Hopkins wins mental game ahead of title fight with Pascal

If you can afford the pay-per-view or can find a sports bar showing the fight you just might see a world record Saturday night, when 46-year-old Bernard Hopkins challenges Montreal's Jean Pascal for the WBC world light-heavyweight title. 

A win would make Hopkins the oldest man ever to win a world boxing title, outpacing even George Foreman, who was 45 when he knocked out Michael Moorer to win the heavyweight title in 1994.

If the world record attempt eluded your attention, you're forgiven.

Between Jose Bautista's unprecedented hot streak, Jorge Posada's drama in New York and heated playoff series in both the NHL and NBA, it's easy for sports fan to overlook a title fight -- even a historically significant one.

Heck, Saturday's fight -- rematch of a December draw most observers felt Pascal lost -- isn't even the chief reason Hopkins has been making headlines lately.

Early last week Hopkins played Muhammad Ali to Donovan McNabb's Joe Frazier, calling the former Eagles' quarterback's manhood and blackness into question.

If you haven't noticed, black-on-black race baiting is making headlines these days, turning everyone from Grant Hill/Jalen Rose to Jon Jones/Rashad Evans into into talk show, blog and twitter fodder.

The existence of intra-racial tension in the African-American community shouldn't surprise anyone. After all, does it shock you to learn that all white people don't agree on all issues?

Exactly.

The surprise here is the intense interest with which mainstream media -- and its audience -- now follow esoteric issues of African-American identity. I have a theory but exploring it too deeply would take this blog entry into area that would get my knuckles rapped by the people who pay me.

But I'll tell you this: Hopkins' anti-McNabb rant gained traction because it appealed to all kinds of  latent yet widely embraced "isms":

Race. Voyeur. Fetish.

But again, this blog is about the fight game and this entry concerns the upcoming bout between Hopkins and Pascal. And like the bitter verbal fights that have popped into the headlines since March, this bout also revolves around an ism.

Skeptic.

As in, Hopkins is 46 and people don't believe a fighter that old can perform at that high a level without using steroids.

And by people I mean Pascal, who since the rematch was signed has engaged in a one-man crusade to force Hopkins to drug testing more stringent than the Quebec Athletic Commission requires.

In a way, it makes sense. People feel burned by a long line of athletes who shattered records only to be revealed later as performance enhancing drug users. 

Fans, journalists and competitors are wary and it's tough to blame them.

Each home run for Bautista draws a few more sideways glances, thanks to basbeall's steroid-era sluggers.

Every blazing 100-meter dash time laid down by Carmelita Jeter echoes the steroid-fuelled success of Marion Jones.

And as Manny Pacquiao racks up wins, questions mount from Floyd Mayweather's camp about whether he's cheating to achieve them.

But Pascal is different.

Before their first fight Pascal didn't voice a single suspicion about Hopkins and steroids. But the older man batters him for the latter half of their bout last December and suddenly he's Tony Mandarich.

 

Strange.

Pascal hope his steroid accusations would raise suspicions about Hopkins among boxing fans, but instead they only confirm that the Executioner is in his head.

Already.

Again.

If Pascal weren't so distracted he'd realize that an elite fighter at 28 should beat the world's best 46-year-old, steroids or not. Fact is, Pascal struggles whenever an opponent stalks him and fires first, and laboured mightily in December because he couldn't figure out how to avoid Hopkins' soul-sapping left hooks to the body. 

Those are problems you solve through coaching, game planning and execution, not a drug test. 

Chad Dawson exposed Pascal's flaws in the final rounds of their fight last August, and if Hopkins didn't exploit them in December, Dawson would have in the rematch.

Yet Pascal continues to rant about drug testing, Hopkins' fighting style and Antonio Tarver's scorecard.

 

In pre-fight interviews Pascal continues to portray confidence, and offers a litany of accomplishments to an ESPN reporter as evidence that he's a the superior boxer.

Hopkins, meanwhile, stated the more compelling case in the ring in December, beating Pascal into retreat mode over that fight's final rounds.

