The Way of the Jackal: Reflections on Rigondeaux-Donaire

Published

7 years ago

April 15, 2013

When Nonito Donaire left his corner to face Guillermo “El Chacal” Rigondeaux at the first bell, he took two steps forward and spread his legs. That was the first hint as to what he was in for. The Boxing Writers Association of America’s 2012 Fighter of the Year fought more like John “the Beast” Mugabi than the celebrated boxer-puncher he is. In failing to apply an intelligent strategy or a sustained attack, he was undone. The Jr. Featherweight throne, which is set above the belts and the nonsense by the Transnational Boxing Rankings Board, has been seized by a master counterpuncher.

That wide stance you saw Donaire assume in round one indicated primitive thinking. When Mugabi tried to seize the throne of Marvelous Marvin Hagler back in 1986, Mugabi stood pat as if to say “move me.” Hagler, his bald head steaming under Vegas lights, moved him.

Rigondeaux moved.

Standing a little over 5’4 and sporting a professional record shorter than that (Rigondeaux was 11-0 at fight time), he made the best argument yet for long apprenticeships in the amateur ranks (his amateur record is reportedly 243-4). He is a future participant in the best parade in boxing, a parade led by supreme stylists Joe Gans and Jack Britton, by Willie Pep and Pernell Whitaker, where banners flap in the wind and declare that the alpha asset in the ring is skill; and the more advanced it is, the better.

Their fan base is smaller than the bloodthirsty, balcony-busting Dempsey/Gatti crowd, but more urbane. Gil Clancy, the late Hall of Fame trainer and expert analyst for both Showtime and HBO was among them. His commentary during the Hagler-Mugabi broadcast can shine a light on Saturday night and reveal just how it was that Rigondeaux defeated Donaire.

“Marvin is moving the way he should move, he has to constantly move to his right and use that jab —make Mugabi reach for him.”
Hagler’s right jab was designed to stunt Mugabi’s offense. Rigondeaux’s jab was used more as a distraction. He shot it out like he was shadow boxing, at times tapping Donaire’s glove like an amateur taps an opponent’s headgear for points. Its purpose was to entice a counter from Donaire to counter that counter just so. In round four, he half-extended his jab like an old-school fighter from the 1900s. That was also an enticement.

Rigondeaux, a southpaw like Hagler, did not move to his right as Clancy would have expected. He moved to his left, though with a purpose. He knows to move to his right and has in previous bouts against orthodox fighters, but he made a tactical adjustment against Donaire. Why? Gil Clancy has the answer.

“We always say a left hook is the way to beat a southpaw, and Mugabi’s got a vicious left hook.”
Donaire’s own vicious left hook sent Jorge Arce into an electric boogie. Rigondeaux was aware of the danger enough to break with tradition. More concerned about Donaire’s left hook than his right hand; he moved to his left to circle away from it. He didn’t do it without thumbing his nose now and then: In the first round he shifted to his left, and as he went, he landed a right hook. Donaire’s counter left hook fizzled behind him.

Rigondeaux also changed directions, suddenly and just as easily, to his right. In a laudable demonstration of boxing improv, he slid to his right off a right hook. (It is the same principle a certain writer uses when climbing out of his Camaro. He swings a leg to the pavement, places an elbow at the egress, spins out, and hopes no one notices.) When Donaire tried to counter the right hook with a left hook, Rigondeaux would merely dip his head under it while sliding away.

“…Mugabi is allowing Hagler to move the way he wants to move.”
Donaire was allowing Rigondeaux to move the way he wanted to move. He waited like a stationary bike in a bedroom, like a monument to fizzled intentions. What was he waiting for? Donaire, a natural counterpuncher like Rigondeaux, was waiting for a mistake to capitalize on. He got a sum total of one. When Rigondeaux got tangled up with him in the tenth round, he stood square long enough for Donaire to wing a left that knocked him off balance and to the canvas. But then, even Michelangelo got paint in his eyes during his own exertions.

Rigondeaux was allowed the freedom to experiment during the bout. In the first round, he fought on a dime at mid-range to find counters and send messages. Those one-twos were warnings about what was coming if Donaire got fresh. By the second round, he had moved outside, specifically, just off the perimeter (i.e., just out of reach), to set bait with dummy jabs and loose hooks. Donaire was constantly forced to turn and reset. He was mesmerized by mobility and wary with the memory of an overhand left that landed in the first round. His beastly posture remained, even if he was tamed.

