By Kevin Blackistone, FanHouse
Before the conclusion of Eric Drath's documentary, Assault in the Ring, a revisiting of what is arguably boxing's most-heinous plot -- which unfolded in the Luis Resto-Billy Collins Jr. bout in June 1983 -- there was a stunning revelation. Resto admitted that he knew the padding was stripped from his gloves, allowing him with knuckles sheathed mostly in leather to pummel Collins into a bloody mess and eventually a depression that Collins' family and friends said precipitated Collins' early death.
Until then, however, or for the more than a quarter-century that passed since that infamous felonious fight, Resto claimed he was merely an innocent bystander who had no idea that his despicable trainer Panama Lewis had committed such a dastardly deed.
Antonio Margarito and his handlers, most notably promoter Bob Arum, would like us to believe the same thing of Margarito's involvement in a fight with Shane Mosley almost a year ago that cost Margarito a year's suspension from the ring. Margarito's time served is just about up and, when it is, Arum would like Margarito licensed to fight again and put on the undercard of the Manny Pacquiao-Joshua Clottey fight in March at Jerry Jones' Cowboys Stadium just outside of Dallas.
But before Margarito is allowed to fight again, he should be made to tell the rest of us exactly what happened and show some remorse for his role. I'm hard-pressed to believe that in his 43rd fight as a pro he didn't know the wrapping on his fists included some sort of plaster that turned them into human sledgehammers. That claim stretches credulity just as much as Resto's long-held tale.
Fortunately for Margarito's last opponent, Mosley, the dangerous ruse was caught before the fighters touched gloves, and Margarito was forced to get taped again. Mosley didn't get his face turned to fresh ground meat like Collins. He lived to fight another day and beat the cheating Margarito when Margarito was made to fight fair.
But that shouldn't diminish what Margarito and his corner tried to pull off, which shared something else in common with Resto and Lewis, according to Drath's film. Resto and Lewis used some sort of plaster on Resto's fists' wraps, too.
Resto and Lewis wound up thrown in jail for their sadistic conspiracy. Margarito and his trainer in the Mosley fight, Javier Capetillo, escaped such prosecution only because they were found out before being able to exact such punishment. Then again, it is difficult for me to look at Margarito's last fight before meeting Mosley -- when he handed the rugged Miguel Cotto his first defeat by ripping apart his face -- and not wonder whether Margarito got away with what he didn't against Mosley. Cotto hasn't been the same fighter since.
As such, it shouldn't be so easy as signing application papers at the Texas Department of Licensing and Regulation that oversees boxing in Texas for Margarito to get back into the game. That is what Arum is banking on, however.
Texas' head boxing commissioner, Dick Cole, told me Thursday night from his home, where he is recovering from a recent hospital stay, that he would review all the evidence before granting a new license to Margarito. But his office shouldn't be the only one to do so, or the first.
This is one of the problems with boxing regulation. Margarito and his trainer were suspended by the California State Athletic Commission because their shenanigans were discovered at the Staples Center in Los Angeles. Margarito should have to ask that board, which voted 7-0 to revoke his license, for his right to earn a living again in the sport he disgraced.
That was what Mike Tyson did in the summer of 1998 after the Nevada Athletic Commission, a year earlier, took away his boxing license after he took a bite out of Evander Holyfield's ear in Las Vegas. That was the proper way to handle it. Margarito's case is not.
The new senator from Massachusetts, Scott Brown, would argue otherwise probably. He believes in states' rights superseding others when it comes to the healthcare debate. But if this was a driver's license that was at question, Margarito would have to do just what Tyson did before he could legally get a license in any other state. Texas shouldn't be able to bail him out now. Nevada, Connecticut, New York or any other big-fight state shouldn't be able to, either.
This happens far too often in boxing, though. Tyson's case was an exception that should be a rule. Instead, when a boxer can't get a license in one state for some reason, he too easily is handed a license in another no matter.
In 2006, Holyfield wanted to fight in New York but the New York State Athletic Commission denied him due to his physical condition. He'd lost five of his last eight fights. No problem, though. Holyfield turned to Texas. It OK'd him. He punched some guy named Jeremy Bates for two rounds. The only other places Holyfield has fought since are Russia and Switzerland.
Arum decried the ruling against Margarito almost a year ago. He threatened to sue. He said he was going to take Margarito to Mexico, where Margarito lives in Tijuana, to fight, U.S. fight commissions be damned.
Arum is our modern-day P.T. Barnum. He's about the show. He carried through with none of his threats.
It could be that his conscience got the better of him. After all, Arum promoted Collins 27 years ago when Resto and his lout of a trainer, Lewis, beat him to a pulp by turning a professional fight into a crime scene.
Arum pointed out the other day that because he wound up respecting Margarito's suspension, the Texas commission should take that into account. He shouldn't be telling that to the California commission, though, while his meal ticket in question, Margarito, owns up like those who have cheated other sports and hoped to be taken back by them in good graces.
Ignorance isn't bliss in this case; it's incredible.
Source: kevin-blackistone.fanhouse.com
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