So, it looks really painful to get punched
– hard – in the face and torso for 30 minutes straight.
So, it looks really painful to get punched – hard – in the face and torso for 30 minutes straight.
The sound alone is haunting. A distinct thump, similar to a piece of raw meat being slammed onto a tile countertop, but with just a bit more thud – that’s a boxing glove directly into the face.
The visual is breathtaking. Like a sprinkler coming on for the first time, water spraying from the heads of each boxer when they are struck. Not a few small drops; shower-like volume.
Watching the cognizance disappear from a grown man’s eyes after absorbing a blow to the head is a sight only gathered at close range. Limbs give out, and down they go. Glassy-eyed and wobbly, but a quick nod and it’s back to the brawl. Joel Casamayor tried, but Robert “the Ghost” Guerrero had other ideas.
From a deep 3-pointer distance away, I watched eight fighters do their job – pummel and survive – last Saturday night in the city known for its glitz, glamour and all-night antics, Las Vegas.
Juan Manual Marquez successfully made it two in a row against Juan Diaz, and his puffy right eye was proof that he won?
Jorge Linares out of Venezuela spit blood through most of his fight with Rocky Juarez. But he triumphed too.
The glory – and the payday – supersedes the blood, swollen eyes and brain-jarring punches.
TV broadcasts do not do boxing justice. It is brutal and sophisticated at the same time. The constant, fluid movement around the ring, the footwork, the posture and the precise punches, artistically set boxing apart from the UFC and the like.
The hype and hoopla is entertainment at its finest. From the grand entrances into the ring, the booming voice of Michael Buffer and the ringing of the round-bell – oh, and the ring card girls. The tuxedo and bow tie, one of many traditions established years ago still prominent and all part of the spectacle.
The level of conditioning needed to last the entire 10-to-12-round fight, may not equate to being marathon-ready. However, runners in a marathon aren’t getting clobbered in the head while enjoying the scenery.
The fans want to see a knockout. And when it happens there is no louder roar found at a sporting event. As soon as a guy’s body wilts, the crowd erupts into a pandemonious cheer.
Dmitri Pirog delivered in that department. Pirog landed a frightening overhand right, flattening Daniel Jacobs to earn the WBO middleweight title.
Everyone looks up at the big screens for the replay. The ooh’s and ahh’s screamed out in unison.
All in a night’s work.
Boxers are poetically arrogant. It must be the adrenaline that gives them the sense of immortality. Shoot, if I survived a 10-round slugfest, I’m pretty sure I would accept any challenge that came my way. The losers don’t want to readily admit they were bested, at least in those few words. And the winners aren’t hesitant to explain exactly why they were the better fighter.
It is a ferocious sport with an incredible dynamic. The timid need not apply.
