(Photo by Al Bello/Getty Images)
In this photo are two great friends. I've never met them, but I love them.
It's hard to tell by the kind and caring re-assurance on the face of the corner man; yet these two great friends once fought in one of the most courageous and bloody boxing trilogies of all time.
This amazing friendship between the two was born out of a mutual respect for each other.
It's the sort of respect that can only come from two wounded soldiers, who at one period of their lives competed against each other in three hard fought battles.
The three battles which were fought deep in boxing's bloody trenches are recorded for history, the final result a testament to the human will, and a trilogy rated among boxing's finest ever.
The corner-man—a Lowell, Mass. native, and descendant of a proud Celtic heritage of ancient warriors—is one of the toughest boxers to ever lace up gloves.
The other man: born in Calabria, Italy, and raised in Montreal, ironically (not unlike Boston) also has some proud Irish neighborhoods such as Griffintown, Goose Village and Pointe-Saint-Charles.
Our man was just an ordinary boxer from Canada, with extraordinary toughness, heart and courage.
This ordinary boxer went off in search of an illusive and extraordinarily American dream and he found it.
He became a world champion with an unusual, yet unconditional abundance of love, admiration, and acceptance in Atlantic City, in the state New jersey.
The other men in our story are also recently deceased fighters who have equally great stories, and who also were equally great men in and out of the ring.
Whether the ending came by way of their own hands, or the hands of others, is of no importance, and certainly not for us to decide.
Our only concern should be that an elite trio of the sporting world's finest athletes, world champions in fact, are gone forever.
The reason I'm singling these three fighters out is to call attention to a fact that has gone unrecognized by the rest of the world.
Their names, or their sports, are also not important; it could have been three famous baseball players.
Would that give sports journalists a reason to proclaim the death of baseball?
If, because Babe Ruth and Willie Mays suddenly died tragically, would that further mean that baseball should suddenly—or necessarily—be on the decline?
I read one again this morning that turned my stomach.
The so-called scribe, a supporter of MMA, claimed that in the last 25 days three great boxers have died tragically—however the general consensus was, "who cares," after all, it's only boxing.
The scribe went on to say:
Three former boxing champions are dead. Did anyone notice? For so much of the audience, the sport is now lost in the shadows, and far off their radar screen. Forgotten or ignored by the masses, it has been tossed onto the pile of the no-longer relevant, going the way of the phonograph record. We'll know how far it has dropped, if even blood can't draw a crowd.
To borrow a line from a famous movie, I'll simply say, "that dog don't hunt."
We boxing writers know the truth, our sport isn't dead, there are some great events scheduled for the next three months. I don't have to name them, that's not my point here.
My point is that we boxing scribes are also well aware of a growing trend: the tendency in the last month for certain self-proclaimed "experts" to link the unfortunate demise of our great athletes, together with a headline that declares boxing as a dying sport.
So let's not use the tragic deaths of three of our greatest sporting warriors as a reason to man the keyboards to troll in search of a new and greater audience, who would undoubtedly be glad to jump aboard the first bandwagon that is heading to the nearest boxing grave yard.
Boxing isn't dead, but the eulogies keep appearing, in the form of unsubstantiated yet overwhelming opinions of the so-called "experts."
Certainly, it has its highs and lows, not unlike any other sport; however, it's the real thing, what you see is what you get.
My sport is the sweet science, it's made from the finest sugar cane, and unlike other reasonable fighting facsimiles, it contains no artificial flavors or preservatives.
For example, recently, a popular artificially sweetened main event ended with the heavyweight winner approaching his defeated opponent and boldly taunting him.
In this writer's opinion, this unacceptable behavior by the crossover-drama-queen-from the-professional-wrestling-world was equivalent to rubbing the man's nose in his own blood.
It was a blatant example of what the sport represents, and was one of the worst demonstrations of unsportsmanlike conduct I've ever witnessed.
A much better example of how it is supposed to end was when the final bell signaled a finality to the great boxing trilogy between the two men in the above photo.
The two warriors embraced, and joined like "Brothers in Arms," and from that day forward they fought onward as a team, the corner man's only desire was to help with the remainder his friend's great career.
I can only imagine the pain, sadness, and grief he must be experiencing today, over the recent loss.
The sport, which brought these two great fighters together, may truly be against the ropes, it may even need a standing eight-count, but believe me when I tell you this, its far from knocked out.
Boxing has survived for the past 150 years with the same heart, courage, and endurance of it's magnificent athletes, so don't count it out yet!
When you come to my fights and I’m under the lights
And you see that my footwork is false
Don’t count me out, at the start of the bout
I’m just doing the secondary waltz
Doing the secondary waltz! ~
-Mark Knopfler
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