Punch-Drunken Stupor: "The
Ballad of Anthony Mundine, or: How the Would-Be Contender
Waltzed His Way Out of Good Graces"
By
Jonathan David Morris
Stupor@JonathanDavidMorris.com
26.10.01 - It's every young fighter's
dream to someday strap around his waist a chunk of
championship gold. What's less frequently acknowledged--yet,
by and large, universally understood--is that stardom
in the sweet science takes much more than a solid
chin and a wicked overhand right. It also takes a
big mouth. For better or worse, Anthony Mundine has
discovered this the hard way.
On the cusp of fame and/or fortune,
not to mention a December title bout with IBF super
middleweight champion Sven Ottke, Mundine heard the
Australian press knock--knock--knocking down his door
last week. He gladly answered, muttering the words
that instantly became his public relations kiss of
death.
In a televised interview, Mundine
engaged in the scorching hot topic of current events
and got burned. He foolishly argued that the acts
of terror recently committed on American soil were
somehow deserved.
"They call it an act of terrorism,"
he said, "but if you can understand religion
and our way of life, it's not about terrorism."
Wait. It gets better. "It's about fighting for
God's laws," he continued, driving another nail
into the coffin of his own inconsequentiality. "America's
brought it upon themselves (for) what they've done
in the history of time."
Ouch.
Well then, what, pray tell, do we
not understand about his religion and way of life?
It's hard to say. Mundine, like many of the men who've
recently recanted similar statements, seems either
incapable, unqualified or simply not inclined to adequately
explain.
The Islamic fundamentalists have been
called a minority within the world's Muslim community.
I'll buy that. And I'm sure that many people would
defend Mundine by noting that he's not a part of that
fringe faction. True, he's just a fighter, not a terrorist,
but one has to wonder why he's apparently got enough
in common with their "way of life" to defend
it.
In his open letter to the world, Mundine
skirted the issue and then some. "War is not
the answer," he said.
So, let me get this straight. He's
got an affinity for the terrorists' mindset and considers
their acts in some way justified, because we don't
"understand" their "way of life."
I think I understand perfectly. War <I>IS</I>
the answer, but only if it's committed against America.
His words. Not mine.
What this young man doesn't comprehend
is the power a cultural icon wields. Those endowed
with celebrity are fortunate, for they are few and
far between. To make one's living on stage or on the
playing field is a blessing not a right. People like
Mundine use their fame as a soap box and I'm fine
with that. Likewise, when one runs one's mouth as
often as most actors and athletes do, a moment of
sheer idiocy is only human. It's how they respond
to their own pratfalls that matters.
Mundine apologized in his open letter,
which was very large of him considering how hurtful
and asinine his remarks were. I'd love to accept him
as genuine in sorrow, but I can't. In his open letter,
he also retreated, saying his initial statements were
"taken out of context."
Man, if there's one thing I hate in
boxing, it's a runner.
It's the old standby, the whole "taken
out of context" thing. I've heard it hundreds
of times from an army of blowhards. It's never been
good enough for me and Mundine is hardly an exception.
He said he was sorry, sure, but he added that the
media had portrayed him unfairly and that's just utter
absurdity.
There's nothing to be misinterpreted.
He said what he said, we know what we heard. I almost
fear the twisted context in which his thoughts would
be taken as proper. Why can't he just say he was wrong?
Maybe it's because he meant it.
I don't doubt that Mundine's a peaceful
man, as he claims. I don't question his sincerity
in saying that he wishes thousands of lives hadn't
been lost. Nowhere in his letter did he explain the
so-called "way of life," either to defend
it or define it, and for that reason we've still got
to wonder.
Cheers to the World Boxing Council.
They wondered, too, dropping Mundine from their rankings
in what was perhaps their first ever moral stand.
Some fans see this as a travesty. People need to keep
in mind that the WBC hasn't exactly made a habit out
of basing their standings on in-ring accomplishments.
