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“Jack Demsey’s”
New York. Late Friday afternoon I was walking along West 33rd Street thinking about how Bryant Jennings should fight Wlad Klitschko when I did a double-take. One of those dime-a-dozen joints in Midtown Manhattan has a name that still packs the proverbial wallop. “Jack Demsey’s” it said.
—It takes a blink or two before you realize the “p” is missing. Jack Dempsey’s Restaurant, the real thing, used to be at 1619 Broadway. For thirty-six years (1938-1974), “The Manassa Mauler” greeted patrons, posed for Polaroids, and startled newcomers with a voice that was nothing like the growl they’d expected. “Hiya pal” he’d chirp, but when his oversized hand clasped yours, you knew.
Those oversized hands earned him another moniker in his day —“Jack the Giant Killer.” Despite standing a little over six feet and weighing less than a cruiserweight, it took him not one round to land a punch to the solar plexus that left six feet four inches of Carl Morris writhing on the canvas. It took not one round before Fred Fulton’s seconds had to drag all six feet six dead-to-the-world inches of him back to the corner. And then came Jess Willard, boxing’s first super-heavyweight champion. Dempsey greeted him with violence so visceral it remains disturbing to watch even today.
Violence saturates New York City’s history like a blood-soaked towel. From the Sixties into the Nineties when Mayor Rudy Giuliani looked behind crime’s curtain to see all those broken windows that needed repairing, the city was seething and unsafe. In 1969, Dempsey himself was the target of an attempted mugging in Manhattan, but he flattened both of his attackers. He was seventy-four. “I just let ‘em lie there and walked away,” he said.
Things have calmed down since, gotten good even, though visitors find out the hard way that the city’s aggression is innate. It’s along the avenues where countless yellow cabs dart like fireflies night and day; in the pitched-forward posture of drivers leaning on horns and glowering through windshields; on the sardine sidewalks where stopping to tie your shoe can earn you a piledriver with no apology. In NYC, everyone is Dempsey.
Early Saturday evening, I was walking along East 33rd Street toward Madison Square Garden and thinking again about how Bryant Jennings should fight Wlad Klitschko when a loud-type standing on the corner at 7th Avenue almost impaled my shoe with a sirloin steak sign he was thumping on the pavement. “Kleetschko! Kleetschko! Kleetschko!” he said as he cut the air with bargain-bin jabs.
He was spreading the news. Klitschko’s defense of his world heavyweight crown was billed as “The Champion Returns.” That sounded even better after a couple of blinks. See, whenever the Ukrainian giant defends against a Great American Hope, I tend to wonder if Dempsey will show up.
Ukrainians and Ukrainian-Americans showed up in force Saturday night. They filled the Garden’s nosebleed sections and decorated them with a sea of blue and yellow flags. During the preliminaries two zealous fans tried to drape a big one over the partition of the corridor where the fighters walk to the ring. They flung up the far corners like a couple would a picnic blanket in Central Park, but it floated down over a stern-faced cop whose hands flew up in a rage. The couple retreated under his New York glower.
Former champions and celebrities paraded by the cop as the main event got near. Rudy Giuliani showed up too. I turned around and saw Prince Charles Martin, an American heavyweight prospect who broke an Englishman’s nose in a preliminary bout. “How would you fight Klitschko?” I asked him. He thought for a moment and said “I’d box him.” Martin, who throws tricky shots from an upright stance, was shy about details. I suggested he watch the film of Dempsey-Willard and consider it a crash course in giant-toppling.
Jennings’s eyes were wide as he made his way to the ring. I didn’t see fear in them so much as confident awareness. He seemed to be in something of a meditative state. Minutes later the champion appeared with his entourage. His face was a mask of tension. Drenched with sweat, jaw clenched, pupils dilated; it was the face of Kiev or Peski between shellings. To his right a blue and yellow swarm rushed forward to let him know they were there. To his left was press row.
Klitschko’s physical dimensions are eerily close to Jess Willard’s. The only notable physical difference between them is Willard’s wrist, which was two and a half inches bigger than Klitschko’s.
Before the end of the first round I thought Dempsey may have shown up after all. Jennings was showing agility and moving his head. He threw an overhand right from a low crouch, which the grand old champion identified as his favorite stance and one that is “invaluable in fighting bigger men.” In the second round, Jennings was jabbing to the body and twisting his torso when Klitschko threw those telephone poles at him. He went low and sprang into with punches that sent the giant skittering away. In the fourth, he threw a whistling left hook followed by an overhand right that missed by an inch.
By then, Prince Charles Martin was no longer shy about details. He was hollering Dempsey-like directions behind me: “Make him fight! Step right into his space! Don’t wait for him! Fire that right hand!”
