The sun burns like an African brush fire. Sweat can hardly douse the blaze. I don?t know how long I?ve been hunting, all morning it seems. Heat radiates from my bush hat. Danger lurks everywhere, everyone wanting to suck my blood, leave me helpless on the ground like so many others I have passed with clothes torn, empty bottles clutched in their hands, vacuous eyes clouded with despair and hopelessness. This jungle will eat you alive. Others hunters pursue easy prey, rare creatures, to be sure, but the ones, at certain times of the year, that come out and are readily captured, as if they are unable to hide, cannot hide, in fact. I am after big game, the kind of animal that remains elusive, not by choice, for he craves recognition, but for lack of notoriety, a creature so enthusiastic to make a big noise that he can?t be heard. He becomes background music, not a hit. I am hunting undercard fighters, in this case, undefeated snoozerweights Ali Eren Demirezen (11-0, 10 KOs) and Efe Ajagba (10-0, 9 KOs).
I slip into the shade of the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, watering hole and fight capital of the U.S. People from the Grand walk over the derelicts on the streets, gambling flotsam washed into bits of shade along with the dreams they no longer remember. Vegas is a city of contrasts, equal amounts of glitz and poverty, hope and despair, equal in diamonds and rocks?both uneatable therefore useless. Boxers in Vegas are either on the top or on the bottom. There may be more than a few of them living on the streets and a few, a very few, in penthouses. Posters of the Keith Thurman vs. Manny Pacquiao fight are fewer than many fights: some on giant billboards, plastered to walls, taxicabs, buses, even above the urinals in the bathrooms. The fight?s a big one. Not as big as Alvarez and Golovkin but still a big one. No one seems to know Demirezen or Ajagba. After this event one of them will rise almost imperceptibly, enough for another fight and, possibly, another rise until some day, with good management, hard work, and a bit of luck, his face may glow from a billboard.
A month before the show 80% of the hotels were already booked. The silly prices for lodging one sees from sites like Travelocity or Hotels.Com vanish before a fight. I am constantly drawn in by $45 room rates from places like the MGM or Treasure Island only to find they are going for $300 and up. Then, when you get there you are slapped with another $50 or $100 resort fee per night for services you may never use. You must pay anyway?you think. Something seems very illegal about that. It?s like being charged for a steak dinner that you didn?t order or eat. Resort fees are a scam. Hotels have no absolute or legal right to charge them. No law says the customer must pay. One can dispute the fee?lots of luck?write the hotel asking for a refund, or dispute the fee with a credit card company. An easier way is to find a hotel that does not charge them.
Then there is another $150 they take for incidentals. Take a drink of water from the fridge and you will see how fast that goes. My friend, new to the big time of boxing, drank a bottle of water from the counter. I had warned him about taking anything from the fridge. He thought the water on the table was complimentary. I was charged $13 for something I could have gotten from the sink for free or on the street for $1. Of course, if you don?t use anything your money will be returned?in seven to ten days, as if the money, that was taken instantly, somehow got caught in a time warp.
Car rentals are the same. A $27 a day rental for two days comes up to $120. In the wake ?No child left behind? few people can add?or think. Since you must pay tax the bill should amount to around $60. So, what about the rest of the money? Special fees. A mob town can do as it pleases. That?s my Vegas rant for this trip. (Maybe.) I only mention it because it can put a damper on a great night of fights.
My age makes me crabby. Thinking too much of the past can drive you nuts. Prices never go down. ?It?s simple,? my Pop told me. ?If you want to live better, it costs more money.?
People lined up to have their pictures taken in front of the MGM phony lion. In fifteen minutes, I never saw anyone dressed in jewels and custom-tailored suits have his picture taken. The fun had been bought out of them. I remember playing trumpet in black clubs in the south. The people remembered what a good time was and that it was all right to do stupid things for a laugh and to dance in silly ways and to chuckle at all the wrong times and at all the right times, too. It took a lot of whiskey to loosen up a white crowd. Most of the men begged to be offended so they could start a fight. The women hung their noses from rafters. Heaven forbid someone should talk to your date. In the black clubs everyone was always asking everyone else?s dates to dance and were met with back-slapping and joviality. The social engagements were even worse, rooms of ice and smug talk about trivial things. Of course, regardless of the social status, everyone, men and women, wanted the same thing. Some just came out and said what they wanted and others didn?t.
The true fight fans, many of them Latinos, were distinguishable from the gambling crowd. They wore jeans and tee-shirts and no alligator or polo logos in sight. They didn?t wear white shorts and custom boat shoes and the women didn?t wear dresses cut to let their breasts crawl out rather than to hold them in. Some came with gym bags, obvious fighters in training, others dragging old suitcases or being followed by rolling overhead bags no longer overhead. They moved in packs: middleweights, heavyweights, and a lot of flyweights. There isn?t much nourishment in the desert and the little guys come from barren countries where a single taco is considered a fancy Sunday dinner. This was a card for boxing fans.
