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For those of us who follow boxing with intent beyond a casual interest, the world within the sweet science is half fascination, half infuriation.
Epitomizing this notion superbly, three stories hit the pages of the outside press, a magnificent representation of our dear sport that, in the public’s collective eye, consists solely of Mike Tyson and whomever else can embarrass the pride of pugilism until it is furthermore niche.
If, in portions of the country, October signifies leaves changing colors, the transformation from bountiful summers of love into autumn, a fall into winter frigidity, then this month of this year has managed to spotlight in boxing the developing dearth of astuteness, replaced with shame and silliness, news so sad it’s ridiculous.
To relieve our cold, dampened spirits while communicating this recent information, this scribe is forced to take a sardonic tone, hoping to relate the comedy of errors that Rid**** Bowe, Sylvester Stallone and Roy Jones Jr. have become.
Should the opinions espoused within seem like a tired refrain, fret not and blame not the medium or the messenger. We who love the sweet science deserve more than repetitive patterns from the same old names; we just await the fresh faces that shall rejuvenate us, replacing this neoclassicism with a renaissance. [details]
Epitomizing this notion superbly, three stories hit the pages of the outside press, a magnificent representation of our dear sport that, in the public’s collective eye, consists solely of Mike Tyson and whomever else can embarrass the pride of pugilism until it is furthermore niche.
If, in portions of the country, October signifies leaves changing colors, the transformation from bountiful summers of love into autumn, a fall into winter frigidity, then this month of this year has managed to spotlight in boxing the developing dearth of astuteness, replaced with shame and silliness, news so sad it’s ridiculous.
To relieve our cold, dampened spirits while communicating this recent information, this scribe is forced to take a sardonic tone, hoping to relate the comedy of errors that Rid**** Bowe, Sylvester Stallone and Roy Jones Jr. have become.
Should the opinions espoused within seem like a tired refrain, fret not and blame not the medium or the messenger. We who love the sweet science deserve more than repetitive patterns from the same old names; we just await the fresh faces that shall rejuvenate us, replacing this neoclassicism with a renaissance. [details]