Boxing

 

When hope isn't enough..the education of a boxing fan

By Paul Concannon

08.02 - About 10 o'clock PM on the 15th of September 1992, a budding and wide-eyed boxing fan had just watched Andy Holligan knock out Tony Ekubia to defend his British and Commonwealth Light -Welterweight titles; I was impressed. I had read an article on Holligan in Boxing Monthly some months previously that stated boldly, "Doing it like Duran." I was struck by two things; the Liverpudlian tearaway had a name that sounded a bit like Hooligan and also the hard-punching and aggressive slugger had a style that had been likened to Roberto Duran. Like me he was a fan of 'Manos de Piedra', to the extent that he had grown a beard to give himself that same grizzled appearance as the Panamanian legend. To the fuse of a long time but at that point relatively inexperienced boxing enthusiast this was nothing short of dynamite.

My first glimpse of Holligan was on the now defunct Screensport channel some months earlier when he destroyed Leicester's dangerous but fragile Tony McKenzie in three rounds; I loved what I saw. Holligan simply walked in against the cannon of a man with renowned punching power. McKenzie was rescued after being stunned and swamped on the ropes, his dangerous right-handers bouncing harmlessly off the skull of the relentless Holligan. To my mind I was witnessing a future world champion, indeed "Doing it like Duran." I was reminded of another Liverpool fighter on the scene at that point, Paul Hodkinson who held the WBC Featherweight title - the omen seemed good.

The undisputed ruler of the 10 stone division back then was the mighty Julio Caesar Chavez, the
multi-titled three-weight world champion and the top man in most peoples P4P food chain. I had seen many of Chavez's fights and I couldn't see too much difference between Holligan and the much-acclaimed 'lion of Culiacan.' They both liked to come forward and attack, they both had a good line in body punching and each man had drawn comparisons with Duran. A fight between the two seemed nothing short of mouth-watering with my belief that Holligan might just turn out to be a real handful for Chavez.

The Ekubia fight put the seal on any doubts I may have had about Holligan's pretensions to top class. It was a rematch of a tough 12 round bout that had seen the undefeated Merseysider take a close verdict and with it Ekubia's British and Commonwealth titles in June of 1991. Ekubia was a beautifully sculpted and compact box-fighter with power in each hand; he was seen as a very real threat to reverse the result of their first fight. A bout that promised to be two-sided and fierce would more closely resemble a fox-hunt in a flowerbed. Holligan won almost every round en route to a stunning seventh round count-out. This is not to suggest that the Manchester based Ekubia didn't come to fight - not a bit of it, he battled every inch of the way, but just like Duran or Chavez every time Andy was nailed he would throw three punches in response. Ekubia rose from a knockdown in round six to catch his oppressor with a desperate crunching right hand in the next session. It was the lack of effect of that shot as much as Holligan's final left hook seconds later that were enough to convince the gallant Mancunian the ten count and the canvas were the safer options that night at the Everton Park sports centre.

I was convinced. The armoury now seemed to include an impenetrable chin and after all Chavez wasn't really a one shot knockout type, was he? Utterly enthused I discoursed lyrically with my dad, an ex-amateur and life long boxing fan too, that my new hero was the real thing, "He hits as hard as Chavez, throws the same type of punches - people are comparing him with Duran! If this guy gets his shot Chavez is in for a war! Did you see the way Ekubia bounced those hooks off his head? Ekubia can really crack.!" He smiled back at me, "He will never beat Chavez." I was amazed; how could he be so dismissive? "Dad, Chavez isn't getting any younger and Holligan will be in his face all night. If he can walk through Tony Ekubia he can compete with Chavez, surely?" I protested. "Different leagues, son, different leagues" is all he would say.

The success story continued; now in pole-position for that dream shot against Chavez he stayed busy with a pair of points wins over durable American journeymen Dwayne Swift and Mark Smith, and a crushing stoppage of an inept Mexican called Lorenzo Garcia. The reality was drawing ever closer.

There were suggestions that after 80 fights the undefeated Chavez might finally be slowing down. In his last fight but one the Mexican warrior had struggled badly with Pernell Whittaker in a much
anticipated super-bout. He was seemingly bamboozled for the most part by the wily skills of the slippery American, even being stunned on a few occasions by a man acknowledged for technique rather than power. I was now more or less certain Andy could cause an upset - stunned by Pernell Whittaker surely meant wobbled by Holligan at the very least. To my delight, the fight was announced for December the 18th 1993 on a huge show in Puebla, Mexico which would feature three world title bouts.

