Forget all the controversy and the disgust for a minute, and pretend these two guys never fought before.  Forget the suspicion that some observers have that Margarito has been stuffing his gloves for years.   When Margarito-Cotto II goes down, will it be worth the money?

Since their first meeting, the "stalk-stun-killer" Antonio Margarito was made to look like a stiff punching bag by an old Shane Mosley.  During his comeback, he was laughed at by beyond-fringe contender Robert Garcia and had his face badly broken by a guy who was fighting six inches uphill and twenty pounds underweight.  In both incarnations, he is a guy whose main defense has always seemed to involve blocking every single punch with his face, and who hasn't looked effective offensively since before he was caught loading his knuckles with plaster casts.

On the other end, we have a Miguel Cotto; a smallish welterweight contender who is also a punch magnet, fighting fat above his best weight, and whose best win in the interim probably came against an old part-time brawler who was so down on his luck that he was trying to get MMA matches.  His other wins included a light-touch, regional fighter and an opponent who he struggled to finish despite the fact he couldn't punch to save his life and had a broken leg.

I'm guessing the end result of this match will be similar to a Marquez-Vasquez IV or Hopkins-Jones II.  This is going to end ugly and quick or ugly and long.

But maybe I'm crazy.   What do you guys think?  Can this possibly live up to the first match?   Does it even mean anything for the division?

Photo by Richard Wolowicz/Getty Images

Much has been made of Bernard Hopkins' latest ring entrances.  Depending on your mood, your age, your musical tastes and, possibly, your blood-alcohol content, they can come off as horrible, hilarious, crazy or all of the above.  But there’s something undeniably brilliant about them.  They have that special artist’s touch, where insanity meets pure, heartfelt feeling.

In some ways, Hard Nard’s entrances seem like the opposite of his fighting style in the ring: cold, cerebral, calculating.  He doesn’t fight a man so much as he inflicts himself on him.  As many people like to point out, it isn’t often a pretty thing to watch.  Hopkins inflicts himself on crowds, too.  But when he makes his entrances, hidden behind those goofy masks, I can’t shake the feeling he is showing us a real piece of what’s underneath them.

His most recent entrance was no different.  It was loony and bizarre, funny and heartfelt.  It wasn’t his greatest entrance.  That came on a night almost ten years ago, in a city that was battered and bleeding, and in a country that was terrified and wondering what might happen next.  But that’s another story.  Last night was just Bernard being Bernard.

The song "My Way" is one that has inspired many artists over the years. Like a great book, new generations of people are always finding new angles inside of it.  In that way, it’s almost a magical tune.  After all, any song that can link together iconoclasts like Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley and Sid Vicious has to have something a little supernatural about it, right?

Bernard Hopkins wrote himself into the history of that magic song last night.  He’s forever linked to it now, and, after watching and listening to this man over the course of my adult life, I'm sure he did that on purpose.  But, I also think he just loves the song, and that he found the same dark mirror in it that all those other guys did.  It’s a song about defiance.  It’s about being who you are, fighting your fight and  – win or lose – never allowing anyone else to define you.  If there’s a better song to describe the career of the defiant 46-year old S.O.B. who just recaptured the Light Heavyweight title last night, I haven’t heard it yet.

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This sport is tough, both in terms in doing it and in terms of loving it.  There aren't a lot of golden parachutes when your job is hit-or-be-hit, so there is a lot of heartbreak involved in seeing great fighters go down hard and never really get up to enjoy their well-earned retirements.

In regard to their health and futures, there are a few fighters weighing on my my mind right now.  I think I will always weigh a boxer's post-career against the Brockton boys (Marciano and Hagler), and how they managed to ride off into the sunset without a severe injury, an empty wallet, a string of losses, a huge career decline, etc.

I can think of several others who've made it out of this sport in a good way – some of them hall-of-famers – but I'm curious what the rest of you here at BLH can come up with in terms of happy endings for some of our favorite ring warriors.  It would be great to hear some positive stories, even if it isn't from a former champ or even a contender.

Alright, here are my somewhat scrambled thoughts regarding Holyfield-Williams NC3:

Holyfield is an undisputed, first ballot Hall of Famer.  He is an All Time Great, a ring legend, and a guy with controversy hanging over him.   But what I saw tonight is a former fighter who obviously needs to retire right now.

The way I'll remember Holyfield is simple:  I'll remember him as "the guy who was going to scalp Tyson."  When he butchered Quawi and DeLeon in a row and then announced his move to heavyweight, we all knew Holy was going to hand Mike Tyson's style a beating, if they ever matched up.  Unfortunately, Douglas stepped in to do it first, and so their ultimate meeting was sort of a letdown.  But his lateral movement, quick right hands and bullhorn rushes were a huge antidote to a decade full of slow, inept target practice for Holmes, Witherspoon and Tyson.

Holyfield at 48 is a ghost of that guy, even more so than Joe Louis was late in his career.  But, unlike Louis, there doesn't seem to be a marketable fight that could actually force him to retire.  I sometimes get worried that some genius will come up with "Haye-Holyfield: Battle of the Ex-Cruisers," but barring that, I get the feeling it will be more like Holyfield-Williams, Holyfield-Botha, Holyfield-Nielsen from here out.  I don't think there's an end in sight, either.  Boxing's not like tennis or golf.  He's not thinking "I'll retire at 50, because that will be a milestone."  Evander isn't thinking about retiring at all.  He's addicted to this, and doesn't think he can do anything else.

Even though he seemed to at least resemble a legit fighter tonight, it's very tough seeing him in there.  He moves late, throws late, and, when he gets hit, he even flinches late.  It's like he's boxing two seconds in the past, even against so-so guys, and it gets worse with each fight.  I'm not one to criticize how someone makes their money.  If he can keep doing it, and thinks he needs to, there's nothing to be said about it.  Nobody is going to protest Holyfield fighting Tank Williams or Brian Nielsen.  But if Evander Holyfield ever gets another shot at a heavyweight title, it will be a very horrible and sad thing, and whoever promotes it, manages it or accepts the fight should be barred from the Hall of Fame, period.

Just for the sheer hell of it, I'm going to cover the action in the aptly-named White Sulphur Springs tonight.  Join me for another agonizing trip down memory lane, if you've got nothing better to do.

Boxing is many things, and a playground for extreme personalities is one of them.   While plenty of normal people climb into the profession, it also attracts more than its fair share of attention-seekers, fringe characters and loveable weirdos.  Jorge Paez was all of the above.

