Sunday, November 12, 2000 Updated: December 7, 3:26 PM ET
Lewis-Tua takes tedium to new heights
By Doug Fischer Special to ESPN.com
LAS VEGAS -- The decision was unanimous. The fight stank.
Everyone at the Mandalay Bay's Event Center who watched Lennox Lewis dance that off-balance dance of his, and David Tua basically march in place for 12 rounds, agreed that this was the fighting equivalent to drinking a bottle of cough syrup.
This was not Muhammad Ali versus Joe Frazier or Larry Holmes versus Ken Norton. This made Tony Tubbs versus Tim Witherspoon look like Jack Dempsey versus Luis
Firpo.
Don't ask me for my score card. I lost interest after the fifth round. And don't feel bad for the saps who plunked down $50 to watch this pay-per-view joke -- at
least they got to watch three excellent undercard bouts.
No, weep instead for the poor fools who flew in from England and New Zealand. Mandalay Bay hooked me up with a nice nosebleed seat right in the middle of the two contingencies.
I was surrounded by loopy Lewis fans with the Union Jack flags painted on their faces who shouted English soccer songs about "Loo-is!" On the other side were the tipsy Tua boosters decked out in Polynesian skirts and red-pepper necklaces, hollering "Too-ah!" The friendly rivals chanted "Loo-is, Loo-is!" and "Too-ah, Too-ah!" as challenger and champion made their way to the ring.
Tua won the battle of the "walk-ins" with his island drum section. Lewis just confused the crowd with his Medieval-style royal entrance, which eventually turned into a reggae groove before he stepped through the ropes.
But the excitement didn't last past three rounds. Tua
would get a rise out of the crowd when he landed a
hook, but he didn't do much else for the other two
minutes and 45 seconds of any round. And aside from
avoiding the follow-up punches from Tua, Lewis didn't do
much either.
Even his loudest, drunken fan up in my section of the arena had to yell: "Loo-is! C'mon you bastard! 'Scuse my French, mates!"
Like a Dodgers game in the seventh inning, the hooligans and dancers began walking out as the fight slowly and pitifully deteriorated into a clutch-and-hold contest. After the unanimous decision was announced, the two factions left the Events Center
with a common bond -- all had witnessed the most boring heavyweight title fight in history.
I know I sound like a horrible xenophobe, but this is
what happens when Americans don't hold the biggest
title in sports. Get a tape of the 10-round war
between ex-con Clifford Etienne and former prison
guard Lawrence Clay-Bey that preceded the main event
to see what I mean.
At least Tua took some chances. I think he landed about seven or eight left hooks before I fell asleep in my seat around the eighth round.
Lewis thinks too much. He should give up the belts and stick to playing chess, or maybe cricket, if he needs the exercise. At least Tua took some chances. I think he landed about seven or eight left hooks before I fell asleep in my seat around the eighth round.
The fight seemed even after six rounds. Tua plodded,
paused, dipped to his left and then fired lunging,
slow-motion, telegraphed lefts. Lewis pawed with his
jab, leaned away from the hook, then skipped backwards.
If Tua actually laded more than one hook, he won the
round. If Lewis connected solidly with a jab, he got
the round. Forget about right hands from Lewis. The
undisputed heavyweight champion of the world didn't
come to fight.
Lewis just wanted to get by. He's a smart man, and after the sixth round, he fought a tactical -- and mind-numbingly boring -- fight.
Tua, to his credit, wanted knock the champ out, but he
couldn't get out of first gear. That's what happens
when a once-hungry fighter feasts on too many pastries
-- by the name of Gary Bell, Shane Sutcliff, Obed
Sullivan and Robert Daniels -- before the biggest fight
of his life.
Lewis, as expected, pulled to an insurmountable lead
in the late rounds -- fighting like an amateur, of
course. He tossed out jabs, an occasional right and
then circled away from danger. Tua, who weighed in at
245 pounds, didn't do what he was expected to do in
the championship rounds -- CLOSE THE GAP!
That's what the 225-pound Tua from 1996 to '98 would
have done. That was the bomb-throwin' Samoan who
tallied late-round KOs over David Izon, Oleg Maskaev
and Hasim Rahman. That warrior with the shaved-skull
would have crawled inside of Lewis' circus-tent sized
trunks and bashed the Brit's protective cup in the
final round.
The version of Tua the crowd of 13,000 was unfortunate
to witness was not a superhero, as his promoter,
America Presents, touted him to be coming into this
fight. They called him "TuaMan," the savior of the
heavyweight division. If this were pro wrestling (and
boxing promoters are trying to make the fight game
more and more like the WWF), Tua would be a fan
favorite. As the New Zealander would say in
first-person: "TuaMan gives the people what they
want."
Lewis, though the best heavyweight in the world, would
have to play the villain role. A stuffy,
crumpet-munching English snob the U.S. fans love
to hate. He'd wear a monocle and say something like: "TuaMan, you savage, Lennox Lewis will give you a right thrashing!"
The scenario would work in pro wrestling, and TuaMan
would shut the pompous blowhard's mouth with a booming
hook in the final round. All hail the new king. But this is boxing, and it's all too real.
The villain won. Now the only fight left to make in
what was once the glamour division of boxing is the
villain versus the super villain, Mike Tyson. That's
the worst thing about this dreadful 12 rounds of
plodding and posing -- Tyson, not TuaMan, is now the savior of the division.
Ya know what? If they can make that fight, I'll be rooting for Tyson.
Veteran boxing writer Doug Fischer is a columnist for www.houseofboxing.com.
