By Patrick Kehoe
Once upon a time in America, Zab Judah was going to be a righteous main man of the ring, guaranteed. Twenty-First Century boxing itself was going to be another music entertainment tie in for the multi-layering entertainment ethos of rap, hip-hop and the self-servicing entrepreneurs hawking fighter-co-producers and rave crazed streaming product for the masses. Talk about being the real thing. Judah looked primed for Hip-Hopping market impact, the proto typical Mr. Bling Thing Biggie: his nickname “Super” short for superstar, silver clad, tattooed, Brooklyn, New York, New York, petulantly rude with talent to burn; he was going to be boxing’s ‘it’ man!
Sure he was an over reactive boxer, given to showboating narcissism, at times far too defensive to maximize his scorpion of a right jab and the leveling power of his left cross. Sometimes fans let him know how they felt about his half hearted efforts. But much was written off as extreme youthfulness and papa Yoel’s stay out of trouble corner advice. Save the big shots for wide open chances and press conference sound bites and post-fight stumping. In the era of Roy Jones and James Toney and Bernard Hopkins, talking bigger than you fought became a kind of right of championship prerogative. Against the Terronn Millett’s of the ring world – semi-dangerous and fighting desperate – Judah did stand in and trade, pretending that impunity was promised to those earmarked for greatness.
The prototypical Judah outing showcased athletic movement and the repeating rhythm of the right jab designed to keep the opponent frustrated and to hide the defect of the Judah chin, which had been found by even the predictable Jan Piet Bergman. So Yoel’s dutiful son often played it too cool, sitting behind his jab and only venturing to load up for exchanges when his prey fell fatigued into the middle distance kill zone, ala Terronn Millett or Reggie Green. Left to his own devices with a nearly engrained sense of riding out comfortable rounds, Judah was criticized as having feasted on not quite ready for prime time players, manifesting just enough to suggest his full repertoire of boxing skills and no more.
The critical mind notes that when Judah came up against absolute quality he was punked or debunked. A Kostya Tszyu right hand thrown from downtown St. Petersburg was enough White Russia to have Judah doing the jitterbug boogie; his foul recourse, to having been unceremoniously swatted, was to attempt to bash referee Jay Nady with his stool in a just post-fight emotional tantrum to rival Teletubbies tough guy Dipsy. His invective filled shouts at an outwardly stoic Nady stuck boxing fans odd, given his admonishing of then fellow jr. welterweight drama prince Sharmba Mitchell: “No matter what in the ring…. You take your beating like a man; you don’t cry about things.”
From the nexus point of his jr. welterweight showdown loss to Kostya Tszyu, November 3, 2001 at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas inside of 2 rounds, Zab Judah never recovered, not his boxing prestige or the respect his boxing had intimated and outlined despite adding titles to his resume. And yet, losses to Cory Spinks, Carlos Baldomir and the wondrous Floyd Mayweather have not altogether wiped away the imprint of Judah from the landscape of big time boxing. There’s something about bad boy Zab that lingers in the mind. Those tracings of talented display, such as in his masterful exhibition of over all attack with defensive readiness against Cory Spinks, the second time around, marks Judah as a distinguished boxer at the highest level of technical command.
Judah’s not quite yet 30 and it should be noted he’s managed to survive a surreal friendship with Mike Tyson, an often suffocating relationship with trainer-father Yoel, an ordination for greatness by Sports Illustrated, inappropriateness run amuck as in fighting between rounds of his fight with Floyd Mayweather, and sporadic bouts with chronic indifference to training exposed by the cumbersome Baldomir. And yet, Zab remains, posing as viable and maybe, just maybe, still capable of giving a top flight performance. That’s what his WBA welterweight fight with Miguel Cotto equates to, re-designation of pre-packaged goods marked: Zab “Super” Judah.
