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Saturday afternoon HBO broadcast the latest episode in its ungainly series of Gennady “GGG” Golovkin feature films against hopeless welterweight Kell “Special K” Brook, who won a minute of the fight’s first 12 then signalled his corner “anytime fellas!” and got the match towel-waved in round 5, before HBO redeemed itself Saturday night with the genuinely brilliant Nicaraguan Roman “Chocolatito” Gonzalez in a genuinely competitive championship match with Mexican Carlos “Principe” Cuadros.
The best thing to come of what has become a shameless promotional manufacture of Gennady Golovkin – whose handlers are inexplicably opposed to seeing him challenged – is the emergence of Chocolatito, a master prizefighter deserving of mention in the same paragraphs as other master prizefighters, unlike just about every one of his remaining contemporaries including Golovkin. Making Gonzalez a mainevent attraction may well be the only exceptional thing HBO has done with its sports budget in years, whatever it tells itself about itself.
Much as putting Gonzalez at the top of billings with Golovkin is a service to Gonzalez and his legacy and HBO subscribers, though, it is becoming more and more a liability for Golovkin’s legacy – as it becomes obvious to viewers which man seeks greatness and in a ratio, more alarming still to Golovkin apologists, inverse to viewers’ knowledge of our oncebeloved sport: While the aficionado has historical comparisons with which to delude himself about embarrassing mismatches like Golovkin and Brook – and, hey, look at the soldout arena! – the naif sees one man’s opponent frightened from the opening bell and wonders how this sort of entertainment sates any manly impulse save sadism.
Whatever the scales said the eyes told you Golovkin and Brook did not belong in a ring together much as Chocolatito and Cuadros did not, but whereas Golovkin-Brook fulfilled only the worst suspicions Gonzalez-Cuadros came stuffed with pleasant surprises as the significantly smaller man spun and wacked and maneuvered and pressured and absorbed the larger man’s aggression in a properly competitive spectacle that renewed albeit temporarily one’s passion for prizefighting.
Golovkin-Brook saw a fight in which one man was powerless to hurt the other whatever his technique and the other was powerless not to hurt the one – whatever, again, his technique; Golovkin’s technique has improved no more than his English since HBO’s biannual forcefeedings commenced in 2012, due to dreadful opposition and a trainer who’s three parts savvy selfsalesman for every one part sweetscience sage. Golovkin did more damage to Brook with his jab than Brook did Golovkin with a perfectly placed uppercut thrown in combination, a thing to tell you exactly nothing about Brook’s power or Golovkin’s chin or Golovkin’s power or Brook’s chin but everything about what farcical matchmaking now bedrocks the Golovkin legend.
Such is not an indictment of Golovkin so much as his handlers; one senses Golovkin is all-fighter and wants to mill with real opponents who might really improve him by really stretching him, converting his potential finally instead of merely growing it, but that cannot happen so long as the industry’s rapacity protects him, a lifetime middleweight, a man 40 pounds from the heavyweight division, with continuing nonsense about a dearth of suitable opponents (no one at 168 pounds will face him; only someone from 147 would) – risibly the same industry that once chided Floyd Mayweather, who made title fights in five divisions and climbed 24 pounds, for not challenging himself adequately and now wonders aloud when Chocolatito will jump to his fifth or sixth weightclass.
While Golovkin and his big payday Saul “Canelo” Alvarez, faces still CoverGirl fresh, unite to unify the welterweight division, Chocolatito wears the scars of a man who challenges himself properly in a pursuit of greatness by matching himself with increasingly larger men and narrowing dramatically his margins for error. Therein lies the insult of Saturday’s spectacles: Golovkin strode forward with an aluminum bat in a waterballoon fight while Chocolatito suffered each time Cuadros struck him and didn’t relent.
Put Golovkin in the ring with men large enough to hurt him or shut up until you do.
To the suddenly empathetic souls who saw Brook motion for 20,000 spectators and one fellow combatant the very moment his right eye was hurt Saturday, actually waving his glove and pointing to his eye midround, a question: Can you imagine Gonzalez or Cuadros giving another man on earth the satisfaction of knowing he was injured? Then came the predictable perversity of cheering a premature corner stoppage for preserving future paydays the vanquished and his sympathetically complicit cornermen may enjoy in 2017 scams and one more at least in 2018. What sort of afficionado, exactly, feels compelled to celebrate the continuation of a career unremarkable as Brook’s in lieu of continued violence?
If you’re enthusiastically watching a fight for the middleweight championship of the world and fearful a man may lose his life in the opening 15 minutes you’re being disingenuous – either when you say you’re enthusiastic about seeing the fight or when you say you’re genuinely concerned for the loser’s health. Both are unseemly.
