8502080211
DETROIT FREE PRESS
850922
Sunday, September 22, 1985
METRO FINAL
1D
Photo
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1985, Detroit Free Press
THERE'S LITTLE REAL HEART IN EMPTINESS OF NUMBERS
LAS VEGAS -- By the time you read this, history will have been made here in
the Nevada desert.
Some sort of history, anyhow. Either Larry Holmes will have equaled the
record 49 straight victories set by Rocky Marciano, or his younger opponent,
Michael Spinks, will have destroyed the belief that a light-heavyweight cannot
steal a crown off the head of a heavyweight champion.
But no matter what the outcome, there was a hollowness leading up to this
event that thudded like a lead pipe to the skull -- particularly to people who
once heard the words "heavyweight title fight" and felt goose bumps of
excitement.
For Saturday was little more than a number. Fight No. 49 for Holmes, 30
years to the day after Marciano's 49th bout.
They inked the fight onto the calendar. Hyped it as "History in the
Making." Brought in every former heavyweight who would take a plane ticket.
Yet it remained as thin as the neon on the Las Vegas strip, and just as
fleeting.
You can't program history.
And you can't pretend that this was a battle of the two best heavyweights
in the world, or that this morning's winner has proven anything more than
that he could beat Saturday's opponent.
And that's a shame.
A title, not an alphabet belt
Oh, for the days when a heavyweight title fight really meant something.
When the biggest and strongest went toe-to-toe for one glorious title and not
some alphabet belt. Even boxing's staunchest critics might confess a peculiar
interest when the two most powerful muscle dancers slugged it out in a square
ring for all the world's marbles.
But there has been none of that recently in the heavyweight ranks. Not by
the hand of Larry Holmes. Since taking a beating while outpointing Tim
Witherspoon in May 1983, Holmes has avoided the most dangerous heavyweight
challengers -- men like Greg Page, Pinklon Thomas, Gerrie Cotzee -- while
padding his record with the likes of James (Bonecrusher) Smith, Scott Frank,
David Bey, and the son of Joe Frazier (Marvis, a very poor imitation).
And who cared? It had come down to numbers, the mighty heavyweight drama,
playing itself out like a line in a delicatessen. No. 46. No. 47. Step right
up, No. 48.
So when Holmes finally closed on No. 49 -- and cast it against Spinks, who
had to eat his way up to the heavyweight class -- the biggest interest that
could be roused was the curiosity of "somebody's going to set a record, and
we ought to be watching."
Who would have cared passionately about this fight if it were No. 39 on
Holmes' list?
And what really would the record mean anyhow, since Holmes and Marciano
fought a number of unworthy opponents in their later fights?
Sad. For the heavyweight traditon deserves better. Someone pointed out
Saturday that, should Holmes win, his record- breaking 50th fight would
likely be against Alfonzo Ratliff -- who? -- a cruiserweight who already has
lost to Thomas and Witherspoon.
And should Spinks win, my goodness, then what? He'd have to defend the
title against the likes of a Page, a Thomas, a Tony Tubbs -- legitimate
heavyweights who are not only heavy, but young. No sneaking up on Father Time
there. Why, it would be enough to chase Spinks back down the scale to his
previous division.
This is how heavyweight champions of the world should behave?
Excitement has dulled
No. Something has been lost here, and though it might not be missed this
morning in the yelling and screaming and celebrating for the winner, its
absence remains as real and unrelenting as a jab to the brain.
The shine has faded. The luster dulled. The heavyweight tradition --
enhanced by men like Louis, Dempsey, Johnson, Ali -- has been skinned to its
core, until it takes a ghost of a dead fighter to resuscitate interest.
"After I'm gone," Holmes said last week, "someone will bring me back, just
like I brought Rocky Marciano back to life."
It shouldn't have to happen. Records? Big deal. What takes place in the
ring should stand on its own, or it's not worth it.
The greatest thing about heavyweight title fights used to be the way they
stoked the imagination, made us wonder about the power, the will, the heart it
took for one of the two toughest punching warriors in the world to emerge
with his hand held high.
There's no heart in numbers.
And when the smoke clears from Saturday's fight, those who love boxing will
feel the absence.
BOXING; LARRY HOLMES