Was this cut bad enough to keep Robert Guerrero from continuing his fight with Daud Yordan?For all of us fight fans who have never actually punched for pay (or fought in the amateurs, for that matter), it’s sometimes hard to fathom what goes through a fighter’s head at any given time. Like any other sport that none of us are good enough at to ply as a trade, it’s oftentimes baffling as to why athletes do what they do during a given contest. And for any of us with less than a six pack of Schlitz (Schlitz!) in them and at least some degree of objectivity and fairness, we probably imagine that we would fare no better if we were in their shoes.
Sure, it’s easy to blame the quarterback for missing that open receiver, but could we have kept it together any better when a blitzing 280-pound linebacker was bearing down on us? The same applies to the fight game. While I remember chastising Oscar De La Hoya for abandoning his rather effective jab halfway through the Floyd Mayweather fight, I have no idea what was actually going through Oscar’s head. And since Oscar’s won a few more world titles than I have, it’s hard for me to criticize him more than beyond just a fan’s perspective. If Emmanuel Steward comes to the same conclusion, though, his pedigree as a trainer lends greater weight to his comments, even if he’s essentially saying the same thing all of us watching are.
I found myself tackling this same conundrum during Robert “Ghost” Guerrero’s 130-pound scrap against Indonesia’s Daud Yordan (wonder if Yordan’s ever fought in Borneo?) Saturday. Although the fight didn’t make it to the end of round two, it was apparent that Yordan (who I hadn’t heard of until then) was far better than both the Golden Boy Promotions & Guerrero himself likely thought, and the Ghost was in for a tough night. Just over halfway through the round, an accidental head butt initiated by Yordan cause a nasty gash over Guerrero’s right eye, and the blood was streaming down. Referee John Shorle then took him over to the corner to be examined by the doctor.
At this point, I remember thinking to myself, “that’s a bad place for a cut, too bad, it will likely alter this fight significantly.” Little did I know - and here’s where my conundrum comes in. Both the ringside doctor and Shorle appeared inclined to the let the fight continue; after all was said and done, there was a minute left in the round, and the corner would have a chance to work on the cut shortly. However, it was clear almost immediately after the cut happened that Guerrero’s body language wasn’t right. He wasn’t mad, wasn’t hopping to get back out there and fight, he looked like a guy wanting to hit the locker room.
And that’s exactly what happened. The Ghost kept repeating over and over that he couldn’t see, and even when both the doctor and referee seemed fine with letting the fight go on, Guerrero repeated again that he couldn’t see. His last complaint seemed to say, “What’s wrong with you guys? I’m trying to tell you the fight’s over!” At this point, Shorle had to stop the fight, which then became a no contest, as it was an accidental butt inside of four rounds. Of course the San Jose crowd (Guerrero’s from nearby Gilroy) went nuts after the fight was stopped, but my guess is that most of them had no idea who actually stopped the fight. Only as the week has gone on has it likely become apparent to them.
The problem is, none of us actually know what was going through Guerrero’s head at the time. Most of the press since then has vilified him for essentially quitting, knowing he might be in for a long night. It’s boxing after all, right? Boxing is where fighters are Coliseum-style gladiators that would gladly give their left ear to let the fight continue! We all fondly remember the cut up face of Arturo Gatti on numerous occasions, or Diego Corrales vehemently protesting after his fight with Jose Luis Castillo was stopped even though he had a cut that went completely through his bottom lip. It should be so easy, then, to say Guerrero failed this litmus test.
Bur what would all of us fight fans have done in the same situation? On the one hand, you could say Guerrero showed no guts, as he could have at least fought the last minute of round two, let his corner work on the cut, then if it didn’t improve by round three, beg out at that time. Furthermore, with 6,500 of his fans that paid good money in a bad economy there to see him, doesn’t he owe it to them to try and get back out there?
On the other hand, maybe he was just being pragmatic. Perhaps he just freaked out at being cut that bad for the first time, and was sure that he’d now lose the fight. Maybe he really couldn’t see, and was afraid he’d get knocked out by a punch he didn’t see coming. With his wife’s well-publicized battle against leukemia (and subsequent medical bills) echoing through his mind, maybe losing the fight and another potential big paycheck was too much of a risk. If Guerrero had said that’s why he stopped the fight, could anyone have blamed him? And for that matter, would we have done the same?
Having said that, however, the lingering memory of the situation for most boxing fans will be Guerrero acting as if he didn’t want to continue. And in the fight game, there is almost no greater transgression. Think Vitali Klitschko being vilified for quitting on his stool in a fight he was winning against Chris Byrd; it wasn’t until he battled through a face full of cuts against Lennox Lewis that he regained any measure of redemption. We still talk about Roberto Duran’s “No Mas” fight against Sugar Ray Leonard, and as great as Duran was, that fight still hangs on him like an albatross to this day. There are two things in boxing that are the most egregious sins: Cheating (as in rigging equipment) and quitting, in that order. Cheating usually is never forgiven, while quitting can be redeemable, but it normally takes time and the right opportunity.
Regardless of his reasons (and rightly or wrongly), Guerrero has broken the boxing fan’s trust in many eyes. Only time will tell if he earns it back.
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