I always do my best to keep up the boxing reporting business. Even by the ?50s the quality in writers was slipping. Doc Kearns said, before the Joey Maxim vs. Ray Robinson fight in 1952, ?The writers are always crabbing about the fighters we got now, but look at the writers you got now, themselves. All they think about is home to wife and children, instead of lying around saloons and soaking up information.? Robinson was attempting to take the light heavyweight belt from the mediocre and power-puff hitting champ. He collapsed from the heat. Looking at the card this night I had no complaints about the quality of fighters, and lying around saloons to soak up information is always first on my list.
Too look around the town one might think the only fight in Vegas is between Thurman and Pacquiao. Walls are plastered with their red dominated posters; they stare down from billboards like menacing Godzilla and Mothra and play constantly from the television. Occasionally a few other bouts appear in small print. And what of Ajagba and Demirezen? Just a couple of unicorns in a jungle of terror. In the past they might have been a walk-out bout. Today they arrive and fight before the customers appear, although they are the first bout on FOX PBC. I always consider these types of boxers a separation factor weeding the boxing fans from the event gloaters.
Pay-per-view fights are like attending the races at Ascot. The wealthy want to claim they have attended, that they have the money and status to attend and they can boast about the fight to other executives therefore win some kind of upper-hand in the corporate world. Boxing, a sport to amuse the middle and lower classes, has been removed from their hands during a big fight. The costs are prohibitive. Buying the fights on television is just as costly. One can watch the finals of any other sport for free, the Super Bowl, Stanley Cup, the baseball World Series, for free. Yet, watching two men poke each other in the nose costs around $100. Prices have been kept affordable for this card, even for the food. A hot dog is $6, very reasonable for a big event.
Pacquiao appears to be the main draw. I hear mostly his name on the people I pass. They have come to see him, truly a legend in his own time. People who know nothing about boxing know him. He is the Joe Louis of his time. ?We?ve come for the Pacquiao fight,? ?I?m anxious to see Pacquiao,? ?How old is Pacquiao?? ?Isn?t Pacquiao in government??
I think of my snoozerweights. Demirezen is a big Turk with a head like a large ostrich egg with the nest on top rather than the bottom. He presently lives in Hamburg, Germany, a country that constantly drags Turkey into her arrogant conflicts. Perhaps they have done it again with Demirezen, a square shouldered rug more used to high, dry, rugged mountains than lush valleys and green forests. He represented Turkey at the 2016 Olympics having as much success as the previous Jamaican bobsled team but without the PR. He has knocked out 10 nondescript names like Redzovic, Werwejko, Puritchamiashvili, and Altintas, attached to unexceptional bodies. His opponents carried records like 5-17-0 and 2-29-0. His last opponent for the WBO European heavyweight title, 19-2-0 Adnan Redzovic, has been his best win. If he remembers to bring the confidence of the win with him, he might able to put up a fight. Nothing succeeds like success.
Turkey has a long tradition of producing excellent wrestlers. Although a tough people, they have not done as well with boxers. What information that can be found about Demirezen has been positive. Words are powerful tools and can be used in many ways. I once entered the full contact portion of the Washington State Karate Tournament and placed 4th. Not bad and enough to put fear into many people. What I never say is that only 4 of us had entered. Fourth place beats last place any time. Words, words, words.
I figured Ajagba as the man to beat. He has fought the better opponents. He is 5 years younger than Demirezen and 2 inches taller. He advanced to the Quarterfinal in the Olympics in Brazil losing to Ivan Dychko. Beating an undefeated opponent who has knocked out 9 of his 10 opponents will look good on his record as he continues to learn.
Schooling is a tricky business for a boxer since his education is in the hands of others. His adviser is his manager and his tutor, his trainer, for the student must be made to take the work seriously. Finding the best classes is tricky, and vital. Each class should teach the pupil something he needs. If he is thrown into classes that are too easy, he will become lax, and arrogant. This can mark the end of his career when he is placed into an advanced class with students who have studied hard.
Thinking the pupil is better than he is and enrolling him into classes above his head is equally devastating. He can easily get beaten down and become discouraged. He must be placed into tough classes where he can learn and advance. Demirezen 101 is a tough class in any school, the subject matter not yet known, maybe advanced left jabs, or uppercuts, or stamina. He must offer something worthy or the class is a waste of time and energy and will count as no more than a win. Durability might be what he offers; the chance for Ajagba to go the distance.
Betting on fighters, especially ones you have never seen fight is always risky. I limit my gambling money to $20 an event. I generally spend the money on slot machines. I am an impatient man and with a pull or two on the long arm I am cleaned out in less than a minute and can get on to more useful endeavors, happy that I have made my contribution to the rich. Betting on real fights is not like betting on movie fights. Put your money on the boxer who loses the first 11 rounds in the movies and you?ve got yourself a winner every time. Picking a winner in a real fight is tough. Still, I decided to put my $20 on Ajagba if for no other reason than to let the anticipation, win or lose, linger and to teach me patience. Having a stake in an event increases enjoyment. What is $20? About 5 cups of coffee, three rolls of B&W film (I usually shoot film), a large pizza, or a half tank of gas.
