This is one of the more authentically enjoyable rides we’ve been on, isn’t it? Sergio Martinez, a man humble outside the ring as he is confident within, continues to bring pleasant surprises every time we see him. He has a naturalness to him most standout performers don’t.
Improperly packaged for most of his career and today barely promoted at all, Martinez has become the one phenomenal performer in our sport we wish to see often and are able to see often and free of additional charge. He puts a lot of people in prizefighting to shame – and what a richly deserved shame it is.
El Espectáculo de “Maravilla” kept on Saturday when Martinez went against a largely unknown but quietly heralded Ukrainian who might be named Serhiy Dzinziruk and who had made a menace of himself in Europe – as a tall, dispassionate southpaw with a jab and left cross – and dropped the previously undroppable Dzinziruk five times en route to a knockout victory at 1:43 of round 8. Martinez also retained sole consideration as the world’s middleweight champion.
The fight happened at MGM Grand in Connecticut’s Foxwoods Casino and was televised by HBO. An Argentina-born, Spain-polished Californian making a title defense against a Ukrainian resident of Germany, in Connecticut? Only a casino site fee and television contract could play backbone to that gelatinous mess.
Which almost adds to Martinez’s charm, actually. For once the innovation begins with a fighter, not his marketing. No silly press-conference antics. No vitriolic conference calls. No reheated, made-for-infomercial, hand-pad tricks. No ring entrance on a swing. No posse of buffoons wrestling Michael Buffer for the camera during introductions. Just a good-looking athlete wearing championship belts and bowing, curtain-call style, to those gathered in his name.
Followed by an artistry of motion rarely seen in boxing. No nervous feet. No Matrix-style avoidance of another’s fists. No intimidating faces at an overmatched opponent. No meaningless punches. No talking. Nothing but outstanding athleticism seasoned by its equal in confidence, presented by a man who fights whomever he is asked to fight.
It has been a long, long time, hasn’t it?
Dzinziruk was a good, undefeated fighter – another product of what was once the Soviet system that gave us champions like Vasily Jirov and the Brothers Klitschko. But that amateur perfection taught by trainers raised in the Soviet system was some of what plagued Dzinziruk, Saturday.
Across from “Maravilla” Martinez’s syrupy mobility, Dzinziruk’s thoughts were almost audible: Defend, step forward, hit by jab, hit by jab, block left cross, jab, step backwards, raise hands, step towards overhand left, throw counter right hook.
Emboldened by his co-hosts’ numerous favorable comparisons of Martinez’s style to his own, though, HBO analyst Roy Jones rose to the occasion, imagined how he might see Dzinziruk in a fight, and imparted some surprising wisdom. The best of which was his idea of Dzinziruk fighting behind Martinez; Dzinziruk, Jones explained, cannot determine what Martinez is going to do before Martinez does – for having never seen a creature like Martinez – and therefore must lead Martinez by jabbing first, if he is to have a chance.
Martinez was hittable. Martinez is hittable. He sometimes forgets an opponent has any volition of his own. Martinez mesmerizes an opponent then mesmerizes himself with his effect on that opponent.
Martinez jabbed Dzinziruk to the body. Martinez jabbed Dzinziruk to the body. Martinez jabbed Dzinziruk to the body. Martinez threw jab, cross – while changing the trajectory of his left fist to find Dzinziruk’s chin. And then Martinez took a step backwards and crouched and dropped his hands to his thighs and moved his head at short angles to study Dzinziruk while awaiting a foray he might counter before finding Dzinziruk was unable to blitz him and shifting his weight front to back to leap at Dzinziruk.
It was nothing like what a trainer would tell a kid to do in the gym. It was the creativity of a man who taught himself to box, late. It was the first successful interpretation of Roy Jones on a championship stage by any actor in the 21st century.
And it was evidence of what makes Martinez the first athlete-boxer we’ve seen who concerns himself with hitting an opponent more than not being hit by an opponent. That is, it took a dose of Latin machismo finally to give us an athlete of peerless reflexes whose priority is offensive and not some layered narrative like: I will humiliate you so you do not humiliate me.
Whatever it is that makes “Maravilla” what he is was present in round 8. After losing the better part of both the sixth and seventh, Martinez retreated with his hands low, blood coming out the side of his left eye, and moved his upper body till all was comfortably arranged.
Then he jumped forward. He hit Dzinziruk with a jab-cross combination. He did it again. Dzinziruk went down. The rest was details.
Your first instinct is to hope Martinez can make a super fight, to hope some larger canvas is available for his inspired brush. But that could be wrong.
Because life isn’t fair, Martinez will be the promotional b-side of any super fight he makes. He will be at a myriad of disadvantages from catch weights to venues to whatever else others’ handlers can think up. Better, then, that he do exactly what he is doing: fight three times a year on HBO till he’s cleaned out the middleweight division.
At 36 years-old, Martinez might not have many more chances to entertain us. But this ride will be a marvel while it lasts.
Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter: @bartbarry