By Patrick Kehoe
At the close of the Lennox Lewis Era in heavyweight boxing, it was Vitali Klitschko who was poised to take command of the heavyweight division. Five years older, athletically bolder and inch taller than his Olympic gold medal winning brother – not forgetting possessor of an authentic warrior’s chin – it seemed via the merits of fate he was destined to be the titular head of professional pugilism’s punch for pay pyramid. His blood soaked, body withering war with Lewis at the Staples Center, June 21, 2003, left him facially lacerated yet critically laurelled, confounded in technical defeat, marginally denied universal recognition as heavyweight champion, though the heir still very much apparent, and six months later with Lewis bowing out, WBC heavyweight champion.
HBO sports had a soft spot for Vitali, probably because he openly enjoyed California and New York and Las Vegas, as a guy with a palpable aversion for winning his matches by decision. Where brother Wladimir fancied himself a technical boxer, who looked for moments to unload once his left jab had secured defensive distance, big brother Vitali used his amateurish jab as a tactical pretence, a firing mechanism for his ironfist right hand. Where Wladimir constructed his stoppages, always conscious of securing his defensive positions, Vitali stood tall, feinted, jabbed and shuffled ahead with only destruction as his surest tactical insight.
Behind the scenes, fight managers were impressed with Wladimir`s June 2002 dismantling of tough nut Ray Mercer. The consensus was that Wladimir had improved immeasurably since his implosion against Ross Puritty in 1998. He was becoming a classic last resort speed bump and only Evander Holyfield was a more dangerous night’s work among elite heavyweights. Coincidence strikes normality at oblique angles, divesting promised virtue, derailing commonsense understanding and very often making a mockery of probability. With Vitali beginning to battle back and shoulder injuries, his standing in boxing looked increasingly temporary. Yet coincidently chronic underachiever Corry Sanders took up a lucrative payday offer to fight Wladimir Klitschko in Hanover, Germany, just as “Dr. Ironfist” was being put forward as an HBO star in the making and likely fall back super surrogate some-body for brother Vitali. The growing sense was that Eastern European fighters were the new wave in world boxing and the Klitschko’s were the advanced guard in this tectonic shift in world boxing away from a manifest destiny of 20th Century American heavyweight boxing championship lineage.
The prospect was for a duel role of shared omnipotence. The Ukrainian bash brothers famously would not fight each other, vowing to “never break their mother’s heart” and nevertheless, rule by dynastic force the heavyweight ranks, with boxing, as well, coming to terms with a post-Lewis, post-Holyfield and post-Tyson reordering starring Caucasian, non-North American, super-heavyweight giants. Then came the predictable injury fatigue for Vitali and the rollercoaster ride for Wladimir, begun with Sander’s southpaw styled two round execution and further defined by Lamon Brewster’s April 2004 back from the brink fifth round stoppage of Klitschko the younger. Even with the talismanic Emanuel Steward in his corner to stage manage Klitschko against fighting with vitriolic aggression, Klitschko managed to literally exhaust himself pummelling Brewster for 13 minutes.
The tag of being damaged goods lasts as long as it takes to step back in a ring with a respected foe and do the business necessary. For Wladimir Klitschko the process of re-legitimating his career, if not his standing, began with winning a decision over DaVarryl Williamson and knocking out Eliseo Castillo but was only realized when he climbed off the canvas twice in the fifth round and again in the tenth round against a marauding Samuel Peter, in a title eliminator seen at the time as either the endgame for Klitschko or the confirmation of “The Nigerian Nightmare.” It seems like a long time ago.
Klitschko got the decision, though down, he was the guy throwing and landing and as day follows night, he wiped the floor with Chris Byrd, when it came time in April of 2006, to claim some alphabet title honours. And thus stands Klitschko to this day, draped in title ornament, winning after cautious build ups fights he’s prohibitively favoured to win, setting nothing like a fashion for dominant title bearing heavyweights.
No wonder no one is really all that excited to hear an announcement informing us that Wladimir will be defending his belts. The notion of a universal championship doesn’t even come across as legitimate any longer. The heavyweight championship is a statement of political expediency and marketing speak today; it no longer signifies the barer of world’s champion by universal right. We no longer believe in a definitive case, our capacity for romantic regard in sport has passed. Courts and committees and cable executives and the ubiquity of promotional and marketing influence have seen to the extinction of the mantle of the heavyweight championship, as inherent right, won by ritual combat, via the lineage of contested championship merit alone.
