Sergio Martinez, highly skilled world middleweight champion, is a foolish man.
The rock hard Argentinian will prove his foolhardy nature on Saturday night, The Night Of Beloved Saint Patrick, at Madison Square Garden.
Legend has it that Old Patrick drove the snakes out of ancient Ireland. The new ring legend will be that Matthew Macklin has driven Martinez out of the 160 pound world crown and sent him skulking back to Buenos Aires to cry in his cerveza.
Yes, my Upset Special of 2012 has arrived, fight fans and fright fans, and it’s only the middle of March.
You see, on any other night of the year, I would pick Martinez to tame the not hugely talented Macklin, but not on this special Hibernian evening.
Martinez is doing more than tempting fate here. He’s mocking leprechauns past, present and future and, if I know one thing about those spirtely creatures, they do not stand for being made fun of. Advertisement
Top Reasons Why Ireland’s Pride Shocks Sergio:
1–Did I mention what night March 17 is? There will be 5000 well-lubricated Irish fans and four brave fans from Buenos Aires at the ringside and the atmosphere will be green, green, and more green.
2–Would anyone want to fight Julio Cesar Chavez in Mexico on May 5? I think you’re starting to get my drift here.
3–The Spirit of Mike McTigue, who took the world light heavyweight title from “Singular Senegelese” Battling Siki in Dublin on March 17, 1923, will haunting the Garden’s smaller arena on this March 17.
4–Martinez thinks more about Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather Jr., two guys he will never fight, than he does about lunch pail type fighter Macklin. Macklin is being completely overlooked because the Martinez camp think he is overbooked.
5–Great things happen for Celtic warriors on March 17 and you can look that up.
6–Martinez will not overcome the P(luck) of the Irish.
7–Some oddsmakers are talking up Martinez as an 11-1 betting favorite. Therefor, putting a few quid on Matty Mack on 3-17-12 will be a wise and profitable investment.
Disclaimer: This column is written under the total absence of even a whiff of Guiness or any other Hibernian favored libation.
Up The Irish. Down goes Argentina! Macklin and the leprechauns grab the pot of gold.
