years after losing to Maidana then kept apologizing till Mayweather punched him to make him stop, scoring for “Money May” a second knockout since 2005, and leading to a historic conference call in which an as-yet-unrehabilitated Oscar De La Hoya endeavored to out-crazy Ortiz’s loony then-manager, Rolando Arellano, while Ortiz, a transplanted-Kansan surfer, played the dude-of-reason before a disbelieving press corps, a member of which would live-tweet the call was “the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.” Nine months after that debacle, Ortiz auditioned for a chance to make a superstar of Mexican Saul Alvarez, returning to Staples Center, where he never failed to draw, for a match with a four-loss 140-pounder named “Josesito.” Lopez broke Ortiz’s jaw and led him to a hospital-bed revelation about building the “Vicious” brand away from boxing, with a 1-2 combo of celebrity dancing and skincare endorsement.

That was the last time I spoke with Victor. It was a 27-minute phone interview for a 500-word magazine piece about his pending appearance on “Dancing with the Stars” – an interview noteworthy for several reasons, the most of which was its promptness and courteousness. Ortiz’s small management team scheduled an early morning phone call, replying to an initial inquiry almost immediately, and Ortiz not only answered the call on its first ring but did so after doing roadwork without a fight on his 2013 calendar. Ortiz was not merely honest in the sincere way we tell celebrities we want them – “real” being the catchall modifier so prized by kids these days – but lucid, friendly and eloquent.

I mentioned, by way of introduction, a weighin-day bus ride he and I shared to Alamodome in 2007, and he cheerily recalled our conversation and his opponent’s name, before imparting the 20-year-old kid I’d sat beside that afternoon in San Antonio would likely be “disappointed” in his career, though supportively so: “He’d probably be like, ‘Hey man, you’re doing all right for yourself.’”

He sure wasn’t doing all right for himself Thursday at Barclays Center across from Luis Collazo, a man able to stop Ortiz (29-4-2) quicker than any opponent since Collazo stopped Richard Heath (1-1) nine years ago. Perhaps that does not set the hands on the Collazo clock properly as this will: In September, fighting in a San Antonio dancehall bullring, Collazo won a 10-round decision over someone named Alan Sanchez that was so aesthetically displeasing a 20-year boxing columnist on press row not only called it “one of the five worst fights I’ve covered” but felt strongly enough about the matter to impart this very judgment to Collazo himself, who, despite being covered nearly to the centimeter with tattoos, still affected sheepishness in a reply treating his quality of opposition.

Both men in that exchange, as it happened, were right. Collazo proved quite capable of excitement against Ortiz, reminding viewers of the excellent spectacle he made with Andre Berto five years ago, round about the time Berto made his first metaphorical appearance on posters that read “Protected Child” – pinups on which the Haitian Olympian remained until Victor Ortiz unpinned him in 2011. Maybe it was symmetrical, in a b-level-irony sort of way, then, Collazo was the man to end his promoter’s hopes of making Ortiz once more Showtime-ready.

It is tempting to treat Ortiz’s career as a cautionary tale, with its initial precociousness, manufactured homeless-in-Kansas narrative, promoter hopping, loopy outbursts and spectacular losses. Such temptations should be foregone, though. Ortiz came in every fight a picture of fitness, gave his version of events publicly in unfiltered a way as possible, and never, not once, made a boring prizefight – or as his 2007 self might have said through his 2013 self: “Hey man, you did all right.”

Bart Barry can be reached via bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

The sport and business of boxing has a way of testing a participant’s resolve and determination. No matter what angle or level of involvement one has in the sport, ups and downs simply come with the territory. For this reason perhaps, the fraternity of real boxing people is such a small group. Andy Nance, a former amateur standout and professional contender-turned matchmaker and manager, is one of those real boxing people. Successful at every level, Nance still hit the inevitable roadblocks and dead ends that face anyone that stays in this sport long enough. Through it all, Nance remained driven and unwavering and looks to have one of his biggest years in the sport yet.

Despite his great success as an amateur boxer, where he compiled a 118-17 record, Nance had no designs on turning professional. The young Marin County, California fighter had one square focus as he moved up the unpaid ranks. “I wanted to go to the Olympics in 1980, but that didn’t happen so I had decided to pretty much stop boxing,” recalls Nance. “When I was younger, all I ever wanted to do was go to the Olympics. I didn’t think about going pro. I just figured I would go to the Olympics and then go to school and then go to work. So I stopped boxing and was going to college and working, but then I started to miss boxing.”

