A sharp and focused Victor Ortiz thrashed Andre Berto in a savage?if slightly one-sided?bout, on Saturday night at the MGM Grand Theater at Foxwoods Resort & Casino, scoring a unanimous decision over 12 grisly rounds in a fight that featured multiple knockdowns. Final scores were 114-111, 115-110, and an imprecise 114-112.
With the loss, the parallel universe career of Andre Berto gets its first does of reality in years. Somehow Berto, who is more Quiznos than caviar, became a meal ticket for Al Haymon and Lou DiBella, despite the fact that Berto has long been little more than a figment of the feverish HBO imagination.
As has been repeated here ad infinitum, all fighters deserve respect. Prizefighting is an arduous pursuit, one whose remuneration is almost never commensurate to the risks involved, but Berto is a curious phenomenon, indeed. Never has a boxer been paid more for doing less. Historically, fighters have made money according to their ability to excel at one or more of the following: selling tickets, earning ratings on television, or shifting pay-per-view units. Andre Berto has failed miserably at all of the aforementioned, but still finds himself a multimillionaire and an HBO contract stalwart. No other fighter of our time embodies the smoke and mirror ethic of modern boxing than Berto does. Even some of the hoaxes of yesteryear?Primo Carnera, say, or, to a lesser extent, Chuck Davey?drew crowds. Davey was one of the biggest television stars of the 1950s until Kid Gavilan showed him up for what we was: a media creation with friends in low places.
Berto, whose career so far can be compared to the hijacking of a Brinks truck, can at least find solace in the fact that his first professional defeat was wildly entertaining.
Against Ortiz, who was moving up from junior welterweight, Berto saw his pre-fight confidence and disdain evaporate almost immediately. Not long after the opening bell rang, in fact, Berto, 145 1/2, was on the canvas complaining of a rabbit punch that looked like a legitimate knockdown. Moments later, he was beaten to his knees in his own corner by Ortiz, who unleashed a torrent of blows, including a wicked right uppercut that split the guard, against a backpedaling Berto. Berto rose with a look on his face that seemed to say, ?Is that supposed to be in the script?? Ortiz, a 3-1 shortender, pursued him recklessly and he was lucky to survive the round. Berto slumped on his stool after the bell rang and was greeted by a strange charivari of panicked voices?his corner, who offered sage advice throughout the fight, such as: ?You are a beast!? and ?Be an assassin!?
Ortiz, 146, came out aggressively in the second and was in control until he ran into a straight counter right that forced him to touch canvas with about 30 seconds to go. Berto, however, could not follow up, and the beating was on.
Over the next three rounds, Ortiz simply put the boots to Berto, whose attempt at the ?Rope-A-Dope? looked more like ?A-Dope-On-the-Ropes? as Ortiz raked him with shots over and over again. Particularly effective was a sneaky right uppercut that Berto was unable to defend against from bell to bell. Again and again Berto, Winterhaven, Florida, took serious punishment against the ropes and foolishly egged Ortiz on. Some may say that this was a sign of bravado, but more likely it was the act of a man who completely confused at being involved in athletic competition for the first time in years.
His manhandling at the hands of Ortiz was such that the ringside physician looked him over between the fifth and sixth rounds. At times Berto looked like the boxing equivalent of Walter Mitty between the ropes, woken from his daydreams of derring-do to find that he is not the man he thought he was. The ring, unfortunately, is a cold place to find that out. And, of course, no one socked Walter Mitty on the jaw over and over again.
The sixth round was as chaotic as any seen in recent years. A whiplash counter right from Berto dropped Ortiz hard, and Berto opened a heavy crossfire attack when the action resumed, knocking Ortiz around the ring with rights and lefts. With about 10 seconds left to go in the round?and with the fight seemingly seconds away from ending via TKO?Ortiz unleashed two lefts that dropped Berto like a giant burlap sack full of fugazi diamonds. Whether a world-class professional fighter should be dropped by left hooks from a southpaw standing, rubbery-legged, with his feet parallel is a question for another time. Berto rose, the bell saved him, and the small crowd at Foxwoods erupted.
The two traded hard punches in the seventh, but it was Ortiz, Oxnard, California, who was busier and landed eye-catching combinations. He also pushed Berto, 27, back consistently and worked hard in the clinches. Ortiz took an occasional right to the chops, but seemed in command in the 8th and 9th rounds as well.
Referee Mike Ortega deducted a point from Ortiz in the 10th for hitting behind the head and Berto milked the infraction for a rest of about 20 seconds. Then he proceeded to get beaten on for the remainder of the round. In the 11th, Ortiz, 24, bulled Berto to the ropes, whipsawed to the head and body, and crashed right uppercuts to the jaw with abandon. Ortega peered in at the one-sided action closely, but the bell rang to save Berto from further abuse. Berto appeared to do enough to win the 12th, but nothing short of a KO was going to keep his synthetic undefeated record intact.
In losing his first fight in 28 starts, Berto revealed all the bad habits of a fighter unused to anything but silk pajamas: a jab that doubled as a sisterly backhand, infighting skills equal to those of a marathon dancer, footwork comparable to that of a pigeon-toed wino, and a tendency to hug whenever things get too hot. Berto did show, however, a fair gift for throwing counter rights, and he never stopped trying to win, although his desultory efforts were often serio-comic.
Despite all his talk about ?what beats in ya chest,? Berto was outmuscled, outwilled, and outsmarted by a fighter who made his pro debut at 133 pounds. More than once Berto returned to his corner shaking his head and he repeatedly complained about butts and rabbit punches. In spite of these signs of succumbing, Berto did well to last the distance. He was after all, rocked, staggered, dropped, or wobbled in every single round with the exception, perhaps, of the 12th.
When the unanimous decision in his favor was announced, Ortiz, who improves to 29-2-2 (22), wept, and it was hard not to feel empathy for a young man whose travails have not been confined to the ring over the last two years. Few boxers have suffered as much derision as Victor Ortiz has. In boxing, fighting well is the best revenge, and Ortiz did that against Berto, showing grit, determination, poise, and persistence. With the exciting win, Ortiz earns a measure of respect that has eluded him has since being stopped by Marcos Maidana in June 2009, and a possible big money fight down the road. Not only did Ortiz win, but he fought with brio, and boxing is a sport that, theoretically, at least, should reward those who pursue risk zealously.
As for Berto, his strange career can be best summed up, perhaps, by a parable. Imagine being lost in a funhouse for hours, falling victim to prank after prank in darkness, staggering through mirrored hallways, finally finding an exit, pushing a heavy door open, and shielding your eyes from a blinding mid-day sun.
*****
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