“MONEY MAY” AND THE PROFITABLE POWER OF HATE

Published

10 years ago

May 5, 2015

Bernard Fernandez

The power of love is a curious thing

Make a one man weep, make another man sing

Change a hawk to a little white dove

More than a feeling, that’s the power of love

“The Power of Love,” Huey Lewis, 1983

Lewis, front man for the News, the San Francisco-based rock group that had a string of hits in the 1980s, is correct. The power of love is indeed a curious thing. They say it makes the world go ’round, and those in its thrall know that to be the case, perhaps especially in those instances when their affection is unrequited and the world goes spinning off its axis. Even human beings with fragile feelings that have been stomped on in the romantic ring can hope to fall head-over-heels again, with a more fortuitous outcome.

There may not be a correspondingly familiar ode to the benefits of hatred, although an obvious candidate might be whatever in-your-face tune served as Floyd Mayweather Jr.’s entrance music for Saturday’s record-shattering pay-per-view clash with Manny Pacquiao at Las Vegas’ MGM Grand. More than anyone who has ever laced up a pair of padded gloves, Mayweather understands the immense profitability in being the arch-villain in a sport where inflammatory words and dubious conduct, when leavened with liberal splashes of actual talent, can make a boxer with something less than a fan-friendly approach almost unfathomably rich and powerful.

The mad stampede for fringe and even non-boxing fans to purchase $99.95 PPV subscriptions for May-Pac – and, in some instances, much more than that for tickets inside the 16,700-seat MGM Grand Garden Arena – is not so much an indication that boxing has regained all of the relevance it has squandered since its most recent golden age in the Huey Lewis-tinged 1980s. A social-media poll conducted prior to the main event, which was jointly televised by HBO and Showtime, indicated that a whopping 67 percent of respondents believed Pacquiao, a 2-to-1 underdog, would win. Was that an indication of a deep conviction in the capabilities of, or widespread hero-worship for, the Fab Filipino? Maybe, to some degree, but more likely it was further proof that significant chunks of the global population are fascinated by the reality and even the perception of evil. Mayweather, and other proudly defiant “bad guys” who flaunt their misdeeds, understand all too well there is gold to be mined from those who profess intense dislike of a fighter, yet shell out for live-action tickets or PPV in the hopes of actually seeing the objects of their scorn receive a bloody comeuppance inside the ropes.

Unfortunately for those who count themselves in that vast and growing number – call them perpetually grumpy members of the “haters gotta hate” club – Mayweather is not temperamentally or stylistically disposed to feed their revenge fantasies by engaging in slugfests at close quarters. All of which makes the deflated expectations left in the wake of the highest-grossing prizefight of all time, another unanimous-decision victory for the man known as “Money May,” so inexplicable. Did anyone really expect Mayweather, one leopard who is never going to change his spots to satisfy the more primal instincts of the public, to be anything other than what he is, has always been and probably always will be? In terms of rip-roaring, two-way action, the No. 1 fight of all time from a bottom-line perspective didn’t come close to cracking the top 100 of fights most fans will fondly file away in their memory banks.

Put it this way: Mayweather (48-0, 27 KOs), who will have made somewhere between $150 million and $180 million when all the financial returns are tallied, not only will be laughing all the way to the bank, he’ll be splitting a gut. When it comes to tolerance and even acceptance of reprehensible behavior, there is nothing remotely comparable to boxing, at once the most exhilarating and most exasperating of all sporting enterprises. The evidence of that is everywhere, like candy eggs on Easter left in such conspicuous places that even a nearsighted kindergartner could find them with ease.

Domestic abuse, such a hot-button topic in the NFL in the wake of the image-tarnishing episodes that led to the suspensions of star running backs Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson, among others, was but a briefly mentioned dark cloud that floated over May-Pay and was quickly dispersed. Where Rice and Peterson were barred by NFL commissioner Roger Goodell from doing what they do best, in a professional sense, after the news leaked of Rice’s knockout of his fiancée (now wife) in a casino elevator and Peterson’s mark-leaving paddling of his toddler son, Mayweather – who has served prison time for one of several such offenses – has never been suspended or even formally reprimanded by boxing’s sanctioning bodies. It is a double-standard that, to its detriment, sets boxing apart from other sports that at least strive to present a veneer of outrage when its athletes are judged guilty of transgressions against society.

