Dress Sexy at my Funeral: part 2

I heard a person who would know say that if you want people to think you’re a genius never smile when being photographed. There’s something about Miguel Cotto’s impassive demeanor that makes me think he must be gifted in some special way, like a cyborg or some ancient tree.

Which is not to say that he’s mechanical, I think he’s a natural fighter. If a guy like Andre Berto always seems like he’s thinking it through, analyzing, Cotto has none of that, the remorseless implementation of the computer age, a CPU over clocking to its maximum capacity. He’s much the opposite of his fiery compatriot, his predecessor on the throne, the quintessential Puerto Rican slugger, Felix Trinidad, who's fighting was a joyous, alcoholic, and celebratory dance. Cotto is as serious as the tomb, and it’s moving and intimidating, but it’s not humanizing.



That’s why it has been hard for me to get a handle on him since the Margarito humiliation. If you build someone up as special they’re bound to disappoint, but with Cotto there was never much to hold onto, just the steely imperturbability, the stately march of commerce across the heartland, how could that break down? It wasn’t that he was thought invincible before then, he’d been seriously hurt against lesser lights like Demarcus Corley, Ricardo Torres - and more understandably Zab Judah and Shane Mosley – but there was always the feeling that he could hold it together, that even if he lost he wouldn’t be broken, that the center would hold.

All that came crashing down against Margarito, and it’s one of the great tragedies of the handwrap disgrace; we don’t know fully if the machine was brought down by an overload of its’ processors handling too difficult a task, or by a virus introduced to the system.



Cotto clearly has the higher ceiling than Clottey; he can do more things well. Cotto is better schooled, more athletic, and a stronger puncher, but it’s hard for me to feel sure about him anymore now that I know he is all too human. Like a boy’s realization that his father is not an unerring oracle, or seeing his idealized woman fray around the edges it is a cruel blow and one there is perhaps no full recovery from.

In his first fight back from the Margarito loss Miguel Cotto faced Michael Jennings, a domestic level British fighter. He crushed Jennings, beating him to the body and landing with the thudding, hurting power that is his hallmark. It was everything one could want in a comeback fight, but the way I watched was totally different than before, like checking to make sure you’re boozy friend doesn’t embarrass himself at the wedding.

We’ll see if he ever gets to be the special someone we all hoped, Josh Clottey will be a good test. I hope Cotto wins the fight on Saturday, it will make the welterweight picture much more interesting in the future, with four genuine articles – Mayweather, Mosley, Pacquiao, and Cotto- within striking distance. I think he will win, Clottey is a fine fighter, but like I said before he has only one speed, and I don’t think it’s enough to smash through Cotto. I’m not even that worried about the sort of insidious wearing down of the circuitry that Margarito managed against him, Clottey doesn’t exert that sort of will and has only scored one stoppage in the last five years.

I see a competitive match, but one in which Cotto lands the more pleasing punches and wins the fight clear. Clottey seems to me one of those people in the world forever fated to be found wanting on the big stage, it’s not a flaw of character but one of destiny. I think Cotto’s got more on his horizon, but I can’t help but feeling it will be one of ultimate disappointment. When results alone are all we see, it is harder to be forgiving to someone so gifted. There didn’t ever seem to be much personal given from Cotto, he was a purely unemotional investment, and as such truly vulnerable.


My German professor used to say, “Mensch ist nicht Machine;” Man is not a machine. That’s very true, but when you’re neither, even great success means you might ultimately be less than both.

Clottey vs. Cotto: Part 1

Ben Tackie, Ike Quartey, and the great Azumah Nelson; I’ve never really gotten a good explanation as to why Ghana seems to produce fighters. It’s not particularly big, prosperous, or fucked up, (at least in relation to it’s neighbors) but it creates tough men, seemingly all from Accra, and all with a similar style. Maybe it just goes back to the professor, Azumah Nelson, and the type of grit that breaks stone.

The fighter currently carrying the baton is Joshua Clottey, who looks to stand and be counted on Saturday on HBO against Miguel Cotto. I’ll look at him later in the week, but Clottey first, because to me he represents a mathematical constant, a fixed value against which to measure the worth of men. Like a cardboard sign at the fair saying “you must be this tall to enter,” Clottey is the fighter you need to be able to beat if you want a seat at the big boys table.

I’m being a little unfair to Clottey, he is a champion in his own right, but there just seems to be something missing when he fights, that little bit extra that captures the imagination and screams special above the roar of the crowd. I have no doubt he would grind the Cintrons, Angulos, and Urangos from last week, but a guy like Berto, well it would be interesting. Part of me always roots for him, African fighters never seem to get a break; with no natural constituency built in they have to wait to become mandatories for titles.