Klitschko paused and took a deep breath in the fifth round. His objective is always the same—it’s the same as Ukraine’s. He seeks to control his territory. He jabs, he holds. He fires left hooks and right hands when it’s safe to do so. Unlike Ukraine, if his opponent fires back, he’ll clinch. And if he can’t clinch, he’ll make a fast exit, stage right, and try to reset the momentum. “Controlled panic,” Jennings called it.
Jennings understands the problems presented by the giant. He was more effective than anyone expected in blocking, getting under, and moving around the jab and making Klitschko pay for clinches by banging his flanks. However, he wasn’t banging nearly enough to win more than a few rounds, never mind the heavyweight championship of the world. Martin saw it. “Load that hook up!” he said during the ninth round. “Right hand over the top! Over the top!”
But Dempsey wasn’t at the Garden Saturday night. According to CompuBox, Klitschko’s head absorbed only twenty-six total punches over twelve rounds. (Willard’s head absorbed thirty-six power punches in the first round.)
Bryant Jennings proved aggressive-ready but not willing enough. His low crouch was a pose —like an old photograph in one of those dime-a-dozen joints around Midtown Manhattan— like Jack Demsey’s.
Springs Toledo is the author of The Gods of War: Boxing Essays (Tora, 2014, $25).He can be reached at scalinatella@hotmail.com
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The Challenge of Playing Muhammad Ali
There have been countless dramatizations of Muhammad Ali’s life and more will follow in the years ahead. The most heavily marketed of these so far have been the 1977 movie titled The Greatest starring Ali himself and the 2001 biopic Ali starring Will Smith.
The Greatest was fictionalized. Its saving grace apart from Ali’s presence on screen was the song “The Greatest Love of All” which was written for the film and later popularized by Whitney Houston. Beyond that, the movie was mediocre. “Of all our sports heroes,” Frank Deford wrote, “Ali needs least to be sanitized. But The Greatest is just a big vapid valentine. It took a dive.”
The 2001 film was equally bland but without the saving grace of Ali on camera. “I hated that film,” Spike Lee said. “It wasn’t Ali.” Jerry Izenberg was in accord, complaining, “Will Smith playing Ali was an impersonation, not a performance.”
The latest entry in the Ali registry is a play running this week off-Broadway at the AMT Theater (354 West 45th Street) in Manhattan.
The One: The Life of Muhammad Ali was written by David Serero, who has produced and directed the show in addition to playing the role of Angelo Dundee in the three-man drama. Serero, age 43, was born in Paris, is of Moroccan-French-Jewish heritage, and has excelled professionally as an opera singer (baritone) and actor (stage and screen).
Let’s get the negatives out of the way first. The play is flawed. There are glaring factual inaccuracies in the script that add nothing to the dramatic arc and detract from its credibility.
On the plus side; Zack Bazile (pictured) is exceptionally good as Ali. And Serero (wearing his director’s hat) brings the most out of him.
Growing up, Bazile (now 28) excelled in multiple sports. In 2018, while attending Ohio State, he won the NCAA Long Jump Championship and was named Big Ten Field Athlete of the Year. He also dabbled in boxing, competed in two amateur fights in 2022, and won both by knockout. He began acting three years ago.
Serero received roughly one thousand resumes when he published notices for a casting call in search of an actor to play Ali. One-hundred-twenty respondents were invited to audition.
“I had people who looked like Ali and were accomplished actors,” Serero recalls. “But when they were in the room, I didn’t feel Ali in front of me. You have to remember; we’re dealing with someone who really existed and there’s video of him, so it’s not like asking someone to play George Washington.”
And Ali was Ali. That’s a hard act to follow.
Bazile is a near-perfect fit. At 6-feet-2-inches tall, 195 pounds, he conveys Ali’s physicality. His body is sculpted in the manner of the young Ali. He moves like an athlete because he is an athlete. His face resembles Ali’s and his expressions are very much on the mark in the way he transmits emotion to the audience. He uses his voice the way Ali did. He moves his eyes the way Ali did. He has THE LOOK.
Zack was born the year that Ali lit the Olympic flame in Atlanta, so he has no first-hand memory of the young Ali who set the world ablaze. “But as an actor,” he says, “I’m representing Ali. That’s a responsibility I take very seriously. Everyone has an essence about them. I had to find the right balance – not too over the top – and capture that.”
Sitting in the audience watching Bazile, I felt at times as though it was Ali onstage in front of me. Zack has the pre-exile Ali down perfectly. The magic dissipates a bit as the stage Ali grows older. Bazile still has to add the weight of aging to his craft. But I couldn’t help but think, “Muhammad would have loved watching Zack play him.”