Thus has it always been because, well, boxing is boxing. The late, great New York sports columnist, Jimmy Cannon, once deemed it as the principal come-on in the “red light district of sports,” and that description if as true now, or nearly so, as it has ever been. If sanctimonious reformers were to separate the fight game’s saints from the sinners, the International Boxing Hall of Fame would have a considerably reduced membership, and the next main event coming to an arena near you might be less compelling if one or both of the scheduled participants was deemed to have too many warts on their out-of-the-ring resumes.

None of this is to suggest that Mayweather, so obviously gifted, is undeserving of the acclaim or the wealth he has accumulated. He is the most accomplished fighter of his generation, if not necessarily the most entertaining, and if he chooses to spend millions of dollars on more jewelry than Elizabeth Taylor ever had, or on a fleet of luxury cars, or on the care and maintenance of a small army of fawning yes-men, that is his right. But perhaps it should give John Q. Public pause before he opens his wallet for Mayweather’s next PPV extravaganza. It has been said that we, the people, get the government that we deserve, which in these times is a searing indictment if ever there was one, and that reasoning can be applied to the selection of those athletes we choose as our heroic role models or villainous objects of derision. In most cases, fighters on either side of that imaginary fence probably don’t care so long as the check is large enough and clears.

Boxing has always sold itself in part on the basis of natural conflicts – black vs. white, stylist vs. slugger, one nationality vs. another – and there has been a tendency to gravitate toward those miscreants who frequently veer onto the wild side. Does anyone believe that Mike Tyson would have been just as much a can’t-miss attraction had he been a choir boy in his personal life when not dispatching opponents with fearsome ferocity? We keep up with the Kardashians (although I don’t) because their lives are ongoing train wrecks, not models of domestic tranquility.

Those who are cast in the role of black-hatted villain sometimes do so because, while it may be against their true nature, it suits their purposes to play along. Others are predestined to act out because it is at the essence of their being. Mike Tyson may have owned white tigers, but that didn’t make them – or him – purring kitties disposed to restrict their messes to a convenient litter box.

Ten years ago, before Mayweather brutally dispatched an outclassed Arturo Gatti in Atlantic City Boardwalk Hall, I wrote that “At 28, he still has the angelic countenance and glowing smile of a cute sitcom kid. Now try imagining Floyd Mayweather Jr. as a fourth-grader. The image that pops into at least some people’s minds is not so much of a rough ’n’ tumble boxing great but of Emmanuel Lewis, crawling onto Alex Karras’ lap during an episode of `Webster.’”

Mayweather’s face is still reminiscent of that younger version of himself, but then, as now, he never was going to be confused with Webster. “Every time I fight I go in there with a chip on my shoulder,” he said at the time, and that chip has enlarged to the size of a log. He is exactly who he wants to be, and that is probably not the person sitcom dad Karras would have wanted crawling onto his lap at any age. Mayweather doesn’t attempt to conceal his colossal ego and he answers to no one but himself. As far as he is concerned, if you don’t appreciate him for who and what he is, well, that’s your problem. As a rejected Kirk Douglas said to Janet Leigh in “The Vikings,” an entertaining 1958 movie about marauding Norsemen, “If I can’t have your love, I’ll take your hate.” And why not? Hate, in boxing, sells just as well as love. Sometimes even more so.

Some of you profess to hate Mayweather because he lacks even the faintest trace of humility. Others hate him because he waves stacks of $100 bills at the camera as he leans against the shiny new Ferrari he has just added to his collection of ultra-pricey rides, still another reminder of the fabulous wealth he has and that you don’t. And, yeah, some of you hate him because he has slapped around “on six occasions” the mother of three of his four children, Josie Harris, who describes herself as a “battered woman” in constant fear of what might happen whenever Mayweather comes around.

But those of you who fall into any of those categories are still apt to want to see his next fight, maybe because he is so skilled at what he does or maybe because you want to witness the night, should it ever come, when the calculating beast is finally brought to heel.

It was almost understandable that Tyson, at his unhinged best, attracted such a following because he was danger personified and that is a powerful aphrodisiac to the masses. We looked and could not turn away because we understood that a knockout – swift, emphatic, devastating – was imminent.

