Saturday night, Andre Berto fought an entertaining fight against a game, legitimate Top 10 fighter and looked relatively good. Sure, a between-rounds stoppage isn’t exactly the most thrilling way to end a fight, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?
Without waiting for the dismissive articles to be cranked out by self-loving scribes and their Cheeto- bellied blogger sycophants, I’ll take a wild guess that those who slap their computer screens and stab their parakeets in fits of Berto rage will find something dark and sinister about the fight. And even if credit is begrudgingly given, expect an 8 to 1 ratio between snarky digs and reluctant kudos.
After all, Andre Berto is everything that’s wrong with boxing! Arrrrgh!
Who ever heard of a young fighter getting signed to a lucrative deal, set up with soft touches, and promoted to the hilt? Unheard of! Arrrggh!
And the nerve of being set up to win a world title against an inferior opponent and allowed to defend it against mostly fringe fighters? Nooooo?That never happens. What an outrage! Arrrggh!
This Rant is by no means a defense of Berto, his career path, or his legacy as a two-time world title holder. It is, however, an attempt to understand why Berto gets the cyber-Cleveland Steamer while pretty much every other guilty party gets by with just a slap on the wrist.
It’s likely that his relationship with the Darth Vader of meal voucher-lovin’ members of the media, Al Haymon, rattles their cage. And, as usual, others fall in line because, well, that’s what lemmings generally do. Besides, why let the truth get in the way of snarky blog-filler, right?
