23.02.04 – By Matthew Hurley: It all started after a few pints of Guinness and corn beef sandwiches. The conversation revolved around the everyday piss offs, wives and girlfriends, the Alex Rodriguez trade to the Yankees and why the Red Sox will never win a World Series and on and on and on… And then, who was the greatest heavyweight champion of all time.
And the Guinness began to flow.
Being the youngest member of this round table I sat back and just listened. I consider myself a student of the sport of boxing and believe me I study, but I never saw many of the great fighters I write about. I read about them and I watch as many grainy films as I can, but these guys were there. As the arguments mounted and the beer flowed the usual names came up: Jack Dempsey, Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano and Muhammad Ali. But it ended with a thud at Ali. That’s when I piped in.
“What about Holmes, Holyfield, Tyson or Lewis?” I asked, rather hesitantly.
Silence.
One of the guys, after a long drag on an unfiltered Camel cigarette said, in a strained voice, “I’ll give you Holyfield, but that’s it.”
When the bartender set them up again one member of our group said, “Hey, Tyson was something else before he fucked everything up.”
“A poor man’s Dempsey,” said another.
The oldest member of this round table sipped at his pint and pointed at a framed picture of Rocky Marciano that hung on the wall behind me and said simply, “The Rock would have knocked them all out.”
“Even Ali?” I asked.
He leaned forward and clenched his right fist. “Even Ali,” he replied. He went on. “I hated Ali. All that Vietnam shit… but he could fight. Damn good fighter. But the Rock would’ve knocked him out no problem. Joe Louis would’ve had him for lunch. Louis would’ve killed him.”
I just smiled and nodded. I didn’t agree with him but his passion was infectious. The old man sat back in his chair, pointed at one of his buddies and said, “Joe Louis was the greatest fighter who ever lived.”
His friend shook his head and wiped some beer foam from his upper lip. “Sugar Ray Robinson was the greatest fighter who ever lived.”
A collective nod of heads.
The guy to my left grabbed my forearm and said, “Sugar Ray Robinson was the greatest fucking fighter who ever lived. Take that to the bank.”
When the waitress came over with yet another tray of Guinness I quietly marveled at the passionate obstinacy of these men. Their heroes were as timeless as my own. In their minds there was no way a Tyson or a Holyfield could possibly compete with a Louis or a Marciano. It’s the same feeling I have when questioned about the chances Bernard Hopkins, Oscar De La Hoya and Sugar Shane Mosley would have against Marvelous Marvin Hagler, Thomas Hearns and Sugar Ray Leonard. In my mind the fighters I grew up with would destroy them, regardless of how much respect I have for today’s fighters. Sometimes it’s hard to be objective when the hazy shades of fond memories cloud reason.
Mythical matches are subjective but boxing fans live and die with their heroes. No one will ever convince my father that any fighter has ever come close to the perfection of Sugar Ray Robinson. No one will ever change the minds of those fellows in the bar, sitting around that table knocking back beer after beer, that Joe Louis or Rocky Marciano wouldn’t have destroyed any heavyweight champion that came after them. And no matter how many pints of Guinness they all plied me with, not one of them would be able to convince me that Holfield, Tyson or Lewis, on their best night, wouldn’t have been able to bring those legends to their knees. So set up another round and let the debate go on…