Kostya Tszyu's decision to stay on his stool at the end of the 11th round of
his fight against Ricky Hatton last weekend may have done irreparable damage to
the proud champion's boxing legacy.
Tszyu is considered by many to have committed his sport's cardinal sin in
surrendering his title in such non-combative fashion, instead of venturing back
out for three more minutes of savage punishment.
To some observers, Tszyu's dignified acceptance of imminent defeat was
eminently sensible, with the right side of his face swelling up and his tired
body protesting at the sheer ferocity of Hatton's assaults.
But for other fellow fighters and fans alike, Tszyu's action is so inexcusable
as to tarnish a proud record of the best part of a decade as a world champion,
flattening all-comers in an era when too many rivals sought to minimise risks.
Australian former three-weight world champion and Hall of Famer Jeff Fenech,
took a swipe at his compatriot this week when he said: "The only way I left the
ring was victorious, or on my back."
Meanwhile, internet boxing message boards have oozed the recrimination and
rancour of the pay-per-view-and-popcorn generation, denied their full 49
dollars-worth of blood and guts.
They said the same about the great Roberto Duran in November 1980, when the
sport's king of seething machismo threw up his hands with 16 seconds left of
round eight of world welterweight title clash with Sugar Ray Leonard and
declared: "No Mas".
Duran had simply grown frustrated with the lightning tactics of the same man
he had suckered into a street brawl and outpointed in their first meeting only
five months earlier.
"To make a man quit - to make a man like Roberto Duran quit - it was better
than knocking him out," said Leonard afterwards.
It would take Duran over a decade to escape the stigma of those two simple
words, which had shattered the illusions of millions of fans worldwide and had
marked one of the toughest, meanest and resolute fighters ever to lace on gloves
down as a quitter.
Last year, the big-punching Brazilian hero Acelino Freitas courted a similar
degree of derision for walking away midway through his WBO lightweight title
brawl with Diego Corrales in Connecticut.
Freitas, who had bullied his way to the top of his division with an alarming
knockout record, was decked for a third time in round 10 and having risen to his
feet, indicated to referee Michael Ortega that the fight was off and returned to
his corner.
Citing an injured shoulder, Sonny Liston stayed on his stool prior to the
start of the seventh round of his 1964 world heavyweight title defence against
the then Cassius Clay, the first heavyweight champion to do so since Jess
Willard retired against Jack Dempsey 45 years previously.
However, Willard had a better excuse than most. His jaw broken by one of
Dempsey's first punches, and decked no fewer than seven times in the first round
alone, Willard still soldiered on until the start of the fourth when, with his
nose and three ribs also broken, four teeth missing and both eyes closed, he
thought it wise to call it a day.
More recently, Mike Tyson sought a novel way out against Evander Holyfield,
biting both of his ears to earn a disqualification when things started not going
to plan in their 1997 title rematch.
Vitali Klitschko stayed on his stool with a hurt shoulder with two rounds left
of his title fight against Chris Byrd. Andrew Golota decided two rounds was
quite enough against Tyson.
"There is a championship code. You've got to carry the champion out," a
prescient Tyson said this week, prior to Tszyu's decision against Hatton.
Certainly in such a dangerous profession, those who steadfastly refuse to give
up - like Fenech, like Diego Corrales in last month's war with Jose Luis
Castillo - deserve our inestimable admiration: fighting men in their purest,
most irresistible form.
And yet, however anti-climactic it renders an occasion, a fighter who elects
to exercise a more acute sense of his own mortality should not receive our wrath
- least of all a champion who has beaten all before him over a decade.
There was a quiet dignity in Tszyu's acceptance that he had been well beaten
by the better man, that at 35 years of age, his own days were numbered. He did
not need an extra three minutes of hurt to help him make up his mind.
Tszyu, who was urinating blood in his dressing room after the fight, does not
deserve to be called a quitter - especially not by those of us who get our own
sporting thrills through pay-TV, and who all did our own version of quitting a
long time ago.
FIGHTER OF THE WEEK: Ricky Hatton, who produced one of the greatest
performances in British boxing history to dethrone the legendary Kostya Tszyu
and install himself emphatically as the number one light-welterweight in the
world.
LEGEND OF THE WEEK: Barney Ross, a tough and energetic fighter and arguably
the greatest light-welterweight in history, who reigned between 1933 and 1935
and also claimed the world lightweight and welterweight crowns.
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