After their respective matches Golovkin gave himself a low score and likened his assault to sparring while Chocolatito, both eyes swelling shut, said he knew the perils of rising in weight but welcomed them because rising to challenges (rising for challenges) is what great fighters do. Credit both men’s honesty.
http://www.15rounds.com/chocolatito-the-last-compelling-reason-to-watch-our-sport/
The best thing to come of what has become a shameless promotional manufacture of Gennady Golovkin – whose handlers are inexplicably opposed to seeing him challenged – is the emergence of Chocolatito, a master prizefighter deserving of mention in the same paragraphs as other master prizefighters, unlike just about every one of his remaining contemporaries including Golovkin. Making Gonzalez a mainevent attraction may well be the only exceptional thing HBO has done with its sports budget in years, whatever it tells itself about itself.
Much as putting Gonzalez at the top of billings with Golovkin is a service to Gonzalez and his legacy and HBO subscribers, though, it is becoming more and more a liability for Golovkin’s legacy – as it becomes obvious to viewers which man seeks greatness and in a ratio, more alarming still to Golovkin apologists, inverse to viewers’ knowledge of our oncebeloved sport: While the aficionado has historical comparisons with which to delude himself about embarrassing mismatches like Golovkin and Brook – and, hey, look at the soldout arena! – the naif sees one man’s opponent frightened from the opening bell and wonders how this sort of entertainment sates any manly impulse save sadism.
Whatever the scales said the eyes told you Golovkin and Brook did not belong in a ring together much as Chocolatito and Cuadros did not, but whereas Golovkin-Brook fulfilled only the worst suspicions Gonzalez-Cuadros came stuffed with pleasant surprises as the significantly smaller man spun and wacked and maneuvered and pressured and absorbed the larger man’s aggression in a properly competitive spectacle that renewed albeit temporarily one’s passion for prizefighting.
Golovkin-Brook saw a fight in which one man was powerless to hurt the other whatever his technique and the other was powerless not to hurt the one – whatever, again, his technique; Golovkin’s technique has improved no more than his English since HBO’s biannual forcefeedings commenced in 2012, due to dreadful opposition and a trainer who’s three parts savvy selfsalesman for every one part sweetscience sage. Golovkin did more damage to Brook with his jab than Brook did Golovkin with a perfectly placed uppercut thrown in combination, a thing to tell you exactly nothing about Brook’s power or Golovkin’s chin or Golovkin’s power or Brook’s chin but everything about what farcical matchmaking now bedrocks the Golovkin legend.
Such is not an indictment of Golovkin so much as his handlers; one senses Golovkin is all-fighter and wants to mill with real opponents who might really improve him by really stretching him, converting his potential finally instead of merely growing it, but that cannot happen so long as the industry’s rapacity protects him, a lifetime middleweight, a man 40 pounds from the heavyweight division, with continuing nonsense about a dearth of suitable opponents (no one at 168 pounds will face him; only someone from 147 would) – risibly the same industry that once chided Floyd Mayweather, who made title fights in five divisions and climbed 24 pounds, for not challenging himself adequately and now wonders aloud when Chocolatito will jump to his fifth or sixth weightclass.
While Golovkin and his big payday Saul “Canelo” Alvarez, faces still CoverGirl fresh, unite to unify the welterweight division, Chocolatito wears the scars of a man who challenges himself properly in a pursuit of greatness by matching himself with increasingly larger men and narrowing dramatically his margins for error. Therein lies the insult of Saturday’s spectacles: Golovkin strode forward with an aluminum bat in a waterballoon fight while Chocolatito suffered each time Cuadros struck him and didn’t relent.
Put Golovkin in the ring with men large enough to hurt him or shut up until you do.
To the suddenly empathetic souls who saw Brook motion for 20,000 spectators and one fellow combatant the very moment his right eye was hurt Saturday, actually waving his glove and pointing to his eye midround, a question: Can you imagine Gonzalez or Cuadros giving another man on earth the satisfaction of knowing he was injured? Then came the predictable perversity of cheering a premature corner stoppage for preserving future paydays the vanquished and his sympathetically complicit cornermen may enjoy in 2017 scams and one more at least in 2018. What sort of afficionado, exactly, feels compelled to celebrate the continuation of a career unremarkable as Brook’s in lieu of continued violence?
If you’re enthusiastically watching a fight for the middleweight championship of the world and fearful a man may lose his life in the opening 15 minutes you’re being disingenuous – either when you say you’re enthusiastic about seeing the fight or when you say you’re genuinely concerned for the loser’s health. Both are unseemly.
After their respective matches Golovkin gave himself a low score and likened his assault to sparring while Chocolatito, both eyes swelling shut, said he knew the perils of rising in weight but welcomed them because rising to challenges (rising for challenges) is what great fighters do. Credit both men’s honesty.
http://www.15rounds.com/chocolatito-the-last-compelling-reason-to-watch-our-sport/
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