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TSS CLASSIC: “Corazon”

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MayweatherCotto Hogan 95 The heart of the sport can be seen, immense and healthy, at shows like the one Joe Rein reported on back in 2003.

“Reports of my death are grossly exaggerated,” Mark Twain said… The same’s true of boxing, if you'd seen the army straining to get into the Grand Olympic Auditorium in L.A. for Oscar de La Hoya's “Boxeo de Oro.”

It was only 5 P.M. on a workday and ticket holders were in a ragged line stretching well around Grand Ave. — looked like the Oklahoma land rush just before the gun went off.

These were largely roll-up-your-sleeves guys, from what I could tell, Latino. They'd earned their faces and were in good spirits — with maybe a head start on a drink or two. They knew the niceties of the game, but they came to see guys fight, to see someone bite down and show “Corazon.” Heart….Somebody they could identify with… root for.

When the floodgates opened, the mob poured in, sweeping aside the ticket takers.

It was impossible being jostled along in those narrow, sweating corridors, not to have the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, imagining Enrique Bolonas, Jose Becerra, Ruben Olivares, Mando Ramos and Bobby Chacon battling in this very ring, defining Aztec warrior and the legacy of the Olympic.

Management gave it a new paint job, new seats, but this is the gladiator pit that dates back to the ‘30s…where Al Jolson and “Bugsy” Seigel arrived by limo to sit just a few feet from me to watch “The Brown Bomber” and Henry Armstrong. The reverence was palpable.

Not a bad sight line in the place.

The arena was filling quickly, electricity charging the air and bringing the legends to life.

On the main floor behind the 15-20 rows of ringside seats was a portable bar. “All American beer! No Mexican beer!” shouted the bartender. A curious marketing ploy, considering. It didn't seem to hurt sales; a quick look around confirmed.

It was one large extended family: A reunion of stand-up guys. The badges of the trade marking every beaming face — balcony to ringside. Much backslapping, ribbing, dirty laughter, intros, and lots and lots of beer all ‘round.

They yelled, stamped their feet and pounded the air when the action heated in the ring. A Godzilla-sized promotional bottle of Miller Lite, with a poor soul inside, was being led blind through their midst by a guy with a rope…and threatened to tip over at every step, much to the delight of all.

The only things missing from the “old school” picture were: The smell of cigars and the cloud of smoke that made it all look like film-noir.

The early KO's by the super middleweight Andrade brothers had everybody toasting and the beer flowing.

Librado Andrade, in a ring overrun by press, was bursting with pride accepting the first Miller Lite Golden State Award for the outstanding performance of the evening, for his emphatic KO of Errol Banner.

Watching Andrade clutch that sculpture, being turned in every direction for pictures and interviews, and standing on the bottom strand of the ropes trying to stretch to the balcony to share his excitement with friends from La Habre, it was easy to see, he was going to have no trouble dedicating himself to winning a world title.

Security was having no luck trying to clear revelers out of the aisles. No sooner did a group reluctantly disperse than they re-assembled larger and louder.

Raven-haired Pamela Anderson wannabes with painted-on jeans and as much cleavage as they could engineer trolled ringside endlessly in hopes of catching the eye of some mover-n'-shaker for a taste of the “good life”. The hotties acted offended at the whistles and street remarks, but never failed to retrace their routes.

Some ringsiders slipped their tickets to buddies who scampered down from the cheap seats to claim them over the mezzanine wall when a guard wasn't looking. And then, like cats with cream on their whiskers, nonchalantly flashed the ducats at security and disappeared among the heavy hitters, like children let loose in a candy factory.

The fans got an extra glimpse of skin in the prelims prior to the televised fights. The round-card girls jiggled and waved and threw kisses in Band-Aids and floss that lost the struggle to contain the Jell-O inside. The building rocked in appreciation of the generous scoops of dessert served up on stiletto heels.

The PG-rated TV bouts had the same girls in gym shorts and halters, looking more like an aerobics class. Their more-modest garb drew a collective groan. Spice is what they wanted, not health food.

Fernando Vargas, not the least surly or ill-at-ease at a Golden Boy promotion, lounged at the ring apron in tinted shades and an open silken shirt, basking in adulation all around him.