****
Twenty-four hours after the premiere of The One, David Serero left the stage for a night to shine brightly in a real boxing ring., The occasion was the tenth fight card that Larry Goldberg has promoted at Sony Hall in New York, a run that began with Goldberg’s first pro show ever on October 13, 2022.
Most of the fights on the six-bout card played out as expected. But two were tougher for the favorites than anticipated. Jacob Riley Solis was held to a draw by Daniel Jefferson. And Andy Dominguez was knocked down hard by Angel Meza in round three before rallying to claim a one-point split-decision triumph.
Serero sang the national anthem between the second and third fights and stilled the crowd with a virtuoso performance. Fans at sports events are usually restless during the singing of the anthem. This time, the crowd was captivated. Serero turned a flat ritual into an inspirational moment. People were turning to each other and saying “Wow!”
****
The unexpected happened in Tijuana last Saturday night when 25-to-1 underdog Bruno Surace climbed off the canvas after a second-round knockdown to score a shocking, one-punch, sixth-round stoppage of Jaime Munguia. There has been a lot of commentary since then about what happened that night. The best explanation I’ve heard came from a fan named John who wrote, “The fight was not over in the second round although Munguia thought it was because, if he caught him once, he would naturally catch him again. Plus he looked at this little four KO guy [Surace had scored 4 knockouts in 27 fights] the way all the fans did, like he had no punch. That is what a fan can afford to do. But a fighter should know better. The ref reminds you, ‘Protect yourself at all times.’ Somebody forgot that.”
photo (c) David Serero
Thomas Hauser’s email address is thomashauserwriter@gmail.com. His most recent book – MY MOTHER and me – is a personal memoir available at Amazon.com. https://www.amazon.com/My-Mother-Me-Thomas-Hauser/dp/1955836191/ref=sr_1_1?crid=5C0TEN4M9ZAH&keywords=thomas+hauser&qid=1707662513&sprefix=thomas+hauser%2Caps%2C80&sr=8-1
In 2004, the Boxing Writers Association of America honored Hauser with the Nat Fleischer Award for career excellence in boxing journalism. In 2019, Hauser was selected for boxing’s highest honor – induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame.
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L.A.’s Rudy Hernandez is the 2024 TSS Trainer of the Year
L.A.’s Rudy Hernandez is the 2024 TSS Trainer of the Year
If asked to name a prominent boxing trainer who operates out of a gym in Los Angeles, the name Freddie Roach would jump immediately to mind. Best known for his work with Manny Pacquaio, Roach has been named the Trainer of the Year by the Boxing Writers Association of America a record seven times.
A mere seven miles from Roach’s iconic Wild Card Gym is the gym that Rudy Hernandez now calls home. Situated in the Little Tokyo neighborhood in downtown Los Angeles, the L.A. Boxing Gym – a relatively new addition to the SoCal boxing landscape — is as nondescript as its name. From the outside, one would not guess that two reigning world champions, Junto Nakatani and Anthony Olascuaga, were forged there.
As Freddie Roach will be forever linked with Manny Pacquiao, so will Rudy Hernandez be linked with Nakatani. The Japanese boxer was only 15 years old when his parents packed him off to the United States to be tutored by Hernandez. With Hernandez in his corner, the lanky southpaw won titles at 112 and 115 and currently holds the WBO bantamweight (118) belt. In his last start, he knocked out his Thai opponent, a 77-fight veteran who had never been stopped, advancing his record to 29-0 (22 KOs).
Nakatani’s name now appears on several pound-for-pound lists. A match with Japanese superstar Naoya Inoue is brewing. When that match comes to fruition, it will be the grandest domestic showdown in Japanese boxing history.
“Junto Nakatani is the greatest fighter I’ve ever trained. It’s easy to work with him because even when he came to me at age 15, his focus was only on boxing. It was to be a champion one day and nothing interfered with that dream,” Hernandez told sports journalist Manouk Akopyan writing for Boxing Scene.
Akin to Nakatani, Rudy Hernandez built Anthony Olascuaga from scratch. The LA native was rucked out of obscurity in April of 2023 when Jonathan Gonzalez contracted pneumonia and was forced to withdraw from his date in Tokyo with lineal light flyweight champion Kenshiro Teraji. Olascuaga, with only five pro fights under his belt, filled the breach on 10 days’ notice and although he lost (TKO by 9), he earned kudos for his gritty performance against the man recognized as the best fighter in his weight class.
