On The Ledge: Patterson, Holyfield, Morales and Lee

Published

11 years ago

July 2, 2014

What draws me to boxing might not be what you think. The easiest way to put it is that the truest forms of beauty lay among simple things, especially those decidedly wonderful and universally admirable qualities like courage, honor and valor.

But I love lots of things about boxing. I love that boxing is simultaneously base and pure. I love that straight punches almost always beat round ones, except when they don’t. I love that both the winner and the loser usually look the same after the finish. I love that that the stakes are so high and the consequences of apathy are so great that a fight can end in a moment’s notice.

What I love most, though, are the fighters in the sport who give everything they have no matter the expected outcome. Whether or not these men happen to be celebrities is irrelevant, because in that one moment, they are simply human beings who pour themselves into a chosen craft without pausing to reflect on what they might receive in return. Where others would retreat, relent or move on, these men move forward.

There is no more lovely place to find this quality than in some of life’s most brutal moments, and it is precisely within the violence of existence that I find the most honorable and noteworthy things present. Such is the case with boxing.

So it was when Floyd Patterson faced Sonny Liston in 1963 for the heavyweight championship of the world, just one year after the mammoth Liston had clubbed the crown right off poor Patterson’s head inside one round. Patterson fought him again anyway, and things didn’t go much better for him the second time. Liston battered Patterson to the canvas again early in the first, only this time it was even faster. The ferocious, bear-like man with the telephone pole jab was just too big, too strong and too skilled for the diminutive Patterson.

Yet, despite all this, Patterson rose to his feet anyway, meeting the menacing Liston head-on like a sea gull diving headfirst into a tidal wave. Down again he went after Liston caught him with short, heavy punches that must have felt like they were made of steel. No matter. Patterson got back up again. He moved forward, racing towards the scariest fighter he had ever encountered, and threw a one-two combination as hard as he could muster.

When the fight was over, Patterson had lasted a total of four seconds longer with Liston than he had the first time around. Some would say the four seconds didn’t matter. I’m not sure I agree.

In 1992, Evander Holyfield lost the heavyweight championship to Riddick Bowe. But Holyfield won another crown that day, one for courage and perseverance. In Round 10, after being shellacked for the better part of the fight by the bigger and stronger man, Bowe did his worst and snapped Holyfield’s head up into the air like a jack-in-the-box. Holyfield was out on his feet. Bowe cracked Holyfield with several more bone-rattling punches, and the champion staggered around the ring like a newborn baby deer, covering up only by instinct.

But that’s when it happened. First, Holyfield shot a right hand out to prove he still had something akin to his wits about him. Next, he was bouncing up and down again as if to say he was ready to get back to work. He was. Holyfield landed another hard right hand, some body punches and two vicious uppercuts to have Bowe finally back off of him. A looping right hand punctuated the moment. Holyfield would ultimately lose the fight but he would win something more important: respect.

In 2012, Erik Morales endured the last moments of his career in a particularly brutal and unkind fashion, especially considering his stature as such an accomplished champion. Seven months after losing a unanimous decision to Danny Garcia, Morales met him again in a rematch but was brutally thrashed inside four rounds.

The first match was competitive, but the second one was just an old-fashioned beating. Morales had no answer for the emboldened Garcia’s speed or power. He went down in Round 4 as if he truly belonged there. But down on the blue canvas something beautiful happened, too. With his head lying slightly askew outside the ropes, his body a heaping mess of aged frailty, faced with insurmountable odds, Morales tried to get up and fight on anyway. Thankfully, his corner stopped it before he could do so, but not before we could see him try.

Finally, Andy Lee went down hard in Round 1 against the brick-fisted John Jackson earlier this year, but the hard luck Irishman quickly rose back to his feet after as if he hadn’t. It didn’t matter. Jackson was too much for Lee on this night. Where Lee looked awkward and unable to time his punches with any sort of rhythm, Jackson was powerful, confident and at ease.

But Lee kept fighting anyway. While his counter right hooks and overhand lefts were not finding their intended target, Lee kept on throwing them anyway. The same went for his jab and uppercut. Nothing worked. The rounds passed easily for Jackson. He was surely on his way to the finest win of his young career. All Lee could do in the meantime was his best, and so he did it.