One of the great joys of boxing is finding a young prospect, then following his career. It does not always pan out. I saw Ricky Hatton in his 4thbout. I knew he would be a champion, not because of his skill?he did not have much?but because of his heart. I immediately started writing about him. Find a fighter?s heart and you have found a potential champion. Two years ago, I started following a local cruiserweight named Patrick Ferguson. He has potential. Although he will never be a world champion, with proper management he could earn some decent money. He started well, but lately started spending more time with his girlfriend than in the gym. Poor timing. A boxer?s career is short. Following someone like Shakur Stevenson offers little fun. Because he has tremendous skill and is a joy to watch. Big money has already marked him as a future champion. The trick is to find someone few people know about, another reason to see Ajagba and Demirezen. If either one demonstrates any skill, he might be worth following.
I was set to meet one of the most notable boxers in Vegas, ?Bronco? Billy Wright. Billy was rated number 5 in the world at the age of fifty. George Foreman probably gave him the incentive to fight at that age. He was Foreman?s sparring partner for Foreman?s comeback. Billy Wright is not just a remarkable boxer, he is a remarkable man. Ruling out Methuselah, Billy is one of the oldest legitimate heavyweight contenders in history. In his last fight in 2015. at the age of 50, he knocked out 22-10 (20 KO) Gilberto Domingos with a body shot in the first round. The punch sent all of Domingos? ribs to one side making his body resemble a Dali painting.
Billy offers his hand, the size and hardness of a concrete block. He is with his young daughter and attractive wife, a former Army soldier. His daughter takes an instant dislike to me and starts to cry. I often have this effect on females of any age. Billy looks great and we sit down with the former publisher of ?Punch? magazine Paul Hernandez. We talk about working on a book together. Billy has a great story.
To show how insignificant most of the undercard bouts were, they started at 1:10 pm. Except for the boxers and their corners there was nothing in the event center moving except the cool air from the ventilation system. The end of the main event usually ends between 10:00 pm and 11:00 pm. No one is expected to witness the first bouts, especially the media. There was not a writer or photographer to be seen. Even the media dinner feed was scheduled from 5:00 pm to 7:00 pm while undercard matches were still taking place. Many of the media miss at least 6 hours of fights and only attend the top events.
I always appear for the full show. I stuff my camera bag with water and energy bars to get through the program. Only through suffering can one enjoy the better bouts. This is not always a good idea. Writers, and especially photographers, suffer with age. The reaction times between a thrown punch and a landed punch is often missed. The longer one watches fights at a single sitting, the more the reaction lags and the more inaccurate the pictures become. By the time I get to the main event everything is a blur and I cannot separate one fight from another. What should be the most enjoyable fight of the event becomes an obscure smudge performed under glaring lights. Since new fighters interest me more than main event fighters, this is not a problem. I should grab a few shots of the main event, then kick back and enjoy the match. I can?t. I am addicted to taking photos and I always go down fighting.
Younger pseudo-photographers overcome their lack of skill by simply holding down the shutter release and expose images as if they are making a movie. They shoot thousands of pictures during each bout. The great photographer Andre Kertesz, referring to W. Eugene Smith, claimed this is disrespectful to photography. I average 5 shots a round. I try not to be disrespectful to anyone.
As a young man I played in Vegas, I no longer remember where. The casino had a western theme, the Wagon Wheel, or Cow Pie, or Longhorn, or something like that. We were not a country band, but a rock band along the ?Chicago? line. That was a long time ago and in a different Las Vegas. The drinks were free and the food so cheap (less than today?s average tip) it might as well have been free. A T-bone steak, potatoes, toast, and coffee could be bought for $1.75 or less. A hot dog was a quarter. Not bad.
I thought of those days as I sat high above the clouds in the MGM Grand Garden Arena and waited for the heavy fighting of the evening. The casinos feed the media people, pizza, snacks, that sort of thing. Sometimes they give you a food voucher, usually $30. The first time I received a voucher I was thrilled with so much money and thought I would be stuffing in gourmet food all night. After a soft drink and a Pink?s hot dog, I was broke. No problem. I was here to photograph the fights.
The two big boys enter the ring. Together they weigh about 500 pounds. That?s a lot of weight to push around. And the fight? Nothing much. I don?t think I?ve ever seen slower punches and less movement. Ajagba?s entire assortment consisted of a jab. A jab that shot out with the speed of a fighting panda bear. Demirezen followed with a few powerless power shots. Ajagba mostly stood stationary. One can?t expect much from snoozerweights who are just learning. Boxing takes time. This time it was Ajagba.
Nevada is a strange place. The Nevada Triangle is a rather mysterious area that borders Las Vegas. Like the Bermuda Triangle, aircraft appear to vanish?about 2,000 of them to date. That is no small number?2,000 aircraft from single engine private planes to large bombers, many flown by expert pilots. Searches for the missing planes often discover nothing. Ajagba is presently soaring high over the desert. Demirezen has gone down in the desert. Whether he will be discovered and resurrected in the future is yet to be determined.
