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Bowe Bests
Zumbrun…
On the Cards
“Give me six weeks and I’ll be down to 240-250”
By
Joe Rein
Fightworld.us Exec. Editor
Photos by
Jan
Sanders
It was a masterpiece. Madam Toussaint’s
finest.
 The wax figure of former heavyweight champion
Riddick Bowe that showed up four hours late to the weigh-in for his ten-rounder
with Billy “The Kid” Zumbrun was near perfect, down to the U.S.M.C. tat on his
shoulder. A bigger model, granted – 280 pounds, but the genius was in the
details. The artisans had captured the slouch, the Cheshire grin, the “Brooklyn
all the way” shout-outs to the adoring…He was remarkably life like.
There were some gulps when Bowe’s weight was
announced. But he’s a wide body, and, yes, there was a stomach going South and
flesh melting over his beltline, but he wasn’t a poster boy for diabetes – more
the Foreman that came out of retirement, with less muscle tone.
Not a single veteran fight guy tumbled to the
ruse.
When faux Bowe ambled across the ring in the
first round to engage Billy “The Kid”, the only ones that knew Zumbrun were in
his corner and his girl friend. The script required another W in Bowe’s
rebuilding program. Zumbrun’s only appearance could have been in a record book.
This was the Bowe that Zumbrun had seen on TV
and boxing magazines: Two times heavyweight champ, a single loss in 42 fights,
epic wars with Evander Holyfield and Golota -- a dreadnaught to stay clear off.
Zumbrun was tentative in the first round, like a demolition expert wary of a
bomb.
Zumbrun has a Masters Degree, and he’d
applied himself in the ten-day crash course with Cornelius Boza-Edwards on how
to frustrate Bowe and be effective. Zumbrun circled to the right – moved side to
side -- out of reach, darted in, clutched and slid off again to the right.
Good strategy. But, with short arms and a linebacker’s body and temperament,
bull rushing seemed more appropriate.
He didn’t storm the cardboard likeness of the
ex-champ. He was cautioned.
Zumbrun fought the reputation, and gave away
the first round. It made the difference in the final tally. Judges looked at
columns of figures, totaled them, and two out of three of added up for Bowe.
But the almost 1900 in the Grand Ballroom of
the Pechanga Resort & Casino thought otherwise and voted with their voices --
drowning out Jimmy Lennon Jr. -- protesting the verdict -- like the revolt in
Ukraine over the election. But there they had a recount and the decision was
righted. Here, they just grumbled – very loudly -- and had to accept it.
It was a perfect example of: What’s logical
is not always right. Bowe got more points but Zumbrun won the fans. For an
unknown with 25 pro fights, he deserved to be hoisted on the shoulders of his
corner men, not for a gallant effort but a win. He earned bragging rights.
Many in the crowd raged at the injustice and
had to be restrained.
Two experienced judges saw it for Bowe,
96-92. The third, Ray Corona, saw it for Zumbrun, 95-93, as did Fightworld.us.
It came down to preferences. Bowe did reach
Zumbrun consistently with jabs. They were clear -- easy to see, like movie
punches -- and added to Bowe’s punch stats. But aside from the one moment
that Bowe looked like his old self in the fourth, sinking a left hook wrist deep
to Zumbrun’s liver, forcing him to a knee; he was lethargic -- never let his
hands go. When he did, it was one-at-a-time, not in combination – usually, off
the mark -- and always ponderous. Zumbrun did the real damage.
When Bowe shuffled forward behind the jab, to
Goossen’s
 urging, it was not a contest, only a question of how quickly Bowe
would dispose of the upstart. But, for the most part, the spear was his
offense. Either he had respect for Zumbrun’s punches, or his reserves were in
question.
Zumbrun showed the ingredient that separates
real fighters: He came back stronger than ever after he was dropped. Not
easy to summon courage when a glacier’s bearing down. Had the bell not sounded
when it did in the fifth, Bowe would have been stopped against the ropes. He
was taking a shellacking. The ref was just about to jump in.