Had it not been for the inquiry of prospective boxing managers Joe and Marv Pheffer one day at Nance’s place of business, a lifelong career in boxing may never have got off the ground. “These guys came into the restaurant where I was working and talked to me about wanting to manage me and asked if I had any interest in turning pro,” remembers Nance. “I told them at the time I wasn’t interested, but they did give me their number. Not long after that I called them back and told them I had changed my mind and I was interested in turning pro.”

The Pheffers became two parts of a quartet that managed Nance as part of the company LMJ. Though Nance was their first charge, LMJ sagely moved Nance to an 11-0 record within a year of turning pro in May 1982. The group would manage Nance his entire pro career. “I was the first fighter that they ever managed and they just did a great job, especially for never having managed a fighter before, or even really being in boxing,” says Nance. “They were boxing fans, but they had never been in the boxing business. So for never having done anything like that before and basically getting me to the point where I was going to fight for a world title, they just did a tremendous job.”

Nance plugged away, fighting mostly in his home area with the occasional appearances in Reno and Oregon, before getting the call to fight on national television on short notice in February 1984. “Gene Hatcher pulled out of a fight, scheduled to be a ten-round main event on ESPN,” says Nance. “I took the fight [with Hector Sifuentes at the Showboat Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada] on like ten days’ notice. I won by a tenth-round knockout and got offered a contract by Top Rank right after that.”

Winning a fight on ESPN was a game-changer for the rising pro, who had become a hometown celebrity of sorts, on several fronts. “It was a big turning point in my career, because of the national recognition,” says Nance. “It changed things for my managers too, because now they were getting contacted by people and getting the offers instead of looking around. I remember going to the [Golden State] Warriors game a week later and so many people were coming up to me at the arena. I didn’t realize how many people were watching, but I was getting recognized. So it changed things all around.”

By late 1986, Nance was in prime position to land a shot at a world title. Nance had put together a long unbeaten streak since his one pro loss years prior, including a big third-round stoppage in a local mega fight with fellow once-beaten Bay Area native Mitchell Julien, which took place at the Circle Star Theatre in San Carlos with the California State Light Welterweight title Nance had claimed a year earlier on the line and a decision victory over recently dethroned former world champion Lonnie Smith in his last two bouts of the year.

IBF Light Welterweight titleholder Joe Manley was scheduled to defend his recently claimed belt against unbeaten Terry Marsh in Basildon, Essex, United Kingdom in March 1987. If the favored Marsh claimed the title, which he ultimately did, Nance was scheduled to be his first defense that June in London, England. Unfortunately, Nance opted to take a fight the same day as the Manley-Marsh clash that would turn out to be his last. “I took what I thought was a tune-up fight with a guy Kelly Koble to defend my State title,” recalls Nance. “That was the fight I got injured and never got my opportunity to fight for the world title.”

Nance, who was hit while he was down in the second round, ended up winning that fight with Koble via ninth-round stoppage, but a severe concussion he suffered during the contest would be the end of his fighting career. No trip to England and no title shot.

“At the time it was devastating,” laments Nance. “I had pretty much sacrificed my whole life to get to that point. Once I made the decision to turn pro, the goal was to win a world title. I trained very, very hard every day. I ran every day, rain or shine. 100 percent dedicated to training. I was lost and I just didn’t know what I was going to do. My whole goal was to win a world title and it was devastating. But it is just like anything else, you move on because you have to.”

Just as when his dream of making the U.S. Olympic squad ended, Nance soon found other avenues to pursue in the sport of boxing. Within months after his career-ending injury, Nance was in the gym training fighters, some of whom he would eventually manage. During the mid-‘90s the former fighter was also involved in co-promoting a series of events before he fell into what would become his main focus.

“In 2007, I had a guy Daniel Castillo that was going to fight on the undercard of Vernon Forrest and Carlos Baldomir in Tacoma, Washington and right before I went up there John Beninati, the matchmaker for Gary Shaw, called and asked if I could help him make a fight to replace one of the ones that fell out at the last minute,” recalls Nance. “When I got up there, he asked me if I liked doing that and I told him I did. He told me, ‘Call me on Monday, I have three or four more fights I can give you and you can help me make.’ And that’s how it started.”

