The Sweet Science?
When I was 14 I watched a live TV boxing match between Emile Griffith and Benny Paret. In the 12th round, Griffith pinned Paret to the ropes and pummeled him senseless. I remember watching Paret’s arms being caught in the ropes and his head snapping from side to side as Griffith beat him to death (literally). After waiting way too long, the ref stopped the fight. Paret never regained consciousness and died 10 days later. The brutality of the experience has stayed with me. But here‘s the problem: I enjoy boxing. I like the drama of the whole thing, the guts and endurance and courage; the getting back on your feet, suck-it-up, end-at-any-second, one-on-one, crafty, noble, skillful, winner-take-all nature of the thing. I don’t enjoy the blood, and I can honestly say that I don’t want anyone to get seriously hurt, but I do like it.
I recently watched a tape of the Ali-Foreman fight. I hadn’t seen the entire thing before and had somehow convinced myself that had Foerman paced himself a bit and drawn the battle into the middle of the ring he could have won. I was wrong. While Ali did allow Foreman to punch himself out, he also out-boxed, out-foxed, and out-hit him. His hand speed was so fast it was nearly impossible to follow. The whole thing was remarkable. In the eighth round, Foreman floundered and fell, partly from a punch and mostly from fatigue. Ali had absorbed hundreds of punches, most of them skillfully softened by his gloves and arms. The punches he delivered were fast and effective. It was a matter of speed, experience, and cunning winning over raw power. It reminded me again why I like boxing.
A few years ago, I was talking to a friend about the Hollyfield-Tyson ear-biting incident. She said that seeing as how the larger objective of the match is to beat someone’s brains in, it was difficult for her to get worked up about a bite on the ear. She had a pretty good point. For the record, if there were to be a national referendum to outlaw boxing, I’d probably vote for it—but I’m afraid my heart wouldn’t be in it.
I recently watched a tape of the Ali-Foreman fight. I hadn’t seen the entire thing before and had somehow convinced myself that had Foerman paced himself a bit and drawn the battle into the middle of the ring he could have won. I was wrong. While Ali did allow Foreman to punch himself out, he also out-boxed, out-foxed, and out-hit him. His hand speed was so fast it was nearly impossible to follow. The whole thing was remarkable. In the eighth round, Foreman floundered and fell, partly from a punch and mostly from fatigue. Ali had absorbed hundreds of punches, most of them skillfully softened by his gloves and arms. The punches he delivered were fast and effective. It was a matter of speed, experience, and cunning winning over raw power. It reminded me again why I like boxing.
A few years ago, I was talking to a friend about the Hollyfield-Tyson ear-biting incident. She said that seeing as how the larger objective of the match is to beat someone’s brains in, it was difficult for her to get worked up about a bite on the ear. She had a pretty good point. For the record, if there were to be a national referendum to outlaw boxing, I’d probably vote for it—but I’m afraid my heart wouldn’t be in it.
posted by unca | 1:03 PM
1 Comments:
ooh! ooh!
kudos for capturing my feelings about boxing as well. it's crooked, it's barbaric, and i love all the stuff you described about it.
BTW, one of the best boxing scenes ever written (in my opinion) is in the young adult book The Contender, by Robert Lipsyte. the protagonist's last match is captured in such a way that i get a lump in my throat every time i read it.
(now i've probably ruined it for everyone else, who will read it expecting to be transported on wings of emotion to another world or something.)
anyway, good post.
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