Yuriorkis Gamboa sizzles amidst AC sleaze

ATLANTIC CITY, N.J.–If Las Vegas is Disneyland for adults, then Atlantic City is the county fair: an infrequent occasion to revel in the mire, where one tolerates conditions that would be considered disgusting under normal circumstances.

Walking the boardwalk last night for the first time I experienced something akin to what Detroit’s many critics must see on their visits: a pervasive drabness and decay that is impossible to ignore despite recent attempts at development. And that is to say nothing of the proliferation of casinos in both places to accelerate the bleeding of the working poor.

The very atmosphere of AC reeks of seediness and scandal. Clearly a fitting second home for the boxing world, and appropriate backdrop to the shenanigans that took place at Boardwalk Hall Saturday night.

On paper all of the fighters favored to win did so, most notably unbeaten Cuban featherweight phenom Yuriorkis Gamboa. The Olympic gold medalist secured a unanimous technical decision victory in his last fight at 126 lbs. after Daniel Ponce de Leon suffered a cut on a clash of heads in the 8th round.

In actuality, a slew of horrid officiating and uneven application of the rules detracted from what should have been a tremendous night of pugilism.

Nothing about this night was planned or easy. On Saturday afternoon I hastily made arrangements to cover the card after realizing Doc Oct would be busy with Strikeforce, only to find myself tied up at Amtrak customer service while my train departed. After finally clearing up the matter and receiving a long-overdue refund from Hurricane Irene, I boarded the next train to Philly and made my way to Southern New Jersey.

Arriving at Atlantic City and taking the jitney to my hotel felt like riding an amusement park ride through an outdoor strip mall, which is basically what AC is plus casinos. The sky was overcast and the main strip smells like a public pool. I arrived at Bally’s, checked in and was quickly reminded that $180 does not buy as much as it used to in the hospitality industry. In this case it doesn’t even pay for in-room Web access. As for the rest of the facility, suffice to say there are few places more depressing than a shabby casino filled with shabbier people making bets they can ill-afford to lose.

After a quick stroll down the boardwalk I found myself at the venue, where I quickly took my seat on press row between compatriots Tim Starks and David Greisman just ahead of the first bout. Boardwalk Hall feels like the gymnasium at a large public high school. The building’s layout is straightforward; press are penned up in their section rather than being given full run of the facility like most other fights.

A raucous crowd of 2,085 showed up to voice their support for Gamboa and a couple local boys on the undercard, with the promoter blaming Sunday’s 9/11 anniversary for their failure to sell all 2,800 tickets.

The first fight featured super lightweight prospect Terence Crawford taking on journeyman Angel Rios, who entered the ring dressed as a patriotic mad hatter. Crawford’s patient, probing style to open quickly gave way as Rios proved himself available to be hit at will.

“You can’t hit anyone more flush than that,” Tim said to my left, while I noted that either Rios possesses an admirable chin or Crawford lacks power. I lean towards the former, considering Rios has scheduled himself to fight two undefeated prospects in the space of seven days (Jose Benavidez is up next).

Despite the clean sweep on the scorecards for Crawford it was an excellent fight, with both men willing to stand and trade as befits professionals. Crawford improved to 15–0 (11 KOs) while Rios performed his duty as an opponent as well as any fighter in his position.

The next bout saw novice super bantamweight Miguel Cartagena of Philadelphia notch his third career win by stopping Cristian Cruz in the second round with a burst of wide punches delivered in the style of an Old West gunslinger. Both were young but neither seems destined for much, though Cruz clearly possessed the heavier hands.

Next up came one of the night’s main attractions: Puerto Rican super featherweight Luis Cruz, who impressed against Martin Honorio on the undercard of JuanMa Lopez-Orlando Salido. Cruz is a poised, savvy boxer and he fights with a patience that belies his youth. He staggered opponent Antonio Davis with a flurry in the 2nd round that left his opponent punch-drunk and taking a standing eight count. Davis could offer nothing in response, as Cruz ducked every punch as if it came in slow motion.

The domination continued into the fourth as Cruz stayed true to his name and worked his foe over with aplomb. My notes show Cruz was simply too fast for Davis, now 38-years-old and clearly well past his TV days. Every jab Cruz threw landed cleanly as the fight began to resemble an afternoon of light sparring in the gym. By the end of the round we were calling for the corner to throw in the towel.

But Davis gamely came out for the fifth, only to find himself on the receiving end of a series of precise jabs and left hooks. A picturesque right uppercut under the chin floored Davis before the end of the round as to my left Tim wondered how the Atlanta native was able to regain his feet.

“How did he get up? He’s just getting his ass kicked.”