 Zumbrun’s punches drove through and around
Bowe’s guard and struck him like bunker busters, shaking him and snapping his
head back. The barrage was so furious; Bowe couldn’t roll with all of them. It
was a flash back to Holmes brutalizing Ali. The crowd rose-up for the underdog,
but it was sad sight.
Bowe tried to keep his aplomb, and his
dignity, but he was hurt, and the intimidation factor was gone.
After the fifth, the fans were believers.
This no name could pull off the upset and end Bowe’s comeback abruptly. There
was a groundswell building for Zumbrun. He wasn’t cannon fodder. He was
live, and meant business.
What may have proved a critical deduction for
Zumbrun; the referee took a point from him for excessive holding in the
eighth. It didn’t stir a ripple at the time; the fans were so anxious to get
on with the action.
 Zumbrun had power but not the reflexes or
training to slip a jab or ride with it. All Bowe’s landed flush – very showy.
They weren’t Liston 2x4s – more like a carpenter extending a ruler. Zumbrun was
at the end of most, and ate them as the price to attack.
They added up enough – on two official’s
cards -- to out-weigh the damage of all Zumbrun’s punishment. Zumbrun did more
than Bowe in the 9th, and deserved a 10-8 round for the final, he
belabored Bowe so decisively.
But, it was the infraction, Bowe’s jab, and
the knockdown that cost Zumbrun the fight. The fans only remembered a
near-helpless Bowe against the ropes. Bowe had a different take on it after the
fight: ” You can’t win a fight throwing five punches. Two minutes and thirty
seconds, he didn’t do nothing.”
Zumbrun will have to settle for a moral
victory, but it should earn him another TV shot. He’s a crowd pleaser. And now
has some visibility. “It gives me more confidence,” Zumbrun said after the
fight. But, he put it in perspective, “If he (Bowe) goes and gets knocked out
by the number 20 guy in world, it kind of erases my name.”
There were hints of the old Bowe, but,
mostly, he looked a journeyman.
When Bowe confers with wife, Terri -- who
doesn’t mince words -- Joe Goossen and Jimmy Adams about the future, they’ll
make the point forcefully: No opponent will swoon at the mere mention of
Riddick’s name, from now on. Fighters will be tripping over each other to claim
his scalp.
So far, Bowe’s adopted George Forman’s
playbook: handshakes and autographs for fans; an open door to the media; pick
soft touches; fight often; forget the criticism -- a win is a win -- build up
the W’s; bank the money and seize the moment, like Foreman did with Moorer.
“Big Daddy” will be under 40, if he stays on schedule. A kid compared to
Forman.
Boxing’s a fickle business -- a couple of
wins, a quick knockout or two and this listless performance will be forgotten.
Joe Goossen told reporters after the fight,
“Give me five-six weeks with him – a strength coach, a dietician, my running
guy, and me in the gym, he’ll be a different Bowe. Riddick added, “Give me six
weeks and I’ll be down to 240-250.”
Promoter Dan Goosen thought publicist Bill
Caplan said it best, ‘George Forman didn’t look much better in his first
fight back in Sacramento.’
It took months for Bowe to prove he wasn’t
brain damaged to get a license. Another showing like this and he may not have
the evidence to document it.
Jirov vs. Neal (10-Rd heavyweight):
After two successive loses, one for the
cruiserweight title to James Toney -- a barn burner -- and a tenth-round,
one-punch KO at the hands of Michael Moorer, Vassiliy Jirov (33-3, 29 KO’s)
started on the road back against a fellow southpaw, Forrest Neal (16-5, 12
KO’s), 211, from Detroit, Michigan. It was slated for ten rounds, but never saw
the end of three.
It was hardly a test for Jirov.
At the bell, Neal tried to make the ring as
large as he could, circling to the right, right jabbing infrequently off his
left foot, keeping as much distance as he could from Jirov. With his head well
back, Neal threw snaking lefts, always short of the mark.