Paez once wore a dress to a fight.  This was in 1992, against Rafael Ruelas, in his adopted hometown of L.A.  Imagine showing up for a bout in a black sequin gown, on your home turf.  It sounds like the sort of nightmare you might have after snacking on the old pizza your fridge.  But for Paez, it was just business as usual. 

That's because - as the commentators unfailingly mentioned before, and often during, every fight - Paez was a professional circus clown.  A native of Mexicali, Jorge spent a good part his youth working in his grandmother's show, learning how to do the sorts of tumbles, goony dancing and acrobatic backflips that he'd showcase before and after every victory.   According to him he never fully left the circus, and would return to clowning for short stretches in between fights.  It wasn't hard to imagine, either.  He had a wide easy grin, and whenever he flashed it you got the sense the only thing he enjoyed more then hitting people was cracking them up.

But in the ring, at his best, Paez was a sly and vicious court jester, ripping out gut-busting bodywork in between his crouching, bobbing advances and jelly-legged taunts.  El Maromero was a fairly limited and inconsistent slugger, but he also had a nerve-jangling ability to turn the tables and a Roman gladiator’s deference to the crowd.  You could tell by looking that he loved being in the ring.  And in between antics, he could occasionally churn out a sudden, sinister left hook.  If he was a linesman for Ma Bell, he would’ve been the weird, unpredictably evil linesmen.  And if he was a Notary Public, he’d be the weird, unpredictably evil Notary Public.  Jorge Paez was basically the definition of a "scary clown."

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FanPost promoted by Scott

I don't like Boxrec.com.

I respect the effort: A database of fights, reaching back through the decades of a sport that has more or less defined the whole meaning of "sport" for me.  But I still don't like it, and the reason I don't can be summed up in two words:

Henry Armstrong.

Homicide Hank held three championships simultaneously, which represented more than a third of professional Boxing in his era.  He's the stuff of legend.  But if you browse boxrec.com's list of the top 100 All Time Pound for Pound fighters in history, he doesn't exist.  He's not #98 or #99 or even #100.  For the record, #100 is a Thai named Pone Kingpetch. I don't know who he is, either.

Manny Pacquiao fights like Armstrong fought.   It's not just the weight jumps, either.  Like Armstrong, his offense is naturally, almost merrily, murderous.  They were both happy warriors who I don't think truly understood that they weren't supposed to be able to do the things they were doing.  And, true to form, Pacquiao's most recent assault on Miguel Cotto looked as natural as a rainstorm in April.   Manny's the five star ring general who started as a non-com, and by the mid rounds, he was playing the southpaw 1-2-1 on Cotto like a maestro hammering a Yamaha.   It was weirdly premature for HBO's crew to call for a stoppage in the 7th round, but it also wasn't.  It wasn't that Cotto was getting beaten to the verge of injury, like Oscar was.  It was more like watching one chess grandmaster blow a crucial move, and deciding whether to watch the inevitable endgame play out.  For Lampley, Steward and Lederman and the entire Cotto clan, the game was already over.  Merchant wanted it to play on.  So did I.

It was a great boxing moment, watching Cotto play out that losing hand.  I saw the same sparks of defiance that marked all the great championship fights I've ever seen.  I saw the Arguello who battled Pryor -- and the aftermath, and the questions that last to this day.  But the triumph of Pacquio was more Armstrong-esque than that.  There hasn't been any controversy about Manny Pacquiao, and there won't be.  He's the genuine article.  He can sing or star in goofy movies or run for president.  But the slashing, insistent combinations he throws are the most important thing he'll ever do in his life, if only because he is so damn good at them and he makes them look so damn easy.

I'm a Manny Pacquiao fan, and have been a Pacquiao fan for years.  But this latest fight has made me think about boxing in a different way -- which is hard when you are a crusty curmudgeon!  I would bet Armstrong had a similar effect on the curmudgeons of his time.  For us, boxing is all about size and weight, and transcending 40 pounds over a career is equivalent to running a 4.4 on the moon.  But whether Cotto was "damaged goods" or not, Pacquiao pulled off a trick that only Boxing's most elite desperadoes would dare try.  Space age websites like boxrec.com will probably be kinder to Pacquiao than they are to Armstrong -- at least in the short term.   After all, he fought a larger man who specialized in beating the living hell out of southpaws, and he instead beat the living hell out of him.

And he made it look easy.

Floyd Mayweather: Stay far, far away.

(AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Reading, PA - Team Kauffman and Gary Shaw Productions have formally filed a protest with the California State Athletic Commission seeking to overturn the verdict of last Friday's fight between Travis Kauffman and Tony Grano at the Chumash Casino in Santa Ynez, CA. In the last 1:50 of the fourth round, six critical errors in judgments by referee Wayne Hedgepeth of New Jersey compromised the integrity of what had been a terrific heavyweight boxing match. Kauffman had rallied over the first minute of the fourth round trying to finish off a fading Grano before Grano reverted to an illegal low blow at the 1:50 mark to buy some time. The referee never warned Grano for the blatant infraction..

Twenty seconds later Grano spit his mouthpiece out to buy time to recover. This happened in Grano's corner. The confused referee took Grano to a neutral corner before bringing him back to the correct corner and warning him about spitting out the mouthpiece.

With :33 left in the round Grano headbutts Kauffman without drawing a warning. Kauffman is besieged by a Grano rally but is responding defensively until pulling back in Grano's corner to avoid punches and hits the back of his head on a TV camera with 30 seconds left. At this point he becomes badly stunned. With 26 seconds left Grano hits Kauffman in the throat with an elbow. It seemed at that moment that the referee was going to intervene and issue a warning but backs away.

With 14 seconds left Kauffman's glove touches the canvas, which should have been scored a knockdown and a standing eight count administered. With Kauffman getting the count and Grano going to a neutral corner, Kauffman would have made it out of the round with a minute to recover.

Kauffman was then thrown to the canvas - not knocked down - by a clothesline from Grano. The blow that resulted in Kauffman going to the canvas was not a legal blow but a throwdown, which should not have been scored as a knockdown. Kauffman hurt his back on the fall and tripped over the referee as he tried to rise from his knees.

Marshall Kauffman, Travis' father and trainer, is taking efforts to shed light on these infractions to have the decision reversed to a no contest and build public demand for an immediate rematch.

"I say all of this to prove that the ref did a very poor job in the fight and it is his job to step in when needed," Kauffman was quoted in his letter to the commission. "If he would have stepped in for five seconds to either give Travis a standing eight count or to warn Grano then I would probably not be sending this email today because Travis would have had time to recover."