Does that performance guarantee a win on Saturday?

Not at all.

Hopkins has defied age for more than a decade, but at a certain point 46 is 46. 

But betting against him isn't easy. He doesn't take a fight unless he's sure he can win, and December's fight gave him a close-up view of glaring flaws that Pascal may not have corrected since then.

There's a chance Pascal has used this training camp for a Rocky III-style reprogramming, but there's an equal chance that the glitches in his style are deeply too deeply ingrained to change in six months.

And if Hopkins can still pull the trigger quickly enough to exploit them we might see a new world record Saturday night.

 

 

 

 

The Super Six and the Search for Boxing's Next Star

Andre Ward's 12-round decision over Arthur Abraham Saturday night, summarized in one word.

Impressive.

The lopsided result, which propelled the undefeated Ward into the final of Showtime's Super Six 168-pound tournament, shouldn't surprise anybody beyond Abraham's immediate family.

When opponents stand right in front of Abraham and bang away at his gloves -- like Edison Miranda and Jermain Taylor did -- he looks impressive countering with hard, accurate shots.

But Abraham adjusts to shifting tactics worse than Manny Ramirez adjusted to shifting outfield winds. Andre Dirrell exposed Abraham in March 2010, working angles and potshotting so relentlessly that in the 11th round a frustrated Abraham got himself disqualified, slugging a downed Dirrell after the American slipped to the canvas.

And last November Carl Froch further outsmarted and outclassed Abraham over 12 of the most one-sided rounds you're likely to see at boxing's elite level.

Against that backdrop Ward couldn't afford to struggle. For fighter working to enter the pound-for-pound title picture, a shootout against an opponent two of his peers had dominated wasn't an option.

And Ward didn't let it happen.

After two competitive rounds Ward pressed the action in the third and established the pattern the rest of the fight would follow: Ward snapping jabs and uppercuts through Abraham's guard, ripping shots to the body and looping hooks to the head a confused Abraham staggered forward winging wild shots.

 

The victory earns Ward a spot in the Super Six final, but his future beyond the ring isn't so clear.

Ward's diverse skills have him surging upward on boxing's pound-for-pound list, and under the old formula for creating boxing superstars -- Olympic Gold plus an unblemished face and record -- he would already be NBA player-famous. 

But that system of producing boxing celebrities disappeared with Oscar De La Hoya, so despite Ward's impeccable pedigree we can't be sure that he's the transcendent superstar who will sustain the sport in the future.

Which might seem like yet another troubling sign for a sport many experts believe is on a steep, one-way decline, but i'm not sure it matters much.

There's no disputing that boxing depends heavily on a few huge stars to earn what little attention the sport still receives from mainstream fans and media. And there's no denying that the sport's current crop of superstars sorely needs a boost.

De La Hoya is a full-time promoter now and Bernard Hopkins is 46. Floyd Mayweather is 34 and semi-retired, and while Manny Pacquiao is still producing he, too, is creeping deeper into his 30s. Besides, without Mayweather as a partner, just about every potential matchup for the Pac Man seems like an anticlimax.

Since the Super Six tournament kicked off October 2009 Ward has emerged as one of several exciting fighters grabbing attention among hardcore boxing followers. The group includes Cuban exile and featherweight champ Yuriorkis Gamboa and cyclist-turned-154-pound champ Sergio Martinez, but it doesn't include a sure-fire successor to Pacquaio and Mayweather as a boxing champ with mainstream cachet.

That's problematic for sure, but I'm not convinced its a sign that, as Frank DeFord argues, we'll never see another great boxer.

It's a tempting conclusion to leap to.

A generation ago we could see boxing stars coming. They were Americans who either won medals at the Olympics (think Holyfield, Whitaker et al) or smashed their way through through the heavyweight division with spectacular knockouts (think Mike Tyson).

But it's been a genereation since the pro debut of De La Hoya,a 1992 Olympic champ the last boxer to graduate from the 20th-century system of making stars.

