In boxing, the last loss is usually the saddest one of all. But Bernard Hopkins, who was shut out by Sergey Kovalev last weekend in Atlantic City, is almost certainly not ready to hang his gloves up yet. Wishy-washy proclamations of retirement are as common in boxing as mismatches are and Hopkins, who loves attention as much as he loves money and competition, will probably be 50 the next time he steps into the ring. Barring one last miracle between the ropes, Hopkins has accomplished all he ever will in his career. Only one thing remains: being humiliated in the ring, the same pitiful way most legends have ended their sagas. From Benny Leonard to Joe Louis to Muhammad Ali to Sugar Ray Leonard: nearly every great eventually overmatched, bloodied, saved by the referee or embarrassed from wire to wire by lesser talents.
However, even against Kovalev, Hopkins retained a certain amount of grace. This was not Muhammad Ali waiting for a cowbell to end his ignominy against Trevor Berbick in Jamaica nor was it Roy Jones Jr. knocked kicking repeatedly over the last decade. Yes, Hopkins lost every round but his extraordinary ring savvy ? combined with his micro-calibrated technique ? allowed him to avoid the fate that had crashed down on 85 percent of the pros who had previously ducked through the ropes against Kovalev: a violent knockout defeat.
Now that Hopkins? career is all but over, we can make a few judgments about it, especially his Over-40 accomplishments. His light heavyweight run was not nearly as interesting as his HTML flacks insist, although it is surely heresy to say so. His outings against Chad Dawson, Roy Jones, Karo Murat and Beibut Shumenov should have taken place in a vomitorium. They were ghastly imitations of prize fights. Some of his other notable victories begged for asterisks ? even if starry-eyed bloggers were unwilling to hand them out. Kelly Pavlik was 10 pounds above his best weight when Hopkins slapped him silly; ditto for Winky Wright, who won his first world title at 154 pounds.
And his losses? Those came against the most talented pros he faced in his post-middleweight stage: Joe Calzaghe, Dawson, Kovalev. In the end, that leaves a trio of signature wins over Antonio Tarver, Jean Pascal, and Tavoris Cloud, an impressive record, no doubt, but not one worth burying analytical thought over. Comparing Hopkins to Archie Moore, for example, has always been absurd because Moore had amassed nearly 200 fights by the time he turned 40. In addition, Moore spent his early days swapping punches in smoke-filled arenas against Eddie Booker, Charley Burley, Holman Williams, Lloyd Marshall, Jimmy Bivins and Ezzard Charles. Contrast that with Hopkins, whose build-up from contender to titlist included the immortal likes of Wayne Powell, Roy Ritchie, Melvin Wynn and Gilbert Baptist.
Nothing, certainly not common sense, is going to put an end to the carny barker routine regarding Hopkins and history. Given just how different boxing is today from what it was in the ?20s, ?30s, ?40s and ?50s, however, you would think more people would put aside their emojis for a while (nor does it seem possible to mention his radioactive personality without the Peanut Gallery bristling. Hopkins was often a chore to watch in the ring ? low blows, armlocks, clinches, noogies and the occasional pratfall ? but he was worse than that during interviews, press conferences and weigh-ins).
Still, what Hopkins accomplished is amazing ? even if his late achievements were overstated ? because all prizefighters eventually generate their own auto-destruction. If the physical toll taken on them by the fights themselves fails to accomplish disintegration, then what it takes to be a world-class professional will do it. As a prizefighter builds himself up through rigorous training ? an inhuman physical regimen ? he also paradoxically tears himself down. What Hopkins has achieved, more than any fighter of his era, is a mastery of discipline that is nothing short of astonishing. For Hopkins, remaining near the top of his game for so long reveals a dedication that borders on pathological. In a sport in which pain is everything, Hopkins yielded nothing to it for nearly 30 years. The monastic existence most fighters go through before a fight would have broken average and above-average fighters in five or 10 years. But not Hopkins. He endured it, the way a Penitente endures a procession. Ultimately, Hopkins is the personification of mind over matter and if he fights again, which seems likely, he will have to focus harder than ever to avoid the tragic coda of boxing.
