By Bart Barry
Saturday in Las Vegas the redhead anointed by one very powerful Mexican television network as the man most likely to continue his country’s outstanding pugilistic tradition, mainly on the virtue of his unique hair color and pigmentation, victimized, via 10th round technical stoppage, a hopeless fellow Mexican in a dog collar. In preventing the man in the dog collar from fighting any further, the match’s outstanding referee did what a trainer and team of evaluating Nevada neurologists should have done long before. For this act of mercy, the outstanding referee was treated to bald derision from morons.
The redhead, of course, was Saul “Canelo” Alvarez – a prizefighter who, had he appeared on Shobox with a last name like O’Brien, Friday, instead of a Mexican-themed pay-per-view broadcast on Saturday, would not have caused more than an obligatory second glance. The man in the collar was Alfredo “El Perro” Angulo. The outstanding referee was Tony Weeks. And the morons were a myriad, though only one had a microphone.
The horse sense of the generally Mexican, generally intoxicated crowd congregated in the MGM Grand Garden Arena being what it was, the boos were misplaced, or perhaps misinterpreted, but they were an accurate reflection of what becomes increasingly plain about Cinnamon Alvarez: He is not that good. Canelo is an A-list guy in a B-list era, as was made plain by his inability to win convincingly a minute against Floyd Mayweather on Mexican Independence Day weekend, or fell a pre-ruined man like Angulo despite hundreds of clean shots to do so.
Saturday’s match was not competitive. Did Tony Weeks stop it too early? Only for sadists and those who pander them. For those interested in fair competition, Weeks might have stopped “Toe to Toe” after the second minute of its first round when, already, Angulo’s head was getting sent shoulderwards by Canelo’s hooks, and coming off his shoulder in a motion somewhat less elastic than a verb like “snap” should connote.
In the fight’s opening 30 seconds, Alvarez threw a left-hook lead Angulo did not know was coming and hadn’t an idea how to counter with any but the absorption method he and trainer Virgil Hunter apparently perfected in training camp, a method, acceptably nicknamed rope-till-a-dope, wherein a fighter allows himself to be punched hard as possible by an opponent, in the lunatic hopes striking a man repeatedly on the chin with one’s fist will be more taxing for the attacker than his victim. And the lighter the victim punches in the opening minutes, the better this method works, it appears, as Angulo moved his arms perfunctorily enough in round 1 to be salsa dancing, as if his hands were in motion to accessorize whatever his feet and hips did.
Not sure what folks said while y’all watched the fight, but round me were a trainer, a former amateur fighter, and a professional basketball player, and before 90 seconds were done in the main event, there was nothing but disbelief, expressed in phrases hopping about like “Are you kidding?” and “Really?” and “My God!” OK, the last was mine, and it came when I saw how uninhibited Alvarez was in his punching, how oblivious he was of Angulo’s volition, much less his power, as Alvarez stretched his arms wide as an eagle taking flight while throwing the hook and stepped into his cross like a pitcher delivering a full windup to the plate.
Then the second round came and Alvarez landed a right-uppercut lead, a punch that began near his right hipbone, traveled across his chest, traveled across Angulo’s chest, and struck “El Perro” flush on the inch of flesh just beneath his chin, all, before Angulo detected the punch and so much as blinked his consent. Should Tony Weeks have stopped the fight in the 10th? We’re not being serious. Boxing ought to incorporate a mercy rule like little league baseball: The moment one man is so overmatched his opponent has the chutzpah to throw, let alone land, a right-uppercut lead, the judges quietly rise from their stools and walk to the parking lot.
That a group of fans, deep in their cups, expressed displeasure with Weeks’ intervention is exactly no indictment of Weeks, and yet, there was Showtime’s postfight performer trying to get to the bottom of the malcontents’ discontent, and bless Weeks for giving Jim Gray the Major League Baseball treatment, whether it was for Pete’s sake or his own, leaving his new boss at NSAC to feign seriousness concerning Angulo’s incoherent protest afterwards. That’s not an English-as-second-language issue, either; Angulo speaks Spanish in a halting, laboring, frustrated way that argues convincingly his Saturday fight with Canelo should have been stopped in the fifth round of Angulo’s 2011 match with James Kirkland – a loss Angulo attributed to then-trainer Nacho Beristain’s distraction with training Juan Manuel Marquez.
The truth of what actually caused Angulo’s extended stay in a California immigration detention facility shortly after that Kirkland fight likely will never be known, though in our 20-minute conversation 15 months ago, he struck me as a person to whom life happens much more that what a violent criminal the detention facility was designed for. He has a nervous, high-pitched giggle, surprisingly effeminate, that disarms any inquisitor, and he’s quite good at sweet openers that lead quickly to acidic criticisms, as he did to Tony Weeks after Saturday’s match. Angulo might be punchy, but he’s far from stupid. There’s no way he or Virgil Hunter actually thinks he was on the precipice of anything but a terrible ending when Weeks’ mercy did what Hunter should have done rounds before, stopping the sort of winding-down vacuousness no fan pays to see, however much he enjoys the luxury of booing another’s consciousness afterward.
Mexico’s anointed star won by technical stoppage, Saturday, and nary a centile of Americans cared at all. Had Mexico’s anointed star put Angulo on a stretcher, in a coma, or in the ground, live from Las Vegas, today would feel considerably different for anyone reading this. Thank Tony Weeks for sparing us another such examination of conscience.
Bart Barry can be reached at bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com