By Patrick Kehoe
Photo © Emily Harney/Fightwireimages.com
On November 21st, former undisputed light-heavyweight champion Antonio Tarver turned 39 years-old. Yes, the throbbing your head is experiencing probably has its root in a simple parallax of misperception brought on by compounded disbelief. Consider for example Tarver’s 9 years older than the recently retired Fernando Vargas, a champion during Tarver’s second pro campaign. When considering Tarver’s big fights you might fact check to discover that he’s contested only 29 professional fights during his 10 year career. His punching in the paid ranks beginning just shy of 28!
We do remember the bald and brash Floridian mainly as the man who eventually toppled the multi-titled Roy Jones from his self-carved pound-for-pound pedestal, steadfastly matching Jones egoism for egoism, tirade for tirade, punch for punch, until landing his lights-out straight left cross in the second round, of their May 15, 2004, “No Excuses” rematch. That punch, and the tsunami effect it produced, proved Tarver truly was the foil to Roy Jones’ extravagant boxing exhibitionism. Tarver really did have some unique quality as a championship boxer, though not quite the legendary cache he tended to claim, so often dressed like a banker, his head rolling to the rhythm of his on the stump, off the cuff, ‘can’t you recognize greatness when you see it’ media day testimonials.
Tarver was a man desperate for the prime time showbiz world of HBO superstardom; all that talent for so long marginalized by a simple flaw. He was not the most dedicated fighter. Too often he rode the engine of his physicality and world level amateur grooved technique to the detriment of professional enhancements. If ever a fighter got to the cusp of world notice on raw ability alone, it was Tarver in the winter of 2000. But manifest expectation was also wrapped tightly around his entrance into the Top Ten of light-heavyweight boxing. Then came his IBF title eliminator against fellow championship aspirant Eric Harding, Philadelphia born, undefeated and trained to wage an all out battle over 12 rounds, if necessary. Tarver was down in the eleventh, getting off the canvas, he held together to hear the decision of all three judges scoring the fight 116-111 for the earnest Harding.
The loss to Harding in June 2000 was Tarver’s reality check wake up call. Talent had proven yet again to be not enough. Having engaged the industrious figure of Harding, Tarver knew he had to take stalk, reassess, retool. There had been too much taken for granted, too much partying, too many experiments with powdery substances and not enough hardcore gym time. For the first time in his short professional career, Tarver was going to become deeply self-critical and get at the bottom line of the life he had to lead, if, he was serious about all those dreams, all the big talk, about his being better than Roy Jones. And he understood that having lost the biggest fight of his career meant that contrition and consoling self-reproach would not be enough. Only the rigors of disciplined denial and sacrificial purposefulness would redress his tendencies for doing just enough to appear ready, wilful and able bodied.
Working with trainer Buddy McGirt and strength and fitness coach Dudley Pierce, Tarver turned stalled potential into resuscitating results. A rematch win over Harding bracketed by wins over Reggie Johnson and Montell Griffin. Within self-recognition lie truth as daring, and thus, the possibility of altering the known universe of internal necessities. When Tarver reversed the flow against Harding, jabbing and countering his way back from another defeat with surges in the fourth and fifth rounds, to score a knockout, Tarver proved his talent could translate itself into effective and theatrical ring performances.
Tarver’s cruiserweight honed into light-heavyweight sizing and straight to the mark counter hitting from the southpaw stance went on to deconstruct King Roy Jones’ attack optioning offense. If age put Jones in the line of Tarver’s fire, it was the “Magic Man’s” absolute belief in what he trusted as his ultimate future, being the better man when face to face with the great Roy Jones. For a time, it seemed an outlandish, even crazed claim, one Tarver had been making since they had vied for amateur honours during their teenage years in Florida. Despite everything, no matter the laws of probability or the prevailing view of talking heads saturating television and Internet commentary, Tarver never wavered in his message of being the boogie monster to Jones’ shining star. Levelling Jones meant “The Magic Man” had finally realized his potential in becoming worthy of HBO superstar status. He’d called out Jones, tested the myth of RJ’s unalterable destiny where it counted, in the championship prize ring and registered a historical win, conjuring the most dominant light-heavyweight performance of the first decade of the 21st Century.
So, where does one go when one has achieved the goal defining a professional life’s work? How do you follow up upon the drubbing of a legend? Is further assent possible?
Airing his list of possible Titians to conquer, Tarver put forth his desire to take on what he considered the ultimate challenge, battling Mike Tyson in a heavyweight showdown, such, were the fantasy pay per view dollars flittering as confetti in his overly oxygenated mind! Tarver never did get a date with Tyson, who was imploding emotionally, legally and professionally. Tarver spent the balance of 2004 and 2005 trying to solve the puzzle of Glen Johnson and a final sweeping aside of Roy Jones over 12 rounds, in October, 2005.
