By Bart Barry-
Saturday at Mandalay Bay, Mexican junior middleweight Saul “Canelo” Alvarez widely decisioned Puerto Rican junior middleweight Miguel Cotto to become the lineal middleweight champion of the world. If there were any surprises during the pay-HBO telecast, they came on the undercard – Guillermo Rigondeaux finally fought old as he looks, and Francisco Vargas and Takashi Miura made an incredible match – because nothing unexpected happened during the main event.
It’s the ferocity that counts with Canelo, and until an aficionado has been within earshot of a Canelo fight, he doesn’t know that. After four rounds in which Cotto and Canelo appeared to land an equivalent number of blows, on television anyway, analyst Roy Jones was not hesitant in his analysis: Canelo was clearly the more effective man in the match. Jim Lampley turned to big data – his buddies’ ringside Twitter scorecards – and learned they had Canelo winning every early round.
That announcement brought guffaws of disbelief from my viewing party, a group about inversely proportionate to the Mandalay Bay crowd – we had five Puerto Ricans and two Mexicans and a token white guy – with a curious exception among the guffawing Puerto Ricans: The one guy who’d been a few rows back of ringside when Canelo decisioned Austin Trout agreed absolutely Canelo was handling Cotto from the opening bell.
By round 6 it was apparent to all but Coach Freddie th’t Cotto needed a plan b, and when Coach Freddie returned Cotto to the blackmat armed only with a double-jab idea a few minutes later, a bad idea Canelo blasted crosses over, at will, Cotto decided to treat Canelo like the sort of overmatched b-level guy Cotto feasts on (excepting only Trout, a b-level guy Cotto did not feast on, Cotto’s losses come to a-level guys [or a b-level guy with an a-level equipment advantage {allegedly, allegedly!}]), and when that approach endangered Cotto’s consciousness, Cotto returned to Coach Freddie’s plan, which, in its perspicacity and nuance and adaptability, bore a frightening resemblance to Coach Freddie’s masterplan for Manny Pacquiao’s lame effort against Money May, and the only suspense that remained after that concerned the question of Canelo stopping Cotto, which Canelo simply was not good enough to do. Simply.
That’s a terrible thing to write, of course, on this, the second day of the Cinnamon Era, but aside from his impressive physicality and ferocity, Canelo is not that spectacular. And straining one’s throat to make it so will not make it so. Canelo is much, much better than anyone else Cotto fought during his rehabilitation – a vivacious union with Coach Freddie in which Cotto whispered to Coach Freddie sweet nothings about how much better things might have gone for the starcrossed men if only they’d met sooner, and Coach Freddie whispered sweet nothings to reporters and HBO cameras about the houses he’d bet on Cotto (how does one do this at the sportsbook?) – and Canelo revealed the quality of the Cotto rehabilitation almost deftly as Juan Manuel Marquez once revealed Coach Freddie’s actual improvement of Manny Pacquiao’s footwork.
If that’s ungracious, it’s also written without a hankering for a cinéma-vérité sequel to “On Freddie Roach”: The depth of Roach’s craft has not gotten shallower so much as it has splashed its way from training to marketing. Coach Freddie no longer improves his prizefighters so much as their purses; during training camp Roach sold the certainty of a Cotto victory far better than he assured it. Quite a few times Saturday, in fact, Cotto resembled no previous version of himself so much as the man anxiously scrambling away from Antonio Margarito seven years ago: face swelling, mouth agape, leadhand lowered, backhand alternately wiping and bracketing his face, four steps back-sidewaysback for every one step forwards. Aside from the obvious advantage Margarito may have had over his firehaired countryman, when they confronted Cotto, he also had this: Margarito never misspent a second of his career proving he could avoid a smaller man’s punches.
Because he couldn’t? Well, yes, but. Or perhaps, yes, and.
Margarito was an embodiment of the puncher’s compact: You hit me, and I’ll hit you, and we’ll do this until one of us is unconscious, and I don’t much care which. Had Canelo taken his gumshield more fiercely betwixt the molars and entered the same compact Saturday, there’s a very good chance he would have stopped Cotto, who showed nervous energy, ineffective nonaggressiveness, as it were, from the match’s opening minute.
There’s something like a “geometry of boxing” – Roach’s phrase – that did not fail to favor Canelo every round Cotto committed to stepping round him. More precisely put: Cotto’s circles got wider and wider as the fight progressed, which mightn’t have been a damnable thing if it were the plan, which it could not have been. If a man sets out to make as many laps possible with as little energy expended, that man should choose shorter laps and not longer ones. Cotto’s early steps-around became walks-around became skips-around became laps-around. Frankly, it’s a testament to the conditioning enhancements Wild Card fighters discover at Coach Freddie’s rejuvenating gym that Cotto stayed fresh as he did, working at a rate so much more frantic than Canelo’s.
Now we are told to ready for an epic stripping, if, according to HBO and the other handlers of the network’s middleweight champion, in the next two weeks Canelo fails to agree to open conceivable preliminary negotiations in principle for a potential fight possibly to come in the future with the undisputed HBO middleweight champion. It bears repetition: Not in this universe or the next will a sanctioning body in Mexico City strip Mexico’s most popular fighter of his middleweight title. Call it corruption or greed or scrofulous roguery, whatever, but vague as the WBC’s requirements appear, by ordering Max Kellerman to fetch his gloves in Saturday’s essential postfight interview, Canelo undoubtedly just satisfied Mexico City’s negotiation mandate, even if he shamelessly goes on to make consecutive defenses against the likes of Marco Antonio Rubio, Martin Murray and Willie Monroe Jr.
Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter @bartbarry
