September 16 is Always a Reason To Celebrate

By Lyle Fitzsimmons

I’ve made a decision.

In my first act as President -- or at least imperial grand pooh-bah of all things boxing -- I’m making today, Sept. 16, a national holiday.

But not for the reasons you might automatically assume.

First off, it’s not simply another excuse to skip work and enjoy the beautiful final gasps of summer here in north central Florida. Neither is it an extra 24-hour recovery period from what turned out to be -- thanks to a chubby Joan Guzman -- a decidedly anticlimactic weekend road trip to Biloxi, Miss.

Rather, it’s to take a moment to look back at how substantial -- both by fate and absolute coincidence -- this date has been in getting me to where I am today… firmly cemented in my position as one of your 100 favorite Tuesday morning boxing columnists.

Ah, yes… it’s a heady life I lead here in Gainesville.

But I digress.

Most notable on the list of Sept. 16 events is one that happened exactly 27 years ago today at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas -- the undisputed welterweight championship match between Ray Leonard and Thomas Hearns, promotionally billed back then as “The Showdown.”

Leonard was the TV-driven phenomenon who’d starred at the Olympics five years earlier and regained his pro crown from Roberto Duran in late 1980. Hearns, meanwhile, had laid waste to foes in more anonymous fashion before bursting onto the big stage with a demolition of Pipino Cuevas.    

I was a seventh-grader at Edward Town Middle School in Sanborn, N.Y., and so sure my man Hearns would win that I leveraged my personal fortune -- a cool $50 from a job delivering the Metro Community News -- in penny ante wagers with the other 12-year-old delinquents roaming the halls.

Suffice to say, when I woke up to hear the results over breakfast the next morning, I was crestfallen.

Nonetheless, when opportunity presented itself the next month -- in the form of an English composition for Mr. Rycombel entitled “It Happened That Day” -- I took my first crack at catharsis with an in-depth analysis of the fight and all that, in my view, had gone wrong for Hearns in the desert.

I got the paper back about a week later and happily turned to the back page to find the capital letter “A” and alongside it the phrase -- “You ought to think of this as a career, pal” -- that for the first time gave me a clear vision of exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up.

A sports writer.

As fate would have it, I took my first legitimate steps toward that goal exactly seven years later -- on Sept. 16, 1988 -- when I walked into the newsroom at my hometown Niagara Gazette for day one of a sophomore year internship from Niagara County Community College.

And though my night consisted mainly of taking reports from the Lake Ontario Fishing Derby and grabbing dinner for the guys from the Press Box restaurant, I went home knowing that there was nothing else I’d ever be truly as happy doing… getting paid to watch sports.

But as it turns out… that’s not the only itch to stem from the fight.

Hand in hand with my journalism obsession has been an equally powerful, albeit slightly less accessible urge to be on the other side of the microphones and keyboards, actually doing the things that the assembled scribes are writing about… especially in a boxing ring.

I was never athletic enough to warrant notice at dear old Niagara-Wheatfield Senior High School and surely never close to subsequently competing at Brockport State, but as luck would have it, genetics and the Atkins Diet have allowed something of a recovery in my 30s.

I got within a jab-hook combo of an exhibition at the Blue Horizon in 2005 -- yes, fight night was scheduled for Sept. 16 -- before the Pennsylvania State Athletic Commission KO’d the “White Collar Boxing” show as too similar to ultimate fighting and derailed the dream. 

Finishing the New York City Marathon two months later sufficiently sated the athletic appetite for a couple years, but here in 2008 -- at age 39 with mid-life bearing down as hard as the Florida sunshine -- the urge to indulge my inner “Hitman” is back as strong as ever.

And fortunately, this time I have a Sept. 16 alter ego.

Marcelo Montero, a 30-year-old from south Florida with one amateur fight and a similar itch to go pro at least once, responded to my call for a foe a few months back and has done much of the legwork -- setting up our four-round fight on a card promoted by Enrique “Henry” Rivalta, set for Oct. 24 in Miami.

Provided I successfully boil down to 154 pounds over the next 38 days, I’m sure I’ll be thinking of Ray and Tommy as I walk toward the ring.

I only hope Marcelo knows which role he’s supposed to play.

Happy Holidays.

Lyle Fitzsimmons is a full voting member of the Boxing Writers Association of America. He can be reached at fitzbitz@msn.com.