But Clottey doesn’t seem to do himself many favors. Aside from a terrific chin, he simply doesn’t have any superior qualities. He has decent power, a nice defense behind a consistent high guard, applies pressure well, and has a good jab. He also seems to have one speed; he fights in fourth gear, round after round. If he has an opponent hurt, he stays in fourth gear, if he’s behind, he stays in fourth gear, if he’s winning the fight, he stays in fourth gear.

There’s certainly something to be said for consistency, for bringing the fight round after round and staying within oneself and the things you do well. But there is more to be said for inspiration, for explosion, and the testing of limits. This is where Clottey falls short for me; in a division of specialists he is an allaroundman. Now it is not necessarily a fighters purpose to inspire by actions, winning can do the trick just as well, but I wonder if Clottey, who if he was in a video game would have stats of 7.5 in each statistical category, will have what it takes to join the table with the rest of the welterweight killers. He's at the precipice, a win announces him as a player in the hottest division in the sport. He probably won't get a fight against Pacquiao, Mosley, or Mayweather, but he'll get a high perch from which to shout insults as they swing above him, and all it takes is a win.



A look back at some of his notable fights.

Josh Clottey DQ 11 Carlos Baldomir 1999: I’ve never seen the fight, but from all reports Clottey was winning comfortably against the future (briefly) welterweight king. Clottey was DQ’d for head butting, and from what I’ve seen in later fights it is not that surprising. He’s not a dirty fighter, but he’s rough.

Josh Clottey UD L Antonio Margarito 2006: The fight in which he was introduced to the public and seemed to fix his standing in my mind. Margarito was starting to get a little buzz as something special, and was expected to roll over Clottey, but dominated the first four rounds, making Margarito look slow and awkward. Fans of his point to those first four rounds as the example of the fighter he could be.

Then something happened, Clottey began complaining about his hands and seemed to stop fighting. I would never question a fighter’s courage, but Clottey seemed content with his performance, with lasting the distance. Margarito amped up the pressure and Clottey withstood it admirably, taking punches which later opponents (namely Cotto) would crumble under, but there never seemed any desperation, any fierce urgency from Clottey. Margarito was tough, but so crude, and Clottey had all the tools; he just somehow couldn’t seem to do it, to make it happen. He was comfortable just passing through, lasting with his high guard. Again, his hands were hurt, I’m sure it was serious, but there didn’t seem to be any contingency plan, and that was a disappointment.

Josh Clottey UD 12 Diego Corrales 2007: In hindsight it’s unbelievable Corrales’ promoters made this fight. Chico was coming off his two apocalyptic fights with Castillo and a beating from Joel Cassamayor and moved up two divisions to fight Clottey. Clottey came into the ring at 170 and muscled the fragile but brave Corrales around. Clottey dominated the fight, scoring two knockdowns, but again he seemed content to pass through. Corrales was a chipped window and Clottey had the hammer but he refused to throw it. Again we saw consistent pressure, he was in total control, but he seemed unwilling or unable to push that extra bit. Corrales brought all he had to the fight, landing some big punches, but he was badly outgunned. It was his last fight as he died in a motorcycle accident soon afterwards.

Josh Clottey UD 12 Shamone Alvarez 2007: Another example of Clottey’s limitations. He was fighting Alvarez, a good ESPN level fighter, but never tried to stretch to make something happen. He lost a few rounds, but he won most, and he never seemed particularly invested either way. To me it was a disappointment.



Josh Clottey TD 9 Zab Judah 2008: Clottey’s last fight, nearly a year ago, against the rapidly fading Zab Judah. Judah started off strong, using his superior speed to land some serious punches on Clottey, but he ate them without visible difficulties. After that is was a matter of time and pressure. Judah wore down against Clottey's onslaught. He never really pressed or risked anything, almost seemed to take joy in the stalking of the rapidly deteriorating Judah. When a cut opened over his eye Judah used the opportunity to go to the scorecards in hopes that he had won enough of the early rounds to squeeze out the decision. He didn’t, and Clottey got the technical decision win.

Clottey often claims he is disrespected and underappreciated, and he’s probably right. If he was fated to be born in different geography he likely would have had more fans and gotten the big fights sooner, but it’s hard to feel for a guy who doesn’t seem to be willing to push for the moment himself.

It’s not necessarily a flaw in character, maybe he simply can’t push himself further because that’s all he’s got, but whatever the cause like Popeye always said, “I‘am whatI’am.” Clottey is what he is; we’ll look at what Cotto is later in the week.

