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Sunday, August 13, 2006
Holyfield is his same “old” self
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
Fighters don’t change. The tipoff that it’s time to go is everything changes around them.
Opponents no longer are champions, contenders or even mild threats. They’re dead-end club fighters with names like Jeremy Bates, who once lost to somebody with a record of 15-39.
Paydays aren’t counted in several millions. They’re way south of seven figures and based on the gate, not pay-per-view, because there is no pay-per-view (Fox Sports will televise). There’s no real promoter. Or a guarantee. The ring isn’t in Las Vegas or New York. It’s in Dallas, following a training stopover in Shreveport.
Evander Holyfield hasn’t changed. He’s the same guy who beat Mike Tyson. He’s the same guy who lost 11 of 12 rounds to Larry Donald in his last bout, the same guy who has had over seven years of mostly forgettable and regrettable fights. What changes? His camp. Managers and trainers leave. Even a massage therapist leaves.
In Holyfield’s eyes, they can always be replaced. As long as he has a checkbook, there is somebody out there to say, “Yes, sir. No, sir. You can whip anybody out there, sir.”
Holyfield may be finished. The finish line, that’s another story. He fights next Friday night at American Airlines Center in Dallas against Bates, who is 21-11-1, coming off two straight defeats to guys you’ve never heard of and was handpicked for obvious reasons.
Holyfield still believes there is a road back to the heavyweight title. He turns 44 in two months and certainly is aware what most people think of all this. His following has diminished. His legacy is taking hits. (If you wish to remember the better stuff, ESPN Classic is showing, “SportsCentury: Evander Holyfield” Monday night, following a replay of Holyfield-George Foreman, which was 15 years ago.)
Does he care? No. I asked him to try to be objective for a moment, to pretend he was a fan looking at recent results. The three straight losses. The 2-5-2 record in the last nine fights. The inability to throw the counterpunch immediately after the brain tells you, “Throw the counterpunch.”
His response: “I would realistically hear what [the fighter] had to say. I would ask myself, ‘Do I agree with that?’ I would ask, ‘Is he making excuses?’ When a person makes excuses, he won’t get better. I don’t give anybody excuses. What happened is what happened.”
But he talks about coming back too soon from rotator cuff surgery in 2002. Both shoulders never properly healed, he says. He was forced to fight an alternate style because of the pain, he says. He’s as strong and healthy now as he has been since the Tyson fights, he says.
You may believe all that’s an excuse, that it doesn’t excuse the obvious: His reactions are slow. He’s getting hurt by body shots like never before. He can’t put punches together. But you’re the blind one, Holyfield says.
“I know what I can do and can’t do,” he said. “People say, ‘Evander got old,’ but you don’t get old overnight. They told me to take two years off after the surgery and I didn’t do it. I know that. I know how this is supposed to end.”
Most feel otherwise, even in the soft landscape that is boxing’s heavyweight division. Neither attorney/adviser Jim Thomas nor trainer Don Turner felt Holyfield should continue fighting. They were replaced before the Donald fight, which was so lopsided that the New York Athletic Commission put Holyfield on a medical suspension (which has since been lifted). The only two holdovers are strength and fitness trainer Tim Hallmark and camp aide Mike Weaver, Holyfield’s nephew. Promoter Don King’s contract has expired. Holyfield is his own promoter and manager. Ronnie Shields, an assistant early in his career, is his trainer.
He admits he’s starting near the bottom, with an opponent like Bates. But the idea is to take a pulse of his body and his timing, without exposing himself to much risk. This isn’t like the old days, when he ordered promoters to arrange bouts with top contenders so he could immediately get back to a title shot.
I asked Holyfield if he had a timetable for this latest comeback. I’m not sure why. I already knew the answer.
“My whole thing is, I’m not going to quit,” he said. “I’d like to be a champion within 13 or 14 months. But if it doesn’t come, I’m still going to fight.”
One thing doesn’t change. Everything else does.
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