“It’s the pattern of the fight that counts…”
Rigondeaux finished the fight as if he had just finished a brisk walk in Central Park. Except for two significant punches landed by Donaire —both of them unorthodox and therefore not detected by advanced radar— Rigondeaux emerged unscathed. This demands a closer look.

How did a man with a preference for fighting off the back-foot tame a beast? Despite his own sense of being wronged by elements far beyond boxing, Rigondeaux does not fight with the righteous rage that motivated Marvin Hagler. Where Hagler was willing, Rigondeaux is not. “He seen me still smiling,” Hagler said about a Mugabi blast. “I like that kind of stuff. I love a good fight.” Rigondeaux fights like someone suffering from chiraptophobia, and yet managed to convince Donaire that his aggression would be punished.

Rigondeaux’s offense was triggered by Donaire feints and posturing as much as by his assaults. When Donaire thought he saw a bull’s eye, Rigondeaux would read his intentions and respond. In rounds four and six, Donaire found it within him to mount an attack, though was surprised when Rigondeaux finished the exchanges with an exclamation point. There was something else that surprised Donaire: Rigondeaux’s defensive aptitude was actually elevated during heated exchanges. The pattern was almost invariable: Under fire, Rigondeaux grits his teeth. He gets low, feints a shot with one hand while moving in to shoot his other hand, and then dips his head as he slides off to a safe angle. Donaire could only miss, absorb a shot flush to the face, and then miss again.

With his left hook neutralized early and his head bouncing backwards by counter shots designed to teach him a lesson, Donaire began acting in a way that a behaviorist might call learned helplessness. He seemed to believe the counterpuncher in front of him was doing him a favor by remaining in a defensive posture, by sparing him from Hagler-like ferocity. And in a gesture of appreciation, he ignored his corner’s pleas to pressure Rigondeaux. He willingly lost eleven of twelve rounds because the jackal was not worth provoking. The jackal had broken his spirit.

It was an anti-climactic championship bout—the kind that brings groans from the Dempsey-Gatti crowd— but it was, said Rigondeaux, an exhibition of skill for “the people who know boxing”; like Gil Clancy.

As for the vanquished, he called the new king’s performance “…beautiful…”

______________________________________

Springs Toledo can be contacted at scalinatella@hotmail.com.

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Springs Toledo

Re-visiting the Walker Law of 1920 which Transformed Boxing

Published

9 hours ago

March 27, 2020

Arne K. Lang

Re-Visiting-the-Walker-Law-of-1920-Which-Transformed-Boxing

One hundred years ago this week, on March 24, 1920, a boxing reform bill sponsored by Sen. James J. Walker passed the New York State Senate. The bill ultimately became law and its provisions came to be adopted by law-makers in other states, bringing some uniformity to the most anarchic of the mainstream sports. And what better time to re-visit this transformative legislation than now, the centennial?

Prizfighting was an outlaw sport in the Empire State until 1896 when the legislature passed the Horton Law which allowed bouts up to 25 rounds with five-ounce gloves in buildings owned or leased by a chartered athletic club. New York was a beehive of world class boxing during the days of the Horton Law, but the hubbub was short-lived. A spate of fixed fights and ring fatalities sparked a cry for reform and the law was repealed in 1900.

The Lewis Law, which supplanted the Horton Law, reduced the maximum number of rounds from 25 to 10 and stipulated that no decision would be rendered. The Lewis Law also restricted patronage to members of the athletic club sponsoring the event.

The Frawley Law of 1911 re-opened the fights to the general public but otherwise left the provisions of the Lewis Law pretty much intact. The most important fight in New York during the Frawley Law days was Jess Willard’s defense of his world heavyweight title against Frank Moran at Madison Square Garden in 1916. The fight went the distance, the full 10 rounds, and Willard had the best of it although you wouldn’t know that from the official decision as there was none.

During the last years of the nineteen-teens, several boxing reform bills were presented to the New York legislature. In fact, the Walker Bill was one of four that was taken under consideration. When it finally came to pass, the no-decision rule had been struck down by a 1919 amendment to the Frawley Law that gave the referee the authority to designate the winner.