Mayweather is cut from a different cloth, which makes his status as the foremost cash cow in boxing history somewhat perplexing. His thing is as much about making the other guy look bad as about making himself look good, and there were times when his movement, laser-accurate punching and ring generalship reduced the very capable Pacquiao (57-6-2, 38 KOs) to whiffing on clumsy lunges, rendering hollow “PacMan’s” protestations that he thought he deserved to get the decision.

“No one can get me to say Sugar Ray Robinson or anybody else was or is better than me,” Mayweather said before his May 1, 2010, bout with Shane Mosley. “No one was better. No one is better. Maybe no one else ever will be better.”

If there is a contemporary fighter to whom I would compare Mayweather, it would be the ageless wonder, Bernard Hopkins, who came to understand that boxing’s subtle nuances can be as or more effective than full-frontal assaults. You just have to know what to look for, and to appreciate it when you are afforded the opportunity to glimpse it. Anyone who can’t appreciate the artistry of either man simply does not understand what they’re watching as they systematically break down opponents. If you prefer Jerry Lee Lewis setting fire to his piano at a honky-tonk bar to Van Cliburn in concert in Carnegie Hall, Hopkins and Mayweather probably aren’t your cup of tea. But that doesn’t mean there still isn’t much to admire and appreciate about their level of craftsmanship.

Mayweather gave us another such technically flawless performance, but it was to be expected that many viewers who had hoped to get heaping measures of blood and guts came away disappointed, maybe even angry. As round by round passed into history, there was a creeping sense of “We waited six years for THIS?”

Not that any negative feedback is apt to concern Mayweather. Anyone with a complaint can kiss that part of his anatomy where the sun don’t shine. It is his world, and he figures that it is our privilege to be allowed to occasionally drop in for a visit.

“It’s all about money, power and respect,” Hopkins said in 2003, in a remark about himself that could just as easily have been said about Mayweather circa 2015. “You get the money, you got the power and the respect.”

You also get a fair amount of contempt. But where would boxing be if there was nothing but love and niceties simmering in the cauldron of competition?

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Bernard Fernandez

Bygone Days: The Largest Crowd Ever at Madison Square Garden Sees Zivic TKO Armstrong

Published

2 days ago

January 10, 2025

Arne K. Lang

Bygone Days: The Largest Crowd Ever at Madison Square Garden Sees Zivic TKO Armstrong

There’s not much happening on the boxing front this month. That’s consistent with the historical pattern.

Fight promoters of yesteryear tended to pull back after the Christmas and New Year holidays on the assumption that fight fans had less discretionary income at their disposal. Weather was a contributing factor. In olden days, more boxing cards were staged outdoors and the most attractive match-ups tended to be summertime events.

There were exceptions, of course. On Jan. 17, 1941, an SRO crowd of 23,180 filled Madison Square Garden to the rafters to witness the welterweight title fight between Fritzie Zivic and Henry Armstrong. (This was the third Madison Square Garden, situated at 50^th Street and Eighth Avenue, roughly 17 blocks north of the current Garden which sits atop Pennsylvania Station. The first two arenas to take this name were situated farther south adjacent to Madison Square Park).

This was a rematch. They had fought here in October of the previous year. In a shocker, Zivic won a 15-round decision. The fight was close on the scorecards. Referee Arthur Donovan and one of the judges had it even after 14 rounds, but Zivic had won his rounds more decisively and he punctuated his well-earned triumph by knocking Armstrong face-first to the canvas as the final bell sounded.

This was a huge upset.

Armstrong had a rocky beginning to his pro career, but he came on like gangbusters after trainer/manager Eddie Mead acquired his contract with backing from Broadway and Hollywood star Al Jolson. Heading into his first match with Zivic – the nineteenth defense of the title he won from Barney Ross – Hammerin’ Henry had suffered only one defeat in his previous 60 fights, that coming in his second meeting with Lou Ambers, a controversial decision.

Shirley Povich, the nationally-known sports columnist for the Washington Post, conducted an informal survey of boxing insiders and found only person who gave Zivic a chance. The dissident was Chris Dundee (then far more well-known than his younger brother Angelo). “Zivic knows all the tricks,” said Dundee. “He’ll butt Armstrong with his head, gouge him with his thumbs and hit him just as low as Armstrong [who had five points deducted for low blows in his bout with Ambers].”