A hulking figure–standing just off to the side of Vargas– in an oversize football jersey–arms locked across his chest, expressionless, with menacing dark glasses, clocking anything to do with Vargas–was the lone reminder of his recent headlines.

Watching two of Vargas's homies shuttle the adoring to and from him between rounds was damn impressive; it had all the precision of a military operation. One mother gingerly handed Vargas her baby. He cradled it and smiled, while she snapped a picture that might inspire a future ring career.

It looked like the line to sit on Santa's lap at X-Mas in a department store.

Two strikingly beautiful women swathed in Calvin Klein and Armani stole away from their escorts and flirtatiously snuggled-in for a picture with Vargas, who grinned and encircled them with his arms. It was good to be the king.

A smarmy guy in a Hawaiian shirt over a paunch and shoe black on his hair was pressing the flesh of anybody-and-all a few rows from Vargas, showing his barely-teenage stable of fighters in the $250 seats what it would be like when they hit it big. With their Marine haircuts and wide eyes, the young fighters looked like goslings plunked down from another planet.

A Nell Carter look-alike, in a scarlet lamp-shade-of-a-dress and lots of 'tude, invaded a row of celebs and got each one up to pose with her for a picture, handing the camera to whoever was closest. And if the flash didn't go off, she insisted on another. Then she passed around a boxing glove to be signed, instructing each what to write. She just waved off any objection. With her in my corner, I could get a title shot.

When Julio Gonzalez and “Panchito” Bojado were spotted, they both were unfailingly gracious–and genuinely touched–under the onslaught of fans for handshakes, pictures with them, a word or two, or a signed program or a blouse front. Some nearly fell out of the stands just for a touch as they went by.

Bojado circulated all around the arena, always in the center of bodies clawing at him; his posse trying to screen him, as best they could. Eventually, he stood right below me; he looked no more than 16. Like bees to honey, everybody descended on Bojado, climbing over each other and the wall to get to him.

When I asked the guys in front to sit down, I couldn't see, Bojado poked his head through the jam: “I'm terribly sorry for the interruption. I apologize,” and he drew the mob away, like the Pied Piper. Pretty classy. He made a fan out of me.

Just to the left of my aisle seat, a guy looking like he was doing a bad-drunk imitation swayed precariously at the top of the stairs, with beer sloshing out of his cup, about 10 feet above the concrete floor. In what seemed like slow motion, he lost his hold on the railing. I just managed to grab his wrist before he fell, and some others pitched in immediately to pull him back. The drunk's friends were all over me with 'Thanks' in rapid-fire Spanish; their beers punctuated every word. I was sure I was in for a shower.

Bobby Chacon wove his way through the crowd, shaking hands, just a hint unsteady on his pins–oddly small, considering what a giant he was in the ring–with that same signature grin plastered on every sports page when he roared off the streets of Compton to shake the Olympic to the rafters and insure his place in the hearts of these fans. He should have been saluted at center ring; he left so much of himself there.

A fellow in his 20s, next to me, tapped my arm and pointed to Chacon, with the respect reserved for an idol, and went on in Spanish about him. His tone said it all. The guy behind me leaned in, expressing the same sentiments, and offered me some tortilla chips.

The heir apparent to Chacon may be “Mighty” Mike Anchondo; nearly the same size as Chacon, with the same schoolboy good looks, masking a killer instinct and a flare for the dramatic.

Anchondo fought the semi wind-up 10 rounder against Nicaraguan Roque “Rocky” Cassiani (23-4-1), who looked like a mini Marvin Hagler when he doffed his brocaded robe. The similarity ended with the muscles.

Anchondo has 21 fights and 17 KOs, is not tall for a 130-pounder, but he has the mark of a veteran: totally relaxed in the ring; his combinations so fluid they belie the speed and power; and almost on cue, he responds to the urging of the crowd with the kind of vicious salvos that seem over-the-top in a movie.

After some confusion at the end of the 9th round, where it looked like referee James Jen-Kin stepped in to stop it– with Anchondo raining unanswered blows on a helpless Cassiani sagging against the ropes–the ref, inexplicably, allowed it to continue.