Why start now?
Meanwhile, Marian Muhammad--she of
the International Boxing Federation--has opted against
this strategy. "I'm not going to mix religion
and politics with boxing," she said.
As if the IBF has never mixed politics
with boxing before?
Look, Mundine has effectively dropped
the bomb on his own ascension. From the depths of
potential, he's extracted irrelevance, and he's done
so by his own recognizance. For a man who some say
aspires to Muhammad Ali-like stature, both in sport
as well as in faith, Mundine has to understand that
opinions are a lot like heavyweight rankings--each
one's worth a nickel. If actions speak louder than
words, a lot can be said about his refusal to take
full blame.
I said at the start that it takes
more than skills to make it in this game. Personality
brings big bucks. Maybe I should clarify: Without
brains, neither makes a difference. So, here's to
hoping that Ottke screws Mundine's head on straight.
Whether his comments were ill-intentioned
or just misdirected, clearly it's something he could
use.
Punch-Drunken Stupor:
What The World Needs Now
By
Jonathan David Morris
Stupor@JonathanDavidMorris.com
24.10 - "What the world needs
now," Burt Bacharach once sang, "is love,
sweet love."
Thirtysomething years later, his sentiments
echo within the chasms of our souls. However, in tumultuous
past eras comparable to the present, the world has
also demonstrated its need for something further.
Perchance the world needs that something again.
What the world needs now is a warrior
engaged not in battle but in sport. Someone whose
abilities transcend what's humanly expected. Someone
whose aura electrifies our six senses.
Of what use, you might wonder, is
frivolous competition in a life so cruel, contemptuous
and cold? And likewise, of what purpose is synthetic
war when its legitimate counterpart ensues at the
corners of the Earth?
Indeed, the triviality of athletics
has never been clearer, but its valid significance
is there. Sport lifts us. It gives us hope. Fleeting
hope, maybe, but we take what we can get. Sport brings
us together. Sport gives us reason to believe.
What the world needs now is a titan,
a towering inferno of a man. Someone to quash things
symbolic of fear. Someone to shatter the nose on the
face of evil before it sniffs us out. Someone to crack
the ribs on the body hostile before it throws its
weight around.
With all the heroes whose legends
were born on the eleventh day in the month of September,
it wouldn't hurt to have one more. Someone to channel
our angst in a game of despair. Someone to let us
focus on a breed of violence that's not so bad.
What the world needs now is a world-beater,
a unifying force in the guise of an ordinary albeit
exceptionally gifted member of mankind. What the world
needs now is someone to enforce the order of things,
someone who makes his diplomacy by the fist.
Quite simply, what the world needs
now is an undisputed heavyweight champion.
Where have you gone, Joe Louis?
When the Brown Bomber feuded with
Max Schmeling, the world stood still. Theirs was a
rivalry of social consequence, an enmity for the ages
not due to how they matched up but why.
The ledger notes a loss by Louis in
their first encounter. It's their grudge match that
matters. In one corner stood Louis, the superlative
American David, a fitting representative from the
land where representation was king. And across the
ring, his German Goliath, the man championed by Adolf
Hitler as credible evidence of superiority in the
Rhineland.
The bout went one round.
Louis administered a savage thrashing
the likes of which boxing has rarely seen. In so doing,
he bolstered the spirits of his countrymen, each and
everyone of them. This was an omen as crucial as they
come.
Schmeling was not, in fact, a willing
foil. His taste for the Nazi mindset has been refuted
by the man himself. History doesn't very much care
to notice, a fact that speaks volumes for the enduring,
emblematic importance of this pugil war.
Louis was--and still is--to boxing
what few men have ever been to their respective professions.
What the world needs now is someone to emerge in this
grand tradition, an undisputed heavyweight champion
to call our own.
