A critical look at the past week in boxing
GOOD
The tendency after watching a special fight like Jose Zepeda vs. Ivan Baranchyk on Saturday night is to heap hyperbole upon it. Fight of the Year! Fight of the DECADE! FIGHT OF THE CENTURY!
Of course, we want to keep things in their proper perspective even as our heads are still spinning as a result of the excitement.
So I’ll say this: I’ve followed boxing for a half century and covered it for three decades – I’ve seen thousands of fights – and this one might rank in my Top 10 most thrilling battles. I hesitate to compare it to classics such as Muhammad Ali vs. Joe Frazier III, Marvin Hagler vs. Thomas Hearns or Diego Corrales vs. Jose Luis Castillo, which were more important fights, but it was a similar thrill ride.
Eight knockdowns in four-plus rounds – four apiece — is deliciously insane. We all love a dramatic knockout, which Zepeda provided with a right-left combination in Round 5. And the seemingly dire condition of Baranchyk immediately after the fight provided added, albeit unwanted drama.
This word is probably used too much but it truly was an “unforgettable” fight.
And I appreciate that, in part because I’ve seen so many forgettable fights. That isn’t to minimize the efforts of any fighter. I’ve always admired anyone with the courage to step through those ropes.
The courage of Zepeda and Baranchyk was simply off the charts on Saturday. Baranchyk, known as “The Beast”, attacked Zepeda like a mad man from the opening bell. The Los Angeles-area fighter, known for his boxing skills, probably could’ve held or run. Instead, his well-being be damned, he fought back in kind.
The result was one of those nights of which fans often dream but rarely witness.
***
BAD
The four minutes during which Baranchyk lay on the canvas after he was knocked out gave us time to make sense out of what we witnessed moments early and Baranchyk’s condition.
It was a strange emotional up and down.
One minute we’re on the edge of our seats and yelling, “NO WAY!!” The next, watching Baranchyk struggle to recover from his brutal fate, we had a clear understanding of the price fighters often pay to entertain us.
TV analyst Tim Bradley, perhaps with his war against Ruslan Provodnikov in mind, gave us a sobering perspective.
“I’m really sad right now,” Bradley said as Baranchyk lay on the canvas. “Honestly, the severity of the sport … this is a brutal, brutal sport, man. And just watching this continues to let me know that I got out at the right time, ended my career at the right time.
“My heart goes out to Baranchyk and his team and his loved ones. He put on a hell of a performance tonight. I cannot take that away from him.”
Bradley then spoke about other topics momentarily, including the quality of the Nevada State Athletic Commission’s medical team, before returning to his feelings about Baranchyk.
“These are the situations right there that take me back to what I used to tell my wife before I got into the ring,” he said. “I used to her all the time, ‘Look at me now. The man you see right now is not going to be the same man who exits the ring tonight. So take a deep breath in and look at me.’ … That’s truly it.
“Baranchyk, a piece of him was left in the ring tonight. A piece of him was left, and he’ll never get it back.”
***
WORSE
I keep thinking about that last comment from Bradley.
The former two-division titleholder thinks and speaks clearly, which is why he’s a top TV analyst. However, what impact will the punches he took in his career have on him 10, 20, 30 years from now?
I’ve run into too many fighters who struggle a decade or two after their boxing careers come to an end. Some are lucky. I’m thinking of George Foreman. Some have annoying physical ailments. Some think slowly or slur their words. Some are much worse off than that.
I’m reminded of the late heavyweight contender Jerry Quarry, who fought Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier twice each.
I ran into him on a few occasions around the time he made the second of two ill-advised comebacks, in the early 1990s. He was still strong and could communicate fairly well but, at 47, he clearly had no business in the ring.
Shortly after he died at 53, in 1999, I interviewed his sister for a story I wrote when I was with the Los Angeles Daily News. She told me that near the end of his life she would look into his eyes and see nothing, that they completely vacant, and she cried.
That was the result of a lifetime in boxing.
The point here isn’t to be critical of the sport, which some would like to see banned. I love boxing. Always will. I’m trying to say that we should take the time to appreciate the sacrifices fighters like Baranchyk make to realize their dreams.
People have asked me many times over the years, “Why do you like that sport?” It took me some time to figure it out but I finally did: Boxing isn’t a game, like baseball, football or basketball.
Boxers risk their lives and well being every time they step through the ropes. Let’s not forget that. And let’s be grateful.
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