Well, when word first came down about this fight I admit I was pretty skeptical... as I am any time a young prospect gets sparked and then cries "foul."  But I caught the fight on replay, and I have to admit that all of this is very accurate. 

I don't have a dog in this race. I couldn't care less about "Travis Kauffman" or "Tony Grano..." neither of whom would have a shot at a belt unless the top 50 fighters of the heavyweight division were all thrown into a fiery volcano.  But this is an accurate account of what happened. It was a very poorly refereed bout, and the final round was just absurd in terms of what Grano got away with... spitting out his mouthpiece, headbutting, nardpunching and then some sort of Judo-type move for the "knockout."  Coupled with the uncalled knockdown and the camera clonk, it seemed to be a somewhat shifty, shady affair.

He really did.  I wasn't convinced on fight night.  On fight night, I scored the fight a draw.  But here is my "Sunday morning" card.

R1 Malignaggi 10-9
R2 Diaz 10-9
R3 Malignaggi 10-9
R4 Diaz 10-9
R5 Diaz 10-9
R6 Diaz 10-9
R7 Diaz 10-9
R8 Diaz 10-9
R9 Malignaggi 10-9
R10 Malignaggi 10-9
R11 Malignaggi 10-9
R12 Diaz 10-9

Diaz 115-113

I would be pretty shocked if Raul Caiz didn't have this exact card.  I'm convinced that it's not only a credible card, but the correct one.  On review, the most difficult rounds to score  were rounds 6 and 9.  Rounds 7 and 8 were in the bag for Juan.  He outlanded Paulie in both, and had twice as many power connects.  My opinions about round 6 (for Diaz) and round 9 (for Malignaggi) haven't changed at all between viewings, but my round 8 is completely different.  I missed much of the round, and relied on some RBR commentary to hand the round to Paulie.  This turned out to be a major error when I saw the full round on Sunday

In fact, it seems to me Diaz really won the fight based on the strength of rounds 6, 7 and 8, with Paulie falling off his timing, and Juan shoveling his way inside with meaningful right hooks to the body and left hooks upstairs.  Paulie threw a ton of jabs in these rounds, but missed about  80-85% of what he threw, often only finding Juan's gloves.  Juan had the better of most of their slashing exchanges, and Paulie didn't look very much in control fighting off the back foot in those rounds... he was less a matador then he was a Pamplona runner.

Paulie very clearly won rounds 1, 3 and 11.  Diaz very clearly won rounds 2, 4, 5, and 7.   I'd be surprised if these rounds weren't universal on everyone's scorecards.  Paulie probably won the close rounds 9 and 10, while Diaz probably won a close round 12 and round 8, which on review was less close.  Round 6 was very close, and really very subjective.  But it's worth noting that even though Paulie outlanded Juan 20-18, all but two of Juan's connects were power punches, while more than half of Paulie's were jabs. 

Caiz's 115-113 card is probably identical to mine.  David Sutherland's 116-112 is, for me, a stretch.  I would guess that, in addition to 6,7 and 8, Sutherland probably gave Diaz either the 9th or the 10th.  Then again, considering Sutherland's bizarre 100-89 account of the Daniel Jacobs - Ishe Smith fight, who really knows what his actual rounds looked like.  They could have been written in crayon, for all I know.  But I suppose it's still a credible "score", depending on what you were looking for generally. 

On the other hand, we have Gale Van Hoy's masterpiece of science fiction.  I would bet that rounds 1 and 3 were the only rounds that Van Hoy gave to Paulie, which is simply an impossible score for me to reach, even after three very forgiving reviews.   118-110 would require someone to completely ignore the 11th round, and to lend so much weight to Juan's unfocused aggression in rounds 9 and 10 that it would constitute a feat of fistic alchemy.  Boxing isn't "full of shit," like Paulie claims, but Van Hoy's card is most definitely full of shit.  It stinks.  It's a joke and, frankly, a crime. 

But Diaz still won the fight.

EDIT:

I've heard some continued talk about Paulie having "controlled the fight" with his jab, so I figured I would go ahead and address it below the jump, if anyone cares to read it:

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FanPost promoted by SC

Look, I'm no numbskull.  The Sylvia-Mercer fight was a wall-to-wall horrible idea that was met with about as much enthusiasm by MMA fans, by Boxing fans and by the state of New Jersey as it deserved.  But, its not totally "meaningless."  A Britney Spears album is meaningless.  So are Ashton Kutcher "Twitters."  But if the result of this fight was entirely without meaning, no one would even bother to mention it happening, let alone to go out of their way to point out and reiterate how utterly meaningless it all was.

Don't get me wrong.  The imaginary sibling rivalry between MMA and Boxing is something that I don't think many hardcore fans of either sport take very seriously (and if they do, they should seriously consider getting some form of life).  But the business side of prizefighting has as much, if not more, to do with the perceptions of the casual fan as it does with catering to diehards.  And, like it or not, a perception exists in the MMA casual fan base that Mixed Martial Arts somehow amounts to "Boxing+".  For this sort of fight fan, a Mixed Martial Artist is by definition a superior combatant; a sort of nine-headed Boxing Hydra that adds kicks, chokes and grappling to the standard boxing arsenal.  This is the sort of mentality I think Sylvia was (very subtly, maybe accidentally) addressing when he described his desire to crossover to boxing and earn "the big bucks" by climbing into the top ranks of the heavyweight division.   In other words, "Boxing is easier than MMA.  My experiences in MMA should translate pretty well, and I could probably be a top contender in a few years." 

Obviously, the smarter fans of MMA and Boxing (and both) thought this was just sheer nonsense.   BLH's brother blog Bloody Elbow boasted plenty of fans who sneered at Sylvia's audacity, as well as at this shameful fight in general.  But this perception hasn't been uncommon among MMA fans I've hung out with.  Whenever the conversation has been steered towards Boxer vs. MMA fighter, there always seems to be this undercurrent of "but, you see, if a Boxer tried A, an MMA fighter could just do B, C, D, E and Q....."    It's the sort of pointless conversation I don't enjoy having, and I've met more serious fans of mixed martial arts that agree.  But I think its worth noting that this perception of superiority has always been a key part of MMA's marketing strategy and success.  I vividly recall watching a tape of the first Ultimate Fighting Championship back in 1994, and I remember the sort of analogies that were being kicked around at ringside.  This wasn't Boxing; it was Ultimate fighting, and these were Ultimate fighters.  They were to boxers as Marine snipers were to paintball champions.  This was "the future of fighting sports."

