Much as we admired Alexis Arguello, we considered Arturo Gatti a friend. That’s how to characterize the reaction their recent deaths have garnered. Arguello was a master craftsman who did the gentlemanly thing in letting us admire him. But Gatti eschewed common sense in our behalf. He sacrificed himself for us on a personal level.
Gatti’s fights helped get many boxing fans hooked on the sport. (Getty Images)
That is Gatti’s legacy. And Gatti understood legacy. Had to. You couldn’t have done what he did for just a paycheck. Something inside Gatti told him what other fighters never realize: The way to ensure a legacy is to fight like you’ll never be around to enjoy it.
Sadly, Gatti won’t be. New details emerge hourly from Sao Paulo, but here’s what we know right now: Arturo Gatti was discovered dead on Saturday morning in the Brazilian resort community of Porto de Galihnas. There is evidence of murder, likely through strangulation with a purse strap. Gatti’s 23-year-old Brazilian wife, Amanda Rodrigues, has been detained by police.
In the days and years to come, folks who were ringside for Gatti’s most memorable events will write and say their piece. I’m not as qualified as they are. But here’s what I’ve observed about the effect Gatti had on others.
If you asked East Coast boxing people between the ages of 25 and 40 to name the fighter most responsible for their often-unrequited dedication to the sport, Gatti’s name would turn up most of all. A conversation would go something like this: “Tyson? Oh yeah, I was really into Tyson. But until I saw Arturo Gatti fight, I didn’t know being around boxing was what I wanted to do with my life.”
More club fights were covered from Boston to Miami in the hopes of an Atlantic City media credential to see Gatti than for any other reason. And more fans of the same generation can trace their love of boxing back to “Thunder” Gatti’s first fight with “Irish” Mickey Ward than to any other match.
We’ll end with Gatti, don’t worry. But first, writing of Mike Tyson, the fighter who currently bears the most similarities to him, Armenian Vic “Raging Bull” Darchinyan, was in action Saturday night. A former flyweight and current super flyweight titlist, Darchinyan attempted to move three pounds up the scale to bantamweight and take Ghanaian Joseph “King Kong” Agbeko’s IBF belt. Darchinyan’s campaign did not go as planned.
Fighting on Showtime, before a small BankAtlantic Center crowd in Sunrise, Fla., Darchinyan failed to capture a third weight class’s title, losing a unanimous decision to Agbeko by scores of 116-111, 114-113 and 114-113. My scorecard concurred: 115-113. I had rounds 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 and 11 for Agbeko. Rounds 1, 5, 9 and 12 went to Darchinyan. And I scored rounds 2 and 7 even.
Three pounds is not a lot of weight. But when a fighter treats it as a multiple — “I can add 10 percent to my Friday weight by Saturday night” — it can take a disproportionate effect. Darchinyan was too heavy. He spent the opening stanzas with too much weight on his front foot. And when he charged, his balance was more compromised than usual.
Darchinyan’s offensive attack has never been a model of efficiency. When comfortable, he can rely on counterpunching to soften an opponent up. The rest of the time, though, he relies on cocking his left hand and taking a hop, skip and jump from his southpaw stance. Then he drives his left fist at an opponent and expects to cow him.
Agbeko wouldn’t be cowed. The larger man, naturally, Agbeko saw the too-heavy Darchinyan’s charges before the Armenian knew he was going to make them. When he was able to get his running start, Darchinyan often found Agbeko nowhere near the spot he expected him. That led Darchinyan to cross his feet over and swim at Agbeko — a tactic that wouldn’t have worked in most local gyms, let alone a world title bout.
And that only happened when Darchinyan got to take a running start. Most of the time Agbeko thwarted Darchinyan’s offense with right-hand leads. Was there much power on those punches? Not relatively speaking. But they were still punches thrown by the largest opponent Darchinyan has faced.
There’s one other thing about right-hand leads. They are the international maritime symbol for “This guy’s a helluva lot slower than me!”
Yes, Darchinyan was.
In the later rounds he tried to make adjustments and steal points with ineffective aggressiveness at the 2:50 mark. He even got a gift knockdown ruling in the seventh — causing Agbeko’s promoter Don King to accuse Tommy Kimmons of the “worst refereeing I’ve ever seen!”
But it was no use. The bully got bullied. Darchinyan got beat up. Whether by gloves, shoulders, elbows or Agbeko’s head, Darchinyan suffered deep cuts over both eyes and a stream of blood from his nose. Agbeko was comparatively unmarked. At the final bell Darchinyan walked to his corner like a first grader sent to the principal’s office.
Fact is, there’s something easy to cheer against about Darchinyan. Since he whupped Cristian Mijares eight months ago, I’ve tried-out cheering for him — to see if I like it. I just don’t.
Which brings us back to Arturo Gatti. Is there any fan who’s held the above sentiment for Gatti? I can’t imagine it. Gatti had none of the bully in him. He almost had a reluctance about him: This is going to hurt, I know, but I’ll do it for you guys.
Let’s end with an anecdote. Years ago, I brought a DVD of Gatti-Ward I to a friend’s house. My buddy was a Tyson fan but not a boxing fan (you know the type). At the end of the eighth round, he leaped off his sofa and approvingly shouted, “This is like a horror film!”
Don’t think I could say it any better. Rest in peace, Thunder.
