Beating Michael Jordan to the punch, Evander Holyfield never said never first. That was about a year ago, before he missed boxing more than boxing missed him.
Alas, arena addiction plays no favorites.
During Holyfield’s reign as undefeated and undisputed heavyweight champion, he failed to achieve the respect that generally comes with the crown. Every victory had its asterisks.
James “Buster” Douglas was fat.
George Foreman was slow.
Larry Holmes was both fat and slow.
“No matter how much I did it right,” Holyfield says, “there was always something wrong with the guy I fought. I kept telling myself all the criticism wouldn’t bother me. That’s where I was really wrong. It did.”
Only when Holyfield finally lost did he finally get the standing ovation. Though 3-2 to dismiss a somewhat mysterious challenger named Riddick Bowe, Holyfield found honor through defeat in a rousing 12-rounder here last November. Holyfield became more popular with his head down than he had been with fists raised. His consolation speech was better than all his coronation spiels. Holyfield got the key to the city and then he locked the door. A triumph of the spirit, if not on the scorecards.
Holyfield could have and probably should have kept his promise to retire, but no. He’s back for more, or less. Saturday night, he will try Bowe on for size again. “Repeat or Revenge” is the motif at Caesars Palace.
Recycling, as ever, has its place, too. Renaldo Snipes, whose best shot was delivered to Holmes’ cranium in 1981, is on the undercard. Also, say hello to Thomas Hearns, who should have said goodbye. He’s 35 and still chasing whatever it is they chase in the sweet science.
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Holyfield could be above all this, but for love or money he trains. He doesn’t have to win to be bigger than ever. He already is. He weighed 205 pounds last November. Last June, upon resuming ring hostilities, he was heavier and slower in a decision over Alex Stewart. Holyfield says he’s 217 or 218, now, and counting.
On Thursday, we’ll see how much Holyfield has gained. On Saturday night, we’ll see how much he has learned. The first fight was a brawl in which Holyfield abandoned discretion for vanity.
“We’re all athletes,” Holyfield says. “And even though we claim it doesn’t bother us, it does. We all want to be treated with credibility. I’ve looked at tapes of last year’s fight over and over again. I tell myself, `I’m better than this guy,’ and when you feel that way deep down, you need to get up and go prove it. I don’t feel I did my best in that fight, and my attitude now is to do it over and get it right.
“Even though I fought with a lot of heart and courage the last time, I was trying to prove a point. That I could knock him (Bowe) out. That type of fight excites the fans, but what I did didn’t work to my advantage.
“I wanted to impress the media, the public, maybe even myself. I went out there banging. I didn’t go out there to box. I did what I felt would be short and easier, but I found myself making it a lot harder.”
Bowe, who has been growing, too, expressed proper homage a year ago. Holyfield had fought the brave fight, been carried off The Strip on his shield, and so on. Only after Holyfield looked at the films and revised his version of events did Bowe alter his opinion of Holyfield. Now, Bowe wants to kill because he says he gets no credit from his vanquished foe. Holyfield cites only his previous mistakes, conveniently omitting the fact that Bowe capitalized.
So it goes. Last year’s surprise thriller is not likely to be copied, and rhetoric is for free. Holyfield has a new trainer, Emanuel Steward, who will stress all that boring stuff such as basics and balance. In his prime, Holyfield was a heavyweight tactician jammed into a cruiserweight’s body. Indications are that the head he misplaced here a year ago is still attached.
“This fight,” says the man who couldn’t stay away, “might very well be my last.”