Clash of the Titans

Manny Pacquiao will fight Floyd Mayweather Jr next year, that was the message from Pacquiao’s trainer Freddie Roach yesterday.

Roach told Sky Sports that his charge would go head to head with Mayweather in 2009 in the superfight boxing fans have been dreaming of.
However it was a bittersweet message, as fight fans will have to wait the best part of a year before the contest. There is also the possibility that the Pac-Man will take on another bout before facing Mayweather.
Roach told Sky Sports: “We want to fight in March they don’t want it that early so we might take one fight before, but we’re looking to make it happen in September. It’s hopefully going to be a done deal soon.”

And the Times today revealed that Roach is lining up Israeli Yuri Foreman as a possible opponent for Pacquiao, a fight that would see the Pac-Man go up yet another weight division.
Nonetheless it does looks as though the Pacquiao v Mayweather has come a step closer.

There is no doubt that if this bout goes ahead it will go down as not only the richest in history, but also the biggest conflict seen in recent years. It will blow away other recent superfights and rank alongside the likes of Joe Frazier vs. Muhammad Ali in 1971, Marvin Hagler vs. Tommy Hearns in 1985 and Sugar Ray Leonard vs. Tommy Hearns in 1981.

As Matthew Syed recently wrote in the Times:

“For it is match-ups such as these, and the emotions they arouse, that are capable of elevating pugilism beyond other of sporting and artistic spectacle. Look back across the decades and it is not cricket and football that provides the definitive iconography of the age, but the contests that brought nations to a standstill.”

Boxing is not as popular as it once was and faces stiff competition from UFC and other forms of MMA, but it is fights like this that can bring boxing back to global consciousness. Boxing has, since the retirement of Mike Tyson, lacked the truly global superstars we have seen in previous generations.

But here we already have two fighters who can define their generation.
Pacquiao is already more than a national icon. He is a politician and musician as well as a boxer!
Philippine President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo once said: “He is truly one of our nations heroes who can unite us even in times of divisiveness. An icon of the masses. Manny Pacquiao mirrors the champ within every Filipino, here and abroad.”
The Pac-Man is the #1 Pound-for-Pound fighter in the world. He became the first boxer to win seven different belts at seven different weight classes and this could potentially reach eight by the time he squares up to Mayweather – if his fight against Foreman is sealed.

Then there is the trash talking, Floyd Mayweather Jr, who in 2008 retired for a short spell as the Pound-for-Pound king and beat everyone before him. Money-Mayweather is the owner of an impressive 40-0 record (25 by knockout) and has won six world titles at five different weight classes.
Mayweather’s adviser, Leonard Ellerbe, recently said: “Floyd has made it perfectly clear to Team Mayweather and the rest of the world that he wants to give the fans what they want, and that’s Mayweather versus Pacquiao,”

So here we are with two of the greatest fighters of our time, if not ever, potentially squaring up. So who would win?

It is hard to doubt Manny Pacquiao especially after seeing his destruction of Miguel Cotto. He is lightning quick, has fists of steel and a granite chin. Pacquiao has also shocked the world with his ability to move up the weight classes without losing any of his devastating power.
But then there is Floyd ‘Money’ Mayweather. He is simply overwhelming and just as fast as Pacquiao. He perhaps does not possess the power of Pacquiao but he has in recent fights proved untouchable with his artistry, allusiveness and counter-punching ability.
It is this that makes the fight such a mouth-watering prospect. They are two different fighters who complement each other in the ring. It has all the makings to become one of the greatest fights in history.
It is the fight that the boxing world wants and it must be ensured that this mega-bout goes ahead.

Who do you think would win if the fight goes ahead.

The Pac-Man’s record 50 Wins (38 knockouts, 12 decisions), 3 Defeats (2 by knockout, 1 by decision), 2 Draws

Money Mayweather’s record 40 Wins (25 knockouts, 15 decisions), 0 Losses, 0 Draws

Cinquanta anni fa esattamente iniziava la sua carriera, di Campione e Uomo Vero, un giovanissimo e sconosciuto nero d’ America: Cassius Clay, che in capo ad un anno avrebbe vinto le Olimpiadi di Roma (nella categoria dei medio-massimi), e, nel settembre del 1961, il titolo professionistico dei pesi massimi, sconfiggendo Sonny Liston anche nella rivincita. Per sei indimenticabili anni rimase IL RE, sconfiggendo ogni avversario in virtù di una classe e di una intelligenza schermistica senza precedenti,e senza successori. Inoltre ripulì la Noble Art dalle mafie che ne compromettevano, legate al business delle scommesse, la legittimità sportiva. Riunificò le varie corone, ognuna una diversa “federazione”, attorno cui si coagulavano interessi mafiosi. Fu la TV che gli permise di agganciare direttamente il grande pubblico, diventando manager a se stesso,e scavalcando le intermediazioni gangsteristiche che prima ne costituivano tramite necessario. La boxe divenne per davvero uno Sport a pieno titolo, che appassionò per trent’ anni le platee di tutto il mondo, prima di scomparire nella moltiplicazione dei titoli e dei fittizi “campionati”, pompati anche da interessi editoriali.
Nel 1967 rifiutò di andare in Vietnam, a combattere una guerra di dominazione “imperiale”, sbagliata e ingiusta perché combattuta contro un intero popolo, e non solo il FLN nazionalista che la combatteva in armi. Fu arrestato, condannato e degradato, privato vergognosamente, per una persecuzione politica, di un titolo mondiale che gli spettava per averlo conquistato e difeso sul ring. Dopo quattro anni di galera, ritornò sul quadrato, sconfiggendo via via tutti gli avversari, per il massimo titolo, per poi riconquistarlo contro Frazier alla rivincita, e anche nella “bella”, dopo avere perduto la prima sfida. Fu di nuovo The King. Egli fece onore al Black People cui apparteneva, e non solo come Campione Sportivo, ma come Leader Morale, ammirato da Tutte le Genti.
Tutte proprio, no. Perché infatti, mentre lui stava in galera, in Italia era nato un gruppettino, Lotta Continua, non si sa da chi e come sostenuto nei suoi cospicuissimi mezzi. Un gruppo paramilitare già nei titoli del ricco quotidiano omonimo, che predicavano violenze ed assassinii.
Non tutti realizzati, per fortuna. Quando Alì tornò in campo per vincere il Campionato della Vita, sostenuto da una platea mondiale che tifava per lui vegliando anche di notte per vederlo in TV,
Lotta Continua fece un titolo a nove colonne: “NOI NON TIFIAMO PER CASSIUS CLAY”. Era l’ 8 marzo del 1971: una anno esatto prima di……Calabresi.
Strano, perché era un gruppo che si faceva riconoscere “di sinistra”, anche la più dura ed estrema: e venne presto in ottimi rapporti con il PCI di Berlinguer, quello che ci portò “sotto la NATO”, perciò costretti oggi ancora a combattere tutte le sue guerre contro tutti i Paesi del mondo, il nostro incluso. Iraq, Afghania, presto l’ Iran eccetera.
Oggi che quegli stessi di allora, i misconoscitori di Clay-Alì, predicano da ben più alti pulpiti le medesime cose , e propagandano guerre di dominio, conquista e distruzione, di Nazioni e Culture, analoghe al Vietnam, noi capiamo finalmente il perché di quel titolo accampato nel lontanissimo 8 marzo del 1971 che Alì-Clay sfidò Joe Frazier, il campione abusivo che faceva la parte del “Neghro Bbbbuuuuono……”
Un mestiere opposto a quello, Uomo Vero di là d’ ogni colore di pelle, che fu di Muhammad Alì….
“Neghro Bbbbuono”….che oggi è di gran moda.
Non sappiamo fin quando.

