By Bart Barry-
Saturday in the mainevent of a Golden Boy-promoted and DAZN-broadcasted card from Indio, Calif., undefeated American lightweight Ryan “KingRy” Garcia (2.3m followers, Instagram) whacked-out hopeless Puerto Rican Jose Lopez in two rounds. If Garcia’s punches occasionally wanted for precision they lacked no malice, and their thrower no cocksuredness, and that recommends young KingRy because few are the prizefighters who start an uppercut after missing in the same flurry with hooks and crosses.
If you think Garcia isn’t yet quite what his socialmedia following believes, friend, you’ve come to the wrong place, as this space hopes to be a KingRy fanpage for at least a few hundred of the words that follow.
Without access to any demographic data for 15rounds.com a hunch tells me we lack a reliable readership among women, 18-24, a lack more pernicious than may first appear because our target demographic repels, or at least frightens, women, 18-24. And if you’re thinking “well, frightening them first sometimes does wonders,” you’re making my point – even while you might be right. Consider this column, then, a partial effort to pander and a partial effort to celebrate the potential of a young prospect; if by chance you are reading this column in the year 2024 and KingRy just failed in his fourth attempt to become a world champion, let’s hope it was a 23-year-old woman whose recommendation brought you here.
Rumor has it young women can be charmed by magic tricks, and while this effort, thus far, is bereft of magic, tricky or otherwise, its author has recently taken to juggling for reasons at best tangential to anything prizefighting but a touch germane to Garcia. Let’s see if the metaphor doesn’t collapse before it inflates.
If our focused vision, the detailed and conscious study of a visual object, happens via the cones of our foveae then most of boxing we watch with the rods of our peripheral vision. In a figurative sense this happens during nearly any pay-per-view undercard because broadcasters and promoters stock these with such swill no adult’s fovea need be wasted. In a literal sense, too, we trust most boxing viewership to peripheral vision, what suspenseful happenings occur while we fix drinks for acquaintances or discuss the weather with their wives.
Until Saturday the weight of my viewership of Ryan Garcia fell upon my peripheral vision exclusively; probably I caught some of a couple of his matches during some undercard broadcast or other, and (pander alert) I resolved to open an Instagram account to follow his photogenic exploits, but I never cleared a calendar’s moment for him.
Here’s something you already know but may not’ve considered: The rods of your peripheral vision are far better at detecting both motion and its rate than the cones of your fovea. You’re reading this with your fovea, that is, but if while you’re reading this a redfanged predator is creeping upon you it will be your peripheral vision that does the detecting – and there’s a strong argument to be made it is this, your very unconsidered faith in peripheral vision, that allows you to do something decadent as concentrate on words about boxing (ostensibly).
Which is sort of where juggling comes into play. Like most lads raised in New England I’ve gone through nearly all my life without any fascination whatever for motor sports. My first college roommate was from North Carolina, and until I met him I’d no inkling what NASCAR was nor a first inkling how absurdly popular it was. I still don’t watch live auto racing (or, to be fair, live most-any-sport-but-boxing), but I like sports documentaries of all kinds enough to’ve spent a goodish amount of time in March watching programs about Formula 1 (and even more time watching footage of the late Ayrton Senna). Along the way I caught one pattern more than another: Most Formula 1 drivers juggle to cultivate a discipline like: Look with soft focus on the horizon, say halfway up your windshield, while trusting your peripheral vision to detect others’ motions round you.
Despite an abiding fascination with palindromes I’ve no desire to do anything with a racecar but admit the Formula 1 driver’s discipline has a myriad of applications in life. So I bought the juggling balls (leatherskinned hacky sacks, effectively, the better for not bouncing when you drop them hundreds and hundreds of times) and watched the YouTube videos and did the oneball toss then the twoball toss then the threeball flash and then a halfdozen or so hours into the enterprise things made sense and quite apparently it was easier to keep two balls in the air while juggling three than turn the same feat with only two. (And it applies to this discipline, too: Right now I’m keeping soft focus on a wordcount of 1,000 while trusting peripheral vision will tell me if any worthwhile ideas about Ryan Garcia should come swooping in.)
Oh, here they come. What I like about Garcia: He has his new stablemate Canelo Alvarez’s best offensive traits and moreso. What surprises most about Canelo in person, for translating least on television, is his intensity of attack; if he doesn’t appear much faster at ringside he appears degrees more intentional; he very much wants to hurt you with his punches. The first time I covered a fight of his at ringside was the match with Austin Trout, and the experience impressed upon my memory an enduring sensation like “Wow, this dude is physical.” Not even sure what that means exactly, but you get it.
Garcia doesn’t yet have the same effect, his body is still a boy’s, comparatively, but his attack is relatively more intense than Canelo’s for coming from a relatively less-affected place. Garcia appears more loosely wound when defending than Canelo and meaner when attacking. However much of this should be attributed to opponent-quality remains to be gathered. Garcia mayn’t have Canelo’s chin, and best stop pulling it straight back regardless, but he has a prettyboy’s pride and presence, the relaxed posture of a guy who can pull your girlfriend and likes being resented for it.
Garcia’s a Spanish 102 class and an Olympic gold medal from being Oscar De La Hoya, perhaps, but our beloved sport is a lot more than that from being what it was in 1995, when De La Hoya won his 18th prizefight.
Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter (though not Instagram, alas) @bartbarry