In short order, Nance would become one of the most active and respected matchmakers in boxing. Nance, like every other fighter, had to make sacrifices to pursue his fighting career. In order to pursue a career in matchmaking, Nance again made some sacrifices as he pursued a career that kept him in the sport that he loves. “I fell in and started matchmaking full-time almost immediately,” recalls Nance. “I had a real estate license from 1987-2007. I got my license and sold real estate for twenty years. I was making good money in real estate, six figures a year, but it wasn’t something that really interested me. It wasn’t my passion, but the boxing I loved. So I took a huge pay cut, and luckily I had some money saved, so I was able to make ends meet.”

Nance is one of the few prolific matchmakers that actually had a career inside the squared circle, something that benefits him as he looks to put together the right fights. “You really understand what’s going on as a former fighter,” says Nance. “I can talk very intelligently, especially to the boxers or trainers, with my perspective of being an ex-fighter. Also, I get a really good feeling of how a fight is going to go based on my knowledge of boxing. It is so much different being an ex-fighter as opposed to not being an ex-fighter. Honestly, I don’t know how some people do it. I think some are winging it a lot. For me, I use my experience as an ex-fighter daily as a matchmaker.”

In addition to the matchmaking, Nance also manages a handful of fighters at various stages of their careers. Among the fighters on his roster are tough luck veteran light heavyweight Paul Vasquez, veteran heavyweight Danny Batchelder, durable journeyman light heavyweight Billy Bailey, rugged featherweight Christian Cartier, as well as comebacking cruiserweight Joe Gumina, who he co-manages.

Nance also helms the career of former national amateur standout heavyweight LaRon Mitchell of San Francisco, California. Mitchell narrowly missed making the U.S. Olympic Team in 2012, due to a controversial loss at the Trials and some politicking in its aftermath. Nance has helped guide Mitchell to an unblemished 3-0 record, with all three wins coming by way of stoppage. Nance hopes to secure a promotional pact with Thompson Boxing Promotions and already has Mitchell signed to fight in the Bay Area for the first time on April 5th.

Nance is involved with another boxing venture, as he has joined up with King Sports, an upstart promotional company. “King Sports is an up-and-coming promotional company that I believe one day can be the biggest promotional company in boxing, period,” Nance claims. “They are signing top-level fighters and putting their fighters in real fights. They are not babying their fighters. When they sign a fighter, all his soft fights and tune-ups, they’re done. From now on, you are in a real fight and you are going to earn your money and we are going to move you. You have got to be a real fighter to fight for King Sports. You are going to have to fight real fights against real fighters to fight for King Sports.”

With everything he has lined up and in the works, Nance hopes to have one of his best years yet in the sport. “I’m looking have a big year in 2014, for both myself and the fighters I work with,” says Nance.

Andy Nance is one of those people in the sport that can honestly say they eat and sleep boxing. It took drive and determination as a young fighter to get to the doorstep of a world championship. Today Nance is just as passionate about the sport he loved as an 18-year-old. The world title may come one day through one of the fighters he represents, but even if it does not, Nance’s story is one that proves that there is a way around almost any roadblock and success can be found in the field you love if you are willing to work hard and sacrifice to make it happen.

Title Photo by Erik Killin

Mario Ortega Jr. can be reached at Mario@OrtegaBoxing.com or on Twitter @MarioG280

Rematches can be predictable remakes, or tiresome redundancies, or just unnecessary. But Manny Pacquiao-Timothy Bradley is none of the above. It had to happen.

In some ways, April 12 is more of a resumption than a rematch of Bradley’s rancorous split-decision over Pacquiao on June 9, 2012. Once the controversy subsided to a dull roar, only questions were left in the debris. If this were business as usual, there would be no answers and only the futility that surrounds the never-never land of a Pacquiao-Floyd Mayweather Jr. possibility.

But Pacquiao and Bradley will pick up where they left off in the same MGM Grand ring where their first chapter ended in what ranks as boxing’s noisiest controversy during the Twitter era.

Economics and a collection of dwindling options probably had more to do with the agreement than anything. Robert Guerrero’s name popped up as a Pacquiao possibility, but Bob Arum quickly dismissed that one.