Touch the sun: Or revelations twice

I had a suspicion this would be Manny's masterpiece, the type of performance to end all the speculation and reveal to the doubters that special grace that comes so rarely in life. But still, not this, not this way.

Some revelations are hidden even from the devout. As always I am humbled to see someone reach the limits. The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought.

It happened, the ascension.

Before the plunge

I'm excited and having a little trouble sleeping. For my full preview/prediction, click here, also some terrific stuff in the comments. Some final thoughts on the day of the big event:

• Don’t know if this is a good sign or not, but seeing the Big Dog with the Pacman makes me feel good inside.


• Been having some discussion of making weight in the comments section and this picture of Hatton, looking extremely gaunt, is a fine example of the way the weigh in process is used. You can just see how drained Hatton is, his sallow skin almost the shade of death here. He’s a pro, came in right at 140, and should be fine, but I bet he has already put on ten pounds in liquid tonight. I could be wrong but I don’t see him having all that many more fights at 140. Manny weighed in at 138. They look the same size here, but I expect Hatton’s upper body to be noticeably larger than Pac’s come fight night. Manny seems to keep all his weight in those legs.



• Something I meant to talk more about was what impact Manny’s southpaw stance will have on the fight; here is my amateur technical analysis. The general consensus is that, because of the angle of the bodies, an orthodox fighter’s left jab is less useful and the straight right becomes the best punch (this is why Bernard Hopkins is always so successful against them). Hatton has often struggled with left-handers, and I think the primary reason is that he has probably the weakest straight right of any elite level boxer in the world today. He hurt Malignaggi with one in his last fight, but even that was thrown with poor form, landing not on the knuckles but with a downward clubbing slap. He throws it almost like a basebal,l and is going to have a hard time catching the elusive Pacquiao. Though Hatton can hook and uppercut with the right once he gets inside, the poor form will give Pacquiao a huge advantage.

Now, this assumes that Pacquiao stays conservative and doesn’t square his body as he used to do earlier in his career. If he gets overly aggressive and squares up to throw combinations, the jab and left hook to the body, Hatton’s best punch, will come into play. In my mind's eye, though, I keep seeing Hatton lunging in with the left as Pacquaio steps to the side and lands one of his short, blind lefts directly on the point of the chin to hurt Hatton. The question is will Hatton be able to handle it, or will he get rocked and stopped? I’m leaning toward a stoppage.

• I made a couple references to this before, but I’ve always loved this footage of Manny shadowboxing from a few years ago. Only Mayweather Jr’s jump rope routine compares.



• Speaking of Floyd Mayweather Jr. it looks like the fight with Marquez is being made. I gave some preliminary thoughts, but right now all I can say is it’s good to have Floyd back. The sport is better for having him in it. He makes big events and this will be another. The fight will be at a catch weight of 144. I wish Floyd would have come down to 140 because even though I don’t think it would have made a difference to the fight itself, I think it would have changed how the event was viewed. I also wish we’d have gotten to see the rubber match between Marquez and Pacquiao. But hell, it’s a superfight between two great boxers. There are so few examples of truly special fighters going at it, so I'm on board.

• Longtime readers of Freedarko might remember Elie Seckbach for his NBA interviews. Here he is at the Wildcard, Freddie Roach’s gym, where he finds some Hatton fans. He’s a lot less awkward than I remember him.



• This video is silly, so I feel sort of bad saying that it's also hilarious and worth watching to the end. This person did a very good job. For those of you who don’t know, Manny has a vastly inferior fighting brother, Bobby.

The Best Manny Pacquiao-Ricky Hatton Preview: Class is king

Do you remember the scene in Don’t Look Back when Donovan and Bob Dylan exchange songs in the hotel room? The first time I watched it I saw it as a competition, a lesson taught to the younger Donovan by the king; and watching it today there still seems to me a hint of cruelty and competition in Dylan’s performance, a self-mastery and inward flame that finds satisfaction in the display. When he sings “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue,” there is an element of sadism that comes through.

But more than that I see it for something greater than mere one-upmanship; it is the recorded embodiment of class. Class, like the word quality, is philosophically impossible to pin down, it’s a matter of taste and judgment, but it does exist. To me, class is determined by its ability to be recognized by even the most novice of observers. One need not love folk music, Bob Dylan, or even music in general to see that he was a body electric during this time, that thin wild mercury seemed to course out of him and was so powerful and obscene it almost made one want to look away. Donovan had a class of his own, a beautiful voice and fine lyrics, but he didn’t have what Dylan did, and that’s what makes the scene so powerful. To see great talent with superior talent is to see the palm at the end of the mind, the romance of perfection at the limits of human capacity. I have encountered this in my life once or twice, someone so special it is alarming.



