Shameful faker. Outright malingerer. Keeping the “con” in ex-convict. And those are the nice things people are saying about Bernard Hopkins, the boxing Methusaleh who was not even fitted for goat horns–they were placed upon his furrowed brow and above his dislocated left shoulder in the immediate wake of Saturday night’s debacle against Chadwick Dawson at the Staples Center. (Geez, how can it be the Staples Center, named after the office product chain, didn’t have someone with a stapler to rehinge Bernie’s separated shoulder?) Look, I’m not saying that Hopshoulder, er I mean Hoponyourback….I mean Hopkins doesn’t deserve much of the opprobium he’s receiving after this farcial PPV TV pain event of the evening. But, pray tell, why the party of the second part, Mr. Dawson, is getting a free pass and continues to hold the shiny, green and gold WBC 175 pound belt? Dawson, who seem more concerned with “exposing” a nearly 50 year old man as a faux “gangsta” than how the public got cheated, is just as guilty as Ole Popkins, a less than affectionate nickname that I think originated with Joe Calzaghe, is for this mess. It didn’t exactly bring back fond light heavyweight memories of Bullet Bob Foster, Michael Spinks or Billy Conn. I’m talking about how Dawson copped Don Jose Sulaiman’s trinket. Perhaps, and I am totally serious, boxing needs a no body slam rule with the threat of DQ or at least a two point penalty for the slammer going forward. You make like Hulk Hogan twice, you get disqualfied. Even though Hopkins was making his lucha libra moves and seemed to want to ride the 29 year old’s back as though he was a merry go round pony, what rigbt did that give Dawson to tackle him?