But Davis’ unraveling had no discernible effect on Cruz, whose visage showed no sign he sensed his foe’s weakness. Working deliberately behind his snapping jab, Cruz came forward and fired a lead left uppercut. A combination followed, ending with a video-game-worthy right uppercut to jaw that ended night.

Davis hung in the air for a moment like a heavy bag before absorbing the punch; afterward he remained on the canvas for several minutes before eventually being assisted to his feet. As impressive as the knockout was, it generated more concern for Davis’ health than admiration from the crowd. Most thought Davis’ corner should have stopped the fight far sooner.

The chief support of the evening featured an unknown quantity in the form of Nigerian welterweight Wale “Luckyboy” Omotoso, fighting outside of Australia for the time in his career after a layoff of almost a year. Omotoso recently signed with Top Rank Promotions and trains at the Wild Card Gym, so expectations were high, especially given his record (18–0, 16 KOs). But his new promoters decided against coddling their newest finding, throwing him to the wolves in the form of junior middleweight Calvin Odom in a catchweight bout.

From ringside Odom appeared to dwarf Omotoso, who is listed at just two inches shorter but looked to be giving up significantly more size to the fighter from Inglewood, Calif. Wale started out moving his head well but was quickly caught by a right followed by a left hook that sat him down on his ass. Omotoso sprang up but he was clearly hurt and sought refuge against the ropes while Odom walked him down and tried to end the night with a big right.

Somehow Wale persevered and came back in the second to exert his will on Odom in the second, landing a right uppercut followed by a straight right that hurt the larger man. A series of hooks to the body hit home while Odom began loading up for the big shot to the head. By the end of the round it was clear we had the best kind of fight on our hands, one where both men had stoppage power and little regard for defense.

The third round continued with Wale cutting off the ring and punishing Odom, opening up a cut over his left eye. Next the fight went inside, with Wale again getting the best of the action. It became clear at this point that referee Sparkle Lee was less than comfortable directing the action. We noted her unusual positioning — seemingly across the ring from the two combatants rather than close enough to break them when needed. Her discomfort was palpable from ringside early on.

Odom showed signs of flagging in the fourth as Omotoso’s power began to tell. Wale showboated a bit while Odom’s face betrayed his mounting deficit on the scorecards. A vicious one-two of looping punches exacerbated the damage, as Odom held his hands ineffectually in front of his face and let himself be hit. The fifth was more of the same as Wale attacked with the jab and trapped Odom on the ropes.

After a couple good shots in the fifth, Lee stepped in and waved off the fight. The crowd immediately erupted in a cascade of boos. For his part Odom immediately looked shocked and then furious the fight had been called. He had failed to defend the last few shots butlooked far from out on his feet. From our vantage point across the ring it looked like a terrible stoppage, and only a preview of things to come.

After the crowd made sure Lee was aware of their displeasure they turned their attention to the final undercard bout featuring New Brunswick, N.J. featherweight Jorge Diaz and Rafael Lora scheduled for six rounds. Diaz is an exciting fighter who always takes as much as he gives, so it wasn’t surprising when he came right after Lora and made the fight for the first two rounds.

The third round saw Lora turn his back and Diaz reach around and land an uppercut to score knockdown in what felt like a borderline moment. The two men grew increasingly rough after that point and it became clear that ref Sparkle Lee was again losing control of the fight.

Soon after Diaz finished a combination by reaching around the head of the half-turned Lora to land a rabbit punch squarely on the back of his head. Lee motioned for a timeout, said something to Diaz about a rabbit punch but failed to take a point as Lora sank to his knees. After a brief discussion and Lora’s refusal to stand again, Lee called a halt to the bout. Another chorus of boos rained down as press row struggled to comprehend what had happened.

As it was the third round and the fight was ended on a foul as evidence by the time-out (rather than a count), the correct move would have been to declare the fight a no-contest. Of course this was a boxing match, and one featuring an incompetent referee to boot, so instead the fight was ruled a TKO victory for Diaz. No explanation was given. One wonders if there would even have been a point. The feminist in me was even madder than the fight fan at Lee’s professional failure.

Finally it was time for the reason we all came: Yuriorkis Gamboa. The diminutive Cuban has made short work of recent opponents but Ponce de Leon, fresh off a controversial points loss to Adrien Broner, was expected to provide a better test of his endurance and durability. De Leon has improved in recent years and has an awkward, brawling style that could have posed problems for Gamboa.

Early on it appeared those predictions were holding true, as Gamboa chose to stay on the outside and box rather than walk his opponent down in the manner that helped build his reputation for sensational fights. Gamboa’s superior speed and technique allowed him to land the harder and cleaner punches, but de Leon held Gamboa off with looping punches.

Gamboa is bouncy and compact ever for a featherweight, but also impossibly quick and surprisingly heavy-handed. De Leon seemed constantly in danger of finding his chin on the receiving end of one of the snapping punches that flowed naturally from the Cuban’s gloves. Few fighters today look more completely at ease in the ring.