W sempre Muhammad Alì, il più grande di tutti di Gianni Caroli.

I was not alive to watch boxing greats like Jack Dempsey, Muhammad Ali, and Joe Frazier, but I was alive to watch the rise and fall of Mike Tyson. My dad was a huge boxing fan and being in the military there were always get together’s on base for every big boxing match one of the first fights I remember seeing was the Sugar Ray Leonard vs. Marvin Hagler in May of 1986. I only remember that fight because there were about 40 grown army soldiers outraged that after Hagler dominated for most of the 12 rounds the decision went to Leonard. I did not understand boxing and didn’t really care until later that year.

On November 22, 1986 me and my two other brothers went with my dad to his friends house to watch an up and coming boxer named Mike Tyson, he was fighting for the WBC title against Trevor Berbick. Before the fight started most of the guys were bragging how Berbick was going to mop the floor with the young Tyson. People had heard about Tyson but not many thought he could win the fight. I remember sitting on the floor in front of the Satellite TV with the other kids at the party playing with our G.I Joes waiting for the fight to start.

As they entered the ring to tap gloves and agree on a clean fight, when the cameras did up close shots of the fighters staring at each other Berbick looked like this was going to be a walk in the park. But Tyson had this grim reaper look on his face, and once the fight started Berbick’s face quickly changed to the expression of a deer in headlights. As Tyson started pounding Berbick with powerful body shots and quick combos it looked like Berbick was in fear of his life. Once the bell rang to signal the end of the first round everybody in the room was saying I cannot believe this kid is taking it to Berbick. As the second round started Tyson just went in for the kill and sent Berbick down to the canvas twice in the second round. Berbick tried to get up three times after the second knock down but there was no use, he didn’t know where he was and almost feel out of the ring.

From that moment on, Mike Tyson became not only mine but millions of boxing fans favorite boxer to root for. Tyson was the first boxer to knock out Larry Holmes on his way to win 19 straight fights by knockouts with 12 being in the first round. As his fame began to grow his fighting skills started to go down from lack of proper training. He lost his championship belt to James “Buster” Douglas by a knockout in the tenth round in February of 1990 and his life was never the same after that.

In 1992 he was arrested and sent to prison for three years for sexually assaulting Desiree Washington. Once he was released he went back to boxing, he seem to be back on track until he lost to Evander Holyfield by an 11th round TKO in 1996. When the two fighters met up again for a much anticipated rematch, Tyson did the unthinkable and bit a piece of Holyfield’s ear off while they were tangled together on his way to be disqualified. After that Tyson became a reckless mess he ended up finishing his career with a professional boxing record of 50 wins, 44 knockouts, 6 loses, and 2 no contest.

As kid growing up watching Tyson rise and fall from greatness I wondered how someone so gifted could just throw it all away. Like many people I never really understood the craziness behind him, I just seen him as your normal rising star gone bad. It was not until my early twenty’s that I learned about Tyson harsh childhood. I was shocked to learn that he had been arrested 38 times by the age of thirteen. When he was sixteen his mother died and he was split up from his brother and sister, when he moved in with his boxing trainer Cus D’Amato in upstate New York. If D’Amato did not step in and help Tyson turn his life around he would of most likely been dead by the age of 18. Once Cus died Don King entered his life and forever changed Tyson to the crazy barbaric many people think of him as today.

Now that he is finally retired, Tyson is trying to make amends for all the bad things he did in his life, he knows that he will probably at some point mess up again but he is trying to change that. On May 26, 2009 Tyson’s daughter Exodus passed away from a freak treadmill accident. Tyson was not present when it happened, and still till this day does not want to know the full details of what happened. He knows if he finds out all the details his rage would come out against his ex-wife who was watching her at the time. For most people not knowing what really happened would just eat away at them. For Tyson not knowing is part of his healing process on his way to become a better man and role model for his kids.

“Beyond the stucco villa, the Congo River flowed swiftly,” Dave Anderson wrote in The New York Times. “On the law several dozen Africans, men in their slacks and bright shires and women in their long dresses had come for a glimpse of the famous man now that he was the world heavyweight champion again.”