Before anyone brands me a Hater of All Things MMA, I have to say I also remember some things that I enjoyed about the sport.  Royce Gracie in particular was interesting to watch, with his frustrating, octopus-like jujitsu style that made Floyd Mayweather look like Arturo Gatti in terms of pulse-pounding excitement.  I've also rather enjoyed watching the sport mature and grow over the years.  In general, I think its success isn't a threat to Boxing, which has survived many lapses in popularity on the strength of its long, storied history and culture.  If anything, the popularity of MMA probably helps Boxing to thrive in the long run, since there are so many opportunities for crossover events and promotions.  The two sports definitely can and probably should try to form a closer partnership over the coming decade.  One thing I learned growing up in the 70's was that a bad economy usually ignites interest in professional fighting.  Given that we are probably in for a very rough ride in the short term, this could easily become a Golden age for both sports, as long as they don't try to pick each others pockets on the way to the bank.

And, like I've said, it seems to me that the majority of MMA fans and Boxing fans looked crosseyed at Sylvia-Mercer from day one.  But it's worth mentioning that the main reason everybody had been giving this fight the business was because of Mercer himself.  Ray was 48 years old.  He'd had 3 overseas fights in 3 years.  His last championship bout was a 6th round stoppage loss to Wladimir Klitschko in 2002.  His last fight with a top twenty boxer was a knockout loss to Shannon Briggs in 2005, and he'd lost to a far worse heavyweight in Derric Rossy little more than a year ago.  He'd be fighting in a cage instead of a boxing ring.  And, to top things off, the rules were changed from Queensberry to Mixed Martial Arts at the last minute.  Sylvia would be allowed to grapple, choke, kick, elbow and generally have at his disposal the full array of weapons he'd studied over the course of his professional career.  We hated this fight because Tim was going after an old boxer in a card game where he supposedly held all the Aces.  We hated it because it seemed Tim was trying to sneak into a professional boxing career through a creaky, unlocked screen door.

If nothing else, the savagery and speed of the Mercer-Sylvia result might have at least put the lie to this perception that MMA and Boxing aren't merely "different" sports, but that MMA is somehow the superior animal, having evolved from Boxing's furrowed, caveman brow.  This fight doesn't change my opinion about MMA one way or the other, and anyone who says "this one fight proves Boxing is better than MMA" is a knucklehead in my book.   But maybe it might raise some consciousness in the ranks of MMA's casual fans that a world-class boxer possesses unique skills and experiences that can easily translate into a very short, brutal night for any fighter, fighting in any style and under any set of rules.

I generally  don't like conspiracy theories.  They are usually half-baked, full of holes and require an almost godlike resistance to rational thought.   But in Boxing, like no other sport, even the most far-fetched conspiracy theories have at least a solid 25% chance of being true, and particularly when the strangeness happens before the bell rings.  And when it comes to Chageav-Valuev and Klitschko-Haye morphing into Klitschko-Chageav, I would be lying to myself if I said a few theories haven't crossed my mind in the last 36 hours.  I don't really believe any single one of them, but history tells me that none of them are so completely implausible that they can be ruled out.

***

Conspiracy #1.  Haye Chickened Out

This theory is the least complicated, most obvious one.  It struck me the moment I realized that not only was no specific injury cited and no medical report released, but that neither of these things were going to happen in time to be a factor into negotiating a new date for the fight.  After all, an unspecified back strain that will take less than three weeks to fully heal isn't exactly something that is going to show up on an MRI or X-Ray... it's a symptomatic thing, based completely on Haye's word.  Given that this is an injury would be relatively easy to fake, it could be that David Haye simply didn't feel he'd be ready to win on June 20th.  

That doesn't even mean he is a "wimp," by the way.   It just means that when push came to shove, he really didn't feel ready for this fight. Maybe his camp went wrong or he felt his trainer was too inexperienced.   The "foam Wlad arm" for instance, set off some alarm bells for me.   There is also the (completely unverified) rumor floating around that Kali Meehan knocked Haye out in sparring practice, and that this setback has Camp David thinking that he really needs more rounds with heavyweights before he can stand up to Wlad's firepower.  Whatever the case, it certainly happens that guys lose that self-assured confidence in the run up to the biggest fight of their careers, particularly when the smart money is saying that they will be KO'ed in short order.  The mind is a lonely prison.

But this theory by itself would require a huge leap of faith in terms of Haye's inability to gauge risk-reward.  Without any other mitigating factors, Haye would be forfeiting an immense amount of cash and credibility for the short term gain of (perhaps) avoiding an exposure and physical beating at Wlad's hands.  He wouldn't only need to have jitters... his composure and confidence would have to have been completely shattered by one or more events in camp, leading him to believe that he'd not only lose, but that he'd be so thoroughly and easily swept aside that his reputation would never recover.  That sort of reckoning and self-doubt seems well beyond a man like Haye, who's risen to the top ranks of his cruiserweight division even after a tremendous setback at the hands of Carl Thompson.  Frankly I don't buy it... certainly not as a sole factor.  Not a chance.

Conspiracy #2.  Haye Smells a Better Offer

This theory requires a little more skulduggery:  It might be that Haye is not discouraged at all, but rather sensed a better opportunity arise in the collapse of the WBA Finnish fight.   When Valuev and Chageav - two unarguably weaker titlists - were suddenly available, it could be that Haye wanted to see if he could segway his noteriety into a shot at one of their titles with a more productive camp later this summer.  The calculation would be that if Haye was beaten by Wlad it would seriously -- maybe even mortally --- wound his stock and negotiating power in future heavyweight fights.  Really, it would alter his career completely, since as a still unknown quantity he can guarantee a fairly confident draw.  

But if he could squeeze himself into the WBA clown car (Valuev, Chageav, Ruiz, Holyfield), Haye could spend as much as 18 months building up his bank account and heavyweight experience with that crew, and then he could still meet-cute with Wlad or Vitali down the road for a unification fight.  Since time is the advantage of the young ,the intervening period could see a number a things happening, including damaging losses by one or both Klitschko brothers... or, at the very least, their gradual decline in ability due to age and wear.  It's possible, according to this theory, that Haye has even been in discussion with a certain high-haired individual in the wake of the WBA cancellation that encouraged this line of thought.   In fact, if someone offered him to a shot at Valuev in July-August, he'd probably be "dumb" not to take it... it's the safe bet and almost guarantees a much longer, more lucrative career.

Conspiracy #3.  Haye Took Step-Aside Money

Even more so than the last, this theory really rides the edge of "Get the bleep outta here," since it requires the mind of a Dr. Moriarty and reflexes of a cat to pull off.  The idea here is:  The breakdown of Chageav-Valuev was completely unforeseen, but the moment it happened Camp Wlad saw an opportunity to clean up the WBA and moved Heaven and Earth to make it happen. 