When it happens in sports it is amazing to see. I remember reading about people weeping in the stands as Secretariat powered down the home stretch. I know nothing of tennis but I find watching Roger Federer transfixing. It’s rarely seen at the top level of sports, where someone is able to separate so clearly and completely from the top competition that the opponent ceases to matter. The event almost transforms from contest to performance. I find these displays of mastery the most rewatchable of fights, boxing as the manly art.

Only a few boxers have achieved this level in recent years; Floyd Mayweather, Roy Jones, and Pernell Whitaker come to mind, where the level of excellence on display is so profound that the rules applicable to the rest of the prizefighters no longer apply.

I think Manny Pacquiao is at that point. He moved from an A:class fighter to an S:class, superclass, fighter. I think it happened in the Diaz fight, and was further cemented in the De La Hoya fight. He has reached the apex of his abilities, a perfect combination of physical gifts and scientific repetition honed to a fine point, a killing edge, a prizefighting machine.

People say that Manny performed so well against Oscar because he was shot. And it’s true Oscar was well past his best, but there was something more to it. Oscar at least tried in the first two rounds, he competed, but after that it was different. I don’t think he was weakened by the weight or gun-shy, he was embarrassed. He was fighting in front of 100 million people worldwide and he was outclassed. Not beaten, outclassed. The type of difference that can’t be explained away by wrong game plans or a bad night, but the recognition that the man across from you is superior in every way, and there is nothing you can do about it. What a terrible feeling that must be, when you realized that you trained as hard as you could, you worked as hard as you could, but there is something so special across from you that you are powerless to act.



It’s speed, really. More than size or power, it’s speed that is so cruel, so visible. They say great timing beats great speed, but what if there is great speed and great timing and great power and great will; what then? That is what Hatton will have to answer. Hatton is a great fighter, an A:Class fighter. But he doesn’t have what Manny does right now. A few years ago, as an unfinished thing, Hatton would have had his way with Pacquiao, but I think that time is both past, and has not yet arrived. It will arrive soon, the type of radiant flame Pacquiao now possesses burns quickly, but he is raging now. It will take something special to quench it. Age, a far bigger opponent, or another S:class fighter are the only things that can stop Manny now. I learned that lesson in the De La Hoya fight. We are driving headlong into that moment; a Pacquiao-Mayweather fight seems almost ordained. The first fight between two S:Class boxers in their prime since Whitaker-Chavez, and before that Duran-Leonard. It is coming, because it must, a once a generation clash to clear the field and define the age.



In mythology the great heroes can only be conquered by the cruel Gods, or by even greater heroes. No wayward arrows unleashed in battle can slay them. It isn’t yet Manny’s fate to be brought down. He will win this fight, overcoming the stronger man because he must, because class will tell.

The Best Manny Pacquiao-Ricky Hatton Preview: Part 2

If Manny Pacquiao is a typhoon, an earthquake, a tornado, the ruptured fabric of the cosmos torn apart; a thing awe inspiring and impossible to avert one’s gaze from, then Ricky Hatton is the freezing ice, the hard lapping of the tide, and terrible toll of the ages on the living. It is a different type of heroism, one that for me is less striking and captivating, but nonetheless profoundly moving in its way. Ricky Hatton lacks any of the superpowers that make Pacquiao so mesmerizing, one doesn’t need any insight into the finer points of boxing to find even Manny’s shadowboxing breathtaking, but the Hitman’s charms are both more and less subtle.

There is little science to his work in the ring. Like John Henry with his hammer he swings away, and while he has nice footwork, good power, and terrific body shots, it is difficult to find any marks of romance or poetry to his rhythms. He is like a factory worker or miner, toiling away hour after hour. His is the mugging, slamming style of the industrial age; limbs caught in threshing machines, bones broken in mechanical mishaps, blunt trauma from automobile accidents; these are his fighting analogues. While Floyd Mayweather Senior tries to remake him as a smarter brawler, a scientific slugger, I find it unlikely we will see anything too divergent from his old ways. He is the steam engine, unrelenting and simple, and it will take something special to send him sprawling from his path.