Indeed, Pittsburgh’s Ferdinand “Fritzie” Zivic, the youngest and best of five fighting sons of a Croatian immigrant steelworker (Fritzie’s two oldest brothers represented the U.S. at the 1920 Antwerp Olympics) would attract a cult following because of his facility for bending the rules. It would be said that no one was more adept at using his thumbs to blind an opponent or using the laces of his gloves as an anti-coagulant, undoing the work of a fighter’s cut man.

Although it was generally understood that at age 28 his best days were behind him, Henry Armstrong was chalked the favorite in the rematch (albeit a very short favorite) a tribute to his body of work. Although he had mastered Armstrong in their first encounter, most boxing insiders considered Fritzie little more than a high-class journeyman and he hadn’t looked sharp in his most recent fight, a 10-round non-title affair with lightweight champion Lew Jenkins who had the best of it in the eyes of most observers although the match was declared a draw.

The Jan. 17 rematch was a one-sided affair. Veteran New York Times scribe James P. Dawson gave Armstrong only two rounds before referee Donovan pulled the plug at the 52-second mark of the twelfth round. Armstrong, boxing’s great perpetual motion machine, a world title-holder in three weight classes, repaired to his dressing room bleeding from his nose and his mouth and with both eyes swollen nearly shut. But his effort could not have been more courageous.

At the conclusion of the 10^th frame, Donovan went to Armstrong’s corner and said something to the effect, “you will have to show me something, Henry, or I will have to stop it.” What followed was Armstrong’s best round.

“[Armstrong] pulled the crowd to its feet in as glorious a rally as this observer has seen in twenty-five years of attendance at these ring battles,” wrote Dawson. But Armstrong, who had been stopped only once previously, that coming in his pro debut, had punched himself out and had nothing left.

Armstrong retired after this fight, siting his worsening eyesight, but he returned in the summer of the following year, soldiering on for 46 more fights, winning 37 to finish 149-21-10. During this run, he was reacquainted with Fritzie Zivic. Their third encounter was fought in San Francisco before a near-capacity crowd of 8,000 at the Civic Auditorium and Armstrong got his revenge, setting the pace and working the body effectively to win a 10-round decision. By then the welterweight title had passed into the hands of Freddie Cochran.

Hammerin’ Henry (aka Homicide Hank) Armstrong was named to the International Boxing Hall of Fame with the inaugural class of 1990. Fritzie Zivic followed him into the Hall three years later.

Active from 1931 to 1949, Zivic lost 65 of his 231 fights – the most of anyone in the Hall of Fame, a dubious distinction – but there was yet little controversy when he was named to the Canastota shrine because one would be hard-pressed to find anyone who had fought a tougher schedule. Aside from Armstrong and Jenkins, he had four fights with Jake LaMotta, four with Kid Azteca, three with Charley Burley, two with Sugar Ray Robinson, two with Beau Jack, and singles with the likes of Billy Conn, Lou Ambers, and Bob Montgomery. Of the aforementioned, only Azteca, in their final meeting in Mexico City, and Sugar Ray, in their second encounter, were able to win inside the distance.

By the way, it has been written that no event of any kind at any of the four Madison Square Gardens ever drew a larger crowd than the crowd that turned out on Jan. 17, 1941, to see the rematch between Fritzie Zivic and Henry Armstrong. Needless to say, prizefighting was big in those days.

A recognized authority on the history of prizefighting and the history of American sports gambling, TSS editor-in-chief Arne K. Lang is the author of five books including “Prizefighting: An American History,” released by McFarland in 2008 and re-released in a paperback edition in 2020.

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Jai Opetaia Brutally KOs David Nyika, Cementing his Status as the World’s Top Cruiserweight

Published

5 days ago

January 8, 2025

Arne K. Lang

Jai-Opetaia-Brutally-KOs-David-Nyika-Cementing-his-Status-as-the-World's-Top-Cruiserweight

In his fifth title defense, lineal cruiserweight champion Jai Opetaia (27-0, 21 KOs) successfully defended his belt with a brutal fourth-round stoppage of former sparring partner David Nyika. The bout was contested in Broadbeach, Queensland, Australia where Opetaia won the IBF title in 2022 with a hard-earned decision over Maris Briedis with Nyika on the undercard. Both fighters reside in the general area although Nyika, a former Olympic bronze medalist, hails from New Zealand.

