If you were up well before the sun Wednesday morning (I was), and if you could find a functioning live stream (I couldn't), then you might have seen Roy Jones Jr's career come to an ugly end against Australian cruiserweight Danny Green.
And if you missed it live (like I did), or simply slept through it (like sensible folks), then you might have caught it on YouTube.
All of it.
Didn't take long.
An impressive victory for Green, and though he didn't conquer "the U.S. and the world," like the (slightly biased) Australian commentators said he did, at least proved he's capable of squashing a washed-up future hall-of-famer.
And a crushing loss for 40-year-old Jones, who had viewed this fight as a tuneup for a first-quarter 2010 rematch with 45-year-old Bernard Hopkins. (No, boxing hasn't started a seniors' tour. These two have been putting off a rematch since 1993). Instead, Green further exposed him as an aging fighter with dwindling skills and a glass ear.
But let's understand one thing:
This loss does nothing to tarnish Jones' legacy.
Does Jones' precipitous decline provide an object lesson for fighters thinking about sticking around too long?
Of course it does.
I would have loved to see him retire after schooling John Ruiz to claim the heavyweight title in 2003, or even after gutting out a 12-round decision over Antonio Tarver in his next fight.
Instead, he fought on, racking up five losses in his final 10 bouts.
But Jones' final 10 fights -- which include savage knockouts by Tarver, Glen Johnson and now Green -- won't set his legacy. Unless we're prepared to say Muhammad Ali is less of a legend for having lost to Trevor Berbick, or that Ray Leonard's legacy lost lustre when Hector Camacho defeated him in 1997, we can't say Roy Jones' late career failures diminish his greatness.
In thinking about how far Jones has fallen we shouldn't forget how high he climbed.
This, after all, is the fighter whose three-round beatdown of Park Si-Hun in the 1988 Olympics, and subsequent robbery by corrupt judges, prompted amateur boxing to overhaul its entire scoring system.
This is also a blindingly fast master of improvisation. He had the best left hook in the game, and enough power in his right to stop world-class opponents with a single shot, either to the body...
or to the head...
Granted, he's the worst rapper since Floyd Mayweather, but he's also a four-division champ who started his career with 49 wins and a single highly disputed loss -- one he avenged in a manner both brilliant and brutal.
So when I look back on Roy Jones' career -- which I pray has finally ended -- I'll think about the titles and the speed, the spectacular knockouts and the shuttling between light-heavy and heavyweight to claim and defend titles. That type of greatness is tough not to remember.
And if you think he's anything other than an all-time elite and first-ballot hall-of-famer, then he you're the folks he was talking about in that nearly unlistenable hip-hop track.
Y'all musta forgot.