The far-reaching consequences are clear.   Wlad - like any other decent human being who loves the sport - has been vocal about his disgust with the WBA sideshow, and particularly with its poster child "The Gentle Giant."  Wlad has talked extensively about his disdain for Valuev and his desire to take his title away.  In doing so, Wlad doesn't just take over Nick's share of the European Heavyweight market... he becomes that market.  By setting aside Haye for the time being with a little "incentive money" - and a handshake agreement that they will still meet once Wlad sorts out Chageav - Wlad could be attempting to bump off the Chageav Bishop defending Valuev's Pawn. 

This could potentially result in a "coup-de-grace" that sees Wlad beating Chageav and, with his newly gained WBA Super Champion status, forcing Valuev into a WBA standoff.   Its also possible that a title fight with Vitali before the end of the year was dangled in front of Haye to sweeten the pot even more, while Wlad sorts out Chageav and Povetikin, and corners Valuev.  Based on how stationary Vitali looked against Gomez, Haye and Booth may actually believe they have a better chance against Vitali anyway.  And a win for Haye there would guarantee that when Haye and Klitschko meet it wouldn't only be the biggest fight in the Heavyweight division, but would also be the most meaningful big man fight we've seen since Lewis-Vitali (which, ironically, was itself a replacement.) 

In any case, this would be a very difficult 'everyone wins" sort of scenario, requiring precise timing and total cooperation from both sides.  But, on the other hand, it would also benefit from exactly the sort of direct cooperation that Haye, as a fighter-promoter, is uniquely qualified to provide.

***

I mean, there are other theories that have crossed my mind, and even some blurry fusions of the above three.  The big reason I am still entertaining any of them is that Haye's camp has so far acted so... weird... about this injury. 

Taking him as a counter-example, when Vitali was injured, there were specifics galore.  When he injured his back, for instance, his camp released a medical statement describing the bone spur that was compacting a nerve in his back, and detailed the procedure that would have to be done to correct it. When his knee was injured, an MRI was released and it was also described in full (a torn meniscus and old MCL tear)... and he had extensive surgery for that as well. Haye says "My back hurts. Sorry. I hurt it somehow, in training. Can we hold off on that whole heavyweight championship thing for a few weeks while I undergo some vague form of physical therapy? My back probably won't hurt by then."  I'm not saying it's supspicious, necessarily, but it doesn't exactly put you at ease either.  Neither does the seemingly miraculous timing of Chageav and Valuev vs. the almighty "T.B.A."

Of course, it's also highly possible that all of this is sheer coincidence.  It's entirely possible that Haye suffered a mild but  legitimate muscle strain that, while not completely debilitating or exteme enough to show up on a visual medical test, is still serious enough that his doctor advises him to hold off strenuous activity for a couple of weeks.  But that's the least fun version of what just happened... that's like saying Lee Harvey acted alone, without help from the Mafia, the Cubans, Elvis Presley or the Ghost of Emma Goldman. 

But, you know... Stranger things have happened.

What do you guys think?

In case anyone is curious, this is what Bruce Seldon is fighting tonight on the Johnson/Vargas undercard.

via a.espncdn.com (copyright Al Bello/Getty Images)

Well, it's not the whole thing.  I imagine Mr. Bello needed to wait until those astronauts fixed the Hubble Telescope to shoot the rest.  Needless to say, Gabe Brown -- who weighed in at a svelte 359 -- is not a fitness freak.  It seems almost insane that this sort of thing can happen in an age when proper diet and nutrition isn't exactly a mysterious dark art, known only to weirdos like Jack LaLane.  And even though this is an extreme case, it just seems like the current heavyweight crop is rife with more tub-lardiness and blobbosity than ever before. 

The problem might be that large, athletic, disciplined guys are just getting coaxed into other sports these days at an earlier age.   I don't mind that boxing isn't as broadly popular as it was when I was growing up, but I do feel a little twinge of shame anytime I see fights like Toney/Oquendo or Chambers/Peter (...or Arreola/McLine or even tonight's Johnson/Vargas).  If young kids happen to channel surf onto stuff like that, the chances of them being transformed into lifelong boxing fans or even future fighters are quite a bit slimmer than Mr. Brown's waistline.

It was a good fight.  Not "great" by a long shot, but better than I expected, despite the paycheck sort of ending.

Anyway, here are some things I feel like I learned from it.

1. Arreola has a very good right hand.   It's not spectacular, but its a business-oriented punch that he doesn't throw lightly.  He wants to set the pace with it, and with McCline's "new Klitschko style" he sort of did.  You can almost watch the fight as a progression of Chris'  right hands
2. Chris fights bigger than he is.  He's not a "small" guy, but his foot movement kind of resembles a much larger guy, trying to fire off the half-step.  He's not "big" enough to own the center ring, and McCline nailed him a couple of times while he was pretending to be able to do it.
3. Chris'  left hand is not very good.  It's not totally horrible, but the times that Jameel nailed him were usually countering off of it with an uppercut.
4. HBO politicking is at an all-time-high.  The usual scripted ebb and flow was punctuated by the fact that Steward, Merchant and Lampley all called the fight.  At one point, Merchant made a comment about how "this is how Americans fight" and Lampley (in his imitable way) waited a couple of beats before asking "How so, Larry?", which in Lampley-speak means "You're full of bullcrap, Larry."  Merchant perked up for a moment to comment on how "European fighters" -- meaning ex-Soviet ones (and, really, meaning Manny's ex-Soviet one) -- were "good fighters" but lacked the sort of aggression that Americans apparently had in spades.  There was sort of a bizarre pause, as though Manny was supposed to say something about this but didn't.... which leads to me to think that....
5. Arreola really doesn't stand much of a chance against either Wlad or Vitali Klitschko.  Honestly, I wish he would, but there's a real gap here that no one seems to want to recognize.   It's not just size, but Chris' style is all wrong for these guys, particularly for Wlad.  His footwork seems to play into Wlad K's style in the same way that Calvin Brock's did.  I'd give him a slightly better chance against Vitali, but not enough to warrant the sort of pom-pom-work that HBO is willing to give him.   Chris needs to be in against 2-3 more top heavyweights before he is ready for these guys, and show some ability to not just move his head, but to fight small and get inside with big steps.  Otherwise, I think it might be another mismatch... and an easy KO.

