Of course I watched Povetkin vs. Whyte.  It was the first heavyweight fight of note in God knows how long.  And I enjoyed he crap out of it too.  There was a fair amount of drama, and a surprise ending.  Who doesn’t love an underdog win?  The lack of fans still bugs me, though.  It’s confusing – when someone gets knocked down, there should be an accompanying roar.  I mean there always has been.  Without the roar I find myself asking “What happened? Was that a slip?”

But worse than that is the number of masked men.  All the cornermen had them, the cameramen, and even the ref was wearing one. Of what possible use are they?  Are they suggesting that they could not check these men’s temperatures, or swab their noses before the fight to determine if they were carrying the bug?  Are they suggesting that even with the numbers reduced to, what, a dozen, that it was simply too many to test?

Welcome. To. Florida.

I think they refused to allow that measure of common sense to win the day because they wanted to present an optic. They wanted to show the world a group of hard, virile, and “toxic”. males kowtowing to PC nonsense.  It’s exactly the same reason they coerce football players into wearing pink on Sundays.

They don’t like football, and they don’t like boxing.  In their minds violent sports are a key part of the socialization that molds young innocent boys into overly-aggressive toxic males, soldiers of the patriarchy.  They do launch frontal assaults too.  If you look for them you can find Op-ed pieces decrying the number of injuries that occur, dain bramage, etc. calling for a complete ban on contact sports. But they also work these more subtle angles, suggesting rule changes, shortening durations, adding padding, and so on. It’s the little-by-little strategy. 

It’s like the guy that left the construction site every day with his tool belt and lunch box in a wheelbarrow, and every day the security guard checked his lunch box and tool belt and never found a thing.  Finally he asked “I know you’re stealing something, but I can’t figure out what it is. Please tell me.”  And the guys says “Wheelbarrows.”

They are thinking “First we will make them wear the mask, then we will take away their sports and then their guns and automobiles!”

Actually it’s probably more like “If we can make these tough guys do this dumb thing, It will be that much easier to get the next wheelbarrow past the hoi polloi.”

“Let them have their transgender restrooms.  The Cleveland Browns are wearing pink, I guess anything goes!”

In the preceding paragraphs I used the word “they” over a dozen times.  “Aha!” You say.  “Who then is this “they” that you revile?  Do “they” even exist? Or is your tinfoil hat screwed on too tight?”

Shut up. 

They are the ones that oppose boxing, that want to abolish football, guns and cars that burn fossil fuels.  These are the ones that are sure that they know better than you do what is good and right. They believe that you are ignorant, and that if you were only better informed (Speak Out Against Violence!) you would join them.  

You call them what you will.  I will stick with “they”.

But they and their monkeyshines didn’t ruin the event. It was an interesting matchup, a top contender versus an old wizened warrior.  And I don’t mean old in the sense of creaky or derelict.  Povetkin seems to be as solid as ever.  And Whyte is the boogeyman that nobody wants to fight, it seems.

And they looked pretty even, and to me, well matched, Despite Whyte’s lead on the scorecards. Each round was competitive.  Then the two knockdowns happened, but Povetkin didn’t really seem hurt by either.  It did seem though that Whyte had sorted him out and was soon to lower the boom.

The combination that ended with a left uppercut to the point of the chin was thrown by Povetkin, not Whyte, and “boom” indeed.  Sheer brilliance.  Fast, too.  The old warrior still has a good chin and some spring in his step.

It was not that big of a surprise.  Klitschko beat him, but felt he had to cheat to do so.  I was more impressed with Povetkin’s restraint, not bitching about the holding, than I was with Wladimir’s knockdowns.  His only other loss was to Anthony Joshua, and to my way of thinking was ahead in that fight when he got caught in the 7^th.

I was initially pumped, thinking we would get to see Povetkin in another marquee matchup.  Maybe against Ortiz, or Ruiz, or even Fury.  But no, it seems they had one of those damnable rematch clauses in their contract and Whyte wants the rematch, is vowing to knock him out.

I don’t really want to see a rematch.  I don’t really want to see Fury / Wilder III either.  Miocic and Cormier just fought their “rubber match” in the UFC, and I didn’t want to see that, either. I wish they would just move on, fight other guys, give someone else a shot.

There have been numerous worthy trilogies over the years – Ali / Frazier leaps to mind.  Ali / Norton too.  Pacquiao fought Marquez four times (a “quadrogy”?) but these series did not occur consecutively.  They happened over a number of years with fights against other opponents intervening.  I mean I love (LOVE) watching Ohio State butcher the Wolverines every year, but I don’t want to see them do that every week.  It would just get a little stale.

