The curious case of Kermit and Paul

Here’s what we know. Saturday two welterweight titlists made a non-title match at junior-middleweight on HBO’s “World Championship Boxing.” In the middle of the fourth round of a fight neither was winning conclusively, the mens’ limbs tangled. One ended on the canvas. The other ended outside the ring, where a doctor said he was unfit to continue. His opponent won by technical decision.

Here’s what we can consider. A normally fine fight venue was two-thirds empty. Two normally fine fighters made three insipid rounds. The much taller fighter caused the tangle by dropping his head to waist level. The fighter outside the ring got there by leaping. A man was carted off in a neck brace while waving his arms. And, oh yes, the result.

It went: Paul Williams TD-4 Kermit Cintron. An unusual line, that. Williams won by scores of 39-37 and 40-36 on two judges’ cards and lost 36-40 on a third. I had it 39-37 for Williams. Any combination of numbers that did not have one guy winning all four rounds was acceptable. Calling a 3 1/2-round fight complete may not be.

Writing of unacceptable, though, how about the size of that crowd in Carson, Calif.? The tennis stadium at Home Depot Center is an excellent venue for a prizefight – when it’s full. But it was nothing like full Saturday. Why not?

Ethnic interests, maybe. Williams is a black Southerner. Cintron is a Puerto Rican raised in the Northeast. Carson crowds prefer Mexican prizefighters. Combining the three didn’t work at all. And the fight’s promotion was overshadowed by “Who R U Picking?” hoopla.

Set ethnicities aside. Williams enjoys significant physical advantages over opponents, but he doesn’t make dull fights. Cintron has a famously fragile psyche, but he also has a higher career knockout ratio than Mike Tyson. There was ample reason to expect an entertaining match from two prime craftsmen.

And yet Southern Californians knew better. They stayed away, and the rest of us found out why. After a month of threatening one another, Williams and Cintron met in a place of sanctioned violence and showed no such impulse for nine minutes.

When two fighters publicly state the worst of intentions for one another, they are, in many cases, quite sincere. But they rarely tear out their corners and bludgeon one another. Why not? Fear. Not a fear of pain; a fear of humiliation. Much as one might desire to render the other senseless, he desires more intensely to foil the other man’s fantasy. This is how we get tense and tentative opening stanzas even between action fighters who feel mutual animosity.

Things picked up in round 4, though. Williams increased his pace. Cintron clocked him with a counter right hand. A fight began. But unfortunately for Williams, lately that means the start of some bad habits.

Williams enjoys an extraordinary edge in height and reach with opponents. Yet he eliminates that advantage by dropping his chin to theirs and ducking punches. Men who would need to leap and turn-over shots or toss ugly overhand rights instead find Williams’ chin level with their power hands. It’s a gift to opponents who mightn’t otherwise have a chance of hitting him.

It was a gift Williams bestowed on Cintron several times and an opening he offered in round 4. Williams dropped low and fired a long left cross from his southpaw stance. It landed. Cintron, though, rolled with it and loaded a right-cross counter. Williams, whose head was actually below the plane of Cintron’s punch, ducked still lower, parried Cintron’s cross with his left shoulder and put himself in a headlock with Cintron’s right arm.

Williams continued forward, trying to punch. He also twisted leftward and down. His long legs went out from under him. Williams fell to the canvas on the seat of his trunks.

Cintron began forcefully in the opposite direction. His feet were not tangled. Perhaps he feared Williams’ long body would land on his ankle because he came to the ropes and exploded through them, pushing off his left foot. Cintron did not fall out the ring; he hit its perimeter like a safety lowering his right shoulder into a wide receiver. He somersaulted onto the scorer’s table, legs splayed. He appeared to come to rest. He raised his glove to his right temple. Then he somehow fell on the tennis court below and finished directly before the event’s promoters, Lou DiBella and Dan Goosen.

A ringside doctor rushed to Cintron. You imagine reflexivity took over from there in a precaution-rich way like this: “Are you all right?” “I hurt my back.” “It could be serious, so don’t move.” “I won’t move.” “You can’t move?” “What?” “Get a gurney!”

That brought the oddest spectacle of all. After only slightly moving his arms and legs while paramedics made their ways to ringside, Cintron got furious when they wheeled him from the ring. Once he was buckled in, Cintron began to resist, waving his arms. After the judges’ decision was read, he punched the ambulance door.

It was a poor night for boxing.

The California State Athletic Commission has a rule that states if three rounds are completed and a fighter cannot continue for some reason other than a punch, a decision must be divined from the judges’ tallies. That rule should be revisited.

Saturday’s ruling, though, should not. A bad law was enforced. Blame the legislative branch, not the executive.

Does that mean anything to either fighter? Not really. Cintron has a third loss on his record. Williams has a 39th win. No title was at stake. Nothing monumental was gained or forfeited. A rematch would be an appropriate remedy.

But that will require an outcry from fans. Based on Saturday’s attendance and the fight’s opening rounds, such out-crying fans had better bring megaphones and an amplifier.

Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter.com/bartbarry