The six-foot-six Nyika, who was undefeated in 10 pro fights with nine KOs, wasn’t afraid to mix it up with Opetaia although had never fought beyond five rounds and took the fight on three weeks’ notice when obscure German campaigner Huseyin Cinkara suffered an ankle injury in training and had to pull out. He wobbled Opetaia in the second round in a fight that was an entertaining slugfest for as long as it lasted.

In round four, the champion but Nyika on the canvas with his patented right uppercut and then finished matters moments later with a combination climaxed with an explosive left hand. Nyika was unconscious before he hit the mat.

Opetaia’s promoter Eddie Hearn wants Opetaia to unify the title and then pursue a match with Oleksandr Usyk. Gilberto “Zurdo” Ramirez, a Golden Boy Promotions fighter, holds the WBA and WBO versions of the title and is expected to be Opetaia’s next opponent. The WBC diadem is in the hands of grizzled Badou Jack.

Other Fights of Note

Brisbane heavyweight Justis Huni (12-0, 7 KOs) wacked out overmatched South African import Shaun Potgieter (10-2), ending the contest at the 33-second mark of the second round. The 25-year-old, six-foot-four Huni turned pro in 2020 after losing a 3-round decision to two-time Olympic gold medalist Bakhodir Jalolov. There’s talk of matching him with England’s 20-year-old sensation Moses Itauma which would be a delicious pairing.

Eddie Hearn’s newest signee Teremoana Junior won his match even quicker, needing less than a minute to dismiss Osasu Otobo, a German heavyweight of Nigerian descent.

The six-foot-six Teremoana, who akin to Huni hails from Brisbane and turned pro after losing to the formidable Jalolov, has won all six of his pro fights by knockout while answering the bell for only eight rounds. He has an interesting lineage; his father is from the Cook Islands.

Rising 20-year-old Max “Money” McIntyre, a six-foot-three super middleweight, scored three knockdowns en route to a sixth-round stoppage of Abdulselam Saman, advancing his record to 7-0 (6 KOs). As one can surmise, McIntyre is a big fan of Floyd Mayweather.

The Opetaia-Nyika fight card aired on DAZN pay-per-view (39.99) in the Antipodes and just plain DAZN elsewhere.

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R.I.P. Paul Bamba (1989-2024): The Story Behind the Story

Published

6 days ago

January 6, 2025

Arne K. Lang

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Paul Bamba, a cruiserweight, passed away at age 35 on Dec. 27 six days after defeating Rogelio Medina before a few hundred fans on a boxing card at a performing arts center in Carteret, New Jersey. No cause of death has been forthcoming, leading to rampant speculation. Was it suicide, or perhaps a brain injury, and if the latter was it triggered by a pre-existing condition?

Fuel for the latter comes in the form of a letter that surfaced after his death. Dated July 25, 2023, it was written by Dr. Alina Sharinn, a board-certified neurologist licensed in New York and Florida.

“Mr. Bamba has suffered a concussion and an episode of traumatic diplopia within the past year and now presents with increasing headaches. His MRI of the brain revealed white matter changes in both frontal lobes,” wrote Bamba’s doctor.

Her recommendation was that he stop boxing temporarily while also avoiding any other activity at which he was at risk of head trauma.

Dr. Sherinn’s letter was written three months after Bamba was defeated by Chris Avila in a 4-round contest in New Orleans. He lost all four rounds on all three scorecards, reducing his record to 5-3.

Bamba took a break from boxing after fighting Avila. Eight months would elapse before he returned to the ring. His next four fights were in Santa Marta, Colombia, against opponents who were collectively 4-23 at the time that he fought them. The most experienced of the quartet, Victor Coronado, was 38 years old.

He won all four inside the distance and ten more knockouts would follow, the last against Medina in a bout sanctioned by the World Boxing Association for the WBA Gold title. As widely reported, the stoppage, his 14^th, broke Mike Tyson’s record for the most consecutive knockouts within a calendar year. That would have been a nice feather in his cap if only it were true.

