If there was a theme from last weekend – and you’re right to shake your head; there probably wasn’t – that theme might be: Trust your first reaction. Boxing threw a showcase for itself and succeeded in few ways. Those ways included a proof of Canadian fans’ loyalty and passion, a new euphemism for aficionados, and an enthusiasm for a prospect that stays well ahead of his accomplishments.
Too much happened in our sport on Friday and Saturday to ignore it, but not enough was done by any one professional to merit 1,000 words. Mishmash, fruit salad, potpourri; choose your analogy, then, and see what follows.
The weekend’s second best performer was Lucian Bute, the IBF super middleweight champion who stopped an Irishman two days after St. Patrick’s Day – which, depending on the Irishman, is either a remarkable feat or not much of a feat at all. Brian Magee was the rare Irishman who spent his people’s special day abstaining from drink and merriment. He came to win, and he made a good showing for himself till Bute’s curious left hook, thrown more like an uppercut from his southpaw stance, dropped and canceled him in the 10th round.
When he commits to his punches, Bute is a pleasure to watch. As a southpaw, he should not be able to hit you with a liver shot. The angle is all wrong for a fighter with his right foot in the lead; the trajectory of a punch thrown with the left hand is generally too straight, or too wide, to sneak its way into the spot between the bottom rib and the top of the right hip. Those few southpaws that finish an opponent with a left hook to the body – Gerry Penalosa comes to mind – usually do it by crossing-over and throwing the left hook from an orthodox stance. Not Bute.
There is a poetry to his left hook, and it stirs the French Canadien soul of Quebecers – 14,000 of whom turn out for each Bute prizefight in Montreal’s Bell Centre. So Canadian fight fans were the weekend’s best performers, again. Nobody fears how boring they could make a fight with Andre Dirrell, and can any aficionado honestly say the same about Bute?
What’s this talk of aficionados, anyway? We were promised a euphemism. Here it is: Beta testers. That’s what you were if you endeavored to watch heavyweight Vitali Klitschko defend the family’s titles against an outstanding Cuban amateur named Odlanier Solis, Saturday afternoon. It was a loser-leaves-town match between Solis and the website streaming his challenge from Germany, and officials are still hunched over a pixelated video in an effort to determine who performed worse.
Solis initially looked good as a man can in a fight with a Klitschko. He landed at least one punch for every minute he was across from Vitali. And then, while most American viewers waited for their username to be verified or their video to load or their computer to restart, Solis found himself semi-struck on the head by a punch from Klitschko.
Solis’s left leg went stiff. His right leg went soft. He collapsed in an ignominious pile – made more suspicious by Wladimir Klitschko’s wrestling his brother away from the Ali-over-Liston pose Vitali had in mind.
Trust your first reaction.
Sometime in the next few days, there will be a press release issued from a European hospital. It will cite an unnamed doctor saying that, in his 50 years of practicing medicine, the damage done to Solis’ leg in the first round is the worst he’s ever seen. It will imply you’re dishonorable for doubting the integrity of Solis and his management team.
Trust your first reaction. The way you did when Kermit Cintron leaped out the ring against Paul Williams; the way you did when reading Devon Alexander had to have the nerves over his eye stitched together after Timothy Bradley; the way you did when Ricardo Mayorga started shaking his left fist after being shaken by a left fist from Miguel Cotto. And the way you did when the first connection error popped-up while you tried to connect to Klitschko-Solis.
Press releases on that debacle are sure to follow. A website that deserves to remain nameless spent much on marketing its boxing-broadcast debut, last week. It spent a goodish sum on in-studio commentators, too, one supposes. It did not spend nearly enough on technical resources. Or maybe it did, and fight aficionados were simply slotted for the unwitting-beta-tester role.
Which brings us, limping, to the as-yet-unjustified praise prospect James Kirkland continues to collect. Some serious, knowledgeable people who’ve seen middleweight champion Sergio Martinez on television and Kirkland in the gym believe Kirkland has Martinez’s number. Possibly. But Kirkland looked a spot less than monstrous Friday night while making his post-incarceration Telefutura debut against an unknown Colombian named Jhon Berrio.
Kirkland gets hit lots. It’s part of his charm and strategy. He is certain an even exchange with any man in the world will find his power-to-chin ratio superior. The probability of Kirkland’s disproving that theorem, though, grows with his weight. At 154 pounds, Kirkland was a beast. At 160 pounds, he remains an unproven entity.
But wise moves are being made in his behalf. He is out of Austin, Tex., where he was a self-described target. He is now in Las Vegas. And he is fighting monthly. Cheer for his future success, then, for one reason: Other fighters might emulate his activity.
While you’re cheering, though, let no one make you feel stupid for being unconvinced. Let no commentator berate you into compliance. Let no craftily worded press release infect you with doubt. Because boxing hasn’t won any new fans in the last couple of years, you’ve surely been around long enough to trust your first reaction.
Bart Barry can be reached on Twitter @bartbarry