The 32 fighters for the all-time Heavyweight elimination were today announced. The top eight were seeded according to the International Boxing Research Organisation All-time List with the other 12 also guaranteed a place. The final 12 were selected in part by past achievement as well as the odd popular vote. The complete draw for the tournament looks like this:

——————–
Joe Louis vs Sam McVey

Sam Langford vs James J. Corbett
—–
Sonny Liston vs Wladimir Klitschko

George Foreman vs Tom Sharkey
———-
Larry Holmes vs Vitali Klitschko

Lennox Lewis vs Riddick Bowe
—–
Mike Tyson vs John L. Sullivan

Jack Dempsey vs Harry Wills
—————
Jack Johnson vs Ken Norton

Evander Holyfield vs Jack Sharkey
—–
Joe Frazier vs Bob Fitzsimmons

Rocky Marciano vs Floyd Patterson
———-
James J. Jeffries vs Ezzard Charles

Gene Tunney vs Max Schmeling
—–
Jersey Joe Walcott vs Max Baer

Muhammad Ali vs Joe Jeanette
——————–

All fights will be fought over 15 rounds using the ten point must system for scoring. Some of the more interesting first round matchups sees much ducked negro fighter Sam Langford matchup with James J. Corbett who was one of the top white fighters of their time in a fight that couldn’t have taken place at the time due to the colour line. Another fight which didn’t take place for the same reason but will take place here is between Jack Dempsey and Harry Wills, with the winner of that fight meeting the winner of the bout between the last bare knuckle champion John L. Sullivan and 1980’s Heavyweight Champion Mike Tyson. Riddick Bowe and Lennox Lewis will do battle in the pro ranks after Bowe dropped his WBC belt into the trash in 1993 in order to pursue other fights and a fight that narrowly missed happening between Rocky Marciano and Floyd Patterson will also take place.

The fights will take place once the other divisions are announced. Please post any comments regarding the matchups and tell your buddies!

In his first title fight, Ali upset the heavily favored Sonny Liston. Uploaded by img65.imageshack.us.

He could “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” He invented the “rope-a-dope” strategy. He became one of the best-known Americans around the globe. He was Cassius Clay. He was the Louisville Lip. He is The Greatest.

As a boxer, he’s among the best who ever slipped on the gloves. He won the gold medal in the 1960 Olympics, held the Heavyweight Title three times, and finished with a record of 56-5.

Uploaded by femalefirst.co.uk.

And because he mattered, boxing mattered. Hard to imagine now, but when Ali fought Joe Frazier in “The Fight of the Century,” George Foreman in “The Rumble in the Jungle,” and Frazier again in “The Thrilla in Manila,” the whole country stopped to watch.

Ali was, of course, controversial as well. Many white Americans were perplexed when he embraced the Nation of Islam and changed his name from Cassius Clay. He declared himself a conscientious objector because of his faith, and was convicted of draft evasion and sentenced to five years in prison. His conviction was overturned by the Supreme Court, not on its merits but on procedural grounds.

But over time, public affection for Ali continued to grow. The BBC named him the “Sports Personality of the Century.” And he was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2005 by President George W. Bush. He was a quote machine, and after reviewing them I believe this is my favorite: “If you even dream of beating me, you’d better wake up and apologize.”

Walter Iooss Jr. is to (US) sports photography what Usain Bolt is to track and field. Some of the best work of this celebrated Sports Illustrated photographer is now on display at the Newseum in Washington, D.C. Pictured below is a fine example of Walter’s work. Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier, two of my childhood heroes. A true definition of soul.

Cuando estaba escayolado echaba de menos mojarme con la lluvia. Me encanta salir a caminar sin paraguas bajo las tormentas y oler el ozono que arrastra el agua hasta caer sobre la superficie de la negra tierra. Mi escayola no debía empaparse, me habían dicho que si me descuidaba se reblandecería y tendría que ir a urgencias a cambiármela. Dios mío, aléjame de nuevo unos años de los hospitales y te prometo recuperar la fe. No vale la pena pasarse horas en urgencias más que si te estás muriendo, aunque si verdaderamente vas a palmar creo que lo mejor es no dilatar la espera demasiado. Los box de urgencias son callejones sin salida, cuando te encuentras preso en sus fauces es mejor tener tu ropa a mano por si te apetece escapar corriendo. Joe Frazier se rompió un brazo siendo un chaval, no se lo curó bien y le quedó torcido como una guadaña. Gracias a ello desarrolló un amorfo gancho de izquierdas demoledor. Mohamed Alí le venció en Manila en el 75, pero Joe, a pesar de la derrota, le molió a palos ardiendo de odio porque el deslenguado Casius le había  llamado “Tío Tom”. Tom decía en la novela de la Stowe antes de recibir el estacazo final de su amo: “le pido perdón señor Legree, pero yo sólo me arrodillo ante Dios”. El servilismo mueve el mundo. A mi tío le hicieron pedazos la mandíbula en una pelea callejera, al más puro estilo Chet Baker, y ahora no puede abrir la boca todo lo que quisiera para gritar. Le tiene un tremendo miedo a la muerte. Durante una temporada convivió con una prostituta en un burdel. Ahora habita en un piso cerrado a cal y canto para evitar las alergias, al más puro estilo Howard Hughes.