 Yes, Mayweather won bronze in Atlanta, but he didn't exactly step into stardom. Boxing fans knew him a mind-blowing skill set and massive ego, but was a minor player in the sports world at large until HBO's 24/7 reality series exposed him to the mainstream.

Now he's (arguably), the second-biggest name in the boxing game, (arguably) eclipsed only by another star nobody saw coming.

*Although at this point the only one arguing against Pacquiao's primacy is Mayweather himself.*

Three years ago Manny Pacquiao could have walked unnoticed down just about any street in North America -- even if he was wearing the WBC super featherweight belt he owned back then. Now his image graces billboards on both sides of the Pacific, evidence of a rocket ride to mainstream fame in North America that as unexpected as it was sudden. 

And that's the point.

In this age of fragmented title belts and audiences it's increasingly difficult to manufacture a superstar, much less predict who will become one. 

Yet superstars still develop.

So yes, the search for a boxing saviour looks grim at the moment. Ward is an outstanding fighter but lacks Mayweather's flash or Pacquiao's combination of power and personality.

But in the months leading up to De La Hoya/Mayweather the outlook was equally gloomy.

Then from that fight a superstar emerged. Mayweather, B-side of what was supposed to be the last significant fight in history.

A year and a half later another star popped up. Pacquiao a small but powerful filipino with spotty English and a jones for karaoke.

So while we search for a star to replace those two we need to remember that he is probably already out there.

We just don't know who he is yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brock Lesnar's toughest opponent

Seventeen months after announcing his triumphant comeback from a severe case of diverticulosis, UFC heavyweight Brock Lesnar has again been sidelined by the intestinal infection.

Thursday afternoon the UFC used a quickly convened conference call to announce that this latest flareup of the disease will keep Lesnar out of the octagon indefinitely, forcing him out of a scheduled June 11 showdown in Vancouver with fellow contender Junior Dos Santos.

The winner of that bout was to have faced Cain Velasquez, who knocked Lesnar out to claim the UFC heavyweight crown last October. And while Lesnar's disappointed at the missed opportunity he says the return of the intestinal disorder has forced him to prioritize.

"I'm choked up about it (but)there's nothing I can do," said Lesnar, a former WWE star who joined the UFC in 2008. "There isn't a fight in the world that's more important than my health."

In November 2009 a severe case of diverticulosis felled Lesnar while on a hunting trip in Manitoba, leading to an experience with the Canadian health care system that left the then-heavyweight champion less than impressed. 

A month later UFC president Dana White still wasn't sure if the disease would allow Lesnar to compete again, but the turn of the year 2010 also brought a turn in Lesnar's health. By the end of January he announced that medication plus a new, healthier diet had chased the disease into remission, and June he had vanquished interim champ Shane Carwin to reclaim the UFC's heavyweight belt.

The path back to that title was supposed to go through Dos Santos, a hard-hitting Brazilian who hasn't lost since 2007. Earlier this year the UFC chose the two men to coach opposing teams of aspiring fighters on the SpikeTV reality show The Ultimate Fighter, with all sub-plots leading to their clash at UFC 131 in Vancouver.

But three weeks ago Lesnar felt a familiar pain in his abdomen.

The sheer stress of three-a-day workouts had allowed the infection, which never fully leaves a patient's system, to regain a foothold. Lesnar responded by scaling back his training while taking antibiotics, but after three weeks of cutting corners he realized he'd never be able to prepare properly while still fighting the infection.

"It didn't allow me to train to my full capabilities," says Lesnar, who won the UFC title in just his third pro bout. "It just drains my whole body down" 

When Lesnar decided to pull out of the fight the UFC summoned Carwin to replace him against Dos Santos.

But the next steps for the fighter aren't so clear.

He's considering surgery, but hasn't yet established a timeline to decide whether to undergo it. In the meantime he'll consult with doctors at the Mayo clinic over the best way to subdue the stubborn infection.

"There's a solution to every problem," he says. "I've just got to find the right solution to this problem"

But despite the uncertainty over surgery, Lesnar is sure he will return to the Octagon eventually.