If Arum hopes to re-affirm Pacquaio as a pay-per-view star after a reported audience of 475,000-to-500,000 bought his victory in China over Brandon Rios, he needed an attraction. Guerrero would have been a tune-up, another Rios. But a rematch with Bradley represents compelling drama with stage and story already in place.

It’s a dangerous fight, especially for Pacquiao. Most of the momentum appears to be with Bradley. In announcing the rematch, Arum called Bradley a different guy. In the public eye, he is. He underwent a remarkable transformation in the months since he was unfairly portrayed as a villain for the scorecards that gave him the debatable decision over Pacquiao.

He displayed courage in beating former Pacquiao sparring partner Ruslan Provodnikov in the 2013 Fight of the Year. Then, there was his poise and patience in outworking Juan Manuel Marquez, whose one-handed stoppage of Pacquiao in December 2012 put him face down and face-to-face with doubts the Filipino has yet to knock out. He looked good in scoring a decision over Rios in November. Only against Bradley, however, can he really prove he’s still the whirlwind we remember.

There’s plenty of uncertainty about whether he can. Indications are that Pacquaio will be about 7-4 favorite. At opening bell in 2012, he was favored 4 ½-to-1. If the speed and angles employed by Pacquaio in the first fight are still there, Bradley is in trouble. At least, that’s the theory.

But a couple of things happened in 2012 . Bradley suffered injuries to both ankles then. He showed up at the post-fight news conference in a wheel chair. In a sport that has seen it all, there’s no record of the winner ever addressing the media while confined to a wheel chair.

It’s fair to assume that Bradley’s ankles will hold up this time around. What happens then? Bradley without limits on his mobility has a much better chance in what figures to be another close fight.

Meanwhile, close fights have become a Bradley trademark, if not identity. He’s won each of his last three by narrow decision – Pacquiao and Marquez by split and Provodnikov by one point on two cards and three on the third. Debate the scoring all you want, but they add up to a resiliency. The unbeaten Bradley finds a way. He’s a survivor, which means he won’t waste a second chance.

Pacquiao’s motivation is no secret. He has a right to think he was robbed in 2012. He’s anxious to correct the record, to claim what should have been his all long. That’s an intangible, yet powerful. Still, it’s hard to get a good read on just who Pacquiao is these days. There’s been plenty of evidence he has lost some speed and power. To wit: The Pacquaio of old would have stopped Rios within five rounds.

There’s also talk about money problems and reports about tax issues. Who really knows? But know this: Pacquiao could have told Arum to put a hold on Bradley. He could have demanded Guerrero in a dull, yet safe step that might have kept alive talk about Mayweather, who started his Showtime contract with tune-up victory over Guerrero.

Pacquiao’s contract with Arum is set to expire at the end of 2014. Could Arum have said no? Pacquiao apparently listened to Arum. In terms of the bottom line, Bradley makes sense. In terms of Pacquaio’s career, there was no other choice. He had to pick Bradley if he wanted the public to take him seriously. But it’s very dangerous. So know this too:

Pacquiao has a history of agreeing to perilous rematches. He gave Marquez three extra chances when he really didn’t have to. The third chance proved devastating. But it was also fair and fearless, just two more elements in a series that has it all and begs for more.

NEW JERSEY (January 28, 2014) – Gary Shaw Productions lightweight contender Rustam Nugaev (26-6-1, 16 KOs), who is ranked WBA # 3, WBC # 7 and IBF # 9, is issuing a challenge to WBO Jr. Lightweight champion Mikey Garcia (34-0, 28 KOs), if the Oxnard, California based fighter were to move up to the Lightweight division.

“If you move up to 135 you need to go through me, a real fighter,” said Nugaev. “Not Gamboa who will run the entire fight. If you want a fight, then fight me…if you want to bore the fans on HBO, fight Gamboa. Just like you, I’m a warrior with a lot of heart, who wants to put on a great show for the fans. Let’s make it happen. ”

In 2013, Nugaev made big strides in his career, going undefeated in four bouts winning them all by knockout. Promoter Gary Shaw believes his fighter is on the brink of greatness.

“Since returning to the U.S. from Russia in 2013, Nugaev has been unstoppable,” said Gary Shaw. “No one has been able to withstand his aggressive come forward style. He’s the type of fighter everyone loves to see because he is all action.”

“A fight with Mikey Garcia, who I believe is one of the best pound for pound fighters in boxing, and Nugaev, would be sensational. If Garcia moves up to 135, HBO should consider making this a main event. This would be one hell of a fight for the fans.”