Just my own thoughts on the subject.  It was a good fight, and I like Chris.  But there is such a thing as seasoning.  I would like to see Chris against Igbraminov, Briggs or Valuev, and maybe all three.  I think those kind of experiences would get him ready to be champion. 

Honestly.  I like him, but he has nothing for anyone in the sport right now, except maybe a chin with a bullseye painted on it.  A lot of people praised him for his gutsy performance against Cintron.  I didn't, if only because I kind of thought this guy's inability to keep his hands up was just a whole lotta trouble careerwise.

But at some point I think you have to distinguish "gutsy" from "suicidal."   Tsurkan was just nailing him over and over with these sloppy-but-sort-of-hard hooks, and Feliciano was just mechanically marching right into them, literally EATING them like ice cream cones.  He is dangerous to himself, period.

Jesse - there is other work for you out there. Stop before it's too late, buddy.

Editor's Addition by Scott:

I was coming on just now to say the exact same thing. I missed the fight live but watched it today.

Look, I'm all for letting grown men do what they wish within the law. Feliciano routinely getting his brain sloshed around is within the law. But it's not enjoyable to watch at all. He deserves praise for having a lot of guts and being very tough. But you know what that praise and those guts and that toughness are going to get him? Brain damage. That's it.

The guy can't fight back. Someone that cares about him should really talk to him about whether or not he should continue fighting. He gets TV fights because he allows action to happen every second of every fight. But he's getting destroyed out there. It's not fun viewing. It's just sort of gruesome at this point.

He's 15-8-3. Vast riches do not await Jesse Feliciano. He is by all accounts a nice guy, and there is plenty of work in boxing that won't require him getting his face punched in anymore.

Respect his toughness, respect his heart, respect Jesse Feliciano. But I agree -- he needs to get out before something bad happens.

As a mental experiment, I decided to throw together a list of four fights that I think might've dramatically changed the context of Joe's career, made him and his camp truckloads of money, and silenced any and all debate about his list.  I think if he won these fights, we could have seen B-Hop/Calz duke it out in 2006.  And win or lose that, he still might've recieved one of the least controversial tickets to Canastota in the history of boxing.

In attempting to retro-fit Joe's career, I've tried to locate the path of least resistance to international mega-stardom.  I think they would also have helped him to retire by age thirty-three, stupendously wealthy and a sure-thing for the Hall of Fame.  

*
(June 1999)
Joe fought:  Rick Thornberry
Joe should've fought:  Vinny Pazienza

What would've it proved?  Ultimately, not much.  But Joe would've got to publicly retire an iconic boxing figure, probably by knockout, and made his American debut in one fell swoop.  Instead, Paz contended the IBO championship that spring with Dana Rosenblatt.  If Joe's people wanted some free press, a highlight reel KO, and a American "name" fighter, he could've gotten it all at once.  Plus, Paz wouldn't have been difficult to negotiate with at all.  He probably would've even flown out to England to get wailed on.

*
(December 2000)
Joe fought:  Richie Woodhall
Joe should've fought:  Sven Ottke

This is a no brainer.  For a fighter like Joe, three years is 23 months too long to let a fraud like Ottke live.  Joe would've been hailed as an international hero for beating Das Phantom to a bloody pulp.  His camp should've given in to every single demand to make this fight happen.  As his countryman Witter recently did with Hatton, Joe should've offered to fight him for free.  He should've also offered to fight him on German soil, and promised to sing "Deutschland, Deutschland Uber Alles" in between rounds.  

Never mind those shifty German judges.  The unification would've been well worth the risk.  And if it turned out to be a robbery - hey who HASN'T been robbed by Ottke!  No shame in that!  Besides, if it happened, at least would've been a massive, public robbery in broad daylight, and would've gotten lots of free international press and sympathy.  

And if you win?  Though my version of Joe and Warren offered to take a bath moneywise on this first fight - they also made sure that the contract guarantees the rematch is held in England, and that Team Joe gets the biggest slice.   On the other hand, if Joe's team thought that simply holding on to the WBO and an "O" would eventually bring the big names and money sailing off to England - well we saw how that strategy worked out, didn't we?

*
(October 2001)
Joe fought:  Will McIntyre
Joe should've fought: Antwun Echols (OR scoop up another belt)

At this point, Joe has likely assassinated Sven again in a spring rematch in Cardiff .  Politics (and concern for good hygiene) probably would've kept Zags away from the scrum for Hilton's WBC crown.  Still, in this alternate universe where the stain of Sven has been wiped away, who knows?   There may be an extra belt lying around somewhere, or wrapped around a dainty waist like Beyer or Lucas or one of those guys.  If so, nab it Joe!  It belongs to you!  

But say that can't happen?  If you're now a dual belt-holder and feel like taking out someone's trash, why not B-Hop's?  Calzaghe could've drawn a laser beam on Antwun's skull early in his run at 168.  You don't think Echols' would've come running for Joe's belts rather then fight (and utterly destroy) the undertalented Charles Brewer for that shoestring called the NABA?  Instead, Joe actually waited around another year and let BREWER come running!  Oh well.

Meanwhile, HBO would've picked up the Echols fight for sure, casting Echols as the underdog challenger to Joe's reign.  And as far as an attention getter, this would now provide a proper stage for Joe to shout across the oceans at Roy Jones Jr.  And by now, Roy may have started to (vaguely) pay attention.

*
(December 2002)

Joe fought:  Tocker Pudwill! (standing in for Thomas Tate!!)
Joe should've fought:  Roy Jones Jr.

Yep.  If he was well-managed enough, I think Joe could've gotten a main event with Roy Jones by 2002 and negotiated an okay deal for himself in the process.  At the very least, he wouldn't be fighting this past-it fill-in for an also-ran.   And let's not quibble over what weight it's fought at.  If anything, Joe has already proven he is the man at 168 by now, and should've moved up in weight himself.  Then, he wouldn't be risking his laurels, and would have a shot at gigantic paydays for the rest of his career.  

Even if he lost, he would be called "courageous," could convincingly claim that he was stepping out of his comfort zone in weight, and return to his 168-lb throne a wealthier and more prominent figure in the sport.  Instead, his countryman Woods ran off to the states to grab a beating and a fat paycheck.  Woods is a okay fighter, but Calzaghe is leagues faster, far more talented and a southpaw to boot.  It would have been one hell of an exciting fight.

And if he won?  Joe-mania!  He would've been an internationally renowned celebrity, wearing more metal around his waist then Clubber Lang wore around his neck.  Shrines would have been erected to "The Great Joe Calzaghe: The Man who Saved Boxing, etcetera, etcetera."  Ten years from now, guys would have said stuff like "Floyd?  Floyd who?  Oh Mayweather.  Yeah he was okay, I guess.  But he was nothing compared to the Dragon.  That guy is a damn legend."  