It was bedlam before the 10th round. The crowd smelled blood and tore the roof off. They were on their feet, chanting “Mighty Mike! Mighty Mike!” …Anchondo didn't disappoint. At the bell, he attacked and kept firing until the ref called a halt. Then, in unbounded joy, he leaped into the arms of his handlers, who held him aloft while he punched the sky repeatedly, and the building shook.

Cassiani was made to order for Anchondo, with his relentless, one-dimensional, search-n'-destroy mind-set. Cassiani threw with bad intentions, and pressed and pressed, and took it, and took it, and took it…until the ref decided he should take no more. He went out on his shield.

After the Anchondo fight, while the ref was standing against the ropes congratulating Anchondo, a woman producer for HBO shoved the ref aside, yelled something in his face, and yanked Anchondo –literally– across the ring to the color commentator, barking orders to clear the way, and glaring. Roberto Duran couldn't have been more menacing.

Anchondo came back out after changing. He was greeted with the adulation one sees only at the Plaza De Toros after a brave kill.

“Mighty Mike! Mighty Mike!” It was deafening. Anchondo signed and flung gloves with all the strength he could muster to the top of the balcony. The place was in a frenzy. Had some fans not been caught by the ankles at the last moment, they'd have sailed off the balcony diving for a glove.

Some months ago, I was impressed with Anchondo's sparring at the Wild Card Gym, and wanted to interview him, so I looked for an interpreter, without any luck. I approached Anchondo, with some hesitation: “DO…YOU…SPEAK…ANY…ENGLISH? I…DON'T…SPEAK…ANY SPANISH.”

“I don't either,” he said, laughing. “It happens to me all the time.”

He's a very engaging, open-faced, unlikely looking executioner, who connects with the barrio, like Art Aragon used to. Plus, the personality to make him a media favorite. It's about time they start beating the drum for him. He could headline the card and pack the place.

The main-go was won convincingly by Jose Navarro over Jorge Luis “Speedy” Gonzalez, for the IBA Continental Americas junior bantamweight title. Navarro is not what you think of when the image of a Mexican fighter comes to mind: Chango Carmona or “Bazooka” Limon.

Navarro is a well-balanced, unflappable ring technician, who fires from the port side like a surgeon. He keeps sticking broomsticks in your face, and threads the needle up and down– stinging, stinging, stinging, keeping pressure at the end of his long arms. He's an educated boxer, and though he doesn't fire the blood, it's going to take a special fighter to take him out of his game.

Gonzalez was outclassed, but he kept throwing bricks and finally his body, in wave after kamikaze wave against the Gatling gun that was strafing him. Freddie Roach, Gonzalez's trainer, must have told him before the last round: 'Son, you need a knockout!'

At the bell, Gonzalez bolted out at full gallop, flailing and swinging, trying to will himself past those whirring blades to land the one shot that would turn the tide. Gonzalez fell short, but he gave it all of his heart and won the heart of the crowd doing it.

Most walkout bouts are just that. People can't get to their cars fast enough, but quite a few stayed and were treated to a very spirited six-round junior featherweight go that Kahren Harutyunyan won by a split decision over Marinho Gonzalez.

It's not a given that a taller man will out jab a shorter one. Harutyunyan proved that. He looked like he was going to need a ladder to reach Gonzalez, but he always got there first…and often. Though Harutyunyan was the only non-Latino on the card, what few that remained didn't begrudge him his props.

Harutyunyan has been a hard luck fighter, and far better than his record indicates (9-1-3). When he got the nod, most of the Armenian community of Glendale jumped into the ring and danced and embraced him. When he came down the ring steps with a grin as big as he was, the Wild Card regulars showed him how they treated their own.

Spilling out into the downtown night with fathers and sons still animatedly buzzing about the fights in Spanish, my step quickened with the pride of inclusion in this fraternity that spans generations and language. It was no different than the old Garden or St. Nick's; and though boxing is relegated to the back page of the sports section, this invalid still has a lotta life in it. It's all about “Corazon.”

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Avila Perspective, Chap. 278: Clashes of Spring in Phoenix, Las Vegas, and LA

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PHOENIX-It happens every Spring.

