by David P. Greisman
Our first goodbye was heartbreaking. This last one is heart-stopping.
Arturo Gatti, dead at the age of 37, found early Saturday in a hotel room in Brazil, where he was staying with his wife and young son.
Nearly two years ago to the day, we said goodbye to Gatti following his final fight, a knockout loss against Alfonso Gomez. It was bittersweet. We did not want to see him take any more punishment, even though the way he took punishment and fought back was exactly why we had long loved to see him.
There is no better tribute to Gatti than to recall what it was about him that earned him a place in our hearts.
It was his heart.
Here is how I remembered Arturo Gatti two years ago when we knew we would never see him again in the ring.
Here is how I will remember Gatti, for whom our hearts stop, knowing we will never see him again at all.
Rest in peace.
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“A Requiem for Arturo Gatti,” originally published July 15, 2007.
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These are the closing credits of “the Human Highlight Reel.”
Forty-nine fights. Forty wins. Thirty-one knockouts. Titles in two weight classes. Nearly two dozen appearances on HBO. Four fights-of-the-year.
Countless excitement.
Arturo Gatti built his reputation on giving everything he had and never giving up, on taking punishment and then digging into his huge reservoir of heart to return fire in an attempt to pull out a miracle.
There was Gatti, twice convincing the ringside physician that he could see well enough for the fight to continue, then rising from the stool to drop Wilson Rodriguez with a body shot in the fifth and finally putting him down for the count in the sixth. There was Gatti, his head bobbing up and down from Gabe Ruelas’ uppercuts, blood coming from below his left eye, ending the fight with a left hook that seemed to come out of left field. Fans flocked to his fights, where they became accustomed to seeing Gatti take far too many shots, to seeing his face swollen and the odds lengthened.
But not like this.
Not like how Gatti looked wobbling drunkenly toward his corner after six rounds of being surgically dismantled by Floyd Mayweather Jr. When then-trainer Buddy McGirt told Gatti that he was stopping the fight, Gatti protested out of pride, asking for one more round, but he ultimately stayed on his stool, his head cradled within McGirt’s arms.
Not like how Gatti looked in the ninth round against Carlos Baldomir, a left hook sending Gatti crumbling forward onto the canvas, from where he needed the ropes to lift himself up. The second knockdown saw Gatti fall flat on his back, and that was where he stayed, tired, trounced.
And not like how Gatti looked Saturday against Alfonso Gomez, when Gatti’s feet worked but not his fists, when there would be few of those desperate bombs thrown in hopes of a comeback, when New Jersey State Athletic Control Board chief Larry Hazzard Sr. had to step up into the ring to stop the bloodletting himself. Hazzard’s actions also ended the career of a local favorite, a fighter who had appeared nine straight times at Atlantic City’s Boardwalk Hall and 30 times in the state.
This is the opening scene of “the Human Highlight Reel.”
May 18, 2002. The Mohegan Sun casino in Uncasville, Conn. It is the ninth round of Arturo Gatti’s first war with Micky Ward. The momentum has repeatedly shifted over the course of the previous eight stanzas. This round would prove no different.
Ward came out fast, dropping Gatti in the opening seconds with his trademark combination of a left hook upstairs followed by a left hook to the liver. Gatti, wincing, rose from his right knee at the count of nine, only to get chased around the ring by a Ward looking to close things out.
Ward punched himself out, however, and Gatti came back with thudding body shots, vicious left hooks and stiff right crosses. This time, it was Gatti who expended too much energy, and Ward had recovered enough to leave Gatti reeling and essentially defenseless on the ropes.
HBO blow-by-blow announcer Jim Lampley called for referee Frank Cappuccino to step in and stop things, but the third man in the ring let the other two continue. Gatti, arms at his sides, stayed on his feet to finish off one of the sport’s best rounds in one of the sport’s best fights.
Flash back to previous years. Gatti’s career is a mix of highs and lows. A rise toward junior lightweight contention and a two-year title run. Three straight losses, one to Angel Manfredy and two to Ivan Robinson. Four straight wins that led him into a fight with Oscar De La Hoya, who made Gatti’s corner throw in the towel. Ten months off, followed by a stoppage of Terron Millett that began Gatti’s rebirth.
The great trilogy of fights with Ward not only cemented Gatti as a true entertainer, but it also launched the final phase of his career in which he would seek to show the boxing world that he could be a legitimate contender, too.
Gatti captured a vacant belt at junior welterweight, successfully defending it twice before losing to Mayweather, a defeat that marked the beginning of the end. For years, Gatti had struggled to make weight, ballooning in size by fight night but simultaneously increasing his tendency to swell up when punched in the face. The Mayweather loss was the last that Gatti would see of 140, a jump to welterweight giving him seven pounds of relief.
Gatti’s first bout in his new division came against Thomas Damgaard, an undefeated 34-year-old who had probably squandered his prime fighting pastries in front of a faithful Danish crowd. Gatti stopped Damgaard, and he still had enough drawing power that Carlos Baldomir chose him for the first defense of the Argentine’s welterweight championship.
Gatti would never win again.
At 140 and below, Gatti was often able to use advantages, either in speed or in size and strength, to overcome his other limitations. Moving up one division, though, brought him to a weight class populated by natural welterweights whose unimpressive knockout ratios didn’t necessarily indicate that they would have heavier hands than expected and chins battle-tested against bigger fighters.
Gatti was too small against Baldomir, and against Gomez he would again be too small – and too scarred by a lifetime of wars inside and out of the squared circle. With 356 days off since the Baldomir loss, Gatti’s mind may have felt rejuvenated, but his body failed to agree.
Gomez countered with right hands over Gatti’s jab, led with left hooks and limited Gatti’s offense to 74 total punches landed out of 358 thrown, including a pitiful power punch output of 113 launched and 29 on target. In the final minute of the seventh round, Gomez sent his right paw crashing into Gatti’s maw, knocking him down, splitting his lip and tearing out his heart.
Referee Randy Neumann, who had probably shown far too much respect for the battered warrior while Gomez beat Gatti from pillar to post, issued a count, but New Jersey’s Hazzard stepped in, doing what so many fans and observers would unfortunately admit was far too necessary.
Gatti’s long and storied career was over, the end for a fighter who was, through the years, a cult figure, a rock star, a blood-and-guts warrior, a man who represented so much of what people adore about the Sweet Science. He was neither a virtuoso boxer nor a menacing bruiser, but he was nonetheless deservingly on television screens, in feature articles, in the spotlight. He was a Rocky, an Italian Stallion, an everyman who had achieved his full potential and thereby received our approval.
This, then, is the scene leading into the closing credits of “the Human Highlight Reel.”
July 14, 2007. Boardwalk Hall in Atlantic City. Gatti, bleeding through a bandage over his lip, gives one last post-fight interview to HBO.
“He was just stronger than I was,” Gatti told interviewer Max Kellerman. “He’s a hungry fighter, a young fighter. I did my best. I came in thinking I could outbox him, but, you know, the ring was getting smaller and smaller with a bigger man. And it just sucks that from ‘40 to ‘47, it’s just a different me. I wish I could make 140 but it’s impossible. So, I don’t see myself continuing at 147. I want to retire. And I can’t be taking this abuse no more.”
Earlier in the night, Kellerman had compared Gatti to Bruce Willis’ John McClane, the protagonist of the Die Hard movies. In the post-fight interview, Gatti turned to the camera and waved, clearly with another action hero in mind.
“Hasta la vista, baby.”
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