by David P. Greisman
 
My prizefighting career started in places where the prizes were small and the crowds smaller. I had no amateur acclaim to speak of. No illustrious tournaments. No national championships.
 
The smoke wafted inward from those who nevertheless showed to watch us pugs trade punches, a stench that mixed with my sweat and soaked into my clothes. It came with me on the long drives home, almost always overnight, when the only landmarks were state lines and the only company was whatever came through the radio on my beater of a car.
 
It was worth it.
 
I captured the West Virginia state title first. I never fought there again. Instead, I moved east and won the Pennsylvania state title. If I had kept going to all 50 states, I guess that would have made up for never winning a national championship.
 
I found my name in rankings of organizations that sounded more like they should be lobbying the federal government rather than sanctioning a fight between two semi-anonymous pros. The NABA. The NABF. The NABO. Who knew boxing in North America was governed by an association, a federation and an organization?
 
I was a former ham-and-egger now dealing in alphabet soup.
 
I got even better. And it got even better.
 
I went overseas next, brought across the pond to pad the record of the British champion.
 
I challenged the British champion and won.
 
That didn’t make me the British champion. Not yet, at least. First I had to capture the British Boxing Board of Control title. Or maybe it was the Commonwealth title.
 
I moved east, from country to country, like a college graduate backpacking through the Old World.
 
There was the European Boxing Association. And the European Boxing Union. It never mattered whether or not I was European.
 
One night, I, a Polish transplant out of Chicago, took on an American of Italian heritage who hailed from the Chicago suburb of Oak Lawn, Ill. We fought over something called the World Boxing Association Fedelatin heavyweight title (1). That’s Fedelatin, as in Federacion Latinoamericana.
 
Eventually, I tired of the travel. So I returned to America and took the globe with me, finding more sanctioning bodies that said they were international and proffered world titles.
 
I won a title from the International Boxing Council, or IBC, which I always thought was a root beer. I took custody of a belt from the International Boxing Association, or IBA. And then I found myself in line for a championship sanctioned by the International Boxing Organization, or IBO.
 
It didn’t matter to the IBO that their own computerized rankings had me all the way down at 27th among welterweights while my opponent was in the 57th slot down at junior welterweight. On the undercard, that same sanctioning body had a bantamweight title fight between guys ranked 26th and 45th (2).
 
I didn’t think about whether it made sense. This was an organization vying for legitimacy, one that claimed transparency and quality.
 
I know, I know.
 
Ultimately, I realized it was better to dance with the devil I knew rather than the devil I didn’t.
 
Some people pick the cream of the crop. Between the IBF, WBA, WBC and WBO, I had to settle for the best of the worst.
 
That meant signing my soul over to the WBC.
 
For all my experience, I was still young. That qualified me for the WBC Youth Championship. And I could even get away with defending it against a 34-year-old man who was 12 years older than me (3).
 
But then my career stalled.
 
My manager and promoter didn’t have enough pull to grease the skids and move me up in the rankings, so the sanctioning bodies had little use for me. They could get their percentage cut in sanctioning fees from a fighter with more star power and bigger paychecks.
 
I decided to enter “The Contender” boxing reality series. We filmed, and we fought. But we waited, too, sitting on the sidelines until the show aired. Can’t exactly ruin the results. That would take money from the billionaire network executives and millionaire producers. Doing so, however, kept money from those of us who actually got in the ring for a living.
 
I was fortunate. I won the “Contender Championship,” which once was worth $1 million but now earned me $150,000. That wasn’t too bad, and it meant Tournament of Contenders could fight me just once or twice a year until it found me a name opponent for whom I would be the designated fall guy.
 
I’m still thankful I got out of that contract.
 
The one thing “The Contender” did do was raise my marketability. After I was able to regain my momentum by fighting more often, the World Boxing Association, or WBA, took notice.
 
I fought for their cruiserweight title and won. Except I didn’t – that was just their interim title. There was still their “regular” world title. And their “super” world title (4). The WBA heavyweight titlist, meanwhile, had to look over his shoulder for the injured “champion in recess.”
 
I didn’t need that. I’d prefer an organization that’s open about screwing fighters.
 
I went back to the WBC.
 
I went down to junior middleweight and beat Carlos Baldomir for the title. Meanwhile, Sergio Martinez became my mandatory challenger. But then I made a voluntary defense against Sergio Mora and lost my title. Thankfully, I had a rematch clause within our contract. I faced Mora again and won.
 
Meanwhile, Martinez became the WBC interim titlist. I lobbied the WBC to let me make a voluntary defense against Charles Whittaker, who was not ranked and had no reason to be ranked, not even in the WBC’s poor rankings for the 154-pound division.
 
The WBC, showing rare wisdom, said no. And then I suffered an injury. The WBC said I had to face Martinez, and soon. I wasn’t physically able, so I lost my title. Martinez ditched the “interim” distinction and now holds the belt.
 
But I’ve got nothing to worry about. The WBC named me its “Ambassador of Peace and Good Will in the World Through Sports.” I can come back when I’m healed up, get an immediate shot at Martinez and even have the money split in my favor (5).
 
That’s not too bad. I could always retire, too, and the WBC would name me “Champion Emeritus” like it did for Vitali Klitschko. Between that and the ambassadorship, would that give me one mandatory shot and one more to spare in case I lose?
 
***
 
1.  No, wait, that was Andrew Golota against Mike Mollo in January 2008.
 
2.  No, wait, that will be Lovemore N’dou and Phillip N’dou, on July 11, with an undercard featuring Eric Barcelona and Simpiwe Vetyeka.
 
3.  That was Chad Dawson, then a 22-year-old middleweight, facing 34-year-old Carl Daniels in December 2004.
 
4.  That was Firat Arslan, who became the WBA interim cruiserweight titlist by beating Valery Brudov in June 2007. The “regular” titlist was the injured Virgil Hill, while the “super” world titlist was unified belt holder David Haye.
 
5.  And that is Vernon Forrest.
 
***
 
Like the sanctioning bodies themselves, this story shouldn’t be taken seriously.

The 10 Count will return next week.

David P. Greisman is a member of the Boxing Writers Association of America. His weekly column, “Fighting Words,” appears every Monday on BoxingScene.com. He may be reached for questions and comments at fightingwords1@gmail.com