Ricky Hatton TKO 12 Kostya Tszyu 2005: Ricky had gone nearly forty fights before he stepped up to the elite classes. Many, myself foremost, thought he was merely a protected British contender, content to take his money fighting limited opposition provided by promoter Frank Warren. When he took this fight against the aging Tszyu I expected a quick knockout, as Ricky’s reckless style and penchant for receiving deep and dangerous facial cuts in even domestic level bouts seemed a cruel preparation for an all time great puncher in Kostya Tszyu. But, fighting in front of tens of thousands of cheering fans, Hatton fought like a man possessed. He knew he couldn’t outbox the classically trained Tszyu, so he proceeded to mug him. Getting inside and wrestling him, draining the aged champion. He used elbows, shoulders, and his head to batter Tszyu in a fight whose outcome I still wonder about if presided over by a different ref. Still all credit to Hatton who battered Tszyu and walked through hellish shots in a close fight until Kostya retired on his stool, a broken man who never fought again. Hatton won the ring belt at junior welter, which he still holds today, the longest reigning champion in the sport.

Ricky Hatton UD 12 Luis Collazo 2006: Hatton moved up to welterweight to fight slick southpaw Collazo. In a desperate struggle he managed to smother and outwork Collazo for much of the fight, but any time the Puerto Rican got any distance Hatton was at a loss, unable to cope with the technically superior, faster, and longer armed opponent. Hatton was rocked in the later rounds, in fact was, I thought, knocked down in the 12th round, but managed to pull out the close decision through his consistent pressure. He had no business winning this fight, but it takes a man more special than Collazo, the type of guy who is just good enough to lose to any quality opponent he faces.

Ricky Hatton KO 4 Jose Luis Castillo 2007: Hatton rips Castillo’s insides open with a brutal left hook to the body. In his earlier career this had been Hatton’s trademark, like some translucent Mexican he threw body punches with murderous intent. But, since raising the level of his opposition he seemed to leave the punch behind. Here he used terrific footwork to land a dream punch, knocking out Castillo, a great fighter but badly damaged by too many wars.



Ricky Hatton TKO by 10 Floyd Mayweather Jr. 2007: In a fight he was never really competitive in (no matter what the HBO announcers tried to tell us) Hatton was outclassed by the former pound for pound king. There is no disgrace in losing to a preternatural talent, but the manner of the defeat was telling. Despite protests that the ref didn’t let Hatton “fight his fight,” Hatton was handled on both the inside and the outside, unable to deal with the precise punching of Mayweather. In the memorable sixth round he hit Mayweather on the back of the head, lost his cool, a point, and any semblance of a plan. He was embarrassed and started making desperate lunges, easily countered. When Mayweather led him into a left hook in the tenth round and he smashed head first into the ring post it was a humiliating end to a humiliating performance. Hatton vows never to fight at welterweight again.

Ricky Hatton UD 12 Juan Lazcano 2008: In his comeback he went against Lazcano, a career contender, and looked and fought uninspired. Coming off a weight binge, a hallmark of his career, he was flat, easily winning but looking like a fighter playing out the string. He was even hurt at one point. After the fight Ricky fired his trainer, Billy Graham, in a move long overdue, and hired Floyd Mayweather Sr.

Ricky Hatton TKO 11 Paulie Malignaggi 2008: In his finest performance since Castillo, Ricky bludgeons Malignaggi to a corner stoppage. Malignaggi is hurt in the second round, and after that fights to survive. Though limited by the weakest punch of any world-class fighter in the world, Malignaggi was thought a difficult opponent, but Hatton used brute force and relentless aggression to ground him down in a way not even Miguel Cotto had managed. Though some see improvement under Mayweather’s training, it is difficult to tell when the opposition has no weapons to trouble you.



The theme of Hatton’s career has been consistent. He is never spectacular, but nearly always effective, particularly at his natural 140 pounds. He is strong and solid there, any technical deficiencies countered by his aggression and brutality. He is an A class fighter, and can beat anyone at a certain level. The question is, does he have more than that? Can he beat a special fighter? Does the mace still work in an age of guns and lasers? All his disappointments, his doubters, will be erased if he can just manage to pin the little Filipino in a corner. He may not be able to catch him, but he might be able to ground him up, to tear and gnash and rend the thoroughbred. His destiny stands in the balance too, to be remembered as a fine champion, a popular slugger who made it big but came up short, or to be remembered as a hero to his people. The guy who was just folks, he could have a pint with the boys back home and then travel to distant lands and catch the ghost. It means so much.



I find his humble persona and everyman sensibilities yawn-inducing. I find his mugging style and naked aggression underwhelming. Even his excesses, the binge eating and drinking, seem so tepid when marked against the great tragic appetites of ring history. But there is something to be said for hard work, for a man who doesn’t quit. There is a certain romance in knowing oneself and the grinding hungry pressure of the ages, the valor of the loser who wins. I don’t think he can do it again, but he just might. Tomorrow the pick.