Promoters worldwide gather their forces and produce their best fight cards from Europe to the Americas and in Asia.

Beginning Friday, it starts with Top Rank staging a heavy-duty fight card featuring Arizona’s Oscar Valdez and Australia’s Liam Wilson along with a female battle for the undisputed minimumweight championship. ESPN+ will stream the card.

Valdez (31-2, 23 KOs) meets Wilson (13-2, 7 KOs) at the Desert Diamond Arena in Glendale, Arizona on Friday, March 29. Both have a common foe and lost to champion Emanuel Navarrete. Both want a rematch or world title fight.

“I know Liam Wilson. He’s a tough fighter,” said Valdez. I was there when he fought Emanuel Navarrete and he sent him to the canvas.”

Wilson almost defeated the champion and now must face two-division world titlist Valdez in his Arizona backyard.

“The whole world saw what happened. I should have already become world champion,” said Wilson of his fight with Navarrete. “I won the belt that night.”

It’s not to be missed.

In the co-main WBA and WBC titlist Seniesa Estrada (25-0, 9 KOs) and WBO and IBF titlist Yokasta Valle (30-2, 9 KOs) battle for the undisputed minimumweight world championship.

Costa Rica’s Valle has super speed and the ability to change tactics if things don’t go her way as she showed against Argentina’s Evelin Bermudez. She is also one of the most athletically gifted fighters in female boxing with incredible stamina.

“This isn’t personal. I respect her as the champion that she is,” Valle said. “And in the ring, we will see who is the real champion.”

East L.A’s Estrada is perhaps one of the most skilled fighters in the world. She also packs power in her small frame. So far, no one has been able to figure out her fighting style or overcome her quickness. The left hook is her best weapon but she has floored opponents with her right cross as well.

“The talk is over. Its time for us to get in there,” said Estrada. “It’s about showing the world that women’s boxing is here, it’s on the rise, and we are great.”

Las Vegas

Aussie slugger Tim Tszyu (24-0, 17 KOs) can add the WBC to his WBO super welterweight title but must pass through giant Sebastian Fundora (20-1-1, 13 KOs) to accomplish unification. Tszyu was supposed to fight Keith Thurman but injury forced him out of Saturday’s TGB Promotions fight card at T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas.

Last-minute replacements can be a problem.

Fundora is already a problem with his six-inch height advantage. Plus, he’s a southpaw with pop. It’s like pouring sugar into a gas tank for Tszyu.

But he’s a very confident fellow.

“He’s got height but we all bleed the same blood,” Tszyu said at the press conference.

Another world title fight pits WBA super lightweight titlist Rolly Romero (15-1) versus Isaac Cruz (25-2-1) in the semi-main event.

A third world title matches WBA middleweight titlist Erislandy Lara (29-3-3) against Michael Zerafa (31-4).

A fourth world title fight consists of WBC flyweight titlist Julio Cesar Martinez (20-3) fighting Angelino Cordova (18-0-1).

In an eliminator for the WBC super welterweight belt, Serhii Bohachuk (23-1) is now matched against Brian Mendoza (22-3) who replaces Fundora.

It’s a solid fight card that will be shown on PPV.COM with Jim Lampley broadcasting and assisted by Lance Pugmire. They will also be texting the results and interacting with fans. It’s their third boxing show.

Inglewood

Former super middleweight world titlist Gilberto “Zurdo” Ramirez (45-1) is moving up two weight divisions to challenge WBA cruiserweight champion Arsen Goulamirian (27-0, 19 Kos) on Saturday March 30, at the YouTube Theater in Inglewood, Calif. DAZN will stream the Golden Boy Promotions card.

Goulamirian will be making the fifth defense of his title and recently added famed trainer Abel Sanchez to his corner. The former trainer of Gennady Golovkin and Serhii Bohachuk had retired for a few years but returned for the champ.

It’s an interesting match.

Even more interesting was the announcement that Hollywood Park and Golden Boy Promotions signed an agreement beginning this Saturday to work together in bringing boxing events.