In Round 5, after getting slammed up against the ropes, Lee was hit hard by Jackson and stumbled backwards. Lee was in trouble, but he didn’t give up. He reset his feet and readied himself for whatever was next. Eyes squinting with determination, Lee walloped Jackson with as perfect a right hook as you’ll ever see. As easy as it was up unto that point for Jackson, he went down to the canvas even easier. Despite long odds, Lee had done it. The knockout win came out of nowhere simply because he stuck to it and believed.

These are just a few examples. There are many more.

I didn’t always fight back like that in my life, but I did when it counted most. I remember that moment better than any other in my life. There I was, torn, tattered and frayed by my own hands, shoeless, heartless and hopeless, standing more than 10 stories above the hard concrete ground that would surely have been my end. I wanted to jump. I wanted my life to be over.

I didn’t remember how or why things had gotten so bad, but I didn’t care anymore. I had been up for more than three days on meth, and I had just eaten a gram more of it in the bathroom of a bus station because I was paranoid and delusional enough to think people were after me.

I was ready to die. I stood across the other side of the barrier, dangling between life and death, held there only by the parts of my feet that fit on the ledge, my heels. My toes hung over, pointing downwards to my destruction. I leaned forward, arms stretched far behind me, only holding onto life by the grips of my fingers.

I wanted to make it easy on me. No one else had. My fingers would give out soon. I wouldn’t have to jump. It would be so much easier. All I needed to do was let go. All I had to do was fall.

My life was nothing then. I had nothing and no one. That’s what I believed anyway. I don’t know. I don’t remember anything but feeling alone and desperate. I remember all the bad things I did to people I loved so I could get more drugs. I remember all the good things I wish I had done but never did. I remember not knowing what to do or say to people anymore. I remember feeling dead inside. I remember not caring anymore about living. I remember feeling helpless and hopeless. I remember feeling like there was no reason to carry on. Life would be better without me.

Let go, Kelsey. That’s what I wanted to do. Just. Let. Go.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’m not sure why. Something or someone told me not to. Was it me? Was it God? I don’t know, but I heard that voice as if someone was standing there on that ledge with me, someone better than me, someone more compassionate and more kind than me, someone who wasn’t afraid to die but wanted to live anyway.

“No. Don’t.”

I don’t know what goes on in a fighter’s mind when things seem so bleak. But, in part, I might know a little more about it than the average person, because I know what went through my mind when I was about to let go of everything. I found it there in that one moment of time, wedged somewhere between the brutality of life and the promise of tomorrow. I didn’t want to see tomorrow until I heard that voice. It was very quiet but came from somewhere deep.

I can’t say for sure, but that has to be something similar to what fighters hear or feel when everything seems so lost. I’ve seen it on some of their faces when things look their worst. It was in Holyfield’s eyes against Bowe. It was what made Patterson rush forward against Liston. It was what fueled Morales when he was trying to climb back to his feet against Garcia. It was what gave Lee reason to believe when everyone else in the world thought he was done.

It’s such a simple thing, but it is so very beautiful. I am not sure where my life will lead, if I’ll end up being as appreciated as men like Patterson, Holyfield, Morales and Lee. But the truth of the matter is that it really doesn’t matter to me. Because the part of these men I admire most has nothing to do with how much applause and adulation they receive for their achievements. In truth, those things mean very little in the end. Everyone loses. Everyone dies. No, the thing I admire most in them, and others in our sport like them, is what they choose to do in their weakest and most fragile moments.

It’s such a simple thing, but oh so very important. Taking the easy way out is never the right choice. That’s why I love boxing. It is because there I can still find moments like that, moments like mine, where the still, small voice who lives deep inside of us whispers what to do when all seems lost and hopeless, when it seems better to just give up and give in.

“No. Don’t.”

And I love to see people listen.

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Kelsey McCarson

“Breadman” Edwards: An Unlikely Boxing Coach with a Panoramic View of the Sport

Published

9 hours ago

May 8, 2025

Arne K. Lang

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Stephen “Breadman” Edwards’ first fighter won a world title. That may be some sort of record.

It’s true. Edwards had never trained a fighter, amateur or pro, before taking on professional novice Julian “J Rock” Williams. On May 11, 2019, Williams wrested the IBF 154-pound world title from Jarrett Hurd. The bout, a lusty skirmish, was in Fairfax, Virginia, near Hurd’s hometown in Maryland, and the previously undefeated Hurd had the crowd in his corner.

