Preview of Spence-Garcia, part 1 (of one)

By Bart Barry-

Soon undefeated welterweight Texan titlist Errol Spence will defend his IBF belt against undefeated lightweight Californian titlist Mikey Garcia at AT&T (formerly Cowboys) Stadium in Arlington, Texas, on a PBC pay-per-view card distributed by Fox Sports. The ticketselling onus is on Spence much as the entertaining onus be on Garcia. While one can’t help but appreciate the quality of both prizefighters one is equally challenged to forget the unsatisfying way similar such handicap matches have gone in the last few years. But anyway a preview must be written.

There’s something hopeful about writing a fight preview you don’t find in any other column subject. Indulge me a bit, here, as this might be more about the mechanics of the craft than the upcoming fight – which you’ve got a wellformed opinion about already and hardly need information from me to refine.

At best a preview column might remind a reader of something he already knows. On rarest occasions there’s something overlooked by every expert and a writer taps it, but that’s unlikely to the precipice of impossible in the internet era. Some styles mesh unexpectedly. All fighters have flaws, and the surprises come along when, for reasons indecipherable enough to be called “chemistry”, an underdog sees a favorite’s flaws with a clarity unanticipated by all that favorite’s previous opponents. This is exceedingly rare with every trainer having access to footage of every prospective-opponent’s efforts.

Nothing trustworthy comes out of camps because they’re intended to deceive. You already know this. Every fighter has had the best camp of his career before the biggest fight of his career until he loses. Then you hear about the hand injury, the lacerated eyebrow, the pneumonia, the chief second’s visa issues.

The part of column writing one improves at most over the years is sizing ideas. Your first year of columns invariably includes a Homeric treatment of your chosen subject’s appeals. In this case it would be a humanitarian justification of prizefighting’s very being: makes heroes of underprivileged kids, provides official supervision of violent events that were going to happen anyway, affords the cultural edification of seeing courageous acts publicly done. You know going in these are 100,000-word ideas and you think: Imagine the literary density that’ll happen if I can get a 100,000-word idea compressed into a hundredth of its due!

This doesn’t work, and if you don’t end up in the shabbiness of bullet points you might as well. So you retreat into newsitorials, opinionated reporting, verse-chorus-verse. Then you take another chance in your second or third year: Growing the 100-word idea into 1,000 words. The essence of a left hook, the telltale snicker from the final presser’s dais, why some challenger’s wearing “I Luv U Mom” on his trunks foretold every single thing that happened in round 4.

This is enervating work but more rewarding than year-one’s compression initiative. Here’s why. By missing widely on the spectrum’s opposite end you’ve set a more-workable range than if you tried to make a smaller correction. By trying to stretch 100 words into 1,000, in other words, you’ve improved yourself disproportionately more than a lad who tries in his second year to compress a 50,000-word idea in to 1,000.

If you stay with it long enough, of course, you can’t help but improve. But endurance in this case, and especially in a case of no financial reward, is a function of talent; you might have written 1,000-word columns about a seasonless sport like ours for a decade without more than a lick if you needed to do so to pay rent. But to turn the same feat for free requires facility of some sort – at some level, however invisible it be to the practitioner, doing this must be easier for you than the hundred or so folks who threaten to do it but don’t.

What’ll happen a couple Saturdays from now in Arlington? What we already think will happen. Two of this generation’s best fighters in an unsatisfying handicap match. For what could happen that would satisfy? Garcia stretching Spence is the only thing that comes to mind. And how likely is that? Spence stretching Garcia would be cathartic in its moment, like when Canelo fabric-softened Amir Khan then folded him with ruler-scored creases, but that catharsis would deteriorate quickly into an idea like: Spence did what he was supposed to do.

Some of you may tell yourselves seeing Garcia make a masterclass in boxing and play keepaway unto a 12-round decision would induce longlasting euphoria, but if that were true we would talk about Leonard-Hagler today often as we talk about Hagler-Hearns. Which we don’t.

Errol Spence is one of my favorite fighters. Mikey Garcia was one of my favorite fighters eight years ago – the night in 2010 he took the staples out Cornelius Lock on a card in Laredo was memorable impressive. Garcia squandered much of aficionados’ high opinions of him with the way he ended things against Orlando Salido in 2013 and the way he began them with Juanma Lopez five months later. Not long after that began his hiatus and a comeback against opponents either unproved or proved underwhelming; only in a promoter’s alternative universe is decisioning Robert Easter a meaningful feat for someone of Garcia’s gifts and pedigree.

Which is why Garcia now shoots at the moon, bounding up a couple weightclasses and fighting one of the world’s two best welterweights. He has hall-of-fame gifts unjustified by his resume. Spence’s case is more sympathetic. He wants to unify a division whose fellow titlists are wanting for one reason or another, but absent that he might as well go for the biggest payday available. One assumes this is that. But I’m not sure. Ringside in December a veteran of many Garcia fights told me: “He never did sell tickets for us.”

But one doesn’t book a football stadium otherwise, right? We’ll know soon enough.

Garcia’s quest, to justify his gifts, brings us neatly back to the craft of column writing about boxing. For all but a practitioner or two it is the only reason to file regularly. To justify one’s perceived gifts in a way that precludes regret, to preclude the gnawing sensation that accompanies an admission of one’s own ungratefulness.

Doubtful AT&T Stadium is the place to complete such a journey, I’ll take Spence, KO-11.

Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter @bartbarry