A key feature of the Walker Law was that everyone involved in a boxing match — from the lowliest spit-bucket carrier to the promoter — had to be licensed. This included managers, matchmakers, referees, judges, ring doctors; even the ring announcer. The licensees were accountable to the boxing commission, a panel appointed by the governor. The commission had the power to approve matches, assign the officials, and establish and collect fees.

The Walker Law approved matches up to 15 rounds and allowed official decisions. Two judges would determine the winner and if they disagreed, the referee would act as the tie-breaker.

Previous laws allowed prizefighting under the guise of sparring exhibitions. The Walker Law made no distinction and this took the police out of the equation. Historically, it was the Sheriff’s responsibility to determine if a bout should be stopped because it had become too one-sided; too brutal. And if, pray tell, one of the contestants died as a result of blows received, his opponent and his opponent’s chief second and perhaps others would be arrested and charged with manslaughter.

Under the Walker Law, the decision of whether to stop a match rested with the referee or the ring physician or the highest-ranking boxing official at ringside. A boxer could now fight full bore without worrying that he could be charged with a crime.

After passing the Senate, the Walker Law passed the Assembly by a margin of 91-46. It was signed into law by Gov. Al Smith on May 24, 1920 and took effect on Sept.1. This ignited a great flurry of boxing in the Empire State. By March of 1924, the state had licensed 6,123 boxers.

The Walker Law became the template that lawmakers in other jurisdictions followed when they introduced their own boxing bills. Cynics would have it that the most attractive feature of the Walker Law to those that embraced it was the tax imposed on gate receipts. In New York under the guidelines of the Walker Law, it was 5 percent.

This wasn’t too far off the mark. The drive to legalize boxing picked up steam in the Depression when state coffers were depleted and new sources of revenue were needed to cushion the fallout. By 1934, boxing was legal in every state in the union, but not in every county. Nowhere was the Walker Law adopted word for word – every politician had to put his own little spin on it, tweaking this and that – but the map of boxing, from an organizational standpoint, became less disjointed.

For the record, the first boxing show under the imprimatur of the Walker Law was held on Sept. 17, 1920 at Madison Square Garden. Joe Welling fought Johnny Dundee in the featured bout. It was the eighth meeting between the veteran lightweights. Welling won a unanimous decision, which is to say that both judges gave the bout to him (their scores were not made known). Ten weeks later, after two intervening bouts, Welling returned to Madison Square Garden to face lightweight champion Benny Leonard. This would go into the books as the first title fight under the Walker Law. Welling was stopped in the 14^th round.

James J. “Jimmy” Walker spent 15 years in Albany, the first four as an Assemblyman, but would be best remembered as New York City’s flamboyant Jazz Age mayor. He served two terms, defeating his opponents in landslides, but was forced to resign before his second term expired, leaving office in disgrace. In January of 1941, at the third annual dinner of the Boxing Writers Association, Walker was honored for his “long and meritorious service” to the sport and in 1992 he would be enshrined in the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

Walker (pictured) was a fascinating man, the big city version, in many respects, of Louisiana’s colorful Huey “Kingfish” Long. In a future article, we’ll peel back the layers and take a closer look at the man who did so much to popularize boxing.

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Think you know boxing? Then Man Up and Take Our New Trivia Test

Published

2 days ago

March 26, 2020

Arne K. Lang

Thin-you-know-boxing?-Then-Man-Up-and-Take-Our-New Trivia-Test

Beneath his salty exterior, Roger Mayweather had the soul of a scholar when the subject turned to the history of boxing. We suspect that Mayweather, who left us on March 17, would have fared pretty well on this 15-question multiple-choice trivia quiz and we dedicate it to him.

All good trivia tests should have a connecting thread. Here the common theme is “places,” more exactly U.S. cities and towns.

This isn’t an easy quiz. We have too much respect for our readers to dumb it down. Get more than half right and give yourself a passing grade. Twelve or more correct answers and proceed to the head of the class.

Here’s the catch: To find the correct answers, you need to go to our FORUM (Click Here). There this trivia test will repeat with the correct answers caboosed to the final question.