"I'm looking for the light at the end of the tunnel here," he said. "I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. We've got to find a solution to this."

 

 

GSP is rich; Dana White is wealthy

PARENTAL ADVISORY...EXPLICIT LANGUAGE ON THE CHRIS ROCK CLIP

Fighter payouts from UFC 129 are now public, and it doesn't take a Bill James-style statistical guru to figure out for all the physical and mental strain that go with preparing for these bouts, the payoff is paltry.

Naturally Georges St-Pierre tops the pay scale, banking $400,000 for his decision win over Jake Shields, while Lyoto Machida grossed $329,000 for his flying front kick knockout of Randy Couture, who himself earned $250,000.

Those three men consumed more than 53 percent of the UFC's total payroll, with less than $1 million spread between 21 other fighters.

St-Pierre might be the closest thing the UFC has to Manny Pacquiao -- a dominant fighter inside the ring and an endearing character outside of it, someone whose fame crosses borders and who demonstrates that the American sports mainstream can indeed embrace foreign stars. 

But at the bank, Rush can't touch the Pac Man.

St-Pierre's $200,000 guarantee is roughly one percent of what Pacqiao is promised for his showdown this Saturday with Shane Mosely, and UFC 129's entire payroll ($1.84 million) translates into about a round of work for boxing's pound-for-pound champ.

That's not an accident.

It's how the UFC is built -- top down, president Dana White as the face of the organization while the fighters are interchangeable pieces, even when they're famous. Some -- like St-Pierre and Anderson Silva -- gain fame, but none gains true independence.

Which is smart business, because it significantly limits the UFC's financial exposure and, most importantly, competition.

Guarantee headliners sums that rival Vernon Wells' salary and you risk losing money if for some reason the pay-per-view doesn't sell. A guarantee is a guarantee, after all.

Beyond that, if the UFC starts paying its stars Pacquiao money it risks blurring the boundary between the wealthy and the merely rich. It's important distinction, pointed out brilliantly by comedian Chris Rock, because when that border shifts so does the balance of power.

St-Pierre's not poor.

His $400,000 paycheques are bigger than he would earn fighting for any other promoter. He won't make that kind of cash fighting on the Score, and he wouldn't bank like that with Strikeforce, the former competitor the UFC bought earlier this year. 

But while his purses are big enough to keep St-Pierre at home they're still small enough to keep him from getting ideas.

You guys ever wonder why Oscar De La Hoya is always smiling?

It's because 10 years ago he figured out that the best way to make big, sustainable, money in boxing is to get paid when other people fight. So in 2001 he founded Golden Boy Promotions.

Because the boxers can get rich, but promoters are wealthy.

And you know how he made the leap between the two?

By being the sport's cash cow for a decade and a half, stacking eight-figure paydays until he could afford to go into business for himself. Before Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather surpassed him no boxer cashed bigger cheques than the Golden Boy, who had earned more than $150 million in the ring even before grossing $43 million more against Mayweather in 2007. 

By then, of course, he was six years into his career as fighter-promoter, the dual role ensuring that no matter the outcome the Golden Boy would always win at the bank. And after years of depending on people like Bob Arum and Don King, De La Hoya competes with them.

For fighters.

For clout.

For the pay-per-view airtime that sustains the sport.

Like De La Hoya decade ago, St-Pierre is the biggest name in his sport, and a recognizeable face that makes him not just a fighter but a business unto himself.

Which isn't to say that St-Pierre shares De La Hoya's long term ambition. He might not want to trade the stress of being a fighter for the headaches of employing a roster of them. Not now, not ever.

But this isn't about St-Pierre. Its about the top-down structure of the UFC that allows fighters like him to earn very good money, but never enough to acquire clout.

Not at $400,000 per win.

So even if he wanted to graduate from competing in the UFC to competing against them, the chances of him making it happen are slimmer than St-Pierre himself the morning of the weigh in.

Which is to say it won't happen.

And the UFC doesn't mind that at all.

 

Follow the Star's Morgan Campbell on twitter.