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I've never taken a punch in the head from a professional boxer. If I had, I probably wouldn't have enough brain cells left to write about it. But back in the 1970s, when I was a regular visitor at Joe Frazier's Gym in North Philly, middleweight contender Bennie Briscoe occasionally gave me a love tap on the upper arm as he walked past.
It was a gesture of recognition from a bona fide badass, and as much as I cherished the acknowledgement, my arm always ached the next day. Briscoe had what is known in the fight biz as "heavy hands," and consequently, when Matthew Macklin used the term to describe the punches from Gennady Golovkin that had left him writhing in agony on the canvas, I knew what he meant.
The excitement surrounding Golovkin is understandable. From all appearances, the undefeated middleweight from Kazakhstan has almost supernatural punching power, more suited to his country's legendary hero, Manas, than a 21st-century boxer. For those who face him in the ring, however, Golovkin is all too real, a swift and crippling puncher who has now tallied 14 consecutive knockouts with no end in sight.
Centuries after dragon slayer Manas inspired an epic poem and decades after Briscoe embodied the very concept of a Philadelphia fighter, I stood just outside the Miccosukee Indian Gambling Resort's boxing venue. A few feet away, Floyd Mayweather Jr. shadowboxed in the semi-darkness of the parking lot, waiting to make his ring walk. His hands were a blur as they sliced through the humid Miami night, his boyish face aglow with sweat and a now-familiar smile.
Approximately 15 minutes later, the newly minted junior lightweight titleholder had made his first successful defense, blowing away highly ranked contender Angel Manfredy in less than two rounds. Some folks thought the fight was terminated too quickly, but when referee Frank Santore Jr. called a halt, Manfredy was trapped in a corner, reeling from a series of blistering combinations.
Regardless of one's opinion of the timing of the stoppage, nobody could deny Mayweather's freakish hand speed and pinpoint accuracy. Although he was hampered by chronic hand injuries, the speed of Mayweather's delivery produced explosive power over the next five years. Sometimes he coasted to preserve his hands, but when he was pumped, Little Floyd was lethal.
After moving up to junior welter and welterweight, his knockout percentage diminished due to a more prudent approach and the size of his opponents. Today, Mayweather is a sharp and searing puncher, but far from the thrashing machine that wasted Manfredy all those years ago.
It was a gesture of recognition from a bona fide badass, and as much as I cherished the acknowledgement, my arm always ached the next day. Briscoe had what is known in the fight biz as "heavy hands," and consequently, when Matthew Macklin used the term to describe the punches from Gennady Golovkin that had left him writhing in agony on the canvas, I knew what he meant.
The excitement surrounding Golovkin is understandable. From all appearances, the undefeated middleweight from Kazakhstan has almost supernatural punching power, more suited to his country's legendary hero, Manas, than a 21st-century boxer. For those who face him in the ring, however, Golovkin is all too real, a swift and crippling puncher who has now tallied 14 consecutive knockouts with no end in sight.
Centuries after dragon slayer Manas inspired an epic poem and decades after Briscoe embodied the very concept of a Philadelphia fighter, I stood just outside the Miccosukee Indian Gambling Resort's boxing venue. A few feet away, Floyd Mayweather Jr. shadowboxed in the semi-darkness of the parking lot, waiting to make his ring walk. His hands were a blur as they sliced through the humid Miami night, his boyish face aglow with sweat and a now-familiar smile.
Approximately 15 minutes later, the newly minted junior lightweight titleholder had made his first successful defense, blowing away highly ranked contender Angel Manfredy in less than two rounds. Some folks thought the fight was terminated too quickly, but when referee Frank Santore Jr. called a halt, Manfredy was trapped in a corner, reeling from a series of blistering combinations.
Regardless of one's opinion of the timing of the stoppage, nobody could deny Mayweather's freakish hand speed and pinpoint accuracy. Although he was hampered by chronic hand injuries, the speed of Mayweather's delivery produced explosive power over the next five years. Sometimes he coasted to preserve his hands, but when he was pumped, Little Floyd was lethal.
After moving up to junior welter and welterweight, his knockout percentage diminished due to a more prudent approach and the size of his opponents. Today, Mayweather is a sharp and searing puncher, but far from the thrashing machine that wasted Manfredy all those years ago.
What I found most interesting though was how the author classified notable fighters. Do you agree with the classifications for the fighters he listed?
Generally speaking, big punchers can be divided into two categories: Those who have speed-based power and those with heavy hands. There are several subgroups within those categories, including the rare fighter fortunate enough to possess both qualities.
Floyd Mayweather Jr.
Roy Jones Jr.
Oscar De La Hoya
Naseem Hamed
Terry Norris
Shane Mosley
Heavy hands:
George Foreman
Sam Langford
Sonny Liston
Rocky Marciano
Jack Dempsey
Lennox Lewis
Archie Moore
Bob Foster
Ruben Olivares
Julian Jackson
Wilfredo Gomez
Khaosai Gallaxy
(Current day)
Adonis Stevenson
Lucas Matthysse
Marcos Maidana
Roman Gonzalez
Heavy hands w/ weak chin (subcategory):
Bob Satterfield
Floyd Patterson
Earnie Shavers
Heavy hands AND speed-based power:
Joe Louis
Sugar Ray Robinson
Manny Pacquiao
Roberto Duran
Mike Tyson
Gennady Golovkin? (pending)
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