In 1970, Muhammad Ali returned to the ring after a 43-month absence to fight Jerry Quarry in this city:

(a) Miami

(b) Atlanta

(d) Landover, Maryland

Rocky Kansas and Frank Erne, recent inductees into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in the Old-Timer category, were products of this city:

(a) Buffalo

(b) Hartford

(d) Portland, Maine

The July 1, 1931 match between heavyweight title-holder Max Schmeling and Young Stribling was the icebreaker event in the largest stadium ever built to house a baseball team. What city?

(a) Detroit

(b) Cleveland

(d) Milwaukee

Jake LaMotta was from the Bronx, but he acquired his most avid following in this city where he lifted the world middleweight title from Marcel Cerdan.

(a) Detroit

(b) Chicago

(d) Syracuse

5. Jess Willard was called the Pottawatomie Giant because he hailed from Pottawatomie County. What state?

(a) Oklahoma

(b) Kansas

(d) West Virginia

There is a statue of former welterweight champion Young Corbett III, born Raffaele Giordano, in this California city.

(a) Oakland

(b) Bakersfield

(d) Fresno

Elected to the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 2011, this iron-chinned bantamweight was stopped only once in 163 documented fights. Fill in the blank:

______ Pal Moore.

(a) Laredo

(b) Memphis

(d) Pasadena

More of the same. Fill in the blank.

(a) George Lavigne, the ______ Kid Boston

(b) Jack Johnson, the ______ Giant Joplin

(d) Jack Sharkey, the _______ Gob Galveston

9. In the 1930s, there was a second Madison Square Garden in this southwestern city. Future light heavyweight champion John Henry Lewis had several of his early fights here:

(a) Albuquerque

(b) El Paso

(d) Phoenix

Match the fighter with his nickname.

(a) Max Baer (1) Astoria Assassin

(b) Paul Berlenbach (2) Fargo Express

(d) Bud Taylor (4) Terre Haute Terror

Match these boxers with the city with which they are associated.

(a) Fritzie Zivic and Charley Burley (1) San Francisco

(b) Johnny Coulon and Ernie Terrell (2) New Orleans

(d) Pete Herman and Willie Pastrano (4) Pittsburgh

12. The first great prizefight in Nevada, pitting James J. Corbett against Bob Fitzsimmons, was held here:

a. Goldfield

b. Carson City

c. Reno

d. Las Vegas

13. On March 28, 1991, Sugar Ray Leonard headlined a boxing show at the new Carrier Dome in Syracuse, NY. Who was his opponent?

(a) Larry Bonds

(b) Wilfred Benitez

(d) Floyd Mayweather Sr.

Match these Hall of Fame boxing writers with the city in which they spent the bulk of their newspaper careers:

(a) Jack Fiske (1) New York

(b) Michael Katz (2) Philadelphia

(d) Bernard Fernandez (4) Newark

Match these Hall of Fame boxing promoters with the city that served as their headquarters:

(a) Herman Taylor (1) Boston

(b) Rip Valenti (2) Philadelphia

(d) George Parnassus (4) Honolulu

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A Chain of Fistic Violence in Southern California in the ‘70s

Published

2 days ago

March 25, 2020

Ted Sares

A-Chain-of-Fistic-Violence-in-Southern-California-in-the-'70s

The decade of the 1970’s was a great one for boxing and the Southern California scene was especially a hotbed. Throw a dart and you’d come up with a fan-friendly sizzler at the Inglewood Forum, the Olympic Auditorium, the Convention Center in Anaheim or even the Valley Music Theater in Woodland Hills. Throw that same dart at the following fighters and you would land on fighters who made the West Coast scene a special one.

Men like Danny “Little Red “ Lopez, the star-crossed Bobby “Schoolboy” Chacon, Jose Napoles, the legendary Ruben Olivares, the underrated Ernie “Indian Red” Lopez, Armando Muniz, Rafael Herrera (who beat the great Olivares twice), Carlos Palomino (who made one of the greatest comebacks in boxing history), Carlos Zarate, Art Hafey, Shig Fukuyama (who had that one big moment against “Little Red” in 1974), Octavio Gomez, Rudy Robles, Frankie Baltazar (who practically lived in the Olympic where he had 31 of his 43 career bouts), and Alberto Sandoval who had 37 of his 38 career fights in the Olympic Auditorium!