Well, okay, I guess that's going too far.

Given the tremendous hype surrounding their upcoming Light Heavweight duel, it seems a little strange to me that more boxing journalists aren't devoting more pages to what has been a burning question in my mind for about ten years now:

"Who is Joe Calzaghe?"

Now, I know that in the year 2008, the question seems a little audacious, and probably rankles a few of my friends across the pond.  And, more likely than not, many more believe the question was, if not completely, than at least partially answered in last year's highly touted 168-unifier against a game Mikkel Kessler.  And if that answer was that Joe is a fast, voluminous lefty with smart footwork and a spoiler's instincts, I'd have to whole-heartedly agree.  And honestly, I already knew that.

But if the question is broadened to ask what the Welsh Dragon means to the sport, I have to confess I'm still a little stumped. 

On paper -and minus the fine print- Calzaghe's accomplishments seem to speak for themselves.  A 10-year unbroken streak, which, if he conquers Hopkins, may extend to eleven.  And, let's not forget - Joe Calzaghe is the Undisputed Super Middleweight Champion of the world.  Thanks to his win over Kessler and his entertaining smacktalk with that Prince of Headgames, Bernard Hopkins, he has easily become one of the most recognizable faces in the sport.

But then, of course, there's that damn fine print.  For 9.5 of his 10 year streak, Joe has defended a single alphabet belt - the WBO - which, though gaining steam, seems unlikely to ever eclipse the fourth fiddle slot in the international fancy-clothing-accessories market. The WBO reminds me of the early 90's U.S. network television wars; a "FOX-like" alternative to the holy trinity of NBC, ABC, and CBS.   In any case, their vintage is about the same.  While it has certainly gained in prestige enough to be a belt worth fighting for, it's still kind of difficult not to think of it as "Oscar's belt" -  more the product of marketing ingenuity than evolving from changing dynamics of the sport.  Formed in 1988, the organization itself had originally claimed to be the product of a sort of Great Schism of Boxing, bent on reforming outdated rules and corrupt sanctioning practices. I'll leave it to someone else to decide how well the WBO's conscientious "reform" movement worked out.  

But leaving aside the relative prestige of the body itself, the fact remains that in 1997, Joe Calzaghe fought Chris Eubank for an open belt that hadn't yet reached it's tenth birthday, in a division that had just barely had.  In any case if you added those two ages together, you still wouldn't match Eubank, who at 31 found Calzaghe at the end of a bumpy 2-1/2 year crusade to regain the belt that Steve Collins kept denying him.  For me, Collins is the more memorable of the two, if for nothing else than having driven the final nail into Nigel Benn's coffin in fights that saw Benn's body just fail on him.

Collins, of course, decided to end his WBO line less than a year later, and the WBC title that Eubank had insufficiently challenged Benn for would quickly acquire a whole crime lab full of fingerprints on it before the millenium was out.  With the WBO up for grabs, a twice-denied Eubank would find the cock crowing yet again, as a hot up-and-comer named Joe Calzaghe made Eubank look blind and ancient for twelve rounds.  And suddenly, a new line had begun.

After Joe, Eubank jumped up to Cruiserweight to close out his career.  He would fight (and lose) two more fights, both to Carl Thompson.  Now, the Cat wasn't a pushover, and from 1995 until the end of 2005, he spent much of his time in the mix for an assortment of b-level belts like the IBO, as well as a plethora of more exotic extension cords like the BBBofC belt and the vaunted EBU, which at times seemed more vacant than a Britney Spears B-side.  (In deference to my European friends, the Americas have their share of worthless trinkets.)  Counting all the "me-too" trophy fights, Thompson had a decent record in championship outings.  But his relationship to the WBO crown was the one I find the most fascinating.  Like Joe, the Cat first contended for the belt when it was vacant. He lost that scrap when a German named Ralf Rocchigiani kayoed him in the final frame of their fight.  It would take more than two years for Thompson to avenge himself, in a yet another head-scratcher of a Germanic SD.  But no matter how you sliced it, the tyrannical WBO reign of the great Ralf "Rocky II" Rocchigiani had ended.  Yes, that was really his nickname.  And, yes, his legendary boxing career mysteriously vanished directly following that fight.  I was starting to detect a pattern.

But what's all this fuss about belt pedigree?  This is Boxing, after all, not a damn fashion show.  Zags certainly isn't the first fighter to dust off a young, hand-me-down belt.  And these days, the WBO has certainly grown "buzzworthy" enough to lure big fighters to the stage.  And yet, in ways that are difficult to grasp, a glance at the WBO's Super Middleweight evolution over the course of Joe's reign feels radically underwhelming.  Is it possible for a belt to die around a champions waist?  

If a championship label has any meaning at all, it can be measured by the quality and quantity of those who actually contend for it.  In other words, belts are not absolved from the immutable laws of supply and demand.  And, in a more fundamental sense, belts are symbolically tied to history and bloodshed.  Ali racked up a string of memorable victories wearing the NABF, and one could say the esteem of that award was elevated just from Ali himself having wore it.  But, with a couple of notable exceptions, the level of competition that rose to contend the NABF paled in comparison to those that squabbled over the WBC and WBA crowns.  As a result, the NABF is a belt that many good and great fighters have worn, but only briefly on their journey to a larger stage.

Winky Wright is a pretty good example of this phenomenon, I think.  He first grabbed it from around the waist of Bronco McKart in an IBF eliminator, and dropped it on the side of highway less than a year later.  But The NABF fight wasn't the first time Wright had met and beaten McKart.  That had happened more than four years prior, around the same time that Joe Calzaghe was training to fight Eubank.  Like Calzaghe, Wright was a young fighter, and also looking to capture and hold a newly-minted WBO belt.  Like Calzaghe. he mostly defended the belt against lackluster, overmatched competition.  Winky would lose the belt in South Africa a couple of years later, amidst one of the more curious scoring incidents in boxing history.  Of course - being that it was "only" the WBO belt - Winky didn't look back, and instead kept manuevering himself towards the holy trinity and big fights with the likes of Sugar Shane, Tito, Jermaine Taylor, Ike Quartey and the Executioner himself.