Tú me enseñaste la combinación perfecta de golpes aquel día en la calle. Tres ganchos rápidos de izquierda y luego un directo certero con la derecha a la nariz. Sigues siendo uno de mis héroes, aunque ya no me hables cuando nos cruzamos por al rúe a causa de algunas rencillas de barrio. Te rompí el labio sin querer al hacer la primera práctica con tus guantes de boxeo, pero no me mataste porque no quisiste ante aquella afrenta. No olvido aquellos días en que no podías frenar tu hiperactividad y yo te daba clases de matemáticas. Era una batalla perdida, debí darme cuenta de que era imposible que aprendieras a dividir por tres cifras de cabeza. Nos llevábamos apenas quince días, nacimos aquel verano en que el hombre se lanzó como una bala sobre la luna, pero uno de tus brazos tenía el diámetro de los dos míos, te salieron pelos en las piernas muy pronto y follaste mucho años antes que yo. Nos fuimos aquella primavera al monte a emborracharnos y tú nos contabas que querías trabajar conduciendo un trailer a toda hostia por la autopista e ir parando en todos los puticlubs que encontraras a tu paso. Nadie podía frenarte. Te envidiaba, yo no tenía la más puta idea de a qué quería dedicarme, lo mismo que ahora casi un cuarto de siglo después.

Me introduzco en las tripas grises del metro por la boca de la estación de Gran Vía. La luz de los fluorescentes deslumbra a la hora nocturna del penúltimo tren. Huele a humedad, aunque este verano no haya llovido nada, el campo está más seco que la pata de Perico, diría un castizo. En la pared cuelga un cartel en que el careto de un tipo repeinado aconseja: “Tú puedes ser donante de semen”. Siempre me siento en la última fila de asientos de cualquier estación de la línea 1,  para que cuando se abran las puertas del vagón mi túnel de salida se encuentre cerca. Al fondo del andén un panchito descansa sobre una de esas sillas de falsa madera con la cabeza entre las manos y aspecto de desmayarse. Me siento a su lado en gesto de solidaridad etílica y una chica indecisa recuesta sus posaderas junto a mí buscando la protección de mi aspecto de viejo adolescente. El túnel se extiende en penumbra hacia ninguna parte, oscuro. El punk sombrío se murió el día en que los músicos se lanzaban sobre el público desde el escenario y éste, masa infecta, los recogía sin dejarlos caer y romperse la crisma. Y los estúpidos teenagers acuden en masa al palacio de los deportes a escuchar la basura de Green Day. Las hijas de Zapatero se visten de gotico Emo para ir a echarse unas risas con su papi y con Obama. Las gentes de bien se escandalizan ante su aspecto desaliñado. Berlusconi se descojona y exclama “oh, mamma” cuando observa el escote palabra de honor de la primera dama negrona estadounidense. Le sujeto la puerta al tipo que detrás de mí sale de la estación. Me da las gracias. El cristal de la entrada al subterráneo está rajado, y al cajero automático que hay fuera algún karateka de ciudad le ha partido la pantalla de un certero golpe. La trama corrupta Gürtel se deja ver en los periódicos de los kioscos cerrados. Quiero leer “Manhattan Transfer”, Dos Passos se me resistió hace muchos años porque mi hermana se casó, cambió de casa y se llevó el libro cuando yo iba por la mitad. Ahora casi no recuerdo ni el argumento, como tantos otros, aunque lucho todos los días porque la compañera memoria no me abandone como el desodorante.

El ruido de mis cojos pasos me acompaña fiel por esta calle que trota descendiendo en una ligera pendiente. Desde sus alturas, en los días que el viento sopla fuerte limpiando la sucia atmósfera, se divisan las crestas nevadas de la sierra. En verano la boina de contaminación que flota sobre Madrid provoca colores rojos eléctricos durante las puestas de sol que se divisan sobre el Cerro de Los Locos, que era también el Cerro de las Balas, en aquellos días de frío y de hierro de mitad del siglo pasado. Me aburrí el domingo por la tarde en el cine viendo los descomunales surcos de la cara del trompetista yonqui Baker; “Let´s get lost” me  provocó bostezos, lo mismo que los bastardos de Tarantino o las tragicómicas lágrimas de cocodrilo de Ricardo Darín en el nuevo serial de Campanella. Últimamente todo me aburre, pero sueño que conduzco a toda velocidad junto a Melissa Leo sobre su “Frozen river”. Sobre el rostro de ella sí me ponen las arrugas y la fría temperatura, su desolación, aunque sólo me gusta el invierno, como decía Benedetti, cuando hace calor. Me apetece caminar sobre el río helado y no importa ya el miedo a que se resquebraje, tengo ganas de reptar a través del barro. Cada vez vivo con más altibajos la eterna jubilación anticipada. Ya no me importa quien me hable o quien deje de hablarme. Me escondo en lo más profundo del bosque los días que beso la lona y muerdo la tierra. Me voy a dormir, saludos mister Baker, saludos mister Frazier. Déjenme por un ratito su trompeta y su gancho, como si fueran un arma. Infalible el pensar deprisa para caer en el sueño. Me duermo, me duermo. Me duermo. Gracias por poder dormir.