And we almost had one. Though you've
likely tried to repress such memories, surely, you
recall it wasn't all that long ago that Lennox Lewis
briefly wore the crown I speak of. We patiently sat
through 24 painstaking rounds over the course of Lewis'
two terribly disappointing bouts with Evander Holyfield,
just because an undisputed ring king seemed worth
our while. So, how did the always-fickle sweet science
rewarded us? By stripping its own ambassador of his
WBA title, for, of all things, not making a mandatory
date with John Ruiz.
Oh, pity! The WBA went and ruined
it for the rest of us.
Not that the WBA makes a lick a damned
difference. Boxing's sanctioning bodies irreparably
fractured their legitimacy many years before Lewis
turned pro. All the hardware's meaningless, it's just
that us fans sometimes like to pretend otherwise.
Besides, it makes sense that they
stripped him, right? He put his WBC and IBF obligations
ahead of his WBA duties, so the WBA put him in his
place. It's a loyalty thing. Everyone knows the National
Basketball Association suspends its superstars for
playing pick-up games during the summer, so why shouldn't
boxing do the same to its champions?
Wait a second--scratch that last thought,
I must be punch-drunk again.
The point is, boxing has had its fair
share of turmoil over the years, but now is as good
a time as any to make things right again. When the
world has got itself an undisputed champion, believe
it or not, people care. Even when the emperor is a
somewhat unpopular one--take Buster Douglas, please--the
people still want to watch him disrobe at ringside.
But who amongst us will cast the
first punch?
The contenders are a grab bag. The
Klitschko brothers--boxing's own Twin Towers--are
thus far unproven, though not so much in the ring
as between the ropes of public opinion. And heaven
forbid the next champ is someone the likes of Chris
Byrd. He'd be just boring enough to shoot my theory
to pieces.
Maybe it's Hasim Rahman?
Really, the state of the game sits
between The Rock and two hardheads. One is Lewis,
whom Rahman will rematch on the seventeenth of November
for the WBC, IBF and linear titles. The other is Mike
Tyson, who is coming off a victory over Brian Nielsen.
Folks are already salivating over Lewis versus Tyson,
but don't count on it. Whether Rahman wins, loses
or draws, this is still boxing--the best laid plans
of Mike and Lennox often go awry.
Even if the heavyweight crop seems
infertile, the seeds of restoration have been planted.
For the first time since the mid-nineties, none of
the reigning champions sign their checks with the
names Tyson, Holyfield or Lewis. That's a good thing,
dubious as title holders Rahman and Ruiz might be.
Perhaps the glamour division's perpetual
stalwarts--the aforementioned aging trio--are precisely
what the game doesn't need.
Holyfield's no longer fun. Lewis is
only fun when he feels like it. Tyson, who looks more
and more like an elder statesman with every instance
of post-fight adherence to relative normalcy, is nonetheless
past his prime. Their times have come and gone. Each
was splendid and legendary in his own right, but each
has long since proven his vulnerability, not to mention
wear and tear.
We need the perception of indestructibility
in our champion, which admittedly makes the division
a question mark the size of Rahman's thunderous knockout
punch last April.
Then again, maybe what the world needs
now is, in fact, Lewis. Is he the next best thing
to that other Louis guy? You could do better than
Lewis but you could do a whole lot worse. But look
at the eerie similarities. Lewis, like Louis before
him, has the opportunity to reverse a shocking loss
near the onset of worldwide war. His opponent is a
man who only abstractly represents whoever it is we're
fighting. The Muslim Rahman--as was the case with
the German Schmeling--could only unjustly be confused
as the enemy, whether people care to admit it or not.
The fact is, it doesn't matter who
the champion is, just so long as we have one. His
skin color, place of birth, religious beliefs, so
on and so forth, it's all inconsequential. If he's
got the skills and he's willing to play the role,
the world at large will get behind him.
Times are tough. Here's boxing's big
chance to rebound. Let's hope the fistic community
turns in a unanimous decision in the vote to do so.
A unified champion is something from which the global
community could always benefit, but now, more than
usual, it's just what we need.
