SAN ANTONIO – The promotional posters for “Knockout Kings II” that arrived in some writers’ inboxes these last few weeks were different from the original posters that featured Haitian-American Andre Berto and Mexican Jesus Soto-Karass, the men who will fight in the main event Saturday at AT&T Center. The new posters featured Texan Omar “Panterita” Figueroa, who will fight Japan’s Nihito Arakawa for the WBC’s interim lightweight title and have to sell more tickets than Berto, Soto-Karass and Arakawa, combined, for Leija-Battah Promotions’ first post-Canelo event to succeed at the box office.
“(Arakawa) is going to be tough,” Figueroa said Friday morning. “Usually Japanese fighters are a lot like Mexicans in the fact that that they fight with a lot of pride, a lot of heart. There’s no quit in them either. I’m preparing for a good 12 rounds, hopefully . . . I mean, hopefully, it doesn’t go that long.”
There has been a gradual but pronounced shift away from the main-event fighters and towards Figueroa, as it appears circumstances have confirmed what was long known about Saturday’s headliner, Andre Berto: He does not sell tickets. Berto makes interesting fights when he is matched with someone who can beat him, a scenario to which he was rarely treated during his deservedly maligned HBO tenure. Berto was no more the next Floyd Mayweather than Victor Ortiz was the next Oscar De La Hoya, despite programmers’ hopes, though both men were close enough in appearance to make network executives believe otherwise. Now on Showtime, Berto is in the precarious place where his next loss may be his last televised loss.
He is aware of this, or aware as Berto can be; at the announcement press conference in this city’s famed Mi Tierra restaurant in May, Berto mentioned coming close to a Mayweather fight twice, against Ortiz and then Robert Guerrero, losing both tryouts, and being determined not to lose a third. How enthusiastic anyone might be about a Mayweather-Berto fight is dubious, else Golden Boy Promotions would not have announced Matthysse-Garcia, a casting call for Mayweather’s next opponent, as its Sept. 14 co-main, last week. Since Berto is not an introspective lad, though, it’s best for all parties to have him believe Saturday’s fight is to win the Mayweather lottery. There is something about the way Berto claps that bears watching as a metaphor, or insight into his connection with fans: He doesn’t mirthfully slap his hands together but rather does a two-fisted, right-pinky-knuckle-to-left-index-knuckle touch, that says: I am too cool for all this.
Omar Figueroa is the draw upon which Saturday’s gate relies. Berto’s opponent, Jesus Soto-Karass, is the fabled tough Mexican, of course, but Mexicans are quite familiar with him subsequently, and will never see him as more than Antonio Margarito’s limited stablemate. And while the third Knockout King, Florida’s Keith Thurman, might become a draw someday, he’s not known well enough to sell tickets in Texas against a welterweight who’s only once fought outside Argentina.
Figueroa is from Weslaco in the Rio Grande Valley, a four-hour drive south of San Antonio, a city in South Texas (so is the awesomeness of Lone Star State: “South” Texas begins 250 miles north of Texas’ southern border) – a place known by Texans as “The Valley” and home to more than a million persons who are Texans by both birth and generations. More than 80-percent of them share ethnic origins with the Mexicans just a few miles south of Figueroa’s Weslaco, but most of them have been in the United States, or at least Texas – whether during its time as a Confederate state, its own republic or part of Mexico – longer than your family has.
“Honestly, I do not know, but I’m glad they do,” Figueroa said, when asked why fellow Valley residents drive four to five hours to see his matches. “We’re mainly Mexicans in the Valley, and Mexicans, we have such a passion for everything we do.
“It’s a mutual thing. They support me, and I put on my best face when it comes to fighting.”
Figueroa’s fans are Texans in the very core of their being, and Texans support their own, especially when their own looks as they do and fights ferociously as Figueroa does.
“I go in there to just punish my opponent as much as possible, in the sense that the knockout will kind of, sort of, come – sooner or later?” Figueroa said. “That’s our plan, I guess.”
“Panterita” – the affectionate diminutive of the Spanish word for panther – has power in both hands and a willingness to engage in attrition fighting, the kind both Mexicans and Texans thrill to. Figueroa is trained by Joel Diaz in Indio, Calif., where Timothy Bradley shares his camp.
“Bradley, whom I have the pleasure of working with, has a lot of heart and a lot of brains,” Figueroa said, then addressed his campmate’s March showing against Ruslan Provodnikov. “If I’m ever in one of those – in that circumstance? – I hope that I react the same way, that I don’t cower and quit. I don’t know if anyone else, except for the Mexicans, those types of fighters who live to fight fights like that, would have put up with that sort of punishment and try to keep the fight going.
“It was just an amazing feat for a human being to take those kinds of punches and fight on.”
Bradley is the name Figueroa mentions first and solely when asked for prizefighters he models himself after; he hopes to react to semi-consciousness in the mindless and miraculous way Bradley does, and while he does not admit to seeking such a chance, one detects in his voice a sense he would not mind it. If somehow Nihito Arakawa takes Figueroa to that state, endures the Texan’s attack without wilting then catches him on the way in, and Figueroa fights his way through it, comporting himself with even some of Bradley’s honor, on national television, South Texas will have its new draw, and Leija-Battah Promotions will have still more of what leverage it has already earned.
Bart Barry can be reached at bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com