The review headline in the previous weeks Boxing News was contemptuous of his chances. The headline read 'Holligan in search of a Christmas miracle.' Once more I was surprised; they had the fearsome brawler beaten before he entered the ring. I was certain he was capable of surprising a few people. I pondered on other great British upsets like Honeyghan-Curry and Stracey-Napoles. Stranger things had happened, hadn't they?

The bill was a Don King extravaganza featuring 11 under-card fights, Holligan challenging Chavez for the WBC Light Welterweight title, Terry Norris defending against Simon Brown for the WBC title at Light Middle and Michael Nunn defending his WBA Super-Middleweight belt against Merqui Sosa. The Nunn-Sosa bout was a stinker, with two long armed and lanky types tying each other in knots for twelve bad tempered rounds. Nunn took a wide decision. The Norris v Brown affair was altogether more exciting. Norris was high in the P4P rankings and Brown was a former Welterweight champion deemed to be on the slide. The explosive Norris attacked like a headless chicken and the composed and hard hitting ex-champion had a field day, flooring Norris in the first, wobbling him in the second and third and knocking him stone cold in the fourth with a single right hand. It was sensational stuff and added spice to the main event - upset was now officially 'in the house.'

Watching a recording of the bout on the Sunday afternoon (I was infuriatingly called into work on
that damp December day) I watched Holligan being lead to the ring with his entourage and was almost shaking with excitement at what I felt would be a 'fight of the year' war. I noticed Holligan looking relaxed though somewhat pensive, understandable given the intensely pro- Chavez atmosphere.

The fight as only seconds old when I realised how naïve I had been. Holligan was rocked in the opening exchange and emerged from a pounding on the ropes with his nose gushing blood; that with less than a minute gone. The remainder of the round brought to mind a bungee jumper repeatedly bouncing into a threshing machine and emerging a little more savaged each time. Holligan was brave but that was all. The predatory Chavez with the 'similar style' fought with an artistry and grace that made his prey seem merely sluggish. I was cruelly learning the difference between Tony Ekubia at Everton Park and Julio Cesar Chavez in Puebla.

The beating continued through round two. Fighting from the outside, or on the inside Chavez's cruel fists could not miss the target as he fired salvos up and down with consummate ease. The famous Holligan attack could not get going. The third was more of the same with Holligan being stung, swatted, brutalised and so intent on defence his own shots were limited to just single desperate efforts. As painful as my lesson on the respective ability levels of these boxers was, I was having a picnic compared to poor old Andy.

Round four saw Chavez decide to close the show and I was simply in awe of the way he threw double and triple left hooks and crashing right crosses; nothing missed. I glanced at my dad and winced as the thrashing continued; he smiled knowingly. Finally there was a glimmer of hope; Holligan threw everything in a frantic final assault landing several times on Chavez who seemed momentarily punched out. Could the tide be turning? A huge Holligan right cross followed a rare clinch and Chavez took a deep breath and backed up for a second. Any thoughts of 'a Christmas miracle' were however soon dispelled. Chavez upped the ante for the remainder of the round and after a torturous fifth with Holligan offering nothing but courage, the bruised and battered Scouser was rescued by his corner between rounds.

I learned more about boxing in those 15 gruesome minutes than in all my previous years of watching the sport. I learned that the very best in the World have ability levels above and beyond top flight domestic professionals. Watching Holligan destroy Ekubia and Chavez destroy Haugen may look similar and achieve a similar level of eye candy to the casual boxing fan but closer inspection reveals the different stratospheres these fine men work within. Seldom has this been better exemplified than in Holligan's brutal and gallant stand against Chavez. The rib bending hooks that conquered and destroyed the British Isles were little more than a hand-gun against a fortress. This was Marciano v Cockell, Ali V Dunne and Hagler Sibson v all over again. Nobody wins world titles at three weights without being able to vary their game plan. The seek and destroy version of Chavez that had crushed the Mayweathers, Haugens and Rosarios was equally comfortable in the role of slick matador when facing a man who was willing to assume the role of the attacker.

Holligan was philosphical after the pounding, "I could have done better but I could have done worse." This statement didn't quite sum up his contribution to the contest, but Holligan earned well from the fight which hopefully helped anesthetise the pain that Chavez inflicted.

The moral of the story, I suppose, is this that there are good fighters and there are great fighters. If you happen to like, love, follow or be a fan of one of those good fighters-just occasionally they can start looking great too. This lesson in perspective was a valuable one to this boxing fan. Much as you can sometimes really want your valiant underdog to win, in the cold hard reality of a boxing ring, when the talking has stopped and all that remains are the fighters, hope, in most cases, isn't enough.

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