“We were the first to host an inaugural combat sports event at YouTube Theater in January 2023, and we couldn’t be more pleased to make history again by being the first to solidify a partnership deal of this magnitude with Hollywood Park,” said Oscar De La Hoya the CEO for Golden Boy Promotions.

It’s an interesting partnership.

One thing the promotion company needs is to add more female fighters to their company to break up the monotony of slow fight cards. It makes sense to add women to the boxing cards. They fight harder and I’ve never seen women fights fail to excite the crowd, whereas I’ve seen plenty of boring men fights on many a promotion.

Bring in female fighters.

When Zurdo fought at the Banc of California two years he brought very few fans compared to the two female fights that same night. The women draw a different crowd and surprise most fans with their energy.

Fights to Watch (all times Pacific Time)

Fri. ESPN+ 3:10 p.m. Oscar Valdez (31-2) vs Liam Wilson (13-2); Seniesa Estrada (25-0) vs Yokasta Valle (30-2).

Sat. DAZN 5 p.m. Gilberto Ramirez (45-1) vs Arsen Goulamirian (27-0).

Sat. PPV.COM 5 p.m. Tim Tszyu (24-0) vs Sebastian Fundora (20-1-1); Rolly Romero (15-1) vs Isaac Cruz (25-2-1); Erislandy Lara (29-3-3) vs Michael Zerafa (31-4); Serhii Bohachuk (23-1) vs Brian Mendoza (22-3).

Photo credit: Mikey Williams / Top Rank via Getty Images

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Results from Detroit where Carrillo, Ergashev and Shishkin Scored KOs

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Results from Detroit where Carrillo, Ergashev and Shishkin Scored KOs

Dmitriy Salita, who began promoting small club fights In Brooklyn at the former U.S. Navy airfield where he had his final pro fight, has found a welcome home in Detroit where he is working hard to resurrect the Motor City as an important fight destination. Although his shows are still low-budget (save for the money he spends on marketing; he uses heavyweight PR firm Swanson Communications), his new arrangement with DAZN can only move him another step up the pecking order.

Tonight, two of the most valuable pieces in his stable – junior lightweight Shohjahon Ergashev and super middleweight Vladimir Shishkin — were in action on Salita’s second show at Detroit’s Watne State University Fieldhouse. However, Salita reserved the main event for one of his newest signees, Juan Carrillo, a light heavyweight who represented Colombia in the 2016 Rio Olympics.

In a battle of southpaws, Carrillo (12-0, 9 KOs) had no difficulty putting away Quinton Randall (21-9-2), a 37-year-old North Carolinian who had scored only five of his 21 wins against opponents with winning records. In the third frame, a big left uppercut put Randall on the canvas. He managed to get to his feet at the count of nine, but was on queer street and the fight was waived off. The official time was 0.27 of round three.

Ergashev

Shohjahon Ergashev, a southpaw from Uzbekistan who purportedly has 2.7 million Instagram followers in his home country, was making his first start since a failed bid to win the IBF 140-pound world title. Ergashev was stopped in the fifth round by Subriel Matias, his first defeat as a pro after opening his career 23-0 with 20 KOs.

Tonight, he got back on the winning track without breaking a sweat. A left hook to the body ended the fight in the opening round. His victim, Juan Antonio Huertas, a 31-year-old Panamanian, entered the fight with a 17-4 record, but was 0-2 on American soil and had been stopped both times.

Shishkin

A 32-year-old Russian who trains at the new Kronk Gym where SugarHill Steward holds forth when he is in town, Vladimir Shishkin entered the contest undefeated (15-0, 9 KOs) and ranked #2 by the IBF. How odd that his fight opened the telecast. Perhaps promoter Salita thought that the fight would be too one-sided and wanted to get it out of the way in a hurry. His opponent Mike Guy, 12-7-1 (5) heading in, had been in with some rough customers but was 43 years old, was inactive in all of 2022 and 2023, and had fought most of his career as a super middleweight.

The fight was one-sided in favor of Shishkin and rather dull until the Russian cracked up the juice in round seven and forced the stoppage.

In the future, we would encourage Dmitriy Salita to take some of that money he has been spending on marketing to find a higher caliber of “B-Side” opponents. The best thing about this show was that it was over in a hurry.

