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By Lyle Fitzsimmons - Most people got what they expected.
Whether you’d picked Leo Santa Cruz or Abner Mares heading into Saturday night’s fight in Los Angeles, the overall result – a tough, competitive scrap whose pace never demonstrably slowed over 36 minutes – satisfyingly delivered on what was advertised.
It was a clear triumph for Santa Cruz, who established himself as a real player in a third weight class.
It was a triumph, of sorts, for Mares, who had his most relevant performance in a couple years and placed himself in the running for an encore – and, therefore, a shot at remaining relevant.
And it was a triumph for the PBC series, which has taken its share of matchmaking shots from the smartest-guy-in-the-room set, but produced one that’ll be included four months from now in all breathy Fight of the Year chatter penned by those same resident geniuses.
Speaking for the dumbest guys in the room, though, the jury remains out.
Though it was inarguably a fun 12 rounds, I’m debating exactly how meaningful it was.
Santa Cruz and Mares have hearts the size of watermelons, courage for days and the sort of “you hit me/I hit you” warrior capacity that my gym persona tended to lose after the first few repetitions. [Click Here To Read More]
Whether you’d picked Leo Santa Cruz or Abner Mares heading into Saturday night’s fight in Los Angeles, the overall result – a tough, competitive scrap whose pace never demonstrably slowed over 36 minutes – satisfyingly delivered on what was advertised.
It was a clear triumph for Santa Cruz, who established himself as a real player in a third weight class.
It was a triumph, of sorts, for Mares, who had his most relevant performance in a couple years and placed himself in the running for an encore – and, therefore, a shot at remaining relevant.
And it was a triumph for the PBC series, which has taken its share of matchmaking shots from the smartest-guy-in-the-room set, but produced one that’ll be included four months from now in all breathy Fight of the Year chatter penned by those same resident geniuses.
Speaking for the dumbest guys in the room, though, the jury remains out.
Though it was inarguably a fun 12 rounds, I’m debating exactly how meaningful it was.
Santa Cruz and Mares have hearts the size of watermelons, courage for days and the sort of “you hit me/I hit you” warrior capacity that my gym persona tended to lose after the first few repetitions. [Click Here To Read More]
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