By Randy De La O
Antonio Margarito
What ever you thought about him, what ever you wanted to happen to him, however bad you wanted to see him fail and get his ass kicked, you’ve got to admit, he took his lickin’ like a man. Not a whimper from the man. He did the only thing he knows how to do and that is forge ahead, take punches, suck it up and punch back. It has almost always been enough. For some, Manny Pacquiao was judge, jury and executioner and the fight was divine retribution, maybe but if so, the flip side would be divine redemption. Debt paid in full.
Margarito, clearly losing the fight almost from the opening round, never stopped trying. He never ran, never hid, never looked for a way to deceive the judges. He fought and lost in the most honest and basic of ways, simply by fighting to the best of his ability against the most dominating fighter of his era.
His face was taco meat, or hamburger meat if you prefer, by the end of the fight. Pacquiao’s face also showed signs of a being in a fight. Though Pacquiao’s performance was dominating and the fight one sided, Margarito did have a few scattered moments throughout the fight and by Pacquiao‘s own admission, Margarito did hurt him on more than one occasion, especially with the left hook to the body and the uppercuts. It was just never enough.
I couldn’t help but think of Robert DeNiro as Jake LaMotta in Martin Scoresese’s “The Raging Bull” when DeNiro as LaMotta says to Sugar Ray Robinson after the fight was stopped in the 13th round of a fight that has come to be known as “The St. Valentines Day Massacre”, You never got me down Ray, you never got me down”. Sometimes just staying on your feet is victory enough.
Manny Pacquiao
For my money, this was the first legitimate win against a bigger fighter. With just a years difference between them, there was no age advantage for Pacquiao. He was fighting a man still considered to be one of the best fighters in the world. There was no asterisk in this fight.
Going into this fight I didn’t think Manny could do it. Despite the odds I felt Margarito would be too much for him size wise. Now? Now, I don’t think the Klitscho Brothers, on the same night would be too much for him. Pacquiao has proven himself to be as good as any fighter in history. There is no denying it. His name belongs with the best; Sugar Ray Robinson, Roberto Duran, Sugar Ray Leonard, Benny Leonard, Julio Cesar Chavez, Alexis Arguello, Aaron Pryor and Henry Armstrong. Each and every one of them would have had their hands full with the Filipino sensation, Manny Pacquiao.
That he was able to withstand the punches of a man that had a 17 pound weight advantage is nothing short of remarkable. It’s easy to believe that it all comes easy for him but listening to Pacquiao after the fight when he was being interviewed by Jim Lampley, you could sense the tiredness, the weariness that comes from giving your all. Along with his great skills and endurance it is Pacquiao’s tremendous heart that wins the fights for him. Manny Pacquiao refused to lose and always finds a way to win.
If it’s true that the whole world loves a winner, than it’s also true that we love a guy that can take what he’s got coming to him.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
MEMORIES....
By Frank Baltazar
Circa 1993 I was at Laidlaw's Harley-Davidson store in Rosemead, Ca. on a Saturday morning. Laidlaw's was where my biker friends and I used to hang out on Saturday mornings. My friend Tony Barron who was about 65 years old at the time was telling me about his plans for the future.
"What future?, Tony, shit!, at our age all we have is fu*king memories!," I told him
After spending a few hours there I went home, no sooner did I get home when the phone rang, it was Tony's wife Yolanda, who has since passed.
"Frank!, what did you do to my Tony?" she was laughing her ass off.
"Nothing Yolanda, why?" I answer her.
"He came home all depressed, I asked him what was wrong, and he told me', "you know what Frank told me?, that all we have is fu*king memories"
After I told Connie the story, she told me, "You are an a-hole"...
Circa 1993 I was at Laidlaw's Harley-Davidson store in Rosemead, Ca. on a Saturday morning. Laidlaw's was where my biker friends and I used to hang out on Saturday mornings. My friend Tony Barron who was about 65 years old at the time was telling me about his plans for the future.