Born in Puerto Rico, Paul Bamba was a former U.S. Marine who spent time in Iraq as an infantry machine gunner. In interviews on social media platforms, he is well-spoken and introspective without a trace of the boastfulness that many prizefighters exhibit when talking to an outsider. Interviewed in a corridor of the arena after stopping Medina, he was almost apologetic, acknowledging that he still had a lot to learn.

His life story is inspirational.

His early years were spent in foster homes. He was homeless for a time after returning to civilian life. Speaking with Boxing Scene’s Lucas Ketelle, Bamba said, “I didn’t have any direction after leaving the Marine corps. I hit rock bottom, couldn’t afford a place to stay…I was renting a mattress that was shoved behind someone’s sofa.”

He turned his life around when he ventured into the Morris Park Boxing Gym in the Bronx where he learned the rudiments of boxing under the tutelage of former WBA welterweight champion Aaron “Superman” Davis. “I love boxing,” he would say. “The confidence it gives you permeates into other aspects of your life.”

Bamba’s newfound confidence allowed him to carve out a successful career as a personal trainer. His most famous client was the Grammy Award winning R&B singer-songwriter Ne-Yo who signed Bamba to his new sports management company late in the boxer’s Knockout skein. Bamba was with Ne-Yo in Atlanta when he passed away. Ne-Yo broke the news on his Instagram platform.

Paul Bamba had been pursuing a fight with Jake Paul. Winning the WBA Gold belt opened up other potentially lucrative options. In theory, the holder of the belt is one step removed from a world title fight. Next comes an eliminator and, if he wins that one, a true title fight attached to a hefty purse will follow…in theory.

Rogelio “Porky” Medina, who brought a 42-10 record, had competed against some top-shelf guys, e.g., Zurdo Ramirez, Badou Jack, James DeGale, David Benavidez, Caleb Plant; going the distance with DeGale and Plant. However, only two of his 42 wins had come in fights outside Mexico, at age 36 he was over the hill, and his best work had come as a super middleweight.

Thirteen months ago, Medina carried 168 ½ pounds for a match in New Zealand in which he was knocked out in the first round. He came in more than 30 pounds heavier, specifically 202 ¼, for his match with Paul Bamba. In between, he knocked out a 54-year-old man in Guadalajara to infuse his ledger with a little brighter sheen.

Why did the WBA see fit to sanction the Bamba-Medina match as a title fight? That’s a rhetorical question. And for the record, the record for the most consecutive knockouts within a calendar year wasn’t previously held by Mike Tyson. LaMar Clark, a heavyweight from Cedar City, Utah, scored 29 consecutive knockouts in 1958 after opening the year by winning a 6-round decision. (If you are inclined to believe that all or most of those knockouts were legitimate, then perhaps I can interest you in buying the Brooklyn Bridge.)

Clark was being primped for a fight with a good purse which came when he was dispatched to Louisville to fight a fellow who was fairly new to the professional boxing scene, a former U.S. Olympian then known as Cassius Clay who knocked him out in the second round in what proved to be Clark’s final fight.

Paul Bamba was a much better fighter than LaMar Clark, of that I am quite certain. However, if Paul Bamba had gone on to meet one of the world’s elite cruiserweights, a similar outcome would have undoubtedly ensued.

One can summon up the Bamba-Medina fight on the internet although the video isn’t great – it was obviously filmed on a smart phone – and pieces of it are missing. Bamba was winning with his higher workrate when Medina took his unexpected leave, but one doesn’t have to be a boxing savant to see that Paul’s hand and foot speed were slow and that there were big holes in his defense.

This isn’t meant to be a knock on the decedent. Being able to box even four rounds at a fast clip and still be fresh is one of the most underrated achievements in all of human endurance sports. Bamba’s life story is indeed inspirational. When he talked about the importance of “giving back,” he was sincere. In an early interview, he mentioned having helped out at a Harlem food pantry.

Paul Bamba had to die to become well-known within the fight fraternity, let alone in the larger society. One hopes that his death will inspire the sport’s regulators to be more vigilant in assaying a boxer’s medical history and, if somehow his untimely death leads to the dissolution of the fetid World Boxing Association, his legacy would be even greater.

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