Many moons ago, there was a young, wily boxer - an overzealous, undersized scrapper who never fought as the physically bigger man. Every bout would start the same, our hero firing out of his corner, head full of steam, headed directly for his opponent. He would throw combination after combination with tenacity and persistence, resolute in his attack and unyielding in his desire. But the punches would merely bounce off his opponent; his combatant would swat them away like flies, smiling a sadistic grin all the while. And the fights would always end the same way, the protagonist growing increasingly frustrated, ultimately losing his composure for mere seconds, lowering his gloves and subsequently getting dropped with a right hook. Fight over.
The next thing the boxer would hear would always be the referee's voice. He would say the same thing to the beaten warrior every time, "Remember, keep your hands up! You have to protect yourself at all times!"
Who is this mystery man I speak of? In your M. Night Shyamalan twist of the week, the man who's boxing past I just described is none other than yours truly. The setting was my basement. The opponent, my brother - 43 months my senior. The referee with the sage advice, my father, who once laced up the gloves right here in Memorial Gym, before colleges decided that boxing is too dangerous to sanction.
My point? I was 10 years old when my dad first said those words to me. I have probably squared off against my brother a hundred times in that basement, and I will admit, it took me years to finally learn to keep my hands in front of my face at all times. But eventually I got it, and soon it became seared into my mind. My hands would never drop. And again, I was 10 years old, fighting my brother in our basement.
Victor Ortiz is 24 years old; he is a professional boxer who has been doing this his entire life, recently in front of thousands of fans and for millions of dollars. So when Floyd Mayweather knocked him out last Saturday night with a so-called "sucker-punch," Ortiz should have known better.
Even if you imagine that Ortiz has had the worst trainer in the history of boxing his entire career, he would have still heard the most basic of boxing advice at least 33 times in his life before entering the ring with Mayweather. That's because, not only is it the first thing boxers are taught, its also the last thing the ref says to the fighters before they touch gloves.
"Protect yourself at all times."
If you've watched boxing just once, you've heard it. Ortiz had appeared in 33 professional bouts before he matched up with Mayweather. Thirty-three.
But, somehow, those five simple words escaped Ortiz's mind at the most crucial juncture Saturday night. The result? Well, as Money May would say, "Hands down, man down."
The punches were fair and legal. The ref had motioned to start the clock back up after the timeout and the timekeeper had done just that. It is not Mayweather's fault that the referee was curiously facing the other way at the moment, or that Ortiz attempted to go in for a full-body hug to apologize for his illegal blow, instead of the traditional glove tap that every single other boxer who has faced a similar situation has performed.
Let's rewind back to that illegal blow for a second, actually. It was Round Four, and young Ortiz found himself in a similar situation to what the younger me faced in every fight. Ortiz came out fiery and determined. He ambitiously chased Mayweather around the ring, swinging his arms with all his strength, trying desperately to assert his will. And Floyd - though physically the smaller man in the fight - played the role of my brother to perfection. He danced and dodged, stymieing and countering each one of Ortiz's best blows. Floyd was systematically destroying his opponent, rendering the young power punchers' right hook completely futile and laughing in his face all the while.
After four rounds of this, Ortiz was a broken man and he did what broken men do. He snapped. In an act of extreme frustration, he reared his head back and, like a drunken bar fighter, attempted to smash it through Mayweather's face. It was one of the dirtier things I've ever seen in a boxing ring. And, it infuriated Floyd.
So when an oddly grinning Ortiz walked over to Mayweather after the fact, apologizing profusely like a man who realized he had just signed his own death certificate, it would have been shocking if Mayweather didn't try to knock him out as soon as he had the chance. When Ortiz attempted to extend the glove tap to an embrace and then somehow didn't think to raise his gloves after breaking, Mayweather got his chance. And in the words of the man himself, "Left hook, right hand. That's all she wrote."
After the fight, Ortiz not only denied that his head butt was intentional, but complained that Mayweather's punches were illegal - audacity which would be akin to Mike Tyson claiming that Evander Holyfield caught him with a low-blow after he had "accidently" bitten Holyfield's ear off. Come on, Ortiz, you're better than that.
Boxing is an unforgiving sport. The purpose of the entire fight is to seek out your opponents' weaknesses, mercilessly exploit them, and then ultimately try to knock him to the canvas.
Dropping your hands, forgetting to defend yourself - even for a second - is the ultimate indefensible weakness. It was a lesson I learned the hard way in my basement all those years ago and one Ortiz will surely never forget.
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