Even as he secured the rubber match win over Jones, Tarver’s self-congratulatory ring composure began to fray, the aura of his right handed jabbing authority becoming sporadic pushing, his left handed power hitting telegraphed lunges. When Bernard Hopkins moved up from middleweight defeat, he found an Antonio Tarver, ruler of the 175 pounders, ripe for the kill. Tarver had not been training diligently since the rematches with Johnson and marginally Jones. And if there is one thing that offends Bernard Hopkins to the point of irritation is half-heatedness, and semi-committed boxers who preen about mouthing platitude about pound for pound merit. And so Hopkins, defying many of his 41 years, took on Tarver and his assumed ‘big-man’ superiority with relish, savaging an indifferent and befuddled looking Tarver from the first round through the twelfth.
The judgement in press row became that Tarver had put up a more concerted effort during the filming of the final instalment of the ‘Rocky’ series than he had against Hopkins. But had contesting big pay day fights superseded the need to winning them, in the mind and heart of Florida’s other favourite son? Call it the Duran Effect; the commodity of Tarver’s name secured his return to the ring in June of 2007 and a chance to regain something known as the IBO light-heavyweight championship cast off by Bernard Hopkins. Name recognition, we all know, can be recycled almost endlessly in boxing, especially in this era of devalued champions and unknown, unmarketable entities holding onto alphabet lettered title belts. All that needed doing was beating Elvir Muriqi; two of the three judges felt Tarver had accomplished the deed. We note this win not because it brought Tarver back to true championship status, though technically it can be factually stated in a court of law as having done so. But the loss to Hopkins, and the ineffectual effort which in large part lead to the defeat, was what essentially stripped Tarver of a champion’s standing, be he belted or not.
When the age of 40 looms and your best practice efforts are either stumping during press conferences or hitting the heavy bag for videographers, you stand in real danger of being a mockery.
Charm only translates beyond momentary humour, if, honour can be read between the lines or as meaningful subtext to what cannot be fully expressed. In any event, deeds of daring have to add up and unfold, realizing articles of faith put to the test as last summations of a supreme and noble heart. Posing and pretence are unforgiveable, when the magic of winning is not assured, when people sense you are just doing enough to appear authentic.
What else is late term prize fighting for beyond monetary reward, if not to prove the improbable; to struggle toward a fleeting dignity of enduring against the odds? Tarver will have noticed Roy Jones himself was unable to retire with all of his accolades and bars of gold when it became clear that many within the boxing industry had come to judge him a supreme talent who made it his business to always maximize his rewards and minimize his risks, as if holding in contempt the final judgement of historical worth. And so, rich and aging, Jones’ speed evaporating, his prime invincibility a revisionist debating point, Jones labours on, his fear of Gerald McClellan’s fate ignored, as he awaits Felix Trinidad and a retrial at the court of collective memory.
What Antonio Tarver quests for – beyond the obvious need for a major cash infusion to his always murky finances – who can know. We can remain cynical and believe him capable of nothing more than self-parody, with his reflexes slowed, his intermittent resolve eroded. Or we can choose to believe he’s caught up in the webbing of a wounded pride, with him keen to make amends. Perhaps, he’ll be trying to get Hopkins back in the ring for a rematch, and prove he always wins his rematches, just like he proved against Harding and Jones and Johnson.
He does feel that the boxing world is against him; but, he’s always told us that. To hear Tarver tell it, judges, referees, promoters, broadcasters and the system in general have never exactly been in his corner; he’s never been taken as seriously as his credits should have warranted. That much he knows for sure. And yes, now near the end, he’s sounding almost bitter, touchingly reproachful, and ready to make claims that normally come from the Klitschko brothers, a George Foreman interview or music impresarios masquerading as boxing managers. It’s as if he’s determined to get in the last word, win lose or draw.
Of course, he could just get to it and prove he’s still got it, something, anything worth our attention. Surely, Antonio Tarver doesn’t need the IBO to sanction his still having the desire to fight like a champion. Does he? Well, now he’s put himself in the position of having to prove himself a fighter.
Yes, big time boxing only gets more demanding over time and Tarver knows it as well as anyone!
Then again, if we aren’t willing to give Tarver the benefit of the doubt, we would have to believe he’s trying to make a fool out of each and every fan who’s willing to still dream along with him, being willingly complicit, again, in what first made him appear authentic, during the sunny afternoon of his career.
What kind of legacy would that be?
Patrick Kehoe may be reached at pkehoe@telus.net
