The 29-year-old is another world champion from the Philippines but unlike Manny Pacquiao, he’s experienced the down side of the sport.
Ask Brian Viloria how his boxing career has gone and he’s likely to mumble something about Death Valley and Mt. Everest.
He has been a world champion twice, the first time for a year, starting in September 2005, and now, starting last April. In between was the pits, known in boxing as the Alameda Swap Meet in South L.A.
The facts:
* Viloria is 29, the International Boxing Federation champion at 108 pounds, and will defend his title in Manila Saturday night against Carlos Tamara. He was an amateur world champion in 2000, when he fought in the Sydney Olympics for the U.S. at 106 pounds.
* He lived in the Philippines, moved to Hawaii at age 6, went to college at Northern Michigan University. He didn’t feel his toes for three years.
* Northern Michigan’s program for Olympic boxing hopefuls got Viloria to Sydney as a medal favorite, where he lost to eventual gold medalist Brahim Asloum of France, 6-4. Viloria landed dozens of body punches, and none were recorded by judges.
* For awhile, Viloria was trained by Freddie Roach, before Roach got busy with a guy named Pacquiao.
* Viloria can walk the streets of L.A. without eliciting a second look. In the Philippines, he needs the Minnesota Vikings’ offensive line.
At first, Viloria’s career moved in one direction. Pushed gently by his manager, L.A. lawyer Gary Gittleson, he was at 16-0 when he fought at Staples Center on May 28, 2005. Midway through the fight, he caught Ruben Contreras with a vicious uppercut.
“I remember the blood from his nose,” Viloria says. “It was thick, and it wouldn’t stop.”
The eight-rounder was ended after the sixth and Contreras collapsed in his corner. He was rushed to the hospital with swelling on his brain and there was a chance he wouldn’t live. Viloria was devastated.
“I almost quit,” he says.
Contreras recovered and was at Staples a little more than three months later for Viloria’s first title shot — a 108-pound WBC event against Eric Ortiz. On the way into the ring, Viloria spotted Contreras, stopped and hugged him. Then he knocked out Ortiz in the last second of the first round.
Viloria was WBC champion. Staples Center was half empty. The main event, featuring Manny Pacquiao, would be later. Sad fact: A 108-pound boxer is as celebrated as a football long-snapper.
Because Pacquiao, the toast of the Philippines, was fighting, Philippine TV network Solar Entertainment telecast the entire card back home. When Viloria was identified as a former resident, born of Filipino parents, and then won a world title, Filipinos were ecstatic.
Viloria and Gittleson had no idea.
“I got a call from the TV network the next day,” Gittleson says. “They invited Brian and me back to the Philippines.”
Within a week, they were flying first class, greeted like visiting royalty at the airport, and whisked off to lunch with the mayor of Manila. Thousands lined the streets for a parade as Viloria stood through the roof of a limousine and held his championship belt high.
He dined with Filipino President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, in the royal dining room of the Philippine palace, the equivalent of our White House.
“It was nuts,” Gittleson says.