Saturday in the little room at Madison Square Garden, Oxnard’s Mikey Garcia made another admirably professional showing, this time in the super featherweight division, against another wholly outmatched opponent, this time in the form of Mexican Juan Carlos “Miniburgos” Burgos, on HBO – a network quite supportive of Garcia. This match readied the table for a war in the summertime between Garcia, a technically flawless counterpuncher, and the Cuban chloroform dispenser named Yuriorkis Gamboa.

We’ve been here before, haven’t we? HBO is aflutter with the possibility of matching an undefeated marquee name from the Top Rank stable with the fantastically flawed but still undefeated Gamboa, a prizefighter whom the network has been building for some while now with enthusiasm irregular as Gamboa’s chin. It was four years ago, nearly to the day, on Jan. 23, 2010, that HBO’s “Boxing After Dark” program featured Gamboa on the same card as undefeated Puerto Rican Juan Manuel Lopez. Gamboa laid waste to Rogers Mtagwa, who’d brought “Juanma” within a sip of drowning in the deep waters of their title match four months prior, Lopez retired Steven Luevano, and HBO aroused its viewership with overtures of Gamboa-Lopez in the very near future.

Bob Arum, head of Top Rank, promoter of both men, addressed HBO’s anxious viewership thusly: “I know what people want, and they can go f–k themselves.”

Lopez and Gamboa continued to circle one another, recycling opponents. Then in March 2011, Gamboa solicited from poor Jorge Solis a concession no one, certainly not Manny Pacquiao, hit hard as Gamboa. The moment was ripe for Lopez-Gamboa to not-happen for a second year. What suspenseful bleating the non-event was about to incite, though, got muted 21 days later when Lopez got flattened by Orlando Salido and all thoughts of what Arum anticipated would be “the biggest featherweight fight of all time” instead moved inexorably toward a day when, in an attempt to make Gamboa’s 2012 match with someone named Michael Farenas enticing, rapper-cum-promoter Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson would chant unevenly over background vocals while being lowered from Top Rank’s video apparatus above an MGM Grand ring erected for what became Juan Manuel Marquez’s razing of Manny Pacquiao and Top Rank’s 2013 top line.

Since a Lopez fight with Gamboa by then made no sense, especially not after Juanma again got stopped in his 2012 rematch with Salido, Top Rank seasoned Lopez for a feeding to Mikey Garcia – a young fighter already supplanting his temperamental stablemate, Nonito Donaire, as the future of Top Rank, even before the flashy Filipino got undressed by a Cuban named Guillermo Rigondeaux who is much, much better than his fellow islander Gamboa. This brought things limping to Dallas in June where Juanma took the scale on a makeshift dais in American Airlines Center’s concourse and looked a perfect 125 1/4-pound feast for Garcia.

Ah, but Mikey’d been doing some off-menu grazing and missed the match’s contracted weight by a clean two pounds. For once Arum was sincerely irate. He sat silently in the middle seat of the first row of chairs, shoulders hunched and so tight – as John Updike once put it – if you’d have tapped him he’d have rung like a gong. One of Top Rank TV’s microphoned models filmed Father’s Day greetings onstage while Garcia ostensibly tried to make weight, and when she misread Arum’s first refusal to say something mirthfully paternal to her network’s viewers and asked again, she got a reply whose words and temperature were akin to Arum’s January 2010 greetings to HBO viewers.

Garcia came back a couple hours later, dry as he’d left, signed a piece of paper and left again. Arum announced the main event cancelled, and like that, much sheen came off the Garcia bust. Mikey stretched Juanma in four the following night – the fight back on! – then stopped Roman Martinez in Corpus Christi five months later.

Garcia is no longer held in the esteem he was previously, which is neither unfair nor particularly tragic, as more than a few aficionados looked askance at the bizarre stoppage of his fight against Orlando Salido a year ago – when the fight was called-off and sent cardsward because Mikey’s nose was broken, an occurrence more common in prizefights than goals in soccer games. Saturday’s dull decision over “Miniburgos,” now 0-1-2 in his last 18 months, did little to restore Garcia’s luster.