There’s lots of good heavyweights out there, waiting for their chance.  Ajagba, Zhang, Joyce, Usyk, Fa.  Let’s stop the never ending rematches, clear our schedules and book some new fights (not Tom Schwartz, Tyson) against new and exciting talent.  Or old and cagey talent, like Alexander here.

Once upon a time, a lifetime ago it seems, I watched a night of boxing held in an empty ballroom.  We were innocents then, virgins as it were to quarantines and masks and watching sports reruns on YouTube.  Back then it was supposed that the thing to be avoided was a large crowd, so they held the fights with just the principals, their corner men, and their immediate families.  Some officials and cameramen rounded out the number. 

We briefly thought that was the new normal. I had no inkling that we were about to enter a dystopian world devoid of sport.

Then they canceled the NCAA tournament, then NBA, and NHL, and MLB and on and on.

Joyce vs. Dubois has been moved to July, as has Whyte vs. Povetkin.  All the news is about who wants who – Breazeale wants Ruiz, Usyk wants Fury, Whyte wants Miocic.  Miller just wants to fight. 

Fast forward to Easter Sunday and I went to Ying’s.  Ying’s is the neighborhood Chinese greasy-chopstick.  Every neighborhood has one, and if they don’t, they wish they did.  The food is good and inexpensive, the service unreliable but that’s okay when you can get soup, appetizers and entrees for two for $36.00. 

They have their menus printed on what look like placemats, laminated plastic affairs printed on both sides. One menu is westernized food, with your egg-foo this and moo-goo that, the other menu has authentic Chinese dishes.  

Looking online for the fish soup that Lisa likes (It’s one of the Chinese dishes), I  could I not find it.  I didn’t see any authentic dishes at all, except for a short list of “Chef Specials” on the last page. Wondering what was up, I drove down there to find out (It’s just two miles) and was surprised to see ten cars (I counted) parked in front.

Because of the virus and the governor’s edicts, they had tables lined up blocking entrance to the dining room, creating a small waiting area.  There were no chairs there, to discourage loitering I suppose. Three Uber or Grub Hub drivers were  waiting for their food, but there was no one at the cash register.  After a minute a masked and harried woman emerged from the kitchen and got rid of two of the drivers, then spoke briefly to the other, then turned to me “And you? What you want?”

“I wanted to order for carryout” I said, “do you have the Chinese menu?”

“No Chinese! American only!”

“Oh.  Can I see a menu then?” I swear she practically threw one at me. “You call!” She seemed genuinely irked that I had showed up in person to make an order.  I said something about the menu changing, and she gestured to the one in my hand.  I nodded and said “Yes, I know, and I’ll keep this one.”

Then I ordered and paid and she again raised her voice, “Twenty to thirty five minutes!” I said okay and drove back home.

It wasn’t always this way.  The original Ying herself moved back to China years ago.  But when she ran the place, there were many original dishes, I mean her own inventions, including several salads, which are unheard of in China. Then her husband took over for a time, and it became a more mainstream western menu. Then some young Chinese men bought it and they introduced the little hunks of meat on a skewer and cooked over a flame thing- chicken hearts, whole little fish, even sheep testicles. That didn’t last long.

The current owner is the somewhat grumpy lady above, the author of the two-part menu and it’s demise.

Through all these changes, one thing stayed constant. The staff never seemed happy to be there.  It’s as if a curse of gloom enveloped the building.  They may have tried, but they never pierced that darkness.  I suppose a poor location is to blame – they just never get enough business to really make it worthwhile.  Also contributing is their miscomprehension of ‘service’- or at least the way we Americans comprehend it.  They could be slow, they’d forget something that was ordered, bring the entrée before the appetizer, etc.  Plus, wearing a long face while waiting tables is not the way to win big tips and enthusiastic return customers.

I’m a return customer and the grumpy lady knows me.  She knows what I order too. She has met my wife and all my children, as I go there to eat pretty often. I have decided long ago to look past the service stumbling for the sake of the good food. Instead of complaining I try to bring a smile to their face; to be, as much as possible in this context, a friend.

I came back in a half hour and there were ten different cars parked in front. My food was ready, I could see it on a table beyond the barrier.  I could hear her and a man yelling at each other in Chinese back in the kitchen.  That brought back painful memories.  I spent ten years cooking in various restaurants, so I’ve been in those stressed-out, blaming each other shouting matches. Not fun. 

In a minute or two she appeared, saw me standing there (with a new crop of Uber drivers) and walked briskly to the front and handed me my bag.

