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In the brutal world of professional boxing, there is little room for sensitivity or self-doubt. Which makes World Boxing Council super-bantamweight champion Israel Vázquez a fascinating case study in man's dual nature. In the ring Vázquez is a predator who has battered and bloodied the world's toughest 122-pound fighters over the past four years with piercing jabs and vicious left hooks.
But when he puts down the gloves he is an unassuming, solicitous husband who sweeps up the floor at his wife's hair salon in South Gate, Calif., before driving her and their two sons to their modest three-bedroom house in Huntington Park. As a fighter Vázquez is a merciless avenger who, after losing his crown to Rafael Márquez last March, reclaimed it in August by opening an inch-long gash under Márquez's right eye and then pummeling him with jaw-jolting hooks until the referee stopped the fight in the sixth round. But as a family man Vázquez is so protective of his close relatives that he considered retiring in March because of their distress over his grotesque appearance after Márquez shattered his nose.
Vázquez first exhibited this duality as a child in Mexico City. "He was always well behaved at home and studious in school," says his father, Valentín, who raised the future champion and his three older siblings in a cramped two-room apartment attached to the funeral home where Valentín sold coffins and dressed corpses. But young Israel also had an explosive temper. "He dreamed of becoming a soccer star," says Valentín, "and when he injured an ankle during his first soccer game and could no longer play, he smashed the foot against a wall over and over, yelling, 'my foot is useless!' "
Hindered by weak ankles, Vázquez took up boxing instead. He trained intensely, rising at 5 a.m. every morning to get in an hour of roadwork before school and then working out in the gym for two-and-a-half hours each afternoon after classes. In the ring he was no less ruthless as a teenager than he is now, as his amateur record of 58 consecutive knockouts (with no losses) suggests.
When he turned pro at 17 the baby-faced Vázquez immediately established a reputation as an anvil-fisted headhunter by breaking his first opponent's nose in the first round. Two years later he started turning scouts' heads when he knocked out the highly touted and, until then, undefeated Oscar Larios in the first round in Mexico City. "I couldn't believe it," says Larios. "When I woke up my gloves and sneakers were off. I had been out for five minutes."
The following winter Vázquez got a call from Los Angeles-based fight manager Frank Espinoza, who was intrigued by the constant reports from his contacts in Mexico City about the 20-year-old ****er with the crushing left hook. Espinoza got Vásquez a work visa and helped set up his first fight in the U.S., against a hapless palooka with a 2--14 record in El Cajon, Calif. Nervous and overzealous, Vazquez fought poorly, going down briefly in the third round but coming back to record an uninspiring six-round win. The Top Rank talent scout on hand to evaluate Vázquez suggested that Espinoza put him on the next flight back to Mexico City. "This guy has no defense," the scout said. "He'll be a club fighter at best."
But Espinoza was impressed by Vázquez's pluck in hanging in for the victory. He convinced the dispirited fighter to sign with him and move to Los Angeles. Vázquez arrived penniless and unable to speak a word of English, but eager to prove himself. He spent his first four months in the country living with Espinoza and the next nine months sharing a room with future super-flyweight champion Martín Castillo, a fellow Mexican, at a Ramada Inn a few blocks from the South El Monte gym where they trained.
Vázquez struggled to cope with life as a Mexican immigrant in Los Angeles. "I felt so lonely and depressed," he says. "In Mexico I had always hung out at home with my family. I was never much of a partygoer. Here I didn't really have anybody."
But when he puts down the gloves he is an unassuming, solicitous husband who sweeps up the floor at his wife's hair salon in South Gate, Calif., before driving her and their two sons to their modest three-bedroom house in Huntington Park. As a fighter Vázquez is a merciless avenger who, after losing his crown to Rafael Márquez last March, reclaimed it in August by opening an inch-long gash under Márquez's right eye and then pummeling him with jaw-jolting hooks until the referee stopped the fight in the sixth round. But as a family man Vázquez is so protective of his close relatives that he considered retiring in March because of their distress over his grotesque appearance after Márquez shattered his nose.
Vázquez first exhibited this duality as a child in Mexico City. "He was always well behaved at home and studious in school," says his father, Valentín, who raised the future champion and his three older siblings in a cramped two-room apartment attached to the funeral home where Valentín sold coffins and dressed corpses. But young Israel also had an explosive temper. "He dreamed of becoming a soccer star," says Valentín, "and when he injured an ankle during his first soccer game and could no longer play, he smashed the foot against a wall over and over, yelling, 'my foot is useless!' "
Hindered by weak ankles, Vázquez took up boxing instead. He trained intensely, rising at 5 a.m. every morning to get in an hour of roadwork before school and then working out in the gym for two-and-a-half hours each afternoon after classes. In the ring he was no less ruthless as a teenager than he is now, as his amateur record of 58 consecutive knockouts (with no losses) suggests.
When he turned pro at 17 the baby-faced Vázquez immediately established a reputation as an anvil-fisted headhunter by breaking his first opponent's nose in the first round. Two years later he started turning scouts' heads when he knocked out the highly touted and, until then, undefeated Oscar Larios in the first round in Mexico City. "I couldn't believe it," says Larios. "When I woke up my gloves and sneakers were off. I had been out for five minutes."
The following winter Vázquez got a call from Los Angeles-based fight manager Frank Espinoza, who was intrigued by the constant reports from his contacts in Mexico City about the 20-year-old ****er with the crushing left hook. Espinoza got Vásquez a work visa and helped set up his first fight in the U.S., against a hapless palooka with a 2--14 record in El Cajon, Calif. Nervous and overzealous, Vazquez fought poorly, going down briefly in the third round but coming back to record an uninspiring six-round win. The Top Rank talent scout on hand to evaluate Vázquez suggested that Espinoza put him on the next flight back to Mexico City. "This guy has no defense," the scout said. "He'll be a club fighter at best."
But Espinoza was impressed by Vázquez's pluck in hanging in for the victory. He convinced the dispirited fighter to sign with him and move to Los Angeles. Vázquez arrived penniless and unable to speak a word of English, but eager to prove himself. He spent his first four months in the country living with Espinoza and the next nine months sharing a room with future super-flyweight champion Martín Castillo, a fellow Mexican, at a Ramada Inn a few blocks from the South El Monte gym where they trained.
Vázquez struggled to cope with life as a Mexican immigrant in Los Angeles. "I felt so lonely and depressed," he says. "In Mexico I had always hung out at home with my family. I was never much of a partygoer. Here I didn't really have anybody."
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