In boxing, Stephen Edwards wears two hats. He has a growing reputation as a boxing coach, a hat he will wear on Saturday, May 31, at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas when the two fighters that he currently trains, super middleweight Caleb Plant and middleweight Kyrone Davis, display their wares on a show that will air on Amazon Prime Video. Plant, who needs no introduction, figures to have little trouble with his foe in a match conceived as an appetizer to a showdown with Jermall Charlo. Davis, coming off his career-best win, an upset of previously undefeated Elijah Garcia, is in tough against fast-rising Cuban prospect Yoenli Hernandez, a former world amateur champion.

Edwards’ other hat is that of a journalist. His byline appears at “Boxing Scene” in a column where he answers questions from readers.

It’s an eclectic bag of questions that Breadman addresses, ranging from his thoughts on an upcoming fight to his thoughts on one of the legendary prizefighters of olden days. Boxing fans, more so than fans of any other sport, enjoy hashing over fantasy fights between great fighters of different eras. Breadman is very good at this, which isn’t to suggest that his opinions are gospel, merely that he always has something provocative to add to the discourse. Like all good historians, he recognizes that the best history is revisionist history.

“Fighters are constantly mislabled,” he says. “Everyone talks about Joe Louis’s right hand. But if you study him you see that his left hook is every bit as good as his right hand and it’s more sneaky in terms of shock value when it lands.”

Stephen “Breadman” Edwards was born and raised in Philadelphia. His father died when he was three. His maternal grandfather, a Korean War veteran, filled the void. The man was a big boxing fan and the two would watch the fights together on the family television.

Edwards’ nickname dates to his early teen years when he was one of the best basketball players in his neighborhood. The derivation is the 1975 movie “Cornbread, Earl and Me,” starring Laurence Fishburne in his big screen debut. Future NBA All-Star Jamaal Wilkes, fresh out of UCLA, plays Cornbread, a standout high school basketball player who is mistakenly murdered by the police.

Coming out of high school, Breadman had to choose between an academic scholarship at Temple or an athletic scholarship at nearby Lincoln University. He chose the former, intending to major in criminal justice, but didn’t stay in college long. What followed were a succession of jobs including a stint as a city bus driver. To stay fit, he took to working out at the James Shuler Memorial Gym where he sparred with some of the regulars, but he never boxed competitively.

Over the years, Philadelphia has harbored some great boxing coaches. Among those of recent vintage, the names George Benton, Bouie Fisher, Nazeem Richardson, and Bozy Ennis come quickly to mind. Breadman names Richardson and West Coast trainer Virgil Hunter as the men that have influenced him the most.

We are all a product of our times, so it’s no surprise that the best decade of boxing, in Breadman’s estimation, was the 1980s. This was the era of the “Four Kings” with Sugar Ray Leonard arguably standing tallest.

Breadman was a big fan of Leonard and of Leonard’s three-time rival Roberto Duran. “I once purchased a DVD that had all of Roberto Duran’s title defenses on it,” says Edwards. “This was a back before the days of YouTube.”

But Edwards’ interest in the sport goes back much deeper than the 1980s. He recently weighed in on the “Pittsburgh Windmill” Harry Greb whose legend has grown in recent years to the point that some have come to place him above Sugar Ray Robinson on the list of the greatest of all time.

“Greb was a great fighter with a terrific resume, of that there is no doubt,” says Breadman, “but there is no video of him and no one alive ever saw him fight, so where does this train of thought come from?”

Edwards notes that in Harry Greb’s heyday, he wasn’t talked about in the papers as the best pound-for-pound fighter in the sport. The boxing writers were partial to Benny Leonard who drew comparisons to the venerated Joe Gans.

Among active fighters, Breadman reserves his highest praise for Terence Crawford. “Body punching is a lost art,” he once wrote. “[Crawford] is a great body puncher who starts his knockouts with body punches, but those punches are so subtle they are not fully appreciated.”

If the opening line holds up, Crawford will enter the ring as the underdog when he opposes Canelo Alvarez in September. Crawford, who will enter the ring a few weeks shy of his 38^th birthday, is actually the older fighter, older than Canelo by almost three full years (it doesn’t seem that way since the Mexican redhead has been in the public eye so much longer), and will theoretically be rusty as 13 months will have elapsed since his most recent fight.

Breadman discounts those variables. “Terence is older,” he says, “but has less wear and tear and never looks rusty after a long layoff.” That Crawford will win he has no doubt, an opinion he tweaked after Canelo’s performance against William Scull: “Canelo’s legs are not the same. Bud may even stop him now.”

