The panelists are captivating this night. I am seated in the middle of an aisle with extremely little leg room, surrounded by people similarly engrossed. Many have decided to stand. The venue is a Barnes and Noble. The event concerns the publication of a compilation entitled “At the Fights,” a work dedicated to superior writing about boxing, spanning decades. Mike Lupica, Robert Lipsyte, Leonard Gardner, Pete Hamill and Colum McCann are discussing the pages, along with the experiences capable of creating narratives, both personal and professional.
By Trevor Freeman
Last night Max Kellerman said that Floyd Mayweather Jr. had put on a “virtuoso” performance. This is the exact equivalent of me saying Tom Hanks performance in “Joe Versus The Volcano” was “virtuoso”. Max Kellerman even called into question what the judge who scored the fight for Oscar De La Hoya was watching. There are only three possible reasons for why Kellerman could have felt this way. They are:
a) He smoked a blunt with 50 Cent prior to the proceedings.
b) Floyd Mayweather Jr. set him up with an account over at the Bunny Ranch.
c) Lennox Lewis is a big fan of Floyd Mayweather Jr. and threatened to powerbomb Kellerman through the announce table while James Brown did his best Jim Ross impression yelling “Good God Almighty” if Kellerman didn’t pimp Floyd during the postfight coverage.
By Matt Waters
They called him a “Philadelphia Fighter” a definition that may require further explanation of its rather blunt meaning. A Philadelphia Fighter doesn’t quit, a Philadelphia Fighter never stops throwing punches, bobbing and weaving, never ceases to extract all the flight and fury his body could possibly handle. A Philadelphia Fighter never plays it safe, never allows his score on a card to dictate strategy, and most importantly, until he collapses, a Philadelphia Fighter answers the count.
It’s Sunday night and I’m flipping through the channels when I stumble across the show I’ve been trying to pretend doesn’t exist– “Dancing with the Stars.” For those of you who haven’t seen this trainwreck, here’s how it goes. You take 10 Y-list celebrities, force them to do complicated dances that they only have time to half-learn, then the audience laughs at them and votes one off the island. It’s good, wholesome entertainment at the expense of wannabe or used-to-be celebrities whose 15 minutes of fame are long gone.
But here’s the thing. This season, one of the contestants was Jerry Rice, the greatest wide receiver in the history of football. Any other position in football, you’ll get an argument about who is the best who ever played. But the debate is moot at wideout. Rice is the man. He holds every meaningful NFL record for his position. You can measure his yards gained in miles (a little over 13). He is unquestionably the best wide receiver to have ever played the game.
The title of “Heavyweight Champion of the World” was once the most esteemed in all of sports. It meant that whoever held that position was the baddest mf on earth. There was a time that a heavyweight title bout would literally bring the nation to a halt.
These fights were like mini-Superbowls, everyone would come together and root on their favorite. Recently, title bouts go on without a whimper. The most promising young athletes are no longer heavyweight contenders, but tight-ends and small forwards. I’m in a “let’s make a list” mood, so here are my top 10 most influential heavyweights of all time.
By Sean Quinn
Mike Tyson is a lucky man. You may not think so right away, but think about it. He’s lucky Memphis has bells. He’s lucky he drew referee Eddie Cotton three years ago when Lennox Lewis persistently pummeled him to take the throne as Heavyweight Champion. Mike Tyson is damn lucky. Because if I had been refereeing that fight, Tyson would have been buried right then and there in that ring, joining his career that had already been six-feet under since 1990.
I believe in the mercy rule, but only in coach-pitch softball. There shouldn’t be a mercy rule for Mike Tyson. Not after his sad, sorry, pathetic waste of a life. Lewis should have submerged Tyson into a place where all monsters eventually end up after their time on earth.
THIS ISN’T JUST ABOUT JOE MESI
by Gail Carelli
If you’re reading this article, then you might already know that the Nevada State Boxing Commission revoked Joe Mesi’s license after his Heavyweight bout with Vassily Jirov. Mesi won the fight, but at a high cost: he suffered from at least two subdural hematomas. Defined in simple terms, a subdural hematoma is bleeding in the brain caused by severe blunt force trauma to the head. It is quite often fatal, and is the leading cause of ring fatalities. See the Journal of Combat Sport, at http://ejmas.com/jcs/.