by David P. Greisman
We open in a faraway arena, a distance from the casinos, stadiums and venues to which the faded hero had long ago become accustomed.
The camera cuts to Marco Antonio Barrera, 35 years old, 5-foot-6, adorned in a blue, hooded robe. He walks forward, expressionless, his movement a steady gait until the moment just after he ducks between the second and third ropes of the ring. His gloved hands pull his hood back, and he bounces into a trot. Those in this faraway arena welcome him with cheers. Some have donned sombreros, tokens of affection for a fighter who has come from Mexico City to Manchester, England.
Their applause is more for who he once was than what he is now.
Barrera traversed the Atlantic Ocean, crossing through six time zones to confront his past, to compete against the future. He traveled to this British city to face Amir Khan, a 22-year-old, 5-foot-10, from nearby Bolton, the homegrown favorite, an Olympic medalist who captured silver in 2004.
The lights dim. Khan, clad in red, steps out of the darkness, away from the specter of disappointment. Six months before, he took to this very ring, only to be pounded into defeat within a minute. He wastes little time entering the squared circle. This is his second fight since then. With a second straight victory, he can pick up his career from where it was – before he had to pick himself up off the canvas.
Khan had until then been undefeated as a professional, a prospect being groomed for prominence. Now he would enter the proverbial crossroads fight. A win over an established, accomplished opponent such as Barrera would put him back on track. A loss, and he’d wind up derailed.
Barrera was a boxer back when Khan was but a toddler. In the two decades since, he had fought 469 rounds. He had won 65 of those 72 fights, with a world title on the line 25 times. Khan entered the pro ranks in 2005, going 70 rounds in 20 bouts.
The scene is set. The bell is rung. We have lights. We have cameras. We have action.
***
We cut to the first round, one minute and 53 seconds in.
Barrera is cut.
He and Khan have just butted heads, each dipping forward and to the left as they begin to throw right hands. The collision opens up a large, vertical gash high on the left side of Barrera’s forehead, just below his hairline. The impact, combined with a right hand from Khan, leaves Barrera momentarily reeling. Khan sees blood, and he smells it, too, closing in and trying to end the bout early. Barrera throws out hard hooks in an attempt to keep Khan at bay, then weaves around the ring to escape the onslaught.
Barrera’s “Baby-Faced Assassin” moniker stuck with him even as he aged. To call him poker-faced always seemed more apt. He maintained the same expression no matter the direction of the action. That’s not to say he showed little in the way of emotion. This was the consummate professional who once put Prince Naseem Hamed in a full nelson and, like a pro wrestler, bashed his head into the corner. This was the consummate professional who twice had points deducted for intentional fouls during his bouts with Manny Pacquiao.
We cut to the end of the second round.
Barrera is walking back to his corner, having gone to work despite the blood pouring down his forehead into his left eye. The cut is so bad that it seems to spurt, a crimson river streaming south.
This poker-faced assassin was playing against a stacked deck.
Barrera’s best years had come in lighter weight classes, in the 122-, 126- and 130-pound divisions. Those years had long since passed. Though his last two losses came in 2007 against the two best fighters in the sport – Pacquiao and Juan Manuel Marquez – Barrera, most agreed, was not what he had once been.
Against Pacquiao in their rematch, Barrera should have been motivated to make up for the beating he’d received four years earlier. Instead, he was a warier warrior, staying at a distance, rarely committing, barely putting punches together in combination, going the distance but doing little more.
Barrera retired after that fight. Thirteen months later, he came back.
He had left Golden Boy Promotions, a company for which he, like other aging fighters Oscar De La Hoya, Bernard Hopkins and Shane Mosley, acted as an executive. His new contract called for five years under Don King. Those terms seemed an eternity, but Barrera’s competitive fire still burned, and perhaps that necessitated a deal with a man some in the sport see as the devil.
Three fights into the deal, Barrera had a bout with Khan that would land him a shot at the lightweight title if he won.
He had to win first.
***
Cut to a montage.
Khan shows himself to be a full-fledged lightweight, a natural 135-pounder, bigger, faster and stronger than his undersized opponent. Though Barrera has advantages in experience and wile, the unceasing flow of blood places the underdog against overwhelming odds.
We see Khan strafing Barrera with speedy flurries. We see Barrera looking to trap Khan with a counter. We see Barrera looking to trap Khan in a corner. We see Barrera unable to do either.
A ringside physician checks on Barrera’s wound halfway through the fourth round but sends him back into battle. The doctor does the same in the waning moments of round five, though this time the fight is called off.
The judges issue a technical decision, scoring the bout 50-45 (twice) and 50-44 in favor of Khan. Cut to the post-fight interviews.
“They didn’t stop the fight in the first round,” Barrera says. “I think they should’ve stopped it before because [the cut] was a big as it is now. I couldn’t see the guy since the first round. The blood was on my eye.”
Had the fight been stopped before the fourth round was over, the bout would have ended as a “No Contest.” Once the bell rang to begin round five, the rules called for the bout to go to the scorecards.
“I didn’t really even feel his punches,” Barrera said. “He’s got fast hands, but his punches did nothing to me. I really didn’t feel them. I just went a little crazy, because I wanted to try to fight before they stopped the fight.”
***
We close on a career filled with thrills, with blood feuds and fights of the year, with back-and-forth brawls and scientific clinics.
Between his first bout, in Mexico City, and this latest one, in Manchester, Barrera became a fixture in the United States. He fought 17 times in Las Vegas, 15 times in Southern California, and on at least 19 occasions he appeared on HBO or HBO Pay-Per-View.
Barrera’s last three fights have come against a 25-19 opponent in China, with a 1-7-1 fall guy in Mexico and against Khan in Manchester. He is far from the venues to which he had long ago become accustomed. He is a boxer hanging on to his name, his past accomplishments, seeking to turn them into one last run at the top.
Not every story has a heartwarming conclusion.
In the canon of the Sweet Science, a fading hero is thought to have one last great performance left. History tells of George Foreman knocking out Michael Moorer, of Bernard Hopkins defying his age and the odds against Antonio Tarver and Kelly Pavlik.
Less storied are the accomplished veterans, long past their primes, served up as fodder to contenders and prospects.
For the moment, we remember Barrera for who he once was, not what he is now.
He will get older and slower. His opponents will remain young, fast and strong, capable at doing in the ring what he cannot, despite his experience, which with every year accumulates as wear and tear.
We close on a night in Manchester when this faded hero was offered one last shot at glory, only to have this story cut short. Fate can be a cruel mistress.
May the wound heal, and may the credits roll after what those watching their screens would hope was the final cut.
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