"What future?, Tony, shit!, at our age all we have is fu*king memories!," I told him
After spending a few hours there I went home, no sooner did I get home when the phone rang, it was Tony's wife Yolanda, who has since passed.
"Frank!, what did you do to my Tony?" she was laughing her ass off.
"Nothing Yolanda, why?" I answer her.
"He came home all depressed, I asked him what was wrong, and he told me', "you know what Frank told me?, that all we have is fu*king memories"
After I told Connie the story, she told me, "You are an a-hole"...
Thursday, November 4, 2010
The Valley of the Sun . . .
By Rick Farris
I remember this time of year in Phoenix, after the heat of summer had subsided.
It was my favorite time of year Az.
With the Baltazar's in the Valley of the Sun, it brings back memories of my living there a few years back.
I'd come to Phoenix in early 1999. I didn't expect to stay three years, but I was at a crossroads in life and living day-to-day.
I didn't know anybody in Arizona, so on my first Sunday in town I drive from where I was staying in Chandler to dowtown Phoenix.
I was looking for something familiar, something I could relate to. I was 47-years-old, and I was lost.
I actually remember saying a little prayer as I drove thru the State Capitol. "Dear Lord, please help me find a boxing gym . . ."
Less than a minute after I prayed, my prayer was answered. This is a true story.
As I drive down Van Buren Street, near 18th Ave. I see an old brick building standing by itself.
There was a big sign hanging above the front door, "The Madison Square Garden Boxing Gym'.
It was Sunday morning and there weren't many people on the street, just one car parked in the lot next to the gym.
I drove past the building and then made a quick U-turn into the parking lot.
I was excited when I stepped out of my car. I didn't expect there would be anybody in the gym, but I'd found what I was looking for.
The building had been a boxing gym for years, likely one of the oldest establishments in the area.
Although I hadn't seen the inside of the gym, something gave the feel of an "old school" boxing gym.
I firgured I'd go in, introduce myself, and offer to help work with their boxers in exchange for a place to workout.
I knew what to do in a boxing gym, I was at home, even if I didn't know the people, I felt in a comfortable place.
As I approached the front door it suddenly opened and a heavy set man stepped out, locked the door, and turned to leave.
I called out to the man as he walked toward his car in the lot.
"Hey, do you work here?" I asked.
The man, a stocky Latino with a full head of silver hair and a beard, about sixty-years old, turned to face me.
He looked me up and down and then answered, "Yes. This is my gym." He reminded me of my first trainer, Manuel Diaz.
I extended my hand, "Hi, I'm Rick Farris. I used to box professionally out of Los Angeles."
The man shook my hand and introduced himself as Richard Rodriguez. "I can tell you were a boxer by the way you walk."
I didn't know how to take that, I didn't know you could spot a boxer by his walk, but I took that as a compliment.
"What can I do for you?" Rodriguez asked.
I told him that I was looking for a place to workout. That I'd be willing to help him work with his boxers, amateurs or pros, in exchange for a place to hit the bags, etc. Without blinking an eye, Richard Rodriguez answered, "OK. Be here tomorrow at 4pm."
The nex day I showed up before 4pm. I came in workout gear but I was focused on working with the boxers.
When I stepped inside the gym for the first time I truly felt I was in the right place. I was.
Richard immediaty led me over to a 12-year-old kid, "This is Juan, today is his first day. Teach him." He then just walked away.
I looked at the skinny 12-year-old, a good looking kid whose head came up to my shoulders.
It was his first day in the gym and Richard Rodriguez had turned him over to my care.
The boy's father, Rogelio, walked over to me and introduced himself. I could smell alcohol on his breath.
I could tell the man loved his son, and he loved boxing. He and I began to talk boxing, he told me he had once lived in L.A.
After ten minutes of talk about L.A. boxing, Rogelio was confident his son was in good hands. I wanted to prove him right.
I took Juan up into the ring and we started with some talk. "Are you right or left-handed?
I then put him thru exact same paces that Johnny Flores had put me thru more than three decades earlier.
