By Bart Barry-
Saturday in Maryland, Ukrainian Vasyl “Hi-Tech” Lomachenko, super featherweight champion of HBO, beat New Jersey’s Jason Soto to a corner stoppage at the conclusion of round 9. The performance was tactical and cold as wintertime in Kiev with Sosa being exactly durable and outclassed as promoter Top Rank anticipated.
Some thoughts:
I drive a Mini Cooper six-speed and despite its pep, at all times it feels too safe because of traction control (and disabling traction control in any car equipped with traction control is a universally bad idea because it was designed with traction control in mind and its engineers generally don’t consider the fate of any motorist dumb enough to disable it). You can still ruin yourself in my car if you’re hellbent on the task but it’s much tougher than you might think, especially if you take a corner too fast, at which point traction control kills the engine and in many ways takes over administration of the automobile. The Texas Hill Country has sundry winding roads that should be intoxicatingly dangerous in a small quick car with a Sport setting, but I’m disappointed to report driving aggressively a car with traction control more nearly resembles a videogame than a mechanical feat (and a Mini – British designed, German engineered – is fractionally so videogamelike as any Japanese sportscar).
I mention this because watching Vasyl Lomachenko fight increasingly reminds me of driving a car with traction control; yes you can slam in a tree if you aim for one but even moderate danger brings the dashboard light with the skid pattern and a cessation of all fun. Lomachenko’s not interested in ringside risktaking – I know, I know; it’s his right as a higher being recognized by Michael Buffer as “the greatest amateur fighter in boxing history” to follow his druthers to no risk whatever – but I’m quite interested in seeing risktaking and as uncouth as this admission may appear, if Lomachenko plans to take no risks going forward I’d rather he used his supernatural gifts to levitate above the ring and strike opponents down with the Force or whatever.
Thankfully Lomachenko lost early enough in his professional career he still has some sense of debt – otherwise we’d be subjected to the Jones/Golovkin Defense: It’s not that Roy beat schoolteachers and Gennady cancer survivors because they can collect generous paydays taking no risk whatever, no, it’s that they’re so dominant everyone except a fulltime government employee or a man strengthened by chemotherapy is frightened of them.
Lomachenko lost foul and square to Orlando Salido a few years back but comported himself with honor throughout and forewent all opportunities at assigning culpability elsewhere. He is indeed a gifted fighter. But until he’s subjected to championship prizefighting’s crucible again and again – where, once more, the object is to hurt the man in front of you, not tally points in flurries like in the amateurs – we won’t know what we have, no matter how incessantly his copromoters Bob Arum and HBO tell us he’s an historic happening (and as an annual reminder: Arum once told this site Kelly Pavlik “will be much bigger than Oscar De La Hoya ever was”).
However incredible Lomachenko’s footwork and artistry, fact remains the Ukrainian just ain’t accurate with his punches as graphical representations imply. Saturday’s opponent was not previously mistaken for elusive but managed to make TGAFIBH miss surprisingly often in the opening 10 minutes by employing rudimentary head movement and not much of it. Lomachenko fights with an arrogance that isn’t quite contempt – again, a probable consequence of losing early in his career – but strays close to it, close to a Jonesian touching of the gloves behind his back, once he determines an opponent is not skilled as he but able to absorb a hundred punches without being felled.
Lomachenko complements this near-contemptuous comportment with regular infight instructions for the referee, undoubtedly a prerogative of being TGAFIBH but a bit of an annoyance too. He treats opponents as targets more than men of volition and if that doesn’t affect the outcomes of his matches, outcomes beginning to feel unappetizingly inevitable, it evidently affects the viewing experience of at least one aficionado. To date Lomachenko has proved a magical solo act but not much of a band leader; he entertains concertgoers with hits from the TGAFIBH catalog – the matador shimmy, the guard slap, the hi-low – but he demonstrates precious little of what intimacy with an opponent the greatest sportsmen find; he is too unaffected to gel or swirl or whisper with another combatant.
It’s an unfair comparison to pit Lomachenko against the Chocolatito standard but since the aforementioned Roy Jones, hyperbolic about anyone who reminds him of himself as he’s understated about everyone else, made the comparison some weeks back, saying Roman Gonzalez was only the world’s best prizefighter if one went strictly by record, much like Warren Buffett is only the world’s greatest investor if one goes strictly by investments, it’s worth a sentence or two to consider the difference between the way Chocolatito fights and Lomachenko does.
Hi-Tech approaches opponents with all the interest of a Gmail spam block; offenders don’t make it to the inbox and Lomachenko remains a great product. Chocolatito meanwhile melds with other men, empathizing with them and guiding them and hurting them and then empathizing with them once more, in a spectacular union of violence and beauty. Some of that is cultural, sure, but other of it reduces to how each man sees his opponents. Lomachenko would do well to feel greater respect for those men and Top Rank would do well to match their guy with more respectable opponents.
Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter @bartbarry