I held out my left hand, with a $5.00 bill in it.  She either didn’t see it or just ignored it, walking past me to answer the phone that was next to the cash register. I laid the bill next to the phone and walked out. It was just a token, a gesture.  Like a card when you’re sick “Hey I saw you. I’ve been there.” I heard her say something that might have been “thanks”, or she could have been talking on the phone, I wasn’t sure.

On the drive home, I thought about Forrest Gump and his shrimp boat. How he struggled to catch any shrimp at all until his luck changed, and then suddenly he was hip-deep in shrimp.  He and Lieutenant Dan didn’t curse the shrimp.  No, they reacted to the new circumstances with eagerness and gratitude.

They became wealthy.  May my Chinese friend do the same.

There is an opportunity for the same thing to happen in boxing too. (See? It is too about boxing!) Not long ago we had 2 or three fight cards on prime-time TV every week. So much boxing that I honestly didn’t watch it all.  I would DVR them and then look at the names to decide which ones to watch.  We had a wealth of televised boxing and then: *Urk?*  No boxing. 

The spigot has been turned off.  Now we wait and hope for a Forrest Gump, to bring boxing back to TV.  

I’ll have the number seven and some crab Rangoon. 

But I fancy a bit of pugilism, what do you say?

It’s shaping up to be an exciting Spring. As long as the money-grubbing – behind the scenes – sanctioning body weasels don’t ruin it. And that’s more than semi-likely, truth be told. But for now, lets bask in the possibility of these things coming to fruition and enjoy what Carly Simon and ketchup producers alike have extolled as one of life’s keenest pleasures: anticipation.

First is the tantalizing potential for a Dillian Whyte / Andy Ruiz April or May showdown. Word is that a seven figure offer has already been made and Ruiz is already training. (I know, he said he was training for Joshua 2 too but come on, stay focused! We’re being positive here!) If Ruiz can get past Whyte (and my guess is that he can) then he’ll get a shot at the winner of Fury / Wilder! (So they say). That would be awesome. Let’s see these guys mix it up while they are all still in their prime. Fury and Wilder have mutual rematch clauses, meaning whoever loses can opt for the trilogy, and that can stretch things out a bit, but even having the possibility of a Ruiz / Wilder or Fury match this close to reality is exciting. I thought it would take much, MUCH longer.

Kownacki meanwhile is apparently going the wanker route, fighting Robert Helenius in March. This has frustrated Dominick Breazeale, who was trying to get a match with him in order to reinsert himself at the top echelon of the division. The picture I saw of Breazeale accompanying that story was the angriest face I’ve seen on him. That was the face he should have had on when he fought Wilder. Maybe he can get a bout with Jarrell Miller. I’d watch that.

Usyk is involuntarily wanking, taking on Derek Chisora this Spring because well, a man’s gotta make a living I suppose… but then (assuming he gets past Pulev) he is next up to fight Anthony Joshua. That could be very interesting if my hunch about Usyk is right (that he’s fast enough and talented enough to compete with the big boys.

Conner McGregor is seeking a fight with Manny Pacquiao. Talking yesterday with a friend I mentioned this and and after noting that they will make a buttload of money said something like “This is stupid, he’ll just get knocked out again.” My friend replied “Well then everybody gets what they want.” Frankly I kind of doubt Manny would sign on to a farce like that.

But first up is the rematch between Fury and Wilder and I can’t wait for this one.

I was recently challenged to publish a prediction, so he goes: understanding that I already reported the fight as even money, my gun-to-my-head I have to pick a winner prediction is…Wilder by K.O.

I’m okay.

It was okay.

It was satisfactory to a large degree.

It made sense.

I guess.

Anthony Joshua defeated Andy Ruiz in 12 rounds to regain the WBA, IBF, IBO and WBO titles. He did it fair and square. No argument. He did the very thing that George Foreman (back in June) said he would not be able to do – to figure out what he did wrong and correct it it a mere six months. He went from being a search-and-destroy heavyweight to being a dancer – a Jim Corbett. He adopted the same strategy that Tyson Fury used to wrench these same belts from Wladimir Klitschko. (To be fair, I think Joshua threw a lot more jabs than Fury did. Joshua’s victory may have been boring but not farcical).

It was fair, it was a correct decision. But it was not compelling. It was not convincing in the same way a knockout would have been.

And no, it’s not that same as what Ali did. Ali stung like a bee. He jabbed and bounced away, jabbed and stepped aside, but then he hurt you too. You can’t ask Cleveland Williams, or Sonny Liston, (because they’re dead) but you can see the films of those fights. Ali danced, and he devastated. His defense lead to offence. Fury and Joshua left that part out.