But what about Harry Simon?  The fellow who took the WBO belt from Wright in Africa?  Needless to say, he didn't set the world on fire.  Indeed he never contended for anything other then WBO honors during his brief career.  He dropped the 154 and even managed to drop the 160-lb belt before a car accident took him out of the game in 2002.  For some reason, even the Harry Simons of the World felt the WBO wasn't worth protecting against the likes of Rodney Jones, Enrique Areco and Armand Krajnc.  Go figure.

So, then, Joe.  

Much has been said about the class of competition Joe has faced over the past ten years (certainly, even Joe's most ardent fans probably can't find a good reason for Joe to fight Mario Veit TWICE).  But what about the belt itself?  Languishing in the corner as a tide of Kabary Salems, Mger Mkrtchians, Charles Brewers and Peter Manfredo Juniors vie for it's affections?  The line from the WBO super-middleweight crown is short and broken, and at times, seems written in chalk.  Since its birth, there have only been three other men  to wear it.  One was Chris Eubank, who lost it. The other two were Steve Collins and a forty-year-old Tommy Hearns.  Even Old Man Hearns dropped the thing like it was poison.  Likely, he saw it as a sort of "gold watch" and The Hitman wasn't ready to say goodbye quite yet. Collins then swooped in.  He clung to the belt for three years, guarding it against the ghosts of Nigel Benn and Chris Eubank and nobody else.  Then, of course, he dropped it too, and his boxing career as well.  Collins, I think, was simply bored stiff with it, and Hearns didn't even know what the fuck it was.   But in the end they both kissed it goodbye.  

Why didn't Joe?

And, since he didn't, has Joe really done enough over the past decade to elevate the prestige of his WBO title?  Or, given the recent vint of both his title and his weight class, has his reign served to make each of them a little less meaningful?

Which brings me back to my question.  Who is Joe Calzaghe?  At the end of the day, we can only define his worth as a champion by who he fought.  The list is the subject of an ugly, ceasless debate, where valid viewpoints about the lack of international diversity in calling someone a "name" fighter is intertwined with the sort of tribal chest-thumping that has always been a part of the sport.  Often, I'll hear fans of Joe quote his American competition as examples of "marquis" victories.  Ironically, Charles Brewer - a marginal fighter who very early in his career found himself banging his head against a low ceiling - has found a near-adoring audience in Joe Calzaghe's fan club, who use him as example of Joe's supernatural mastery of the division.  (I'm sure the Hatchet would be gratified, but then again the poor guy got knocked out by Mario Veit.  He's probably changed his name and moved to Calcutta by now.)  The notion that Zags took a fight against Brewer rather than go after Brewer's conqueror, Antwun Echols, spoke volumes to me about the cage his camp seemed to be building around him.

Leaving aside the absurd "American Boxing Stars" like Brewer and Manfredo, the smattering of local talent, and the stream of hideous, barn-storming shams like Veit, Salem, Ashira, Sabot, Jimenez, Sheika... what's left in the crucible?  

Here are Joe's belt-defining fights, as far as I'm concerned:

Tocker Pudwill - In my recollection, Pudwill got a call on the Batphone at 3am the morning before the fight.  It's clearly not Zags fault that his original opponent, Thomas Tate, couldn't show, but picking Tate in the first place certainly was.  Positively Brewer-esque in stature, Tate made a career out of wandering to far-off lands to lose to local tin-pot champions - including once to the mediocre Silvio Branco and twice to Sven Ottke.  Calzaghe seemed to want a piece of that semi-action, but in the end he had to settle for driving Pudwill back to the old folks' home instead.

Byron Mitchell - In the penultimate fight of his career, Mitchell got knocked silly by Joe in under two rounds.  No one would confuse Mitchell with a boxing legend, but Joe did some business in this fight, and showed he could hit with purpose against a good fighter.  I think of this as one of Joe's biggest "statement" fights.  The fact that the statement happened to come against another Ottke war-crime victim is something to ponder, though.

Mario Veit II - As far as career-defining moments go, nothing is more problematic for Joe than the decision to fight Mario Veit again.   Veit still stands as a veritable poster child for what's wrong with the international boxing scene.  In some funhouse version of affirmative action, Veit got a second giant payday for fighting a man who totaled him inside two minutes of their first fight.  The event cast a wide net of dispursion.  Who to blame?  Joe's camp for inking it?  The British fighting public for swallowing it?  In the end I decided to just blame the Germans - largely out of habit.  Nevertheless, the matchup seemed like the nadir for the WBO belt, which had already been stuck in a turdlike 5 year stretch.  It strained credulity to think that Joe couldn't find a way to get someone credible to care about his title, and the ludricrous matchups he was using to tide himself over were only serving to damage that title further.  It was a vicious circle, and Joe needed to do something quick if he wanted to be regarded as anything more than Sven Ottke with better hair.

Jeff Lacy -  In 2006, Joe found his holy grail in the form of Jeff "Left Hook" Lacy.  He was a marketable young American champion who had already slain a few of Calzaghe's own victims.  The fight shone a bright light on Joe, emphasizing how the puzzle of a smart, fast lefty with middleweight power could cause fits for decent competitors. He got his paws on a shiny new belt as well, but, as we all know, dropped it like a hot potato so he could fight a real contender. Or, at least, a guy from a reality TV show called "Contender." I'll let that one slide, though, since it might've been the result of some sort of cross-Atlantic language barrier.  

Kessler - We all know the drill.  Kessler, who is a well-wrought if somewhat predicatable machine, was thoroughly dominated by Calzaghe.  There were times late in the fight that Kessler seemed like he was staring at the sun.  Ten years into his reign, the Welsh Dragon captured a pair of new belts and respect enough to get a fight made with first ballot hall-of-famer Bernard Hopkins.  

Still, it was ultimately Lacy that begat Kessler.  But, in a way, I think Joe's coming-out party nine years into his reign was about three or four too late to rescue his mistreated WBO belt from the bargain bin.  In his Lacy duel, Joe ripped off the mask of a regional Ottke-esque beltholder and revealed himself to be a potentially dangerous man that was content to drive to his fights for the rest of his life.  Signing an established fighter to risk himself against a fast, smart southpaw in his hometown for a belt that nobody of import seemed to care about... I'm thinking that didn't exactly top most managers' "list of brilliant career moves."  So, Joe was going to sit on the WBO for another year, devaluing it like a sack of money under a mildewed mattress.  

Now, that doesn't mean much for Joe, who is now the undisputed King of both the WBA and the WBC.  But, win or lose his next fight, it's likely that the WBO 168-lb belt is, for the third time in its young life, going to be cast aside.  And after being tarted around before the likes of Mario Veit, Kabary Salem and Charles Brewer for the past ten years, I gotta wonder if it isn't just damaged goods.