The kid was smart, repsectful, and I would soon learn, blessed with a pair of heavy hands.
Some guys are "born punchers". Everybody who has boxed learns this.
It has a lot to do with technique, timing, etc. but real punchers are born that way.
When we finished, Juan's dad and I agreed to meet the next day at the same time.
I felt good, I could now give back some of the things that a few special men had shared with me.
This is what I owed boxing, what I owed myself.
As I left the gym that day I stopped into Rodriguez office in the front of the gym.
"How'd he do?" Rodriguez asked.
"He did good. I like that kid, he's going to be a good of he continues." I believed that.
As I sat talking with Rodrigues, he introduced me to his youngest son, Ricky Ricardo Rodriguez, who was also a trainer. Ricky was about ten years younger than me. Like his father, he so reminded me of the men that worked with kids back when I was starting out. I thought of Johnny Flores, Frank Baltazar, Jake Horn, and so on. Something told me I was in the right place. For what? I don't know, but I belonged there.
Sitting in front of Richard's desk I looked at all the boxing memorabelia hanging on the walls, photos, gloves, posters. I looked over some ancient posters of bouts that had taken place in Phoenix during the fifties, featuring boxers such as Don Fullmer, Manny Elias and . . . wait a minute, Tony "The Tiger" Baltazar!
Right behind Rodriguez's desk was a poster advertising a main event that had taken place about five years previous in Phoenix . . . Tony "The Tiger" Baltazar vs. Jose Roberto Lopez.
When I saw the name Tony Baltazar, I got excited and told Richard that I knew the enitre Baltazar family in L.A.
Richard smiled and remembered the fight featured on the poster, "Oh yeah, he flattened Lopez in less a round. Big left hook"
When I asked Richard if he knew Tony, his son Ricky Ricardo spoke up, "I know Tony. He used to train with Danny Carbajal at the 16th St. Gym in the barrio".
As I left the gym that day I thanked God for answering my prayers, and doing so as quickly and magicaly has possible.
I felt an instant friendship with the Rodriguez, and to assure me I was in the right place, had been placed before an old boxing poster that connected me with my beginning days in boxing.
In due course, I'll continue this memory. Reading about the Baltazar's in Phoenix, brought it to mind.
I remember this time of year in Phoenix, after the heat of summer had subsided.
It was my favorite time of year Az.
With the Baltazar's in the Valley of the Sun, it brings back memories of my living there a few years back.
I'd come to Phoenix in early 1999. I didn't expect to stay three years, but I was at a crossroads in life and living day-to-day.
I didn't know anybody in Arizona, so on my first Sunday in town I drive from where I was staying in Chandler to dowtown Phoenix.
I was looking for something familiar, something I could relate to. I was 47-years-old, and I was lost.
I actually remember saying a little prayer as I drove thru the State Capitol. "Dear Lord, please help me find a boxing gym . . ."
Less than a minute after I prayed, my prayer was answered. This is a true story.
As I drive down Van Buren Street, near 18th Ave. I see an old brick building standing by itself.
There was a big sign hanging above the front door, "The Madison Square Garden Boxing Gym'.
It was Sunday morning and there weren't many people on the street, just one car parked in the lot next to the gym.
I drove past the building and then made a quick U-turn into the parking lot.
I was excited when I stepped out of my car. I didn't expect there would be anybody in the gym, but I'd found what I was looking for.
The building had been a boxing gym for years, likely one of the oldest establishments in the area.
Although I hadn't seen the inside of the gym, something gave the feel of an "old school" boxing gym.
I firgured I'd go in, introduce myself, and offer to help work with their boxers in exchange for a place to workout.
I knew what to do in a boxing gym, I was at home, even if I didn't know the people, I felt in a comfortable place.
As I approached the front door it suddenly opened and a heavy set man stepped out, locked the door, and turned to leave.
I called out to the man as he walked toward his car in the lot.
"Hey, do you work here?" I asked.
