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Thomas Hearns tells our dumbfounded correspondent of his plans for a return
THE self-delusion was familiar but no less poignant for that. Twenty years after being demolished in one of the most savage slugfests in boxing history, Thomas Hearns wants some more. “I know I can win the world title again,” the 46-year-old said from his home in Detroit. “It is not a question of age but of talent.”
His speech is horribly slurred — the consequence of thousands of blows to the head — but this is insufficient to mask the futile optimism welling from his bulging heart. “I just know I can do it,” he repeated again and again. The cruellest of pugilism’s many ironies is that its most celebrated champions are ultimately condemned by the very courage that brought them greatness. “Spending a lot of time in the gym in recent months has reminded me of all the fun I used to have in the ring,” he said.
Fun? That is not a word that springs to mind when attempting to describe his celebrated assault on the middleweight crown on that momentous night at Caesars Palace, in Las Vegas, exactly twenty years ago today. Boxers were heroes back then.
“Marvellous” Marvin Hagler entered the ring as the undisputed champion of the world, undefeated for more than nine years, his body glistening as if it had been hewn from living granite. Hearns, buoyed by his recent massacre of Roberto Duran, the Panamanian great, looked equally magnificent, his elegant 6ft 2in physique having been bulked up to just a ¼lb shy of the middleweight limit.
Expectations were rampant, with the pre-bout odds suggesting that the most eagerly awaited contest for more than a decade was on a knife-edge. Nobody, however, could have predicted the primordial brutality of the eight minutes that ensued. It has been described as the greatest three rounds in boxing history. Neither man would be the same again.
The savagery of it all can be tentatively gauged from the statistics: 339 punches were thrown in 481 seconds, only 59 of which were jabs. Hearns had his successes, his initial blitz opening a gash to the Hagler forehead that called for an examination by the ringside doctor early in the third round. “I was afraid he might stop it,” Hagler said at the post-bout press conference. “But when I see blood I turn into that bull.”
Hearns, however, no longer had the strength to revert to the role of matador — “he fought 12 rounds in the first three minutes”, his trainer said. Years later, we learnt that the challenger had broken his right hand upon the skull of his adversary in the opening round. Gallantly, he continued to throw punches, but they were flaky. Hagler shook them off like confetti. Even as the doctor was conducting his examination, the champion was planning the coup de grâce. Within a matter of seconds, Hearns was prostrate, his big brown eyes rolled up to the heavens.
Why on earth Hearns would want to put his ageing body through such torment again is doubtless beyond the ken of those of us who have never tripped upon the narcotic of pugilistic glory. “Of course I want to carry on,” Hearns said, perplexed, as if my incomprehension contained a hidden fallacy. “Boxing is what I do.” The urge is part of the metaphysical essence of prizefighters, something that can be resisted by sheer willpower but never reasoned away.
If anyone can bolster that resistance it is Emanuel Steward, the man who took Hearns, then a spindly 10-year-old, from the backstreets of Detroit and into the warm embrace of the famed Kronk Gym — and from there to boxing immortality. “I have strongly advised Tommy that he would be foolish to mount a comeback,” Steward said from Majorca, where he is preparing Vladimir Klitschko for a forthcoming heavyweight contest. “He has the bug again by being involved with his son, Ronald, who is coming through the middleweight ranks.”
Hearns had some successes after his defeat by Hagler, most notably when he became the first man in history to win four world titles at different weights by defeating Juan Roldan for the WBC middleweight title in 1987. By this time, however, boxing had descended so far into the alphabet cesspool of governing bodies that titles had become about as meaningful as a contract with Don King.
The most recent bout for the ageing warrior came five years ago, when he lost to Uriah Grant, somebody who would not have lasted a round with Hearns in his glorious prime. Pathetically, however, Hearns remains convinced that the glory days of the early 1980s lie just around the corner.
Is he not the least bit worried about getting hurt? “The only thing that worries me is that the guys might be too scared to step into the ring with me,” he said. “I want to show the world that I can defeat Bernard Hopkins (the undisputed middleweight champion and one of the world’s best boxers).”
What about the fact that he is fitter, sharper and younger? “Age does not matter,” Hearns said gently. “When you have the heart and the God-given gifts of a champion, you can beat anyone at any time.”
I persisted a little longer but Hearns met each objection by retreating one step farther into his own fantasy world. Let us hope Steward is more persuasive. “Of the 31 world champions that I have trained or managed, Tommy is my favourite because he never gave less than 100 per cent,” the venerable trainer said. “If he was going to be defeated, the only way he was going to leave the ring was on a stretcher.”
If he is granted his wish to fight Hopkins, he is just as likely to leave in a coffin.