Ali used the rope-a-dope on Foreman. That was simultaneaneously the opposite of dancing and yet an alike strategy in that it was not boxing. The rope-a dope is standing still, dancing is running away. My dad, and many other dads back in ’74 grumbled that Ali’s victory was hollow, or somehow less than valid because he used this non-boxing strategy. But the difference here is that Ali knocked Foreman out. Joshua and Fury just frustrated Ruiz and Klitschko. They were an irritation, like a mosquito that whines near your head in the summer twilight, you try to swat it, but miss. Hell, I find Spongebob Squarepants pretty irritating, but I’m not ready to give him a championship belt.

When a boxer employs a strategy that is at it’s core a means to avoid boxing, I get impatient. When a boxer devises such a strategy and wins, I grumble. When a fighter uses such a strategy and wins a world title, and the press loves it, I retire to Bedlam.

Joshua was rightly praised for keeping to his fight plan the whole twelve rounds. The commentators said, and I too thought I saw him start to revert. From time to time he would stay in the pocket for a moment, trade a couple shots. But then he’d remember what he was supposed to be doing, and force himself to step out, to once again fire from long range, out of range of his opponent. That was what George Foreman said he couldn’t do, to become a different fighter. That was impressive.

The commentators tried to put a shine on what Joshua was doing by more than once referring to Lennox Lewis and his pair of fights with Hasim Rahman. They offered the story as a sort of hopeful vision. When Lewis was ‘starched’ by Rahman, the boxing world was turned upside down, but then when he won the title back right away via immidiate rematch, the offense of the Rahman rein was quickly forgotten. The stain of that loss did not, in the long run, tarnish Lewis’s legacy.

The implication was, that if Joshua could right the wrong of this little fat champion’s existence, than everything would be right in the boxing world again, just like it was when Lewis beat Rahman.

A couple problems with that:

(First, I mean no disrespect to Hasim Rahman and his long and illustrious career. It was good to see him in the corner of a hot prospect Saturday. I hope they go far.)

First, Lewis was knocked out because he was clowning. He was taunting Rahman and showboating for the crowd. He dropped his hands, and Rahman dropped his ass. That ain’t the way this happened. Joshua got beat at his own game. He was in full search-and-destroy mode, trying to knock Ruiz out when he got starched instead. He was hit with many blows, but it was that first hard left in the third round that did the real damage.

He got beat at his own game. He. Got. Beat.

Second, Lewis floored Rahman with a beautiful and terrifying combo. Joshua didn’t floor Ruiz, never even came close. Lewis got revenge on the man that beat him, Joshua did a Spongebob Squarepants for twelve rounds. They’re very different things.

Now I’m reading pundits and such opining that Ruiz’s career is in ruins, or at least in peril, because he gained weight, did a “Buster Douglas”. “He’ll never live it down”. “He’ll regret not training harder”. Even Ruiz was saying it. “I partied too much”. What did I miss? Did I miss Ruiz gasping for air? Did I miss him slowing down, throwing fewer and fewer punches as the fight wore on? Did I miss him dropping his hands in exhaustion so that Joshua leveled him? No. Because none of those things happened.

So, in what way was his weight a factor in the fight?

(Crickets).

That’s what I thought.

One final thought: as of this writing, (Tuesday the 10^th) Ring Magazine, in teir inscrutable wisdom, still shows Ruiz as their number 3 man (behind Fury and Wilder), ahead of Joshua at number 4. Their records are up to date, Ruiz showing two losses, but still he is ahead of Joshua. How do you spell irrelevant?

Deontay Wilder cleaned another clock last night. Did a whiz-bang job of it too. Seriously, I was impressed.

I was originally impressed after his first match against Stiverne. Up till then, I bought into the rap against him, that he hadn’t fought anyone, that he was just a clubber, etc. Seeing him go twelve rounds, and against a champion, well that pretty much settled that issue, huh?

Well no. As you could see from his comments last night if you sat through the pre-fight hype show, that he still hears the same critique. He can’t box, has got no footwork, blah blah blah. Funny thing is, I get to thinking it too. Even after seeing him defeat Ortiz the first time, Even after he knocked out King Tosser Fury.

He was patient, looking, feinting, jabbing, studying his man, waiting for the opportunity to drop his payload, the “bomb” that he talks about. Boom! One shot, and the bogeyman was down.

And we’ve seen it before! He beat Szpilka and Washington in precisely the same way.

He may be the very best. I’m starting to think so. I want it to be Ruiz, cause he’s just so damn likable, but I think it’s probably Wilder. I hope most of all that we get to find out. Not five years from now, but now. 2020. Let’s get the big fights moving forward.

Now Ruiz / Joshua 2 is coming up fast. I can’t wait.