He may not be as pretty as he purports to be, nor as high up the pound for pound food chain as he imagines himself to be. And yet, on his night, he’s truly capable of dispensing blazing fireworks, chin or no chin. No, he’s not a guy who hands out the rough justice of a lethal puncher ala Kelly Pavlik; he’s more shoe shine and electromagnetic than rock slide. Maybe Judah’s secretly looking forward to the fact that boxing experts, Las Vegas Inc. and most corner bookies have Cotto as ‘da man’ in the pre-fight estimating. If the rap and showmanship and the chip on those thin but wide shoulders are more than metaphors, wouldn’t it just be like Judah to come up with something off the wall, say a compelling performance for 12 rounds?
One advantage of thinking you are all that, more than the sum of your recent outings or the legacy misting in the minds of hard core boxing fans, is that you have more than enough attitude to make the improbable a reality. The greatest of lies can drift about the consciousness as fuel to make the unexpected burst forth. What else are the multi-talented almost greats of this world to do when they are still young enough, still authentic enough to believe they are actually on the threshold of a return to greatness? Shadow boxing, Judah still sees the best of his reflection, all reflex and power and cunning, moving inexorably back into the position he wants for himself, untouchable.
As a wonder kid, a southpaw parallel to Floyd Mayweather, he was able to get off the floor to win title belts. As a young man, his self knowing was able to reverse a loss like his decision walk about with Cory Spinks in April 2004 by outclassing the fleeting form of Spinks, in his home town of St. Louis, and actually registering a stoppage in the ninth frame, to put a very weighty exclamation point on his boast that he was “far too talented for Cory Spinks.” Yes, Cory Spinks, the guy who posed for pictures with Jermain Taylor for 12 rounds at full middleweight in May.
Judah can be belligerent. He can try to evade responsibility with Hopkins-esque aplomb. Then he can smile for the camera and milk the moment with kindness. Maybe he’ll never really grow up; may be Zab likes being a bit of kid, ball cap turned around – designer jewelry for show, baby. Yet, you have to admire those that feel they have a duty to rewind recent history, out takes can indeed be brutal. Coming off that mediocre performance against Floyd Jr., April 2006 – Judah’s last major fight – the Brooklyn Dodger still has everything to fight for, as he heads in against Puerto Rico’s WBA clad welterweight king Mr. Cotto: a title to annex, a budding legend to clip, a world of self-inflicted sins to absolve himself of, a gauntlet to toss back at Mayweather’s feet, should the Michigander grow bored of 30something estate bound fatherhood and being just yesterday’s pound for pound king.
You know Judah thinks Mayweather and he have unfinished business. Because Judah honestly believes he belongs back in a ring with frantic Floyd. Believe it. Only thing is Judah has to prove it to the fans, has to make his case, staking his claim to undeniable relevance. He’d get that by taking down Top Rank’s big little man of the moment, Cotto.
Two bald heads adds up to one survival story.
You had better believe Judah has memorized the complete list of tentative match ups that promoting icon Bob Arum has been insinuating are Cotto’s for the making, all those green backs for the taking.
Judah loves that Top Ranks think they have a real winner on their hands in Cotto. They think they are catching a big name on the down turn. What keeps Judah on edge is the thought that Cotto thinks of him as fairly safe bet for a ‘W’ on the CV. Cotto himself knows he’s got his own issues to deal with about getting the most out of his body of work, the time left to him at the top before his body begins to betray his ambitions and less tangible things to do with expectations in the age after Trinidad.
Judah knows exactly where Cotto’s been and to where he’s pointing. The dangers are hidden from view, even for those that can fly high. Cotto will just have to learn for himself.
For right now, Judah understands ground zero is spelt MSG. He’s let Cotto carry most of the media responsibility, marshalling his resources to the last? We recall Roy Jones, in his later incarnations, hated doing the media days during run ups to his major fights, James Toney too.
And Cotto’s the guy with the undefeated record and the belt, ready to stand his ground, standing in the way.
Another major challenge and champion’s test for Judah to live up to… Fair warning, for a guy like Judah, who tells us he’s always been great, no matter the wins or the losses.
Patrick Kehoe may be reached at pkehoe@telus.net