The night JC Chavez taught me a lesson by Paul Concannon Feb 20th 2007

It's about 10pm on the 15th of September 1992, a daft but wide-eyed boxing fan had just watched Andy Holligan knock out Tony Ekubia to defend his British and Commonwealth light-welterweight titles; I was impressed. I had read an article on Holligan in Boxing Monthly some months previously that stated boldly, ‘Doing it like Duran'. The hard-punching and aggressive slugger had a style that was already being likened to Roberto Duran. Like me, he was a fan of 'Manos de Piedra'. My first glimpse of Holligan was on the now defunct Screensport channel some months earlier when he destroyed Leicester's dangerous but fragile Tony McKenzie in three rounds. Holligan walked in against the cannon of a man with renowned power. McKenzie was rescued after being stunned and swamped on the ropes, his dangerous right-handers bouncing harmlessly off the skull of the relentless Merseysider. To my mind I was witnessing a future world champion, indeed ‘Doing it like Duran'. I was reminded of another Liverpool fighter, Paul Hodkinson who at that stage held the WBC featherweight title - the omen seemed good. The undisputed ruler of the 10 stone division back then was the mighty Julio Cesar Chavez, the multi-titled three-weight world champion and the top man in the pound-for-pound food chain. I had seen many of Chavez's fights and, back then, couldn't see too much difference between Holligan and the acclaimed 'Lion of Culiacan.' Like I said, daft. They both liked to come forward and attack, each had a nice line in body punching, and each man had drawn comparisons with Duran. A fight between the two seemed a natural. The Ekubia fight put the seal on any doubts that my undeveloped boxing brain (some would say it still is) had about Holligan's pretentions to top class. It was a rematch of a tough 12-round bout that had seen the undefeated Merseysider take a close verdict, and with it Ekubia's British and Commonwealth titles in June of 1991. Ekubia was a beautifully sculpted, compact box-fighter with power in each hand; he was seen as a very real threat to reverse the result of their first fight. The bout that promised to be two-sided and fierce would more closely resemble a rout. Holligan won almost every round en route to a stunning seventh round count-out. This is not to suggest that the Manchester based Ekubia didn't come to fight, he battled every inch of the way, but just like Duran or Chavez every time Andy was nailed he would throw three punches in response. Ekubia rose from a knockdown in round six to catch his oppressor with a desperate crunching right hand in the next session. It was the lack of effect of that shot as much as the champion's final left hook seconds later that were enough to convince the gallant Mancunian the ten count and the canvas were the safer options that night at the Everton Park sports centre. The success story continued; now in pole-position for that dream shot against Chavez he stayed busy with a pair of decision wins over durable American journeymen Dwayne Swift and Mark Smith, and a crushing stoppage of an inept Mexican called Lorenzo Garcia. The reality was drawing ever closer. Perhaps adding to British hopes was a suggestion that after 80 fights the undefeated Chavez might finally be slowing down. In his previous fight but one the Mexican warrior had struggled badly with Pernell Whittaker in a much-anticipated super-bout. He was seemingly bamboozled for the most part by the wily skills of the slippery American, even being stunned on a few occasions by a man acknowledged for technique rather than power. I was now more or less certain Andy could cause an upset, stunned by Pernell Whittaker surely meant Chavez could be wobbled by Holligan at the very least. To my delight, the fight was announced for December the 18th 1993 on a huge show in Puebla, Mexico, which would feature three world title bouts. The preview headline in the previous week's Boxing News was dubious of his chances, reading 'Holligan in search of a Christmas miracle.' I remember being a bit surprised; they had the fearsome brawler beaten before he entered the ring. I was certain he was capable of surprising a few people, and I thought about the other great British upsets like Honeyghan vs. Curry and Stracey vs. Napoles. Stranger things had happened, hadn't they? The bill was a Don King extravaganza featuring 11 undercard bouts. As well as Holligan challenging Chavez for the WBC light-welterweight title, Terry Norris was defending against Simon Brown for the WBC title at light-middle and Michael Nunn defending his WBA super-middleweight belt against Merqui Sosa. The Nunn-Sosa bout was a stinker, with two long armed, lanky types tying each other in knots for twelve bad tempered rounds. Nunn took a wide decision in a forgettable bout. The Norris v Brown affair was far more exciting. Norris was high in the P4P rankings and Brown was a former welterweight champion deemed to be on the slide. The explosive Norris attacked like a headless chicken allowing the composed, hard hitting ex-champion to have a field day, flooring Norris in the first, wobbling him in the second and third and knocking him stone cold in the fourth with a single right hand. It was a sensational victory, and the upset factor added spice to the main event. Watching the bout on that cold Sunday afternoon, I felt this would be a fight of the year style war. I noticed Holligan looking relaxed though somewhat pensive, understandable given the intensely pro-Chavez atmosphere. The fight was only seconds old when I realised how wrong I had been. Andy was rocked in the opening exchange and emerged from a pounding on the ropes with his nose gushing blood; that with less than a minute gone. The remainder of the round was one-sided, Holligan stalking in and out, emerging a little more savaged each time. The predatory Chavez with the 'similar style' fought with an artistry and grace that made the Scouser seem sluggish. I was cruelly learning the difference between Tony Ekubia at Everton Park and Julio Cesar Chavez in Puebla. The beating continued through round two. Fighting from the outside, or on the inside Chavez's spiteful fists could not miss the target; he fired salvos up and down with expert aplomb. The third was more of the same with Holligan being stung and swatted, and so intent on defence his own shots were limited to just single desperate efforts. It was proving a painful lesson on their respective ability levels. Rounds four and five were more of the same, with the brave British fighter actually having a few good moments before, ultimately, being rescued at the end of the fifth. I learned more about boxing in those 15 gruesome minutes than in all my previous years of watching the sport; the very best on the planet have ability levels above and beyond top-flight domestic professionals. Watching Holligan destroy Ekubia and Chavez destroy the likes of Greg Haugen may look similar and achieve a similar level of eye candy to the casual boxing witness, but closer inspection reveals men operating in different stratospheres, poetically exemplified by Holligan's brutal and gallant stand against Chavez. Nobody wins world titles at three weights without being able to vary their game plan. The seek and destroy version of Chavez that had crushed the Mayweathers and Rosarios was equally comfortable in the role of slick matador when facing a man who was willing to assume the role of the attacker. Holligan was philosophical after the pounding, "I could have done better but I could have done worse," he concluded. This statement didn't quite sum up his contribution to the contest, but Holligan earned well from the fight, which hopefully helped anesthetise the pain that Chavez inflicted. The moral of the story, I suppose, is this, that there are good fighters and there are great fighters. If you happen to like, love, follow or be a fan of one of those good fighters-just occasionally they can start looking great too. Much as we can sometimes really want our valiant underdog to win, or our ‘next big thing' to fulfil all our hopes and dreams, the cold, hard truth of a boxing ring can provide the cruellest reality check of all.

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