Edwards has been with Caleb Plant for Plant’s last three fights. Their first collaboration produced a Knockout of the Year candidate. With one ferocious left hook, Plant sent Anthony Dirrell to dreamland. What followed were a 12-round setback to David Benavidez and a ninth-round stoppage of Trevor McCumby.

Breadman keeps a hectic schedule. From Monday through Friday, he’s at the DLX Gym in Las Vegas coaching Caleb Plant and Kyrone Davis. On weekends, he’s back in Philadelphia, checking in on his investment properties and, of greater importance, watching his kids play sports. His 14-year-old daughter and 12-year-old son are standout all-around athletes.

On those long flights, he has plenty of time to turn on his laptop and stream old fights or perhaps work on his next article. That’s assuming he can stay awake.

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Arne’s Almanac: The Good, the Bad, and the (Mostly) Ugly; a Weekend Boxing Recap and More

Published

2 days ago

May 6, 2025

Arne K. Lang

Arne's-Almanac-The-Good-the-Bad-and-the-(mostly)-Ugly-A-Weeend-Boxing-Recap-and-More

Arne’s Almanac: The Good, the Bad, and the (Mostly) Ugly; a Weekend Boxing Recap and More

It’s old news now, but on back-to-back nights on the first weekend of May, there were three fights that finished in the top six snoozefests ever as measured by punch activity. That’s according to CompuBox which has been around for 40 years.

In Times Square, the boxing match between Devin Haney and Jose Carlos Ramirez had the fifth-fewest number of punches thrown, but the main event, Ryan Garcia vs. Rolly Romero, was even more of a snoozefest, landing in third place on this ignoble list.

Those standings would be revised the next night – knocked down a peg when Canelo Alvarez and William Scull combined to throw a historically low 445 punches in their match in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, 152 by the victorious Canelo who at least pressed the action, unlike Scull (pictured) whose effort reminded this reporter of “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” – no, not the movie starring Paul Newman, just the title.

CompuBox numbers, it says here, are best understood as approximations, but no amount of rejiggering can alter the fact that these three fights were stinkers. Making matters worse, these were pay-per-views. If one had bundled the two events, rather than buying each separately, one would have been out $90 bucks.

****

Thankfully, the Sunday card on ESPN from Las Vegas was redemptive. It was just what the sport needed at this moment – entertaining fights to expunge some of the bad odor. In the main go, Naoya Inoue showed why he trails only Shohei Ohtani as the most revered athlete in Japan.

Throughout history, the baby-faced assassin has been a boxing promoter’s dream. It’s no coincidence that down through the ages the most common nickname for a fighter – and by an overwhelming margin — is “Kid.”

And that partly explains Naoya Inoue’s charisma. The guy is 32 years old, but here in America he could pass for 17.

Joey Archer

Joey Archer, who passed away last week at age 87 in Rensselaer, New York, was one of the last links to an era of boxing identified with the nationally televised Friday Night Fights at Madison Square Garden.

Joey Archer

Archer made his debut as an MSG headliner on Feb. 4, 1961, and had 12 more fights at the iconic mid-Manhattan sock palace over the next six years. The final two were world title fights with defending middleweight champion Emile Griffith.

Archer etched his name in the history books in November of 1965 in Pittsburgh where he won a comfortable 10-round decision over Sugar Ray Robinson, sending the greatest fighter of all time into retirement. (At age 45, Robinson was then far past his peak.)

Born and raised in the Bronx, Joey Archer was a cutie; a clever counter-puncher recognized for his defense and ultimately for his granite chin. His style was embedded in his DNA and reinforced by his mentors.

Early in his career, Archer was domiciled in Houston where he was handled by veteran trainer Bill Gore who was then working with world lightweight champion Joe Brown. Gore would ride into the Hall of Fame on the coattails of his most famous fighter, “Will-o’-the Wisp” Willie Pep. If Joey Archer had any thoughts of becoming a banger, Bill Gore would have disabused him of that notion.

In all honesty, Archer’s style would have been box office poison if he had been black. It helped immensely that he was a native New Yorker of Irish stock, albeit the Irish angle didn’t have as much pull as it had several decades earlier. But that observation may not be fair to Archer who was bypassed twice for world title fights after upsetting Hurricane Carter and Dick Tiger.

When he finally caught up with Emile Griffith, the former hat maker wasn’t quite the fighter he had been a few years earlier but Griffith, a two-time Fighter of the Year by The Ring magazine and the BWAA and a future first ballot Hall of Famer, was still a hard nut to crack.

