By Bart Barry-
“The war’s over. It’s over. I saw it on television. I saw it on TV.” – Conrad Brean, “Wag the Dog”
Saturday in Las Vegas Saul “Canelo” Alvarez narrowly decisioned Gennady “GGG” Golovkin to become the middleweight champion of the world. The fight was excellent, and there was blood if no knockdowns. That should make the judges’ decision irrelevant to most of us.
Canelo and GGG proved their equality, a re-proof that reproves much believed about Golovkin by his champions, a group that long resided along a spectrum of gullible to incredibly so. Before the scorecards were read Canelo won the series for being upright and triumphant after 24 rounds with Golovkin as he was before 24 rounds with Golovkin, just as Golovkin’d’ve won the same way had he remained upright and triumphant after 24 rounds with Andre Ward (stop laughing – HBO’s opening salespitch for GGG included an ability, nay, willingness, to fight any man between 154 pounds and 168, while Ward was still super middleweight champion). But let’s right the hands on that clock one last time: You don’t lose the aggregate of 24 rounds on an aggregate of five judges’ scorecards to a man who made his pro debut at 139 pounds and see one closing bell with Ward, much less two.
But, but, what about everything they told me Golovkin was on television?
Yes, let’s address that, as Golovkin eventually follows his promotional network into boxing obscurity. HBO’s schedule for Golovkin’s debut, lo these many years ago, featured an intriguing match with Dmitry Pirog, the man who cracked open Danny “The Golden Child” Jacobs like squares on an icecube tray. Through no fault of Golovkin’s, Pirog withdrew from that match and boxing itself, and then Golovkin’s ace PR guy, Bernie Bahrmasel, by dint of hardwork and will, persuaded two generations of HBO executive and one tiring generation of commentator Golovkin was the middleweight of their lifetimes. The callouts began – never to men larger, alas – along with the mismatches, and soon the hyperbolic became true to a generation raised on the wisdom of Conrad Brean’s lines above.
This was all over last week’s prediction panels, which read wonderfully similar to last year’s prediction panels; Golovkin’s otherworldly power didn’t imperil Canelo once in 2017’s match because of Adalaide Byrd’s scorecard. Next year’s prediction panels, should Canelo do the quixotic thing and forego easier paydays to grant Golovkin an immediate rubbermatch, will follow last week’s: Golovkin, a puncher of historic might, despite striking Alvarez 452 times in 72 minutes, didn’t fell Alvarez once because Vegas judges scored the boxoffice.
OK, enough practicing on the disappointed, let’s address the only memorable thing, which is the fight. No, not quite yet. A last note for those whose Saturday experience got ruined by the scorecards. Learn to prize knockouts so fantastically much that when one doesn’t happen in a championship prizefight you’re at the refrigerator or in the bathroom when the cards get read. If you didn’t bet on the match you should trust your sense of things and caren’t a whit what the officials officially say, and realize all the pundits who tell you to care about it are being paid to peddle outrage their employers hope to monetize. Better put, if outrage brings you a pleasurable spike, embrace it, by all means, but if it doesn’t, go forward in the faith it genuinely doesn’t matter – no one with a valuable opinion will opine more or less of you for such apathy.
Both guys did one thing incredibly effectively Saturday and succeeded incredibly well and will look back with great surprise how effectively their opponent’s one incredible thing offset that one incredible thing each did. For Golovkin it was the jab, which succeeded viscerally more than anything a scorecard might report. Golovkin tormented Canelo the way Muhammad Ali tortured Floyd Patterson 53 years ago. Like this: If you jab a man’s forehead while his chin be properly tucked the force of the blow traverses his spine and collects in a pool of pressure on his lower back.
Canelo touched his toes before and after every middlelate round, and found his lead leg stiff and almost useless in rounds 10 and 11. For about four minutes Canelo was no more mobile or dangerous than Matthew Macklin or Daniel Geale. He was there for Golovkin’s having but Golovkin had him not.
Because Canelo’s committed bodypunching (and occasional hipstriking) throughout the match’s opening 2/3 detorqued Golovkin’s delivery. Canelo had no way to run or hide precisely when Golovkin had nothing for Canelo to run or hide from.
This was a Golovkin fan’s crowning frustration. The act to justify six years’ fidelity appeared with an unmistakable clang, the finish to whisk a Golovkin fan from gullibility to sagacity happened obviously as Canelo’s frightened retreat, and nothing much after it but a couple 10-9 rounds. It’s not enough to say Canelo’s hand raised a quarterhour later salted this flayed sensibility – it’s worse than that: Golovkin’s hand raised a quarterhour later would have brought no true balm. One doesn’t know how deeply Golovkin felt this, how much of his palpable disappointment was empathy with his unrequited supporters, but it’s there now. Even to the most avid, a whiff of fraudulence will accompany Golovkin’s next act of carnage on a super welterweight, loyally accompanied by an HBO soundtrack of inane historical references and overwrought lectures.
These fights, entertaining though they be, take out of Canelo something disproportionate to their reward. He’s no incentive to do it again in May when he can otherwise continue his predecessor’s reign over undersized aspirants. For moving up a weightclass and fighting a world champion, he was already a greater man than Golovkin before Saturday’s match even opened.
Bart Barry can be reached @bartbarry