gachas@excite.com

Twenty-five years ago, rival chess grandmasters Garry Kasparov and Anatoly Karpov squared off in Moscow for the world title. It turned into a titanic five-month struggle. For many observers, Karpov represented Soviet order while the Azerbaijan-born Kasparov was cast as a rebellious anti-establishment figure. After 48 games, the champion Karpov led 5-3 when the match was terminated with no clear winner. One year later Kasparov would take Karpov’s title and successfully defend it in 1986.
So why would the Sports Bloke bring this up now? Glad you asked. A quarter of a century on from a clash whose significance went way beyond individual competition, Karpov and Kasparov have reunited, like a rock band looking to revive past glories, for a 12-game duel in Valencia, Spain.
I was nine years old when Karpov and Kasparov first played in 1984. Thanks to my uncle, I liked to play a bit of chess. I can remember reports about the world title match and thinking it strange that this funny little sport could make global news headlines. I didn’t understand it at the time but it seemed there was more than just sporting reputations and a trophy on the line. Karpov and Kasparov’s rivalry had transcended sport and entered, to some degree, mainstream consciousness.
The political significance of Kasparov and Karpov’s clash catapulted it into the pantheon of sporting rivalries but not all such duels become memorable because of politics. Sometimes, as with Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier, individual animosity can be enough. In Britain, perceptions of social class can make an intense rivalry all the more fierce as middle distance runners Sebastian Coe and Steve Ovett can attest.
Though it is possibly the unlikeliest sporting duel to capture the mainstream’s imagination, Karpov vs Kasparov doesn’t make my list of the greatest individual (no teams) sporting rivalries of all time. Here, in Miss World-style reverse order, are my top five.
5. Borg vs McEnroe
The spectacular but short-lived duel between Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe illuminated world sport for three years. The players could not be more different. Borg: the phlegmatic, ice-cool baseliner. McEnroe: the volatile, brash server and volleyer. Borg and McEnroe’s rivalry was defined by their fourth set tie break in the 1980 Wimbledon final. McEnroe won it 18-16 but lost the match in the final set. A year later, Mac ended Borg’s streak of five successive Wimbledon titles, a pivotal victory which led to Borg’s premature retirement a few months later. Borg’s exit robbed the sporting world of a definitive conclusion to the duel while McEnroe later admitted he struggled to motivate himself to play his best tennis without the opportunity to test himself against his great foe.
4. Leonard vs Duran
Although they fought for the third and final time in 1989, the rivalry between Sugar Ray Leonard and Roberto Duran burned brightest for the six months in 1980 that spanned their first two fights. In their initial bout, dubbed “The Brawl in Montreal”, Leonard, bristling at his opponent’s pre-fight taunts, abandoned his slick boxing style to stand toe-to-toe with Panamanian known as “Hands of Stone”. His decision backfired as Duran edged a hard-fought victory on points. The inevitable re-match, which took place in the New Orleans Superdome, produced one of the oddest endings in boxing history. Leonard returned to his natural style and toyed with Duran, showboating to the crowd and doing all he could to humiliate him. During the eight round, Duran turned his back on Leonard, uttered the now-infamous words “no mas” and quit. Leonard was WBC Welterweight champion once again.
3. Coe vs Ovett
Like many great rivalries, the mutual antipathy between Sebastian Coe and Steve Ovett spurred both athletes to a string of record-breaking and medal-winning performances. The contrast between the pair was stark. Ovett, the rebellious, cocky man of the people who blew kisses to the crowd before he crossed the finish line. Coe, the diminutive, privileged University graduate who would go on to be a Conservative MP and peer. What the two athletes shared was an unquenchable hunger to be the best. Fellow athletes would stand in awe watching their training regimes.
Their duel at the 1980 Moscow Olympics gripped a global audience. Coe, favourite for the 800 metres, was beaten in his preferred event by a surging Ovett. Written off by critics, Coe then bounced back to win the 1,500 metres, ending Ovett’s 45-race winning streak over that distance. Four years later in Los Angeles, Coe defied the critics again by becoming the first man to successfully defend an Olympic 1,500 metre title.
2. Bird vs Magic
An individual duel that revitalised a team sport. The basketball careers of Larry Bird and Magic Johnson were inexorably linked from the time the pair met in the 1979 NCAA tournament final. Magic’s Michigan Spartans downed Bird’s Indiana State Sycamores to become college basketball’s national championship. Five years later, Bird’s Boston Celtics met Magic’s Los Angeles Lakers in the NBA finals and this time the whole world was watching. Their rivalry was irresistible. Bird was all blue-collar hustle and clutch shooting, the epitome of a dogged Boston team. Magic, with his speed, vision and exuberance, was the very essence of Showtime Lakers basketball. As individuals, they couldn’t have been more different. Magic was gregarious and his million dollar smile charmed reporters while Bird’s homespun shyness with the media gave him an air of mystery or, depending on your perspective, truculence. After being blown out in two of the opening games of the series, the Celtics rallied and finally prevailed 4-3. The pair would meet again in the 1985 and 1987 finals with Magic’s Lakers winning both series.
Like many sporting rivalries, Magic and Bird gained respect for each other’s skills in the heat of battle. Unlike many duels, they also became firm friends, bonded by an appreciation of how basketball should be played. When Larry Legend retired from basketball in 1993, Magic travelled to Boston to host his friend’s jersey retirement ceremony.
1. Ali vs Frazier
The seeds of the unbridled animosity between Joe Frazier and Muhammad Ali were sown in the late 1960s during Ali’s exile from boxing for refusing to be drafted into the United States Army. Smokin’ Joe was world heavyweight champion while Ali was struggling to make ends meet. Frazier helped Ali financially and showed genuine concern over the former champion’s plight. Everything changed when Ali was re-instating as a fighter. Knowing his biggest payday would be a title showdown with Frazier, Ali began his usual routine of ridiculing his target. He dubbed Frazier “the gorilla” and accused him of “working for the enemy”, meaning the white establishment. By the time of the fight, your choice of victor said as much about where you stood socially, racially and politically. Frazier won the “fight of the century” on a points decision. He gained an even greater measure of revenge by felling Ali with his trademark left hook.
The rivalry would burn for four more years. Ali scored a points win over Frazier in a world title eliminator to earn a shot at George Foreman. After winning the title back at 32, Ali defended it against Frazier in the “Thrilla in Manila”. The fight was so intense that Ali later described it as “like being in the waiting room for death”. At the end of the 14th round, Ali was ready to quit on his stool when Frazier’s cornermen threw in the towel. Thomas Hauser memorably described the Ali Frazier trilogy as “the world championship of each other”, with both men so stubbornly refusing to lose to the other that they were willing to die.

man plans, god laughs. that is quite a common adage. i had it planned perfectly. i had tickets to a yankees – angels game back in may and it was rained out, because $1.6 billion dollars will not buy you a roof over your head. this, along with the now infamous “wind tunnel” to right field field are the seemingly the only shortcomings to the new yankee stadium. now that the home run count (221 as of this writing) has exceeded the old yankee stadium total (with about 10 or so home games left on the regular season schedule), the wind tunnel will probably be extensively investigated during the off season. the game was rescheduled to monday, the 14th of september, so i got the tickets for the make-up game.