By the third round it was clear to us at ringside that Gamboa was capable of overwhelming his opponent but choosing not to do so.

“He’s toying with him now,” observed David.

And he was right, judging by the way Gamboa dropped his hands and walked around the ring, staring the Mexican down. Any previous illusions of respect for his foe were quickly dissipating. Gamboa began trading brazenly in the fourth, clearly unconcerned about de Leon’s power. In and out weaved the Cuban, landing straight rights and hooks and ignoring the shots that came in return.

By the fifth round the Gamboa of old began peeking out, fighting in spots, landing combinations and showing off sublime footwork for the benefit of the crowd. Gamboa moves as well as any boxer today; his ability to shift his balance to deliver powerful shots is beautiful to behold. Tim mentioned that many watching on TV appeared to have the fight more even, and I responded that Gamboa’s punches have a weight and impact that can only be felt and heard in person. Yuriorkis puts bass in his blows that befits his adopted hometown of Miami.

Rounds six and seven saw more exchanges and less movement, with de Leon catching Gamboa well enough to reduce his hubris and wipe the smile from his face. The fight stayed cordial despite both men bowed to each other in a mocking gesture. Gamboa continued to drop his hands and walk away at times but just as quickly he would be diving in again, landing a lead right or countering with a perfect left hook.

Early in the eighth round both men swung simultaneously with their power hands, bring their heads together as frequently happens when an orthodox fighter meets a southpaw. After de Leon complained of a cut on his brow, the doctor stopped the fight and sent the matter to the scorecards. The actual scoring was just a formality as Gamboa won all but one round out of all three cards. De Leon didn’t appear to ask for the fight to be stopped, but the Cuban had firmly gained control at the time of the head clash.

Afterward Gamboa said he had purposely boxed and prolonged the bout to prove he could survive deep water against the likes of de Leon. He was adamant that he had purposely not tried to KO his opponent.

“I saw that he didn’t have anything for me,” Gamboa said through a translator. “I was showing I don’t have to be all crazy and reckless.”

The bigger news is that rather than wait around for the likes of Mikey Garcia and Gary Russell Jr., Gamboa’s handlers said their man is done at 126 lbs. due to the lack of competition. Either 130 or 135 lbs awaits, depending on who HBO selects for the Cuban to fight next. Gamboa’s manager showed little interest in Broner and claimed Indonesia’s Chris John has been offered the fight and is ducking Gamboa.

Top Rank Boxing president Todd DuBoef said afterward that his firm would find opponents for Gamboa despite the paucity of competition at 130, widely considered one of the weakest divisions in boxing. He didn’t rule out a fight with JuanMa Lopez, provided the Puerto Rican can building himself up again following his loss to Orlando Salido. DuBoef compared the Cuban to Roy Jones Jr. thanks to his combination of speed, power and defensive movement. But DuBoef said it is too early to compare Gamboa to the names that top the sport’s pound-for-pound list.

Eventually I found myself at Liquid Bar in Trump Plaza next door, where my fellow scribes and I sat into the wee hours discussing the confounding, inexplicable but captivating traveling circus that is professional boxing. None of us had quite gotten what we came for, but we had seen some good fights and spirits were generally high. Spend long enough in the boxing world and even disappointment, when it’s not too severe, can feel like victory.

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The train station in Atlantic City is attached to the sterile new convention center but still manages to appear dingy despite the contemporary, pseudo-industrial architecture. Still, at least it has free WiFi.

My tongue is hairy and my stomach is voicing its displeasure at being neglected, but the only places with food close enough to avoid missing my train are a broken vending machine and a “food court” consisting of one stand that looks like it was pulled out of the back of a convenience store.

I start out ambitiously eyeing the sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit but as I get closer and see signs from the frozen food aisle I downgrade to a hot dog, and then again to two bags of chips, a Pepsi and some M&Ms. I pay $6 for the meal, which is the healthiest and most reasonably priced I’ve eaten since reaching New Jersey.

After just one trip I think it’s fair to say my distaste for Atlantic City has grown into an active dislike. This won’t be the only trip this year either considering the slew of quality fights slated for the East Coast this autumn. But I suppose I should treat it like the other swamp I cover and withhold judgment.

So in the end what do I get for two days of breaking training, $200 and a weekend that could have been spent consoling a sick girlfriend and an insolent puppy gradually developing separation anxiety thanks to my frequent, boxing-related sojourns? A greater appreciation for the genius that is Gamboa. A second look at Luis Cruz. A chance to talk shop with my fellow beleaguered scribes and a extra dose of cynicism about the fight game in general. And of course this post. All told, a fairly successful weekend.