Archer went 30 rounds with Griffith, losing two relatively tight decisions and then, although not quite 30 years old, called it quits. He finished 45-4 with 8 KOs and was reportedly never knocked down, yet alone stopped, while answering the bell for 365 rounds. In retirement, he ran two popular taverns with his older brother Jimmy Archer, a former boxer who was Joey’s trainer and manager late in Joey’s career.

May he rest in peace.

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Bombs Away in Las Vegas where Inoue and Espinoza Scored Smashing Triumphs

Published

4 days ago

May 4, 2025

David A. Avila

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Japan’s Naoya “Monster” Inoue banged it out with Mexico’s Ramon Cardenas, survived an early knockdown and pounded out a stoppage win to retain the undisputed super bantamweight world championship on Sunday.

Japan and Mexico delivered for boxing fans again after American stars failed in back-to-back days.

“By watching tonight’s fight, everyone is well aware that I like to brawl,” Inoue said.

Inoue (30-0, 27 KOs), and Cardenas (26-2, 14 KOs) and his wicked left hook, showed the world and 8,474 fans at T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas that prizefighting is about punching, not running.

After massive exposure for three days of fights that began in New York City, then moved to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia and then to Nevada, it was the casino capital of the world that delivered what most boxing fans appreciate- pure unadulterated action fights.

Monster Inoue immediately went to work as soon as the opening bell rang with a consistent attack on Cardenas, who very few people knew anything about.

One thing promised by Cardenas’ trainer Joel Diaz was that his fighter “can crack.”

Cardenas proved his trainer’s words truthful when he caught Inoue after a short violent exchange with a short left hook and down went the Japanese champion on his back. The crowd was shocked to its toes.

“I was very surprised,” said Inoue about getting dropped. ““In the first round, I felt I had good distance. It got loose in the second round. From then on, I made sure to not take that punch again.”

Inoue had no trouble getting up, but he did have trouble avoiding some of Cardenas massive blows delivered with evil intentions. Though Inoue did not go down again, a look of total astonishment blanketed his face.

A real fight was happening.

Cardenas, who resembles actor Andy Garcia, was never overly aggressive but kept that left hook of his cocked and ready to launch whenever he saw the moment. There were many moments against the hyper-aggressive Inoue.

Both fighters pack power and both looked to find the right moment. But after Inoue was knocked down by the left hook counter, he discovered a way to eliminate that weapon from Cardenas. Still, the Texas-based fighter had a strong right too.

In the sixth round Inoue opened up with one of his lightning combinations responsible for 10 consecutive knockout wins. Cardenas backed against the ropes and Inoue blasted away with blow after blow. Then suddenly, Cardenas turned Inoue around and had him on the ropes as the Mexican fighter unloaded nasty combinations to the body and head. Fans roared their approval.

“I dreamed about fighting in front of thousands of people in Las Vegas,” said Cardenas. “So, I came to give everything.”

Inoue looked a little surprised and had a slight Mona Lisa grin across his face. In the seventh round, the Japanese four-division world champion seemed ready to attack again full force and launched into the round guns blazing. Cardenas tried to catch Inoue again with counter left hooks but Inoue’s combos rained like deadly hail. Four consecutive rights by Inoue blasted Cardenas almost through the ropes. The referee Tom Taylor ruled it a knockdown. Cardenas beat the count and survived the round.

In the eighth round Inoue looked eager to attack and at the bell launched across the ring and unloaded more blows on Cardenas. A barrage of 14 unanswered blows forced the referee to stop the fight at 45 seconds of round eight for a technical knockout win.

“I knew he was tough,” said Inoue. “Boxing is not that easy.”

Espinoza Wins

WBO featherweight titlist Rafael Espinosa (27-0, 23 KOs) uppercut his way to a knockout win over Edward Vazquez (17-3, 4 KOs) in the seventh round.

“I wanted to fight a game fighter to show what I am capable,” said Espinoza.

Espinosa used the leverage of his six-foot, one-inch height to slice uppercuts under the guard of Vazquez. And when the tall Mexican from Guadalajara targeted the body, it was then that the Texas fighter began to wilt. But he never surrendered.

Though he connected against Espinoza in every round, he was not able to slow down the taller fighter and that allowed the Mexican fighter to unleash a 10-punch barrage including four consecutive uppercuts. The referee stopped the fight at 1:47 of the seventh round.

It was Espinoza’s third title defense.

Photo credit: Mikey Williams / Top Rank

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