i know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows another guy who finally, after all these years, was able to get us tickets for the u.s. open men’s finals.  we had tried many times without success in the past, and had resigned ourselves to watching it on tv.  american express concierge service was as ineffective as the mets offense this year.  but, out of the blue, this guy came through.  we were finally going to the men’s championship round.  the timing was perfect.  the finals were scheduled for sunday the 13th, and the way the u. s. open had been going, it looked like a dream matchup….federer versus nadal.  these 2 had battled before and there was always an air of excitement  that somehow transcended their medium.  it was always like yankees-redsox, ali-frazier,and of course a little closer to home, sampras-agassi. as the matches prgressed through the first several rounds and the quarter finals, the stars were lining up perfectly.  then, without warning,  the stars became obscured by clouds……and rain…..and wind. we kept our eyes towards the skies on both friday and saturday as the players valiently tried to continue, but despite all their efforts, the final looked like it was going to be postponed until monday.  then, during the semi-finals, the unthinkable happened.  nadal lost to the # 6 ranked player.  a big, 20 year old argentinian named juan martin del potro.  it turns out that nadal had a partial tear of one of his oblique muscles, which caused him pain and restricted his movement.  neither of us had ever heard of del potro, but there he was in the final.   federer  beat djokovic to take his rightful place in the finals, but by this time, i had put my yankees tickets up on ebay, because even $1.6 billion dollars won’t buy you a clone, either.  the tickets were swooped up in a matter of hours, and in my ebay sale, i stated that i would email the tickets to the winning bidder.  unfortunately, as these were tickets to a make-up game, i could not email them.  ana had to schlepp to the winner’s home in staten island to deliver the tickets by hand.  this would , of course not have been that big a deal, but monday was the day that president obama decided to visit our fair city and that screwed up the traffic on the belt parkway.  ana still managed to get to staten island and back in time to see the williams sisters trounce their “opponents” in the women’s doubles finals.  each time serena wlliams would serve, people in the crowd yelled “foot fault”, in reference to her now-infamous meltdown during the women’s singles semifinals the previous day.

i worked half a day, then took the subway to willets point.  i figured that because the match was scheduled for monday, the crowds would be sparse.  boy, was i wrong! of course, the fact that it was 80 degrees without a cloud in the sky might have had something to do with it, but i was totally unprepared for the mob of people on the #7 train.  it looked like opening day at citi field.  opening day this year presented an omen that the mets should have paid attention to.  the very first batter to hit at citi field, the san diego padres’ leadoff hitter, jody gerut, knocked one of mike pelfrey’s pitches over the right field fence for an instant (and lasting) season long funk.

as the mob of people inched towards the gate, an interesting feeling settled on the crowd.  when you don’t have a vested interest in the outcome of a game or match, it is much easier to enjoy it.  when i watch a game between the yankees and redsox, (against my cardiologists strict orders, i might point out), every at bat is like a heart attack waiting to happen.  there is always so much riding on each game, each payer, each pitch!  last year, the all star game was held at the final year of the old yankees stadium.  the was a huge sense of drama as the best in both leagues prepared to do battle.   but there was something missing….the tension.  was that david ortiz and manny ramirez talking to, and joking around with derek jeter and mariano rivera?  it couldn’t be….and yet it was.  at the all star game, there was all the excitement of the world series, but none of the drama.  i have been lucky enough to have seen an all star game in both yankee stadium and, in 1964, its innaugural year, shea stadium as well.  i was too young then to appreciate what i felt now, but even my son, philip, who accompanied me said that it was exciting, but not interesting.

this same feeling was paplable in the throng as we entered the billy jean king tennis center at willets point. there was no tension because neither of the contestants was an american.  the matchup earlier this summer at wimbleton would have been a different story, as  andy roddick played federer, but here in arthur ashe stadium, there was no “home town favorite”. federer had faced del potro 6 times in the past and had beaten him each time.  of course, the journalists and pundits (i didn’t even know tennis had pundits) all pointed out that del potro took federer to 5 sets in the french open semi finals this year.  federer, it was pointed out, was the player with the most wins during the open era, and with his win at roland garros, he completed his career grand slam last year.  maybe, it was hinted, he didn’t have anything left to play for, maybe he was losing his fire, his edge?  we saw him at an earlier match, and it looked like he was just coasting. he defeated whoever he was playing seemingly without breaking a sweat.  as soon as he broke his opponents serve in the first set, he went in for the kill, and then won the match in straight sets. if you saw the penultimate point of his semi final match against djokovic, you saw someone at ease with being the undisputed number 1 player in the world.  but does success breed complacency? were the sports writers just trying to drum up excitement where there wasn’t any, or was this night going to be something special?

i  remember the fight between mike tyson and buster douglas almost 2 decades ago.  at the time, mike tyson was the undisputed heavyweight champion of the boxing world.  he not only beat his opponents, he scared them.  they all saw what he did to michael spinks in91 nseconds of the first round with one punch.  spinks never fought again.  i saw that fight as well.  when spinks got hit, his eyes rolled up in his head as he fell, like something out of one of the “rocky” movies.   i didn’t know real boxers could hit that hard.  we thought that spinks might not ever regain conciousness.  i’m sure tyson’s opponents saw it too, and feared that the same fate might wait for them as well.  buster douglas, however, described as a “journeyman” (usually meaning mediocre, at best), despite tyson’s power and reputation, knocked tyson out in the 10th round and became the champ, if only for a short while.  before that fight, i remember reading somewhere that a boxing analyst predicted that whoever is going to come along and beat tyson probably hasn’t even been born yet.  remember that tyson was only 21 years old at the time. was it possible that something like that upset could happeen here? tonite?

