posted by Large

Dudes, again I refer you to my piece at The Sporting Blog, which touches on a subject near and dear to our hearts, the two gigantic, rival promotions of the fall.

To which I will add that this annoying situation where I am generally writing my pieces over at TSB and then linking to them here is going to be resolved soon once and for all, and I think to everyone’s satisfaction. More on that very soon…

Mayweather/Marquez vs. Pacquiao/Cotto Could Be the Fight of 2009
“If Floyd really wants to take a sure path towards making this fight enormous, and if he wants to immediately supersede any other news that surrounds him or his camp or the fight as it is posited right now, he has it in his power to do so… All he has to do, with his inimitable gusto, is insult the honor of Mexican boxers, Mexican people, and Mexico itself. Then, oh man … then all hell would break loose.”

posted by Shoefly

I don’t believe in signs or meaning or an universal narrative arc except where myself and my inescapable impending misfortune are concerned. That said… man, it’s been a black-cat-passing-beneath-a-ladder-while-spilling-some-salt kind of summer hasn’t it? All we’ve had is painful negotiations, spoiled fights, and the lasting stink of the true violence and death that the sport is really a manifest pushing away from. It’s enough to convert even a true believer in the church of chance to doubt his own faith.

Which is why Roger Mayweather’s ‘situation” has me worrying in ways that I prefer to devote toward morbid self-attention. Many dislike the Mayweathers, and I understand why, but I have always found them engaging and alive in ways that few are. They have a charm all their own, the out-sized self-love of the sociopath and the holy fool. Roger, in particular, mixes personal regard with gallows humor in a near vaudeville act that at points seems too perfect to be accidental.

“Why does Bill Gates still build them motherfuckin’ computers?”

Why indeed, Roger? Why indeed?

Read the rest of this entry »

posted by Avi Korine

Gents – we welcome today another writer to the Mas, Avi Korine, a.k.a. Shoefly (pictured right with the great Lupe Pintor). I was turned on to Avi’s writing through my Sporting Blog colleague Bethlehem Shoals of the Freedarko gang, and like the rest of that crew, Avi is evidently a graduate of Haverford College, a fact which I admit, when I learned of it, nearly scotched the whole deal. But a cooler head prevailed thankfully, because our boy here has some definite skills on the mike and is uniquely suited to the Masian project, as you soon shall learn. He was born and raised in Nashville, just down the road from where Elvis ate his first pancake. After the whole Haverford debacle, he became a screenwriter and collector of rare and exotic ointments. More to the point, he’s been a boxing fan since watching James Toney turn the lights out on Michael Nunn in the eleventh round of their middleweight title fight. He currently lives in Nashville and runs the embarrasingly grandiosely titled Boxiana. I ask you to please welcome him to the fold in the appropriate Masian style – read him, consider him, and give him hell. -L
———————————————————————————————

Floyd Mayweather Jr. isn’t my favorite fighter. I find his act amusing, but ultimately tiresome. However, I frequent certain sorts of social circles and I occasionally find myself in two conversations; the first, listening to an earnest account of where someone watched Tyson bite ‘that guy’s” ear off and how there are no fighters like him anymore, and the second, an attempt to justify the sport and explain my love for so morbid a game.

And that’s when I talk about Floyd Mayweather Jr. I talk about the human form honed to perfection; craft and body and mind as fighting machine. He is not the only one, and it’s not a distinction limited to the narrow definition of ‘boxer” as opposed to puncher. (Roberto Duran and Julio Cesar Chavez had it, too.) But Floyd’s is the meeting in craft and flesh most easily distinguishable to me, a living example of fighting grace and beauty. He is boxer as philosopher king, which all the greats are, even if they can’t explain it themselves; artists and poets and magicians each.

Read the rest of this entry »

posted by Large

I noticed in the comments to my previous post that the question at hand had turned to, dah, the question at hand. I’m amped for Cotto/Clottey, and for Floyd/Marquez as well, and we’ll get to those fights in due time.

But let’s face the facts, Masians – our little fistic cult suddenly has been occupied by a force much bigger than ourselves, and it goes by the name of… Flanny Pacweather. Moyd Maycquiao. Etc.

So I redirect you to a piece I wrote over at The Sporting Blog about this phenomenon, titled “Pacquiao vs. Mayweather: Will it Happen?” Most of the content probably won’t be much of a revelation to the hardcore Masian audience, but I offer it nevertheless just to get the discussion rolling. Because, look, I know it’s all we really want to talk about.

Pacquiao vs. Mayweather: Will It Happen?
“… Arum said immediately after the Hatton fight that anyone looking to fight Pacquiao right now (and by ‘anyone,” I presume he means Floyd Anyone Mayweather Jr.) shouldn’t expect to get more than ’30 or 35% of the split. If you happen to be unfamiliar with the self-esteem of Mr. Mayweather Jr. or his general attitude concerning matters of finance, allow me to understate the case considerably and inform you that these terms are not likely to sit well with him.”

Oh my people, what a night. Let me just put my apologies up top here for being MIA for a while and then get right to the good stuff. I have indeed been mired in some television-type business as I-berg pointed out, not to mention that I recently moved Mrs. Large and Reggie Large to a new house. Things have been non-stop. But I will tell you this – I’m going to be doing some fight-week reporting from San Jose next week for HBO leading up to next Saturday’s BAD card headlined by what promises to be a meanass smackdown, James Kirkland vs. Joel Julio. I will certainly bring some of that insider love here to the Mas.

It was impressive how much Diaz went for right from the opening bell. The kid was all the way down damn-the-torpedoes lane. There was a marked physical disparity in there too that I wasn’t expecting to see. Diaz looked considerably bigger, and with his relentless forward momentum, it felt a little like what in my memory Oscar/Floyd looked like in the first couple of rounds – a bigger man bum-rushing the shit out of a smaller man to the extent that the smaller guy, despite being the more skilled and savvy fighter, couldn’t help but seem concerned.