Jirov easily avoided both the jab and left,
and worked his way closer with double jabs to the head and body. Neal’s punches
were meant to keep “The Tiger” at bay…no more.
 Two Jirov hooks in the second crumpled Neal
twice. Two more, not especially thunderous-looking, Jirov hooks in the third
sent Neal sprawling twice more.
The referee saw enough on the last knockdown,
and halted it at 1:10 of the third.
Vassiliy didn’t break a sweat, but it was a
confidence booster, rebuilding
Ward vs. Ashworth (6-Rd middleweight):
This is the second time Andre Ward’s faced
Roy Ashworth in three bouts -- different name, different guy, different place,
but same back-ally mugger.
Dan Goossen and Square Ring, Roy Jones’
promotional arm, aren’t neglecting Ward’s pro education. It’s doubtful in all
of Ward’s illustrious amateur career, leading to the Olympic Gold Medal in 2004,
he’s had to deal with the kind street fighting he’s faced since he started
punching for pay five months ago. When he moves up, (and he shows lots of
promise) he’ll be ready for anything.
 Roy “Danger Zone”Ashworth (3-1 was aptly named;
where he is
is
dangerous. None of the niceties applied. Whatever it took to beat Ward down,
the 32-year-old mechanic from Lake Charles, La. was going to do it. Nothing
sissy, like boxing, was going to keep him from letting Ward know “who’s the
man!” If they had a choice of gloves, he’d have picked a tire iron.
Ashworth tackled, wrestled, smack-talked,
rabbit punched and did everything but put the boots to Ward …only because the
ref was alert. Several times, Ashworth thrust out his chin and stuck out his
tongue, “You can’t hurt me!” Like Mayorga did against Vernon Forrest. But
Ashworth paid for it like Marorga against Trinidad.
Ashworth was the WWF villain: The man the
crowd loved to hate. Ward wore the white hat
Ward showed his professionalism and composure
from the opening bell. He coolly deflected all Ashworth’s charges and attempts
to rough him up in clinches. He tucked his shoulder and smothered Ashworth’s
swings, never offering a target or wasting energy.
 At one point in the first, Ward followed up
on a punch, and stumbled to the canvas, face down. Ashworth put his knee in
Ward’s shoulder and swung at the back of his head twice with everything he
could, while the ref struggled to separate them. Neither shot found the mark.
It put the crowd squarely, and loudly, in Ward’s corner.
Ashworth’s actions brought to mind his words
-- seated just a few chairs from Team Ward at the weigh-in: “I have just my
regular style – aggressive and end it. My… trainers made me the badass white boy
I am today.”
After the first-round of grappling, the difference
in skill was light years. Ward showed why Goossen Tutor was so high on him. If
it had been an audition, he passed with flying colors: jabs to the head and
body, Ray Robinson-like combinations –
sweet!
And never got dragged into the gutter with Ashworth.
A picture combination dropped Ashworth for an
eight-count in the third. When he arose, he would not heed the ref’s repeated
warning about rabbit punches. The ref DQ’d him with four seconds left in the
round.
“Once I hurt him and knocked him down, “ Ward
said after the fight. “I knew it was pretty much gonna be downhill for him.
Either he was gonna go out on his back or he was gonna get DQ’d. He chose to
get DQ’d. These guys try to mouth off to intimidate me. Don’t let the good
looks fool you. I’m not some pretty boy that rode in on a white horse with a
silver spoon in his mouth. I’m a warrior.”
At the weigh-in, I asked Ashworth if he’d
ever had his bell rung. “I don’t know…it’s never been rung.”
I think he’d have a ready answer now.
****
Editor’s note:
Pechanga Casino and Resort is about the size of New Jersey, and probably has
more people. I dropped my cell phone, my lifeline to Fightworld.us, God knows
where. With little hope of finding a needle in a haystack, I reported it to the
head of Security, Elroy Best, and chalked it up as lost. In little more than
ten minutes, he located it and had it returned to me.
The moral is:
You may lose your money at Pechanga, but not your cell phone, if Elroy Best is
on the job.
****
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