By Matthew Hurley
In boxing most fighters who reach a plateau are defined by a particular moment, if they’re lucky, of fistic grace. The fact is the vast majority of fighters, amateur and professional, will never achieve greatness. Boxing singles out its preeminent warriors on the fingers of the pugilistic God’s two fists every decade and sometimes there are less then ten counted. To be great, to transcend the era battled through, is rare. Thomas Hearns was such a fighter.
In the wake of his recent comeback at forty-six years old, a frustrating side note did not go unnoticed by fans and writers. The “Hitman” was only months away from the five year retirement or hiatus limit to qualify for the International Boxing Hall Of Fame. By fighting nondescript John Long in front of a sparse crowd in his native Detroit, Hearns disqualified himself for induction and now must wait five more years to have his plaque join all the others on the hallowed ground in Canastota. And make no mistake; Thomas Hearns is a first ballot no-brainer. Ultimately, however, what is more disconcerting is that Hearns is fighting at all.
It begs the question, should a boxer whose reflexes are so obviously shot be protected from himself? The New York State Athletic Commission said “yes” in regards to Evander Holyfield – refusing to license him, which put the kibosh on his fighting anywhere in the United States. Is this fair? It’s certainly debatable and a man’s right to make a living with his fists if he passes all the prerequisite medical tests is an inalienable right in this country. Holyfield is obviously being made an example of because of his stature. Just imagine how many third tier fighters in worse condition physically and mentally than Holyfield slip under the radar and continue to fight. Evander believes his suspension is not only bogus and unfair but unjust. Hearns agrees with Holyfield.
“I appreciate the fans’ concern,” he said recently. “But this is my life and this is what I want to do with it.”
Tommy was born to be a fighter and has never really done anything else. Not only does he love to fight, he loves to train. His legendary wars in the stifling confines of the Kronk gym rival some of his most memorable bouts. All the years of being battered about and stretching every aging muscle and tendon to the breaking point have not dimmed his desire to climb through those ring ropes and do battle. That fearlessness was an enormous contributing factor to his ultimate greatness as a fighter. It’s all he knows. In fact Tommy appears to be one of those fighters/athletes who seem lost when they are not preparing to participate in the sport they live for.
Lacking a mellifluous speaking voice like his old rival Sugar Ray Leonard renders him incapable of being a commentator. Lacking the patience to tutor an up and coming prospect, he is incapable of being a trainer. All he knows is how to pump out a snake like left jab to set up his famous right cross. Time spent not doing what he loves drives him to distraction and even seems to depress him.
All this can only lead to another ignominious defeat, such as the one he suffered five years ago against Uriah Grant when he twisted his ankle and had to deal with a second round technical knockout against a man he would have toyed with only a few years earlier. His body was breaking down and Hearns seemed to realize that at the time. He quietly stepped back into the shadows, peeking out every time his son Ronald would fight or clenching his fist and smiling for the cameras, dressed to kill in thousand dollar suits, at every big fight in Las Vegas.
He tried his hand at promoting bouts. That endeavor culminated in the Mike Tyson – Andrew Golota fiasco in Detroit which saw Golota flee the ring in a panic after tasting Tyson’s power. Tyson later tested positive for marijuana and the bout was declared a no-contest. It was such a headache that Thomas threw his hands up in exasperation and said to himself, “the hell with this.”
Retreating into the shadows again, the five time champion brooded and took his frustrations out in the gym. Pretty soon he convinced himself, though not his aging body, that he could turn back the clock and win another championship. Visions of that crushing right hand, the one that felled Pipino Cuevas and Roberto Duran in dramatic fashion, finding another target built up delusions of grandeur in his mind.
And then, there he was, struggling against a fighter who lost nearly half as many bouts as he’d won. It took eight tedious rounds just to escape with a victory.
“A few more fights and I’ll be back to where I want to be,” he said after the fight. But there was a hesitancy in his voice. It had nothing to do with the slur that has slowed down his speech in recent years. It was a creeping realization that maybe he wouldn’t be able to get all the way back after all. As the days and weeks passed that moment of clarity no doubt began to recede as he found himself entranced by the rat-a-tat-tat of the speed bag. No doubt, he will fight on. And no doubt that nagging voice in his head will whisper to him after the next disappointing showing when his body doesn’t respond to the messages his brain sends it.
It will be five more years until he will be eligible to have his moment at the Hall of Fame. It will probably be even longer than that should he continue to fight.
“I so want to take him down to the Hall in June during the ceremonies,” his former trainer Emanuel Steward says. “I really think he would enjoy it.”
The blood spattered gold Kronk trunks he wore against Juan Roldan when he won the middleweight title are under glass in the museum. His autograph is one of the most sought after because of its scarcity. He belongs at the Hall of Fame. His greatness as a fighter, he being one of the truly great fighters of the last twenty-five years – an era in which the word “great” has been bandied about recklessly – is unquestioned. He need not lace up a glove again and throw a punch to solidify his legendary status. But perhaps he himself as a man needs to. It’s all he knows after all.
Nevertheless, when the day comes when he finally hangs those mitts up he will be acknowledged as one of the finest boxers ever to set foot in a ring. Hopefully his mind will be clear and he will finally be able to exhale and smile in the warm realization of how beloved a figure he is in such a brutal and unforgiving sport. And perhaps he will be able to sit back in a soft, easy chair, watch his old fights on screen and with a nod and a smile say to himself, “damn, I was something else.”