Enter Gamboa. There probably could not be a better opponent for Top Rank’s Garcia-restoration purposes than “El Ciclon de Guantanamo” – a guy with no discernible defense, reflexes not quite quick as he thinks they are, and hours of titillating knockout-reel footage for HBO’s documentarians to mine. By the time “Countdown to ‘Gamboa’s Guantanamo: Extraordinary Rendition’” completes its fifth replay and opening bell rings, casual fans, glancing with anticipatory horror through partially covered eyes, will be both admiring and surprised Little Mikey was courageous enough even to toe the line for a second round. And when Garcia starches Gamboa in the later rounds – and likely not late as we think – when he finishes a job most of Gamboa’s recent opponents have started, we’ll have little choice but to admit Garcia is what we secretly hoped he was, and begin accusing Floyd Mayweather Jr. of ducking him.

The serious folks in the room, meanwhile, will bite our tongues, knowing contemporary boxing could still do much worse for its face than Mikey Garcia.

Bart Barry can be reached at bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

Richard Sherman’s controversial interview with Erin Andrews after Seattle’s NFL playoff victory over San Francisco is being interpreted and analyzed more often than the Gettysburg Address. Much of the ongoing discussion leads to Muhammad Ali.

Please, can everybody just leave the Ali comparison in the spit bucket.

I suspect Sherman would if he could and that’s a compelling reason to like the Seahawks cornerback. He admires Ali. In Ali’s time, there was a personal price for what he said. In Sherman’s time, there might be an endorsement.

A few days after the heated comments about 49ers receiver Michael Crabtree, Sherman told reporters that Ali was confronted by circumstances “100 times crazier” than anything surrounding today’s generation of athletes.

The big difference – one forgotten amid today’s attention on mere words and only words – is that the true measure of Ali was in what he did. Yeah, he said a lot, a hell of a lot. But it was always what he did, whether it was his opposition to Viet Nam or his rematch victory over Joe Frazier. There are as many Ali imitators today as there are Elvis impersonators. But they’re cheap knock-offs, more outrage than substance.

Over the years, Ali has become the father of trash talk. I’m not sure it’s a title he ever sought. But it’s his and it always will be. Nevertheless, words were just part of the game for Ali. He used them like an artful feint and mostly before a fight in an attempt to rattle, unsettle and even intimidate an opponent before stepping into harm’s way.

His words were often cruel, especially when directed at Frazier. Ali portrayed him as an Uncle Tom. There was a racial edge and Frazier never forgave him for it. But much of what Ali said was tempered by how he said it. Look at the video. Look at his playful eyes. Listen to his sing-song tone. He was having fun with the pre-fight byplay that has been heard in boxing for as long as there’s been an opening bell.

Compare those moments to what we saw from Sherman. There was a scowl on his face, anger in his eyes and a threat in his tone. It was like watching road rage.

As it unfolded, I didn’t think of Ali. I thought of Floyd Mayweather Jr. and his infamous outburst at Larry Merchant after his controversial stoppage of Victor Ortiz in September 2011. Merchant, now retired from his HBO role as a ringside analyst, asked about the timing of Mayweather’s punches, which landed when Ortiz was looking at referee Joe Cortez. Merchant called the punches a legal cheap shot. Mayweather erupted, telling Merchant he didn’t know bleep about boxing and that HBO should fire him.

Merchant’s response was classic old-school.

“I wish I was 50 years younger and I would kick your ass,’’ Merchant told Mayweather.

If only Merchant had been there instead of Andrews. Sherman’s rant might have ended then and there, saving us all from an Ali comparison that just doesn’t work.

SAN ANTONIO – Thursday, Mexican “Son of the Legend” Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. strode across the Alamodome stage to a podium that would conceal, for once, a fairly lean version of Junior, a version of him that surprisingly looked within 20 pounds of his next match’s contracted fighting weight, six weeks out, a match that will be a rematch with Austin’s Bryan Vera, a man who likely deserved a better result than what he received in September and will more than likely deserve better than the savage beating he collects March 1.

“And thank you, Texas,” Chavez said in accented English, to close. “Because this my home too.”

Chavez appeared chastened. Years back, Argentine Sergio Martinez, incensed his WBC belt was unfastened from his waste and bestowed upon Chavez by the late Jose Sulaiman – a man ever more beloved in Mexico, for codifying the country’s importance in prizefighting, than in the United States – arrived at a postfight press conference in Houston after Chavez beat up and beat down Peter Manfredo who, personably enough, indulged bystanders’ curious requests to hear him say “fugettaboutit” after he was stopped and announced a stop to his career (a retirement that lasted, stereotypically enough, nary a twelvemonth), to challenge Chavez in his finest hour, and Martinez was uncharacteristically dismissive too. He asked rhetorically if he wouldn’t knock Chavez out easily. At the time it seemed quite probable.