by the time the first set was over, i was starting to get upset.  it took federer only 38 minutes to defeat del potro by a score of 6-3. ” i could have seen this and had enough time to get to the yankee game on time”, i complained.  ana, in her infinite wisdom, leaned over to me and whispered “shut up and watch the tennis”.  federer looked every bit the champ during that first set.  but del potro returned from having his first service broken and won the second set in a tie break.  federer came roaring back to take the third and was ahead in the fourth when del potro broke his serve and the ensuing tie break as well.  as the final set began, i had forgotten all about the yankees and angels because this looked like it might be one for the books.  federer had won here 5 times in the last 5 years and was going for a record 6th win in  a row.  by that 5th set,  del potro’s forehand had become devastating and federer was  sweating plenty by then. del potro broke federer twice in the final set to win the final set 6-2 and the championship to a standing ovation.  history had been made, but not a record breaking 6th win, an amazing first!

As though it were the first day of school

Before I move forward, let me look back once more.  When the day you’ve waited on for nearly a year has arrived, you get prepared.  Leaving so early in the morning, I wanted to make sure I had EVERYTHING.  Putting my race day outfit on before the race was out of the question though, I viewed it as something sacred.  Naturally, I laid everything down on the floor of my room with the only missing piece being me.  In the picture: Nike Headband, Sugoi Sleeveless Performance Tee, Headphones, Wristwatch, temporary tattoo with mile splits for a 4:15 race, 3 GUs of assorted flavors, RaceReady shorts, with race # already pinned (#6073 with the name “Charisma Kid”), Asics Running Socks, Asics GT-2120s.

The start of something amazing

The man ahead is holding a "4:15" sign, sadly he would pass me around Mile 22

I ended up downtown early.  WAY early.  I sat in my car and rested for a bit, until I couldn’t take it anymore.  I watched random Kenyans warm up and marveled at their stride.  Waited in the line for the port-a-johns and passed the time.

I found my assigned corral (when signing up for the race, they ask you what time you expect to finish in and assign you accordingly, I believe I picked 4:30) and waited.  A lot of people had friends, but I was rollin’ solo dolo.  It got to be close to race time, and soon we were addressed by (now former) mayor Kwame Kilpatrick.  World record holder Haile Gebrselassie also addressed the crowd, though he didn’t run in the race.  To my recollection, they played the American and Canadian national anthems, which gave me chills.  Finally, the horn sounded, and we were off.  Well, sort of.  There was about two minutes of ambling to the timing mats and then we really took off.

Rival

This is my friend, Johnny.  We went to high school and college together, he played Varsity soccer in college and went on to play @ MSU.  He was one of the first people I told about my intentions to run a marathon, and upon hearing me, he didn’t take me seriously (and rightly so).  At the time, I was roughly 30 pounds over what would be my race day weight, and I’d only run one race ever, a 5K that I finished in 34 minutes.  In my mind, I was always sure that I was going to make it, but having somebody doubt me made me stop talking about it and concentrate fully on putting work in.

About a month and a half before the race, Johnny decided to enter.  He told me about his lax training (his longest run was 1 15-miler), but how he still felt confident that his soccer fitness would carry over.  I was wary of him, but had to let him do his thing.  This pic is early in the race, though we didn’t start in the same corral.  We both pulled off into some bushes to piss, and the sudden stop and restart made me lightheaded.  Johnny pulled away, but I kept him in eyesight while I recovered.  By the time we got to the Ambassador Bridge, I was fully back, and passed him, and didn’t see him again until the end of the race.

Recently, I visited the Muhammad Ali Museum in Louisville, KY.  It’s a great place if you ever get a chance to visit.  One of my favorite quotes was on the wall, and I paraphrase, it was something to the effect of, “I run hard miles in the morning, it’s the closest thing to death I’ve ever felt.  But whenever I feel like quitting, stopping, I think about Joe Frazier coming up behind me and I run even harder”.  That’s what it was for me once I hit the wall.  I got to a point where I wanted to quit, and at points would find myself reduced to a walk, but I would always put the pain out of my mind thinking that Johnny would run right past me.  He didn’t catch me.  Even though he doesn’t know it, I thank him for providing that extra incentive for me, during training and during the race.

Smooth Jazz Sunrise

The early miles had a band roughly every mile or so, this was one of the few pictures that had light good enough to make it worthy of posting.  8 AM in Detroit in October is DARK.

Sunrise over the D

It was a beautiful day

The sun began to come up as I reached the Ambassador Bridge.  It was a gorgeous sunrise.  I’m not much of a morning runner now, but episodes like that give me the motivation to give it a go.  The bridge itself was somewhat tough early, a gradual incline that took some getting used to.  But once I crossed the midway point, and it was downhill into Canada, I felt great.  It just finally sunk in that, “DAMN.  I’m really doin’ the damn thing”.  It was clear at this point it was going to be a great day, temperature-wise, and I started thinking ambitiously about cracking the 4:00 barrier.  In retrospect, I burned myself too hard in Canada, leaving a few minutes on the table by the end of the race.

Back to America

Going so fast, I didn’t take any pictures from Canada, which is a shame, because it was a great view of the Detroit skyline.  After not too long, we ended up heading through the tunnel leading back through the US.  Here especially I turned it up.  The tunnel is obviously cleared of cars, and with so many people crammed close to you, all running, everybody lets out random whoops and hollers to hear themselves.  There are timing mats at each end of the tunnel giving each runner a time for their “underwater mile”.  It served to be proof I was going too hard, as my underwater mile of 8:22 was well off the pace I finished at – 10:08.

