We live in a world that Andrew Agassi ( & a clever PR firm ), nailed with the phrase... "Image is EVERYTHING! " & even the Bucket isn't sure if he cares to continue commenting on an already recondite sport that persists in pursuing a path leading to ( It's not like Boxing has guided leadership, the powers that be aren't that together), planned obsolecense & total irrelevance in the modern sports world. This isn't a goal you achieve without decades of ineptitude to support the self serving callousness with which the sport is run.
But ... Never fear, dear reader. The Bucket is compelled ( despite my own better judgment ... Hell, I'll be honest, I desperately need the waterfall of cash that rains upon my own bad self courtesy of the Scourge of the New York Islands; that Evil Excoriator of an editor, Michael DeLisa.), no, I'm driven by an almost spiritual quest for theTRUTH in whatever warped guise it might present it's own bad self ... Yeah, I'm still digressing, but the one meager comfort that DeLisa does begrudgingly bestow on this not so humble scribe is the unique concept of no word count. I get to spew forth my screeds to my crusty hearts content & that's almost worth suffering thru the dismal, surreal manque that is my beloved sport ...
Okay. Whitaker-Rivera. What can I say, Sweet Pea, for the second time, was defending his title against a moke that shouldn't even be his sparring partner. & for the 2nd time, Whitaker underwhelmed me ... It's a sign of how Sweet Peas expectations have suffered from diminishing returns when Pete h'self claims that last night's less than inspiring effort was one of his greatest achievements ... Yeah, right ... & I'm gonna get nominated for a Pulitzer for this take-no-prisoners screed ... Athletes, like politicians, Christian evangelists, Orthodox rabbi's, foot-base-& B-ball coaches & corporate & political lobbyists, cable company phone receptionists, record-health food store & coffee counter people have subliminally learned the ( lesser ), art of total dissemination & bullshit ... & if you reach out to touch it, your finger tips will begin to rot like a leper on Molokai ... Okay, at this point it's gotta be obvious that the Bucket is having a hard time bein' Joe Friday & keeping t' just the facts mam ... It's difficult too seriously examine a sport that conducts itself like an untogether version of the gang that couldn't shoot straight & makes " I'm A Dole ( does that mean all we have to look forward to is insolvency???), Man's" campaign seem like a breakthrough in Depression Era evolutionary thought - right up with there with Wood Shock ( '69 or '94 take y'r own cynical mini-world view ), or the Contract With ( in-without ) America ...
... & last night Pernell Whitaker defended his WBC & linear world welterweight championship against an unworthy contender named Wilfredo Rivera. Rivera is a tall, awkward, arm punching welterweight that lucked out in extending an undertrained, bloated by hubris & too much fueled by alcohol & attitude boxing icon named Pernell Whitaker. Sweet Pea is kinda like one of those tragic Arthurian mythological figures & has slayed ( or dazzled into somolecense ), every dragon put before him. Yet somehow has not gained the respect of the kingdom. The Pea is a modern day Willie Pep. These days Pep is viewed as one of boxing's immortals, a slitheringly slippery master of the self defense, a descriptive mantle that is well deserved ... But, I gotta feelin' that in his day Pep was viewed as a boring, safety first fighter. As fellow correspondent DscribeDC, A Conneticutt native & more than slightly into the Pepster puts it, " I come from a state that doesn't have a whole hell of a lot to be proud athletically ... Hell, the athletic franchise is Yale ... & even a gifted pseudo-yuppie big city attorney like myself has to admit that we don't have a whole hell of a lot to be proud of 'sides o' Pep, Bat Battalino & George Bush fumbling grounders & metaphors at first base ... Anyhow, Sweet Pea is one of those athletes that will be treated kinder by history than his oh so critical contemporary's ... The upshot is, he's boring as hell, but he's a fucking winner. The '82 White Sox brought the term "Winning Ugly" to fruition, Pernell extended it into realm previously not attained by anyone in the business of entertainment ... Pea's "fights" with Greg Haugen, Azumah Nelson, Hugo Pineda, Santos Cardona et. al. were exercises in exquisite terminal boredom. Even supposed challenges like his successful excursion into the jr.middleweight division against WBA "champion" Julio Cezar Vasquez were no brainers.
Wilfredo Rivera's original trainer ( up to & including their first match ), got fired for referring to Sweet Pea as the Michael Jordan of boxing. Wilfredo may have objected to the reference, but it was not too off the mark. Pea, Roy Jones jr., Naseem Hamed & Oscar De La Hoya represent the quisentential examples of the modern athletically gifted boxer.
Boxing is not an anomaly, like all other sports, it's boundary's, records & human accomplishments get extended on an almost annual basis. However, unlike say Football,Baseball, or B Ball, there aren't daily statistical increments you can measure the minutia by ... Boxing is measured in much more blunt & bloody terms ... Talkin' pain & lots of it ... endurance way beyond any couch potatoes comprehension & the kind of respect that gladiators, mythic Camelot knights pre-Watergate politicians used to command before they hit the bitter shores of American media cynicism ... I mean, shit fuck, I blame all my failures on Integration, Credit cards, fluoridated water systems & the undeniable fact that the Cubs are never gonna win the pennant ... & for those reasons I blame all four of the Mrs.'Doom's that have blessed my life for the fact that the great Luis Manuel Rodrigues is forgotten, but Butterbean is a media star ... & yet again I've strayed from the point of this screed which is that content means nothing & style & timing is truly the be all & end all of gifts ... " Your either on the bus or you missed your fucking stop." said Ken Kesey back in 1965. It was true then. It's even more painfully true these days ... Ah shit ... We s'pposed t' be talkin' boxing, Pernell, whatever ...
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