No wonder Wladimir Klitschko looks at his two fights a year as opportunities to make money, at age 32, by reprising his role as the guy with enough standing to make the case for something like championship distinction in this era of multiple title designations and arbitrary deployment of elite level accessing of mega-media event boxing cards. Yes, Bob Sheridan would remind us that no matter the politics of any given moment in professional boxing, in the end, you have to fight your way into a position where good things can happen to you. “And how is that any different from any other era?” Patronage and influence has always run parallel with merit and the veracity to stake an original claim near the top of heavyweight boxing. True. And perhaps, we are over elaborating upon the chaos of our times. Then again, perhaps, the corporate and political chaos that too often decides upon who, what, where, when and why the heavyweight title changes hands is a cover for a lost legacy.
Regardless, marketing must go on and tickets have been sold, air time secured, licensing fees paid, contracts signed in more or less good faith and the show too must go on and on. So, the younger Klitschko will fight Tony “The Tiger” Thompson – all 6’ 5” of him – in Germany this weekend. The likeable Thompson, 36, will use his considerable height and jab and personal financing needs to match up with the prohibitive favourite good doctor and thus make a case for himself being “Larry Holmes like” and more than the guy Klitschko ran a foul sparring with in their former lives as employee and boss, a couple of years ago. For the late blooming Thompson, his southpaw stance and propensity to make technical boxing matches out of heavyweight contests behind an overworked right jab – wing spanned from an 81 inch reach – the job is to compete, confound and defy the logic of expectation, on the road, with the ceremonial German crowd expecting another signature Klitschko execution of an American heavyweight.
No one in the Color Area in Hamburg will care about the critical condemnation surrounding Klitschko’s safety first win over Sultan Ibragimov, at Madison Square Garden, in February. Sure, the good doctor played it safe, taking very few chances, almost disengaging physically, employing a robotic style of hyper extending jabs to win their ``unification`` bout. All that matters is that their adopted son returns to show off his championships and make a night of fights, just like he did as WBO champion, before the Sanders mess. Based on what they have tended to do in big fights, champions of the ring rely on nostalgia and the notion of inevitability yet to come. And the Klitschko`s are loved in Germany, their adopted sporting homeland. Klitschko might enter the ring in his imperial style robes, applets adorning the shoulders, the hint of classically Roman militarism about the parade of the title holder entering the ring. After all, Wladimir Klitschko loves the show of symbolic standing and the staged theatrics marking out his unique place as the heavyweight of unique standing. It`s just that for all of his size and power and Olympic pedigree and Emanuel Steward mentoring, he doesn`t make it a point to always fight like a man who only wants total domination of the squared ring.
And that`s the kind of personal hegemony and successful risk taking and all out performance domination theatrics the average sports fans demands of the guy calling himself the heavyweight champion. When it comes to heavyweight champions not called Muhammad Ali, the math is fairly simple. Look big, hit big, win big, and let the world stand back in wonder.
Whatever happened to that kind of basic ambition in heavyweight boxing, the ambitions of Dempsey and Louis and Marciano and Liston and Frazier and Foreman and Tyson and Holyfield, begun by John L. Sullivan, himself? Yes, we are being unfair. Scoring 44 knockouts in winning 50 fights, against 3, defeats is rightly to be considered definitive. He does knockout his foes and the percentages don`t lie. But they do mislead. They tell the end of the story not how he goes about doing his business.
If we take the case of Wladimir Klitschko being successful and coming back after the Sanders and Brewster career haemorrhages, we can appreciate his return to near greatness. For Klitschko ultimately believes in constructing consecutive wins and let the economics take care of itself. Normally, that’s a tactic you use against a dangerous opponent and keep to heart Ray Arcel’s sage rationalization: win tonight, look good next time.
For all of his Romanizing of his ring robes, Wladimir doesn`t intend to be a warrior king. He wants to rule with the mind orchestrating his victories. For all of his grandeur, Wladimir Klitschko likes to play it safe, by doing what he expects of himself, winning boxing matches.
Patrick Kehoe may be reached at pkehoe@telus.net .