? Betting controversy a sideshow to shambolic contest
? Audley Harrison gripped by fear and apprehension
If there is a niggling doubt of impropriety about David Haye's confession that he bet on himself to stop Audley Harrison in the third round of their surreal world heavyweight title fight in Manchester, the greater crime was the predictably abject performance of the man who tumbled out of the fight and, for his sake and ours, out of boxing in that very round.
There was no evidence of complicity between the combatants to unnecessarily prolong the agony beyond what were two of the most peace-riddled rounds in the history of the sport, outside mutual recognition of an obvious gulf in their commitment to battle.
For third parties ? some of them not entirely disinterested ? to suggest that Haye somehow broke the shining spirit of the fight game by holding up Harrison to complete the execution at a moment of his choosing and thus profit from the exercise improperly might score a technical point but such mischief-making reads unnecessary mystery into a straightforward narrative.
It also ignores the long history of betting in boxing. Frank Warren was loud in his criticism. Yet Haye's promotional rival admitted losing a substantial amount on his fighter, Enzo Maccarinelli, when Haye stopped him in the second round of their world cruiserweight title on his promotion at the O2 Arena in Greenwich in March 2008.
The difference, Warren would argue, is that he plainly did not win his bet and that he was not in the ring to determine the course of the action. It is a fair point but it is not as if Haye bet on himself to lose. He did not fix the result in the way the Mob notoriously did in their pomp. Haye brought no shame on the sport bar sharing a ring with the most frightened pacifist ever to challenge for the world heavyweight title.
It was a side bet, if you like, the very essence of prizefighting when it entered the sporting consciousness of this country, bare-knuckled and brazen, in Georgian times. Indeed, the sport probably would not exist without gambling ? a point that could be made about nearly all organised sports, most of which started in Britain over the past couple of centuries, from cricket to conkers.
Appearances count for much, though, especially in a sport perceived by some to be inhabited by shady characters. The position of the British Boxing Board of Control is unequivocal. "It is not permitted [for boxers to bet on a fight they are in]," the board's general secretary, Robert Smith said yesterday. "I've been told about David's comments but I did not hear them myself. We will take a look at them and will have to talk to Mr Haye and his people about them.
"There are regulations about betting at boxing venues. A promoter has to apply for a licence to do so. There was no such application in this case but you can place a bet on your mobile phone these days, so it is not particularly relevant." In all probability, Haye will get away with a caution.
The last time the board were alerted to the dangers of gambling was in 1992, when Lennox Lewis stopped Derek Williams in a British, Commonwealth and European title fight in the third round. It was suspected there was heavy betting on Williams losing in that very round, at 33-1, but no suggestions the fighter was in any way involved.
James DeGale admitted in the heady moments after he won his Olympic gold medal in Beijing two years ago that his father had won �11,000 on the fight. No fuss was made, no sanction brought to bear.
The promoter Mickey Duff happily admitted to making regular wagers on fights he promoted and, good judge though he was, even suffering regularly from his belief that Marvin Hagler, one day, would lose.
What is more relevant in terms of Saturday night's fight as a legitimate contest is Harrison's complicity in its farcical course.
Some fighters enter the ring subconsciously making arrangements for the least complicated way to get out of it: a do-or-die knockout swing, the kindly nod of a compassionate referee or a chilling blow by an opponent turned merciful executioner.
The suspicion that Harrison had such thoughts swimming in his confused head the instant he was caught in a maelstrom of his own making are hard to resist. Rarely has fear and apprehension been so vividly painted on a fighter's face.
Harrison made some bizarre excuses later, all delivered with the same evangelical zeal and overpowering self-delusion that he brought to his many pronouncements about shocking the world in the weeks before the event.
In the seven minutes and 53 seconds it lasted, he threw 32 punches and landed one, a jab. Yet he felt justified in sharing blame for his demonstrable flight from the fight with the referee and his opponent. "Credit to David, he caught me with a good shot. I beat the count, but the referee stopped the fight. I have to take it on the chin." That he did.
His inaction spoke louder than his words. In his moment of worst resort, Harrison lifted a shaking glove towards his battered mouth and tried to remove his gum shield, as poignant a symbol of surrender as exists in boxing.
How far it was from the famous image of Mike Tyson, battered to the floor by Buster Douglas in the 10th round in Tokyo 20 years ago, yet pawing about on the canvas for his teeth-protecting implement as the referee counted to ten over his kneeling body.
There are worse ways to lose. On Saturday night, Harrison found one.
Giovani Segura Vic Darchinyan Steve Molitor Celestino Caballero
No comments:
Post a Comment