Hands of Stone - Christian Giudice [155]
While Duran (84-7, 64 KOs) came in at 156¼ pounds, Barkley (25-4, 16 KOs) weighed at 164 on his first try, then returned moments later to make 160. Rumors had a member of the Duran camp playing games with the scale as Barkley somehow dropped four pounds in a minute. Barkley noted that his goal was to finish off the legends. “This is personal,” he said. “His people have no respect for me so I have no respect for him.”
The fight was the same weekend that Frank Bruno challenged Mike Tyson in Las Vegas and many of the leading sportswriters were forced to choose between the still-great Tyson or the once-great Duran. Most chose Vegas. Then a sudden snowstorm on the eve of the Atlantic City fight buried the Boardwalk under a foot of snow and closed down the city, as the frigid New Jersey shore in winter housed locals in casinos and bars. It lent a funereal atmosphere to the build-up. Even the Greyhound buses ferrying in the daily slots players were cancelled. Many fight fans sat it out in the popular Irish Pub, the only bar open twenty-four hours, where fight debates dragged on over lager and the famous crabcake sandwiches.
“Barkley was a tough kid, but he wasn’t great by any sense of the imagination. I gave Roberto a shot going into that fight,” said Bert Sugar. “I had a choice of going to the Saturday night fight Bruno-Tyson or the Friday night here, and I chose Vegas. We sat in a tent watching it and I thought I just made the wrong plane. I particularly thought that when Bruno came into the ring crossing himself twenty times. [Duran] was an echo of boxing past.”
If stature meant anything, Barkley had all but won the bout before Panama’s National Anthem. He stood six feet one, weighed 159 pounds to Duran’s 156¼ and had a six-inch advantage in reach. Duran was unlikely to beat him from the outside and to get inside meant risking Barkley’s pounding hooks. And then there was age: Duran was thirty-seven, with the wear and tear of twenty-one years as a boxer.
It was the kind of night where the inside of a boxing event actually guaranteed warmth. The only reason to be outside was to get to your car or a cab. High-rollers took their comp’d tickets to see Duran one more time; others who knew nothing about the sport could at least recognize the name and the reputation.
As Duran walked to the ring, many felt it was the last time they would see this great champion. Even his son Chavo was scared. Barkley looked bigger than ever as the combatants faced each other, bathed in sweat, for the pre-fight instructions. Referee Joe Cortez called for a reluctant Barkley to touch gloves.
“Iran, c’mon. Shake hands.”
Duran stood and waited.
Starting the fight, Duran moved to his left, and felt his way around the twenty-foot ring. Barkley loomed forward like a nightclub bouncer keeping a troublemaker out of his club. Despite controlling a good portion of the three minutes, Barkley was shaken at the end of the round when Duran landed an overhand right that forced him to back-pedal to safety. Not in serious danger, Barkley smiled to the crowd, the grin of a boxer who got hit with a punch that he knew he shouldn’t have. What should have been his New York crowd started chanting “Doo-ran” after the bell, but Barkley didn’t seem fazed. He had his supporters too. “Duran was a legend so you could expect half of Panama to show up,” Barkley said. “Half of the Dominican Republic and blacks from everywhere came to see me and we sold this place out.”
Duran found his faithful short left hook off the ropes, overhand right, then clinch, to be effective. The right hand, held high for protection, slowly dropped down by his chest as the fight progressed. Duran’s mouthpiece showed early in the fight, a worrying sign that a boxer is gasping, but he knew how to pace himself. He came off the ropes in a fury in the fourth round and hit back with ferocity for the first time. The sudden ambush elicited a brief return to his youth. There is someone