Fewer than 10 months later, Chavez nearly ended Martinez’s reign as a world champion, coming preposterously close to becoming the linear middleweight champion, affixing himself to a bloodline of Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Carlos Monzon and Sugar Ray Robinson and Harry Greb, in a fight that changed both men, shortening Martinez’s career and the lucid years of Chavez’s life. Lost in the justifiable contempt aficionados reserve for Chavez is any consideration for the consequences of the sustained whupping he took from Martinez’s fists, and the incredible number of punches he took square and unmolested to his cranium – each punch nearly the force of what single blow put Paul Williams prostrate on a blue mat in Atlantic City.

Chavez wishes to be taken seriously, by himself and others, one hears from men who should know, and certainly should know better if it is not so – men who’ve seen, fallen victim to, or perpetrated, every hustle yet known in our beloved sport. Chavez does take boxing seriously, they say. If this is so, and again some suspension of disbelief is required, he may now be suffering from a combination of genetics and a damaged brain.

Boxing has rarely come upon a more naturally unsympathetic figure than Chavez; Adrien Broner and Floyd Mayweather, of course, have as large a percentage of attendees at their matches cheering their demise, yes, but those men worked hard to cultivate odious public personalities, and those men, too, remain for the most part popular within their own ethnicity. Chavez, conversely, now holds a unique place in boxing’s landscape as a man who, through no overt effort of his own – through no detectable effort of any kind, one might say – has transformed an entire ethnic enclave, Mexican-American, from a default sort of projected affection, the son of my hero is my friend, to another thing entirely. Chavez is aware of this even without his father reminds him, though Chavez Sr. appears the kind of dad who might be willing to grunt just such a suggestion to a filial epigone like Junior, privately.

Senior’s popularity has a variety of sources, but an occasionally overlooked one is historical: Mexico collapsed in an epic sort of way in 1994 – and such a collapse injured cruelly a proud and surprisingly innocent country, one whose residents, when called upon by their government to help La Patria recover its economic footing, sent gifts and sundries varied as live chickens to Mexico City – and for the next number of years, Chavez Sr. was, as one Mexican journalist put it at what became Chavez Sr.’s final fight, “the only thing that went right for us.” Junior was a part of that Mexico more than Americans, and most Mexicans, care to realize.

Watch the ringwalk that preceded Chavez Sr.’s worst professional moment to that point, his official draw in 1993 with Pernell “Sweat Pea” Whitaker, a singular boxer whom shot commentator Ferdie Pacheco continued to call “Peewee” through the pay-per-view broadcast. Who sits atop one of the entourage’s shoulders, looking down on his father while the legend sings along to the Mexican national anthem before a record-setting crowd in this city’s then-four-month-old Alamodome? It is Junior’s unmistakable chubby-cheeked visage one sees, a face portending a lifetime of weight struggles regardless of profession, spreading tentatively beneath a red headband like his dad’s.

“Son of the Legend” has been part of boxing his entire life, the number of those memories a fair auditor would call euphoric barely outnumbering those classifiable as euphoria’s opposite, and he understands, as Freddie Roach recognized in the first week as his trainer, “the geometry of the ring.” He probably believes he beat Bryan Vera in September, potshotting him the way Sergio Martinez amassed a lopsided lead on Chavez himself the year before, and knowing, as television didn’t show, Chavez’s punches were many times harder and flusher than Vera’s. He also knows how many people hold him in contempt and knows he now deserves it in a way he probably did not before. He is much better than Bryan Vera, and if he is motivated and conditioned – and again, he appeared reasonably trim Thursday – he may put a tragic type of beating on Vera, who for all his activity, is not nearly strong or elusive enough to dissuade Chavez in an emergency.

For once Texas should not worry about judges but ringside medical officials willing to intervene if Vera’s corner comports itself too courageously on March 1.