Two fights later, back in Tokyo, Olascuaga copped the WBO world flyweight title with a third-round stoppage of Riku Kano. His first defense came in October, again in Japan, and Olascuaga retained his belt with a first-round stoppage of the aforementioned Gonzalez. (This bout was originally ruled a no-contest as it ended after Gonzalez suffered a cut from an accidental clash of heads. But the referee ruled that Gonzalez was fit to continue before the Puerto Rican said “no mas,” alleging his vision was impaired, and the WBO upheld a protest from the Olascuaga camp and changed the result to a TKO. Regardless, Rudy Hernandez’s fighter would have kept his title.)
Hernandez, 62, is the brother of the late Genaro “Chicanito” Hernandez. A two-time world title-holder at 130 pounds who fought the likes of Azumah Nelson, Oscar De La Hoya and Floyd Mayweather Jr., Chicanito passed away in 2011, a cancer victim at age 45.
Genaro “Chicanito” Hernandez was one of the most popular fighters in the Hispanic communities of Southern California. Rudy Hernandez, a late bloomer of sorts – at least in terms of public recognition — has kept his brother’s flame alive with own achievements. He is a worthy honoree for the 2024 Trainer of the Year.
Note: This is the first in our series of annual awards. The others will arrive sporadically over the next two weeks.
Photo credit: Steve Kim
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A Shocker in Tijuana: Bruno Surace KOs Jaime Munguia !!
It was a chilly night in Tijuana when Jaime Munguia entered the ring for his homecoming fight with Bruno Surace. The main event of a Zanfer/Top Rank co-promotion, Munguia vs. Surace was staged in the city’s 30,000-seat soccer stadium a stone’s throw from the U.S. border in the San Diego metroplex.
Surace, a Frenchman, brought a 25-0-2 record and a 22-fight winning streak, but a quick glance at his record showed that he had scant chance of holding his own with the house fighter. Only four of Surace’s 25 wins had come by stoppage and only eight of his wins had come against opponents with winning records. Munguia was making the first start in the city of his birth since February 2022. Surace had never fought outside Europe.
But hold the phone!
After losing every round heading into the sixth, Surace scored the Upset of the Year, ending the contest with a one-punch knockout.
It looked like a short and easy night for Munguia when he knocked Surace down with a left hook in the second stanza. From that point on, the Frenchman fought off his back foot, often with back to the ropes, throwing punches only in spurts. Munguia worked the body well and was seemingly on the way to wearing him down when he was struck by lightning in the form of an overhand right.
Down went Munguia, landing on his back. He struggled to get to his feet, but the referee waived it off a nano-second before reaching “10.” The official time was 2:36 of round six.
Munguia, who was 44-1 heading in with 35 KOs, was as high as a 35/1 favorite. In his only defeat, he had gone the distance with Canelo Alvarez. This was the biggest upset by a French fighter since Rene Jacquot outpointed Donald Curry in 1989 and Jacquot had the advantage of fighting in his homeland.
Co-Main
Mexico City’s Alan Picasso, ranked #1 by the WBC at 122 pounds, scored a third-round stoppage of last-minute sub Yehison Cuello in a scheduled 10-rounder contested at featherweight. Picaso (31-0-1, 17 KOs) is a solid technician. He ended the bout with a left to the rib cage, a punch that weaved around Cuello’s elbow and didn’t appear to be especially hard. The referee stopped his count at “nine” and waived the fight off.
A 29-year-old Colombian who reportedly had been training in Tijuana, the overmatched Cuello slumped to 13-3-1.
Other Bouts of Note
In a ho-hum affair, junior middleweight Jorge Garcia advanced to 32-4 (26) with a 10-round unanimous decision over Uzbekistan’s Kudratillo Abudukakhorov (20-4). The judges had it 97-92 and 99-90 twice. There were no knockdowns, but Garcia had a point deducted in round eight for low blows.
Garcia displayed none of the power that he showed in his most recent fight three months ago in Arizona and when he knocked out his German opponent in 46 seconds. Abudukakhorov, who has competed mostly as a welterweight, came in at 158 1/4 pounds and didn’t look in the best of shape. The Uzbek was purportedly 170-10 as an amateur (4-5 per boxrec).
Super bantamweight Sebastian Hernandez improved to 18-0 (17 KOs) with a seventh-round stoppage of Argentine import Sergio Martin (14-5). The end came at the 2:39 mark of round seven when Martin’s corner threw in the towel. Earlier in the round, Martin lost his mouthpiece and had a point deducted for holding.
Hernandez wasn’t all that impressive considering the high expectations born of his high knockout ratio, but appeared to have injured his right hand during the sixth round.
Photo credit: Mikey Williams / Top Rank
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