The man, a stocky Latino with a full head of silver hair and a beard, about sixty-years old, turned to face me.
He looked me up and down and then answered, "Yes. This is my gym." He reminded me of my first trainer, Manuel Diaz.
I extended my hand, "Hi, I'm Rick Farris. I used to box professionally out of Los Angeles."
The man shook my hand and introduced himself as Richard Rodriguez. "I can tell you were a boxer by the way you walk."
I didn't know how to take that, I didn't know you could spot a boxer by his walk, but I took that as a compliment.
"What can I do for you?" Rodriguez asked.
I told him that I was looking for a place to workout. That I'd be willing to help him work with his boxers, amateurs or pros, in exchange for a place to hit the bags, etc. Without blinking an eye, Richard Rodriguez answered, "OK. Be here tomorrow at 4pm."
The nex day I showed up before 4pm. I came in workout gear but I was focused on working with the boxers.
When I stepped inside the gym for the first time I truly felt I was in the right place. I was.
Richard immediaty led me over to a 12-year-old kid, "This is Juan, today is his first day. Teach him." He then just walked away.
I looked at the skinny 12-year-old, a good looking kid whose head came up to my shoulders.
It was his first day in the gym and Richard Rodriguez had turned him over to my care.
The boy's father, Rogelio, walked over to me and introduced himself. I could smell alcohol on his breath.
I could tell the man loved his son, and he loved boxing. He and I began to talk boxing, he told me he had once lived in L.A.
After ten minutes of talk about L.A. boxing, Rogelio was confident his son was in good hands. I wanted to prove him right.
I took Juan up into the ring and we started with some talk. "Are you right or left-handed?
I then put him thru exact same paces that Johnny Flores had put me thru more than three decades earlier.
The kid was smart, repsectful, and I would soon learn, blessed with a pair of heavy hands.
Some guys are "born punchers". Everybody who has boxed learns this.
It has a lot to do with technique, timing, etc. but real punchers are born that way.
When we finished, Juan's dad and I agreed to meet the next day at the same time.
I felt good, I could now give back some of the things that a few special men had shared with me.
This is what I owed boxing, what I owed myself.
As I left the gym that day I stopped into Rodriguez office in the front of the gym.
"How'd he do?" Rodriguez asked.
"He did good. I like that kid, he's going to be a good of he continues." I believed that.
As I sat talking with Rodrigues, he introduced me to his youngest son, Ricky Ricardo Rodriguez, who was also a trainer. Ricky was about ten years younger than me. Like his father, he so reminded me of the men that worked with kids back when I was starting out. I thought of Johnny Flores, Frank Baltazar, Jake Horn, and so on. Something told me I was in the right place. For what? I don't know, but I belonged there.
Sitting in front of Richard's desk I looked at all the boxing memorabelia hanging on the walls, photos, gloves, posters. I looked over some ancient posters of bouts that had taken place in Phoenix during the fifties, featuring boxers such as Don Fullmer, Manny Elias and . . . wait a minute, Tony "The Tiger" Baltazar!
Right behind Rodriguez's desk was a poster advertising a main event that had taken place about five years previous in Phoenix . . . Tony "The Tiger" Baltazar vs. Jose Roberto Lopez.
When I saw the name Tony Baltazar, I got excited and told Richard that I knew the enitre Baltazar family in L.A.
Richard smiled and remembered the fight featured on the poster, "Oh yeah, he flattened Lopez in less a round. Big left hook"
When I asked Richard if he knew Tony, his son Ricky Ricardo spoke up, "I know Tony. He used to train with Danny Carbajal at the 16th St. Gym in the barrio".
As I left the gym that day I thanked God for answering my prayers, and doing so as quickly and magicaly has possible.
I felt an instant friendship with the Rodriguez, and to assure me I was in the right place, had been placed before an old boxing poster that connected me with my beginning days in boxing.
In due course, I'll continue this memory. Reading about the Baltazar's in Phoenix, brought it to mind.
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