Kovalev krushes Koach Freddie, et al

By Bart Barry-

Saturday at Montreal’s Bell Centre, Russian light heavyweight champion Sergey “Krusher” Kovalev beat Haitian-Canadian Jean Pascal till Pascal’s corner told its charge to remain seated at the end of round 7. While the match was at no point competitive, while it was the rematch of a 2015 match that was not competitive, it was not that much less competitive in the seventh round than the sixth or the fifth or the fourth. The reason for the stoppage, apparently, was what disproportionate pleasure Kovalev began to derive from wounding the man across from him. During a sporting event.

Sergey Kovalev is a very good prizefighter in a decent division in a tired and tiring and tiresome era – and unfortunately for him and his copromoters, Main Events and HBO, no magical number of iterations will someday make him a great prizefighter (in the sense of Floyd Mayweather or Manny Pacquiao or Juan Manuel Marquez). A certain number of prizefighters get elected to the hall of fame each year, though, and boxing’s fabric is diaphanous and thinning, and so, sometime in the next 15 years, Kovalev’s immortality will gain purchase of a sort, with youngsters backing and filling our memories of his good fights with numbers and metaphors to prove his greatness.

It’s all in the game, sure, but howsoever will “Legendary Nights: Kovalev Krushes Pascal Twice” weather a scheduling error that sets it beside “Legendary Nights: The Tale of Hagler vs. Hearns”?

Better, probably, than Freddie Roach’s reputation will suffer Pacquiao’s first retirement a few months from now. Coach Freddie was back in promoter mode last week, casting colorful quotes at bored writers in the buildup to a rematch of a first match that was not competitive, assuring those gathered the improvement he wrought with Pascal was not subtle. But it was exactly that, as Pascal demonstrated by enduring Kovalev’s fury for 63 seconds less than he did 10 months ago. Coach Freddie’s solace is found here: The version of Pascal who sneaked past a lad named Yunieski Gonzalez in July was fated for a fiveround stoppage Saturday in Montreal, and the small, but enormous, stylistic details, that were overhauls, performed by Coach Freddie kept Pascal conscious if barely competitive for an extra six minutes of abuse.

Pascal has a great physique and a handsome face, both improvements made by Roach, and a penchant for winging wide punches and stumbling over his own aggressiveness – also wrinkles, pleats really, Coach Freddie ironed in. Unconvinced? Coach Freddie is going to overhaul that last sentence, a strategic revision about which he says, “Every writer is different in a job like this, but making Barry’s sentence better is kind of easy because there are so many mistakes.”

Let’s have a look:

Pascal has a tremendous physique and a striking face, both improvements made by Roach, and a tendency to wing punches wide and stumble over his own aggression – also wrinkles Coach Freddie folded in.

There you have it. Editor of the year.

With or without Roach, Pascal now returns to the toughman circuit to which Englishman Carl Froch remanded him seven years ago and whence Chad Dawson and Bernard Hopkins drafted him in 2010. Pascal is the sort of dark brute our nightmares convince us to favor in confrontations with wafers like Froch or Kovalev, but Pascal’s menace, much like Adonis Stevenson’s, is a cultivated superficiality, an amplifier of North American stereotypes more than a genuine bit of danger.

Froch was not menacing; Froch was a craftsman, a man who obsessed over manly comportment, found its purest manifestation in prizefighting, and obsessed over prizefighting. Froch wanted to be a great prizefighter and didn’t particularly care what pathway might get him there. Kovalev is a different thing entirely.

Were he not bludgeoning men with his fists, Kovalev would’ve done things vile enough to someone like Liam Neeson and his family for the subtext of “Taken” to have been Inspired by true events. Trainer emeritus Don Turner once used a telling word to describe Kovalev: mean. From Matthew the college professor or Sarah the barista, a word like that describing a professional fighter does not register, but from a man whose livelihood derives in large part from midwifing a will-to-cruelty in other men, the word is potent. The word manifests itself in the deadness of Kovalev’s countenance when he attacks – a predatory lack of empathy. Kovalev is more an athletic psychopath, more Sonny Liston, than an athlete who suspends his conscience to steal another man’s consciousness.

After Pascal’s corner waved the white towel Saturday, Kovalev fumbled a bit with the straightening of his Krusher kap, and it sent the mind to no coordinate sharper than Juan Manuel Marquez a minute after he snatched the animating force from Manny Pacquiao – mounting the turnbuckle a length from Pacquiao’s stillmotionless body, and ensuring his bill was just so for the cameras. Marquez’s willingness to kill another man in the ring, though, was tempered slightly by a very deep Mexican prizefighting tradition, a decree from the elders like: Thou shalt not. Russian boxing, an amateur-only affair till the 1990s, a sportsman’s endeavor performed with pillowy gloves and headgear till Kovalev was at least 10 years-old, has no such tether for its current practitioners.

Which means Andre Ward’s undefeated record, nay his life, is in jeopardy! Not so fast.

Kovalev is a very good 175-pound prizefighter. Andre Ward is a great 168-pound prizefighter. If Ward is not quite mean as Kovalev, he’s resentful as hell, distrustful, and unafraid to lead with his head or hit a man low if the moment warrants it. For all his menace and horror of intention, Kovalev barely dented a 50-year-old Bernard Hopkins in 36 minutes of trying. Anyone who thinks Kovalev is going to krush a 31-year-old version of Hopkins needs to start muting his HBO telecasts.

Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter @bartbarry