Many of the above were world champions; six are in the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

The following fights are representative of this super exciting and very violent time:

Chacon vs. Olivares (June 1973)

This one was at the Forum in Ingleside, California and the Associated Press report said it best:

“Former world bantamweight champion Ruben Olivares of Mexico ruined the perfect record of local featherweight hero Bobby Chacon, scoring a 9th round knockout. Chacon, 126, appeared strong in the first two rounds, but Olivares dramatically changed the complexion of the fight in the 3rd and didn’t lose another round. Olivares, 125 3/4, knocked Chacon down with a straight right in the first ten seconds of the 9th and then pounded the San Fernando fighter unmercifully for the remainder of the round. During the intermission, Chacon’s manager, Joe Ponce, asked referee Dick Young to stop the fight, which had been scheduled for 12 rounds and for the NABF featherweight title.”

The pin-point exchanges in the ninth were non-stop and raised the bar for ring malice; it was legal assault and battery.

The two met twice more.

In June, 1975, Olivares met Chacón who was then the WBC’s world featherweight champion. Olivares won the fight by savage stoppage in round two and became a world champion for the fourth time.

The trilogy ended in August 1977 when Chacon won a UD at the Forum.

However, the equally adored Olivares dominated the bantamweights and retired with a record of 89-13-3 with an astonishing 79 wins coming by knockout.

Lopez vs. Chacon (May 1974)

Danny “Little Red” Lopez was 23-0 when he faced off with Bobby Chacon (then 23-1) at the Sports Arena in Los Angeles in front of 16,000 screaming fans. Both fighters personified excitement; in fact, Little Red was a “Gatti before Gatti” as he often would come back in dramatic fashion to snatch victory from certain defeat.

As for drama both inside and outside the ring, no one ever topped Chacon. His career against the toughest opposition imaginable included historic fights against Cornelius Boza- Edwards and four thrillers against Bazooka Limon against whom he was 2-1-1. His name was synonymous with “Fight of the Year” but so was Danny’s. He was all heart and all action; you had to staple him down to the canvas if you wanted to keep him down. His only loss prior to the Lopez fight was against the aforementioned Ruben Olivares (71-3-1 at the time).

LA Times sportswriter Steve Springer recalled that fight in a story that ran in the Times on April 28, 1995:

“In the early rounds of that memorable night in 1974, both fighters absorbed and delivered a terrifying amount of punishment. If not for the breaks between rounds, there would have been no time to breathe. But by the end of the fourth round, having seen and survived the best Lopez had to offer, Chacon took command…Chacon maneuvered Lopez into the ropes. Lopez dropped his hands and Chacon moved in for the kill. But referee John Thomas stepped in and ended it.”

It was not quite malevolence but it was something pretty close. The fans got what they paid for and more. Sadly, Bobby would pay a terrible price, but he kept his sense of humor almost until the end. When questioned about his failing memory, he would smile that smile that would stop you in your tracks and say, “I forgot I forgot.”

Bobby Chacon, like Ruben Olivares, was adored by his fans in a special kind of way.

Lopez vs. O’Grady (February 1976)

There was never a time where I thought I was going to be anything other than a boxer…” – Sean O’Grady

Now it was Danny Lopez’s turn to prevail against the young but talented and undefeated Sean O’Grady who had run up 29 straight wins until he met “Little Red” at the Inglewood Forum. In 1975 alone, the upstart, who turned pro at age 15, fought 26 times with 22 stoppages (but mostly against weak Oklahoma-style opposition which ill-prepared him for the likes of “Little Red” who was honed on Southern California-type opposition).

O’Grady instinctively chose to brawl with the gritty and hard-hitting Lopez rather than use fundamentals and technique and while it was a good fight for as long as it lasted, the youngster absorbed serious punishment prompting his “corner” which was composed of father, manager, mentor and trainer Pat O’Grady to toss in the towel after four rounds, saving Sean for another day.

It would prove to be an extremely wise decision as the youngster would later have great success. O’Grady won the WBA lightweight title in 1981 and finished his career at 81-5 with 70 wins coming by way of stoppage, an eye-popping KO percentage of 81.4 %.

While the 70s were considered the golden age for heavyweights, serious fans and historians know that the smaller men should receive the same level of respect. They also know that Mexico’s bantamweights of the 50s were nothing less than sensational, building the platform for the chain of sizzlers that delighted Southern California fight fans in the 70s.

Ted Sares can be reached at tedsares@roadrunner.com

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