Bart Barry can be reached via bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com

ATLANTIC CITY (JANUARY 19, 2014)–Anthony Caramanno, born and bred in Staten Island, is the only Italian-American to ever win 3 NY Daily News Golden Gloves Championships. After proving his worth in the east coast’s premiere amateur tournament, the 23 year old super-bantamweight is ready to step into the paid ranks, making his pro debut Saturday, January 25th at the Golden Nugget Atlantic City against Bethlehem, Pa’s Michael Varela (0-0).

The fight can be seen LIVE all over the world on www.pandafeed.tv for just $9.99

Portions of the PPV proceeds will go to KO Children’s Malnutrition

KO Children’s Malnutrition will be represented by star of the Real Housewives of New Jersey Rosie Pierri.

To lean more about KO Children’s Malnutrition, Click: Here

Affable and humble, Caramanno was kind enough to answer questions about his background an boxing aspirations.

Q. First of can you tell us a little about yourself:

Caramanno: “I have lived on Staten Island my whole life. It’s a tight-knit community and was a great place to grow up. I went to Farrell High School and also studied business at the College of Staten Island. I played other sports like baseball as a kid, but it seemed like everybody else kept growing and I stayed the same size in my early teens. That’s one of the reasons I took up boxing when I was 14, because boxing has weight divisions.”

Q. You mentioned how Staten Island is a tight knit community. How has that helped you in the amateurs and what do you expect that will translate to your pro career.

Caramanno: “I had so much support in the Golden Gloves from friends and family. They were all in the stands making tons of noise and I really think that pushed me and may have even intimidated my opponents a little. I think that will carry over into the pros. I’ve got about 300 people making the trip down to Atlantic City to watch me.”

Q. Who are your favorite fighters to watch.

Caramanno: Floyd Mayweather Jr. is my absolute favorite. I think my style and his are similar. I try to be patient and look for counters like he does. Also, being Italian-American, I gotta show love for Paulie Malinaggi and his slick style.”

Q. Staten Island has a boxing tradition as strong as any of the 5 Boroughs, but despite the talent of guys like Johnny “Thunder” Vanderosa, “Kid” Gary Strak Jr. and Kevin Rooney, SI has never produced a world boxing champion in any weight class. Do you think you will be the first fighter from your home town to reach that pinnacle?

Caramano: ” I hope to, but my good friend 2012 US Olympian Marcus Browne (8-0), 7 KOs) got a head start on me. If he’s the first, with the help of my my father and my father and trainer, Tommy, I will defiantly be the second. I am proud to be a part of Final Forum Promotions . I believe Sal Musumeci will be able to help realize that dream”

Presented by Sal Musumeci’s Final Forum Promotions, Caramanno vs. Varela is part of a eight bout card headlinded by an 8 round heavyweight match up between Brooklyn’s Derric “El Leon” Rossy (28-7, 14 KOs) and Philadelphia’s Joey “Polish Thunder” Dawejko (8-3, 3 KOs).

In the co-feature, undefeated Heavyweight knockout artist Natu Visinia will take on Jon Bolden of New York City in a scheduled six round bout

Also featured will be undefeated New Jersey prospects: Gabriel Pham of Atlantic City (5-0, 2 KOs), Dave Valykeo of Neptune (3-0), and Ismael “Tito” Garcia (5-0, 3KOs) of Vineland. With former Ecuadorian Olympic heavyweight Yltako Perea and Isiah Seldon (7-1), son of former WBA heavyweight champ Bruce Seldon, rounding out this action packed night of boxing in separate bouts.

Tickets for this outstanding evening of boxing go on sale Friday, January 10th and are $125 for Ringside, $75 for reserved and $50 for general admission. VIP Tables are available and all tickets can be purchased by going to www.ticketmaster.com

Q & A written by Eugene Sirota

DOVER, Del. (Jan. 17, 2014) — Dover Downs Hotel & Casino with Champ’s Management announce a championship boxing event on Friday, Feb. 21, in the Rollins Center® at 7 p.m. The headline bout features welterweight “The New” Ray Robinson, of Philadelphia, Pa., fighting for the NABO title. His opponent is yet to be determined.

The undercard features Cornelius Lock, Joey Tiberi, Anthony Miller, John Bowman, David Murray, Milton Santiago, Kyrone Davis (debut).

Tickets are on sale now for $45 – $200 and may be purchased by calling VIP Services at 800-711-5882 or visiting doverdowns.com. Event, times and card are subject to change or cancellation without notice.