Bernard Hopkins has done what no middleweight in the history of the toughest of all the boxing divisions has done, setting a record that will almost surely never be surpassed: holding the middleweight title for a full decade with a record 20 successful defences against the top contenders from the middle 1990s to the present year. Knocking out both the super-rich superstar Oscar De La Hoya and the Puerto Rican legend Felix Trinidad, the fighter who calls himself the Executioner and enters the ring with a death-row black mask and hood, as if he were in the wrestling circus, was the overwhelming choice for No. 1 pound-for-pound honours until he took on young, brash, likeable, flashy Jermain Taylor last July. Hopkins lost a razor-thin and controversial split decision that night, setting the stage for last Saturday’s encounter, which fight buffs were anticipating as the biggest fight of the year.
In their first encounter Hopkins, always a cautious starter using the early rounds to study his opponent, searching for weaknesses he will exploit in the later rounds, gave away the first six rounds, doing little or nothing, but turning the tables in the second half of the fight when the undefeated but inexperienced contender, who had failed to pace himself, was running out of gas. The forty-year-old Hopkins closed the show convincingly enough to earn at least a draw, which would have enabled him to keep the four belts that signify the undisputed championship. Hopkins was so sure he had won that he threatened to have the scoring investigated. In truth, one myopic judge had given the last round to Taylor, a round in which Hopkins had staggered his young opponent and clearly dominated. But his overly cautious start had cost him dearly, a shortcoming the headstrong and always confrontational Hopkins refused to acknowledge. Next time, he promised, he would make the first round the thirteenth round of the last fight, when he was finally backing up the twenty-seven-year-old pretender to his throne, and pouring it on.
‘I’m coming into this one with a Blue Horizon mentality,’ Hopkins warned. Translation: Hopkins is a Philadelphia fighter, in a town known for training sessions that are bloody wars, and where those die-hard brawls are associated with the Blue Horizon. When you think Philadelphia, you remember the tough ones all the way back to Philadephia Jack O’Brien, Marvelous Marvin Hagler, Benny Briscoe, Joe Frazier – call the roll and remember the toll.
Bernard’s brave talk made him a slight favourite over the new champion, and at the opening bell he came out firing with both hands at the young man ‘who had stolen my title’. An offensive that lasted all of 20 seconds. And then, as the expectant audience began to boo, Hopkins reverted to his passive posture of the previous fight. The two of them spent more time looking at each other than punching. I scored the first round 10–10, even. But it should have been scored 0–0, because nothing happened.
After that the two of them proceeded to give one of the dreariest performances in the history of this notable division. As they clinched repeatedly like two contending octopuses, with the referee working more strenuously than the fighters, I found myself thinking back to some of the memorable middleweight title fights I’ve been fortunate to see – Robinson and LaMotta in Chicago, Robinson and Basilio, and Griffith–Benvenuti in New York, Hagler and Hitman Tommy Hearns in Vegas – champions whose spirit matched their ability and who gave it everything they had to the last gasp. That’s what makes the sport of boxing so demanding and so compelling, when it lives up to its promise and tradition.
In this disappointing excuse for a fight, the booing grew louder round by round as Hopkins went on studying his young opponent, who was winning the rounds with his rapid jabs while missing with wild right hands. Occasionally Hopkins would land with his right and score a point for Philadelphia, but there was no follow-up, no combinations, no fire. Once again the former champion seemed content to concede the first six rounds to the kid from Arkansas, who wasn’t doing much either, just enough to win.
Finally, like a carbon copy of Hopkins–Taylor I, the old man picked up the pace a bit in the seventh and won the round, and managed to win three of the last six, mostly catching his rival with those right hand leads that a more experienced fighter would know how to avoid. The big difference between this fight and the lacklustre first encounter was round 11, where Taylor used his fast jab to good advantage and at last was scoring combinations that gave him the round and a commanding lead. Now Hopkins would have to knock him out to win, but young Taylor’s athleticism and Hopkins’s creeping immobility made that so unlikely that the crowd seemed more bored than expecting any last-round fireworks.
The best punch Hopkins threw in round 12 was a right to the groin, but he did connect now and then in his now almost-41ish desultory way. The final bell brought relief from the boredom, and of course when all three judges decided in Taylor’s favour, Hopkins again signalled his disagreement. How the once undisputed king of the modern middleweights thought he won this one is hard to figure. But if you have ever talked to Hopkins eye to eye – and he has a way of really getting in your face – you would know that you have met the master of self-assertive positive thinking. As the promotional partner of the enterprising Oscar De La Hoya in their Golden Boy Productions, Hopkins will be a formidable promoter able to stand and deal with the likes of Don King and Bob Arum. To his credit, I remember a long-ago post-fight interview in which he expressed his indignation at the way boxing promoters exploited their fighters, and vowed to do something about it. Now, as he faces retirement, already wearing his promoter’s hat with the bouts he’s staged for his nephew, Demetrious Hopkins, he’s ready to take on the reigning impresarios. He’s a stubborn dude, this veteran of five years’ hard time in the slammer where he learned his hard trade, and we can’t help wishing him well, at the same time also wishing he had gone out with all guns firing instead of the passive performance he brought to the rematch.
He’ll be 41 a few weeks hence, and that’s when the reflexes begin to betray the best of intentions. How many Archie Moores are there who can challenge Rocky Marciano for his heavyweight title at age 43, and then knock him down so hard in the second round that it took all of the Rock’s depthless bottom to get back into the fray?
The drama in Hopkins’s last fight was all in the back story, as they call it in the movie business. Taylor’s promoter, Lou DiBella, a breath of light in a dark world, had been Hopkins’s promoter for many years. They not only fell out, but the characteristically suspicious and somewhat paranoid Hopkins had accused DiBella of taking a $50,000 bribe from HBO. DiBella, who just may be the one completely clean practitioner in the game, sued and won a judgment of $600,000. And then, in fairy-tale fashion, he developed the young Olympian who became the only serious challenger for Hopkins’s undisputed reign.
It couldn’t happen to a nicer man or a nicer kid who now goes home to Arkansas with all the belts. A heart-warming story. Except for one thing. It says something about what’s wrong with the present-day boxing scene. In the good old days, back in the 1950s, ’60s, ’70s, Jermain Taylor would still be a promising young boxer a long way from the top. His jab is nice, and he’s quick and athletic. But still too easy to hit, with his left jab his only trusty weapon, he still has an awful lot to learn. The trouble is, given the dearth of talent, Taylor may never get a chance to hone his skills. Can you see him in there with Robinson or LaMotta or Cerdan or, for that matter, with Emile Griffith or Hagler, or the middleweight Archie Moore? Tough non-champions like Charley Burley, Georgie Abrams, Solly Krieger and a dozen more buzzing in my head would give this promising young man major trouble.
But it’s not the twentieth century. Alas, it’s the twenty-first, and all we can do is go on to the next and hope for the best.
[2005]