(Joe Louis Arena, The Renaissance Center, and the view from Belle Isle, respectively)

I still felt good as we got back into Detroit, but the temperature started rising, and all race I’d gotten away from my “walk every other water station” plan.  Around mile 16, somebody shot me in the back of the leg.  Ok, not really.  But a cramp of sorts did strike in my calves, enough that it caused me to take an awkward stride and almost fall.  It’s kind of like when all of a sudden your car starts making a weird noise, you just think, “Hmm… that’s not good”.  I took two GUs, but it only added a queasy stomach to my list of problems.  This was when I became very bitter at the world, and even cursed bringing a camera along for my run, just adding extra weight to me.

Running the back half of Belle Isle, I sensed the runner next to me staring me down.  I turned to meet the eyes of a large, shirtless man.  I had a split-second of surprise before realizing it was my boss from work.  We small talked about the race, I told him about my cramping problem.  He was a seasoned marathoner, and recently added “Succeed! S Caps” to his race day routine.  He had an extra pill and I gladly took it.  Not having anything to wash it down, I had put the pill in the corner of my mouth and crushed it with my teeth.  My mouth flooded with a salty taste.  (That’s what he’s said).  The pill didn’t have an immediate effect and I had to stop to stretch my calves on a curb.

The last 7 miles or so of the race was punctuated by periods of running, pain, walking, bargaining with myself, then starting again.  When the 4:15 pacer passed me, I got to the point of, “Ok, ok.  Just finish”.

Angry that somebody really old is passing me

When I got to the sign that said “26″, everything dropped.  All the pain, everything.  With the finish line in sight, I broke into a sprint.  I didn’t even bother looking at the time on the clock above the finish, but my watch read “4:25″.  Someone put one of those silver blankets around me, and I bent over so a little kid could put a medal around my neck.  I’d done it.

Not quite ready to hop in the post-race treats line, I took a seat along a fence, and absorbed the moment.  I’d done it.  Tears began to form, but I held them off as I was recognized by a friend who’d run in a relay.  He congratulated me on my progress, and soon after I found my best friend.  Aaron was my only friend to come out to my race, even my family didn’t attend.  I vowed to be at the finish line of his first marathon.

Passing aforementioned old man near the finish

I stretched and took the last pictures on my digital camera, and Johnny crossed the finish line north of five hours.  The three of us got Coney Dogs as a postrace meal.  Likely not the best nutrition, but delicious, and appropriate for a Detroit marathon.

Obligatory Rock-Star Posing w/ Gigantic Medal

Yup.

Join me as I take a walk through the pages of Matthew, Mark, Luke, & John, (aka the “Gospels”) in a Chronological Order and try to grow closer to, and learn more about Jesus.  Feel free to go back and read the INTRO ABOUT THIS SERIES to understand where all this came from for me.

Not sure how many of you remember the “train wreck” of a reality show called Temptation Island – but I guess it was merely a grade B “spinoff” of a show that took place a couple thousand years ago.  We find this story told in 3 of the Gospel accounts. Matthew 4:1-11, Luke 4:1-13, and a short clip in Mark 1:12-13.

You might notice some slight variation in the way the stories are relayed in these books but the basic premis is the exact same.  Mark has a tendency to just be EXTREMELY brief and leave out a lot of details.  I sort of liken it to stories sometimes told differently be adults and children.  An adult might say “we went to Disney World and had a great time” – the kid will say “we went to Disney, and saw Mickey & Minnie, and we rode the tram, we saw a movie, we ate hot dogs and ice cream, we watched the parade, then we saw fireworks” etc  and so on.

So we will look more closely at the Luke & Matthew passage.  This episode also takes place right after our earlier look @ Jesus’ Beautiful Baptism!

Jesus left from His baptism there in the Jordan river and headed off into the desert.  It was here that He would battle against satan.  It was during a time of Fasting & Prayer for 40 days with no food that satan came to tempt Jesus.

First up satan hit Jesus with a temptation to provide for His physical hunger – but Jesus answered with scripture – Deuteronomy 8:3 to be exact (you can hear the Batman “KA-POW” right after Jesus speaks these words if you listen really close!)

So another temptation came from satan in the form of trying to get Jesus to fall down and worship satan – the promise was all that Jesus could see from the high vantage point would become His.  Pretty interesting since Jesus is a part of God and they created all of this – so I would pretty much think it is His anyway??  But instead of trying to get “logical” with satan – Jesus once again replies with scripture – Deuteronomy 6:13 to be exact (and again – the subtle tones of Batman’s “BIFF – POW” are heard echoing in the distance!)

This time around satan thinks he has it all figured out.  He takes Jesus to the highest point of the Temple – and dares Jesus to jump off.  Then satan breaks bad and drops a lil scripture knowledge of his own – Psalm 91:11-12 to be exact.

Nah just kidding – let’s finish this – RIGHT NOW!  You can hear the music building in background – Jesus steps up and gives the final smack-down to satan.  He fires back with another well time passage from scripture - Deuteronomy 6:16 (and once again we hear the “BIFF-BAM-POW-SMACK” and just like Howard Cosell calling “Down Goes Frazier” - we hear the ringside call of “down goes the devil – down goes the devil” and Jesus stands victorious!)

Man what an exciting adventure – but I don’t want you to miss one last ominous phrase at the end of this passage - ¹³When the devil had finished all this tempting, he left him until an opportune time. The devil may have dipped out but he was not finished and would continue to search for an “opportune time” to return and battle Jesus again.  This phrase seems to be begging to set the stage for another much more monumental showdown in the not so distant future.

So what should I learn from this heated episode of “Temptation Desert”?

I think first and foremost that scripture will be one of the most powerful tools I can have against temptation.  (In fact I might need to check out Deuteronomy a lil more often!)

Also that satan is crafty and will use ANYTHING & EVERYTHING at his disposal – including knowing scripture on his own – although it will be twisted.  That he is also keenly aware of our spiritual highs & lows and will seek those “opportune” times to attack.

I can take solace in the fact that Jesus faced the same temptations that we will and HE HAS OVERCOME and can give me the power to do the same!