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R.I.P. IBF founder Bob Lee who was Banished from Boxing by the FBI

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“The image some people have of me is disappointing,” said Bob Lee in a 2006 interview, “but I also feel I had a positive impact on the sport…”

Lee, the founder of the International Boxing Federation who died yesterday (Sunday, March 24) at age 91, spoke those words to Philadelphia Daily News boxing writer Bernard Fernandez who was the first person to interview him when he emerged from a federal prison in 2006. Lee served 22 months on charges that included racketeering, money laundering, and tax evasion.

Born and raised in northern New Jersey and a lifelong resident of the Garden State, Lee, a former police detective, founded the International Boxing Federation (henceforth IBF) in 1983 after a failed bid to win the presidency of the World Boxing Association. At the time, there were only two relevant sanctioning bodies, the WBA, then headquartered in Venezuela, and the WBC, headquartered in Mexico. Both organizations were charged with favoring boxers from Spanish-speaking countries in their ratings at the expense of boxers from the United States.

Bob Lee’s brainchild, whose stated mission was to rectify that injustice, achieved instant credibility when Marvin Hagler and Larry Holmes turned their back on the established organizations. Hagler’s 1983 bout with Wilford Scypion and Holmes’ 1984 match with Bonecrusher Smith were world title fights sanctioned exclusively by the IBF, the last of the three extant organizations to do away with 15-round title fights.

Lee’s world was rocked in November of 1999 when a federal grand jury handed down an indictment that accused him and three IBF officials, including his son Robert W. “Robby” Lee Jr., of taking bribes from promoters and managers in return for higher rankings. The FBI, after a two-year investigation, concluded that $338,000 was paid over a 13-year period by individuals representing 23 boxers.

The government’s key witness was C. Douglas Beavers, the longtime chairman of the IBF ratings committee who wore a wire as a government informant in return for immunity and provided video-tape evidence of a $5000 payout in a seedy Virginia motel room. Promoters Bob Arum and Cedric Kushner both testified that they gave the IBF $100,000 to get the organization’s seal of approval for a match between heavyweight champion George Foreman and Axel Schulz (Arum asserted that he paid the money through a middleman, Stan Hoffman). In return, the IBF gave Schulz a “special exemption” to its rules, allowing the German to bypass Michael Moorer who had a rematch clause that would never be honored. (In a sworn deposition, Big George testified that he had no knowledge of any kickback).

After a long-drawn-out trial that consumed four months including 15 days of jury deliberations, Bob Lee was acquitted on all but six of 32 counts. His son, charged with nine counts, was acquitted on all nine. The jury simply did not trust the veracity of many that testified for the prosecution. (No surprise there; after all, they were boxing people.) But neither did the jury buy into the argument that whatever money Lee received was in the form of gifts and gratuities, a common business practice.

The IBF was run by a court-appointed overseer from January of 2000 until the fall of 2003. Under its current head, Daryl Peoples, who came up from the ranks, assuming the presidency in 2010, the IBF has stayed out of the crosshairs of federal prosecutors.

As part of his sentence, Bob Lee was prohibited from having any further dealings with boxing and that would have included buying a ticket to sit in the cheap seats at a boxing card. This was adding insult to injury as Lee’s passion for boxing ran deep. As a boy working as a caddy at a New Jersey golf course, he had met Joe Louis and Sugar Ray Robinson, two of the proudest moments of his life.

As for his contributions to the sport, Lee had this to say in his post-prison talk with Bernard Fernandez: “We instituted the 168-pound [super middleweight] weight class. We took measures to reduce the incidence of eye injuries in boxing. We changed the weigh-in from the day of the fight to the day before, which prevented fighters from entering the ring so dehydrated that they were putting themselves at risk. All these things, and more, were tremendously beneficial to boxing. I’m very proud of all that we accomplished.”

Bob Lee was a tough old bird. Diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes in 1986, he was insulin-dependent for much of his adult life and yet he lived into his nineties. Although his coloration as a shakedown artist is a stain that will never go away, many people will tell you that, on balance, he was a good man whose lapses ought not define him.

That’s not for us to judge. We send our condolences to his loved ones. May he rest in peace.

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