Thomas Hearns tells our dumbfounded correspondent of his plans for a return
THE self-delusion was familiar but no less poignant for that. Twenty years after being demolished in one of the most savage slugfests in boxing history, Thomas Hearns wants some more. “I know I can win the world title again,” the 46-year-old said from his home in Detroit. “It is not a question of age but of talent.”
His speech is horribly slurred — the consequence of thousands of blows to the head — but this is insufficient to mask the futile optimism welling from his bulging heart. “I just know I can do it,” he repeated again and again. The cruellest of pugilism’s many ironies is that its most celebrated champions are ultimately condemned by the very courage that brought them greatness. “Spending a lot of time in the gym in recent months has reminded me of all the fun I used to have in the ring,” he said.
Fun? That is not a word that springs to mind when attempting to describe his celebrated assault on the middleweight crown on that momentous night at Caesars Palace, in Las Vegas, exactly twenty years ago today. Boxers were heroes back then.
“Marvellous” Marvin Hagler entered the ring as the undisputed champion of the world, undefeated for more than nine years, his body glistening as if it had been hewn from living granite. Hearns, buoyed by his recent massacre of Roberto Duran, the Panamanian great, looked equally magnificent, his elegant 6ft 2in physique having been bulked up to just a ¼lb shy of the middleweight limit.
Expectations were rampant, with the pre-bout odds suggesting that the most eagerly awaited contest for more than a decade was on a knife-edge. Nobody, however, could have predicted the primordial brutality of the eight minutes that ensued. It has been described as the greatest three rounds in boxing history. Neither man would be the same again.
The savagery of it all can be tentatively gauged from the statistics: 339 punches were thrown in 481 seconds, only 59 of which were jabs. Hearns had his successes, his initial blitz opening a gash to the Hagler forehead that called for an examination by the ringside doctor early in the third round. “I was afraid he might stop it,” Hagler said at the post-bout press conference. “But when I see blood I turn into that bull.”
Hearns, however, no longer had the strength to revert to the role of matador — “he fought 12 rounds in the first three minutes”, his trainer said. Years later, we learnt that the challenger had broken his right hand upon the skull of his adversary in the opening round. Gallantly, he continued to throw punches, but they were flaky. Hagler shook them off like confetti. Even as the doctor was conducting his examination, the champion was planning the coup de grâce. Within a matter of seconds, Hearns was prostrate, his big brown eyes rolled up to the heavens.
Why on earth Hearns would want to put his ageing body through such torment again is doubtless beyond the ken of those of us who have never tripped upon the narcotic of pugilistic glory. “Of course I want to carry on,” Hearns said, perplexed, as if my incomprehension contained a hidden fallacy. “Boxing is what I do.” The urge is part of the metaphysical essence of prizefighters, something that can be resisted by sheer willpower but never reasoned away.
If anyone can bolster that resistance it is Emanuel Steward, the man who took Hearns, then a spindly 10-year-old, from the backstreets of Detroit and into the warm embrace of the famed Kronk Gym — and from there to boxing immortality. “I have strongly advised Tommy that he would be foolish to mount a comeback,” Steward said from Majorca, where he is preparing Vladimir Klitschko for a forthcoming heavyweight contest. “He has the bug again by being involved with his son, Ronald, who is coming through the middleweight ranks.”
Hearns had some successes after his defeat by Hagler, most notably when he became the first man in history to win four world titles at different weights by defeating Juan Roldan for the WBC middleweight title in 1987. By this time, however, boxing had descended so far into the alphabet cesspool of governing bodies that titles had become about as meaningful as a contract with Don King.
The most recent bout for the ageing warrior came five years ago, when he lost to Uriah Grant, somebody who would not have lasted a round with Hearns in his glorious prime. Pathetically, however, Hearns remains convinced that the glory days of the early 1980s lie just around the corner.
Is he not the least bit worried about getting hurt? “The only thing that worries me is that the guys might be too scared to step into the ring with me,” he said. “I want to show the world that I can defeat Bernard Hopkins (the undisputed middleweight champion and one of the world’s best boxers).”
What about the fact that he is fitter, sharper and younger? “Age does not matter,” Hearns said gently. “When you have the heart and the God-given gifts of a champion, you can beat anyone at any time.”
I persisted a little longer but Hearns met each objection by retreating one step farther into his own fantasy world. Let us hope Steward is more persuasive. “Of the 31 world champions that I have trained or managed, Tommy is my favourite because he never gave less than 100 per cent,” the venerable trainer said. “If he was going to be defeated, the only way he was going to leave the ring was on a stretcher.”
If he is granted his wish to fight Hopkins, he is just as likely to leave in a coffin.
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