By Bart Barry-
Editor’s note: For part 1, please click here.
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The week that began in February, ended in March and became the pinnacle of HBO boxing’s viewership feats in 2014 did not fool any of its participants or witnesses and still hasn’t. The ratings phenom who is Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. is not phenomenal at all when his numbers are put against nearly any other televised athletic competition, and his rematch with Bryan Vera in March was treated with contempt by most aficionados who treated it at all.
Then there was its choice of venue, a city in Texas – most despised of all boxing states by pundits who do not reside here. Chavez returned to Texas, place of lost drug tests and delayed weighins and scorekeepers decried by Paulie Malignaggi, to ensure he was given benefits of the doubt California and Nevada occasionally show dereliction in granting Son of the Legend, but this time he didn’t much need them.
There was a doubt in no one’s mind but Vera’s and maybe Ronnie Shields’ that a semiserious Chavez would beat Vera convincingly, and what suspense remained after the weighin expired with Chavez’s tardy arrival at the arena, as there were rising doubts at ringside he would bother being in his dressing room at his HBO- or commission-appointed time. Chavez does not care a whit about American television; he knows the herculean efforts made to keep him off premium-cable airwaves during the early part of his career, he knows his ratings happen in spite of HBO’s coverage of him and not because of it, he knows fully half his American audience watches solely in the hopes his ass gets beaten nearly to death, and he knows 90 percent of the other half of his viewers do so out of abiding loyalty to the Legend, not Son of.
Chavez Jr. is a millionaire despite his worst efforts, and he is just aware enough to be tickled by it. If you need a reason to like the kid, try this: He’s made absurdity his business partner.
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The week that began in February, ended in March and became the pinnacle of HBO boxing’s viewership feats in 2014 gave the IABWA an occasion for its first meeting of the year. The association, such as it is, was born of Kelsey McCarson’s perennial rejection by the BWAA’s membership committee, and it was born of camaraderie, not protest; the folks who run the BWAA are for the most part good and decent, and Kelsey is good and decent, and if the two sides ever had aligned it would have been happier for both but much sadder for Kelsey’s followers on Twitter who so enjoy Kelsey’s satirical criticisms of the true boxing writers association.
We are all better and funnier than our public faces, and this holds particularly true for boxing writers – a group of talented and often hurt people describing other talented and hurt people hurting people.
There may be no better place than ringside, whether in Michigan or Colorado or Arizona, but in San Antonio, the next best place is McNay Art Museum, The McNay, where I took my friend and houseguest David Greisman hours before Chavez-Vera 2. David liked the pieces by Picasso, Matisse, Renoir and Mondrian well enough, but none of them resonated with him quite nearly like lines from his beloved E. E. Cummings do.
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The week that began in February, ended in March and became the pinnacle of HBO boxing’s viewership feats in 2014 saw more of Russian light heavyweight titlist Sergey Kovalev than one anticipated. He was at a Doubletree mixer with promoters and managers and HBO handlers, he was at a special-access dinner at A—-r, he was ringside at Alamodome, and he was at Mi Tierra restaurant after Chavez finished beating Vera. He wore a full beard and showed a Russian interpretation of a trait once attributed to American President Richard Nixon: His smile and his face did not appear to be in the same place at the same time.
Kovalev sold menace, mostly, and the more menacing for failing to be in any coherent way friendly while publicly playing a friendly person. That he was later unable to beat Bernard Hopkins to unconsciousness tarnished his menacing image more than anyone now admits and few will realize for the next two or three years of relentless HBO promotion, and the contortions Kovalev’s absence of menace in November bent aficionados into would be amusing were they not tragic:
“No, no, a knockout, what? No! I wanted to see Kovalev cautiously outpoint a man about to turn 50. I wasn’t sure he could do it, and man, when he did, it made my year!”
Right, guys.
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The week that began in February, ended in March and became the pinnacle of HBO boxing’s viewership feats in 2014 was seen by most who gathered round the Alamodome for the Friday weighin as the starter’s pistol for another decent year to come. Had you asked any of them if they believed the next evening’s match would be viewed by more HBO subscribers than another, to a person, they would have chuckled or said no or chuckled and said no. It was a testament to 2014’s overarching badness that in almost 300 days of trying, HBO made not one, more-enticing offering to its subscribers than Chavez-Vera 2.
The incongruent wardrobe of my return to television beneath a shower of ferocious South Texas sunlight brought to mind an old Chris Rock bit about a Sir Mix-A-Lot video in which the rapper wears a mink coat at a Seattle carwash where everyone else dances in bikinis. But never mind that.
People look to experts for authority. I was authoritative.
And just about perfectly wrong from beginning to end.
Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter @bartbarry