You could see it as early as the first round Saturday. You could see that Victor Burgos was in over his head against the younger, fresher, bigger, more talented Vic Darchinyan. You could see that the tough Mexican wouldn't willingly go down, even though he was badly outgunned by one of the best fighters on the planet. You could see it in Burgos' eyes before the fight started. He would just as soon die in that ring than give up on his dream of regaining a world championship. He almost did.

Burgos survived brain surgery over the weekend after suffering a 12th-round knockout at the hands of Darchinyan. But, as with all such surgeries, the next few weeks and months - if not the rest of Burgos' life - will be touch-and-go. Look no further than Gerald McClellan as an example. And, as much as people want to blame the referee, the ringside physicians, the cornermen and the inherent brutality of the sport itself, one fact is undeniable: This was a mismatch from the word go. A disaster-in-the-making. And it would have never happened had the International Boxing Federation - a clueless, self-serving sanctioning body that was created in 1983 to, ahem, negate the corrupt goings-on of the WBA and WBC - not sanctioned it. Indeed, had it not forced it. It's not exactly clear what the 33-year-old veteran Burgos did to warrant a top ranking by the IBF, and a mandatory - yes, mandatory - shot at Darchinyan, one of the most dangerous fighters in boxing.

It's not even clear why Burgos, who was in the twilight of a hard 39-14-3 (23 knockouts) career, was ranked at 112 pounds at all. Burgos, known as "El Acorazado," had competed at the junior flyweight limit of 108 pounds through his championship run earlier in the decade. It was where he won the vacant IBF title against Alex Sanchez in 2003. It was where he drew with Rosendo Alvarez in '03. And it was where he lost the title to Will Grigsby in 2005, by decision.

He had fought exactly twice at flyweight in recent years, in September of 2005 against Jose Maravilla Murillo, who was 6-3-1 going in; and, last May, against Luis Doria, who was 38-14-3 going in.

Both were tough, hard-nosed campaigners. But neither was Darchinyan.

It's worth noting that Doria is in the midst of a six-fight losing streak dating back to 2005. And Murillo has won just a single fight in his last eight tries. But, apparently, those two 112-pound victories over a pair of clubfighters were good enough credentials for the IBF (and the IBO, whatever that is). So it sanctioned a blood-letting, and it allowed poor Burgos in the ring with a monster like Darchinyan. Common sense would dictate that it not. The second the opening bell clanged, you could see the size disparity. The long, lean 5-foot-5 1/2 Darchinyan looked like a lightweight compared to the short-armed, squat 5-3 Burgos. And the Armenian champ, now 28-0 (23 KOs), began unloading immediately.

It was all Burgos could do just to dance around the ring and avoid early contact with the brutal-punching champion. When they got in close, Burgos tied him up, because he felt the strength disparity. Showtime announcer Al Bernstein criticized Burgos for his game plan - trying to box a bigger man. But, being so outmanned, his options were limited. He did what he could. Burgos was at a disadvantage in almost every conceivable way. And when he was dropped in the second round, it appeared as though this mismatch would, mercifully, end quickly. Perhaps it would have, had Burgos not possessed such a huge fighting heart. But Burgos got up - as he had his entire career - and tried to compete. Darchinyan, at times, seemed flustered by his opponent's cagey survival tactics. But, when Burgos made contact, the bigger champion literally laughed the punches off.

The blows had no effect on Darchinyan.

And there was nothing Burgos could do to keep the hard-charging champ off of him.
And yet Burgos remained upright, even through a vicious, unfair beating. Not only that, he punched back. He remained game. And there were few opportunities for a referee, or a cornerman, to step in and stop it. After all, this is what fighters do.

They survive. They fight. And once you get them in that ring, they're committed to the task at hand. Whether you're a ref or a cornerman, you don't arbitrarily stop a fight because a participant is taking too many punches. The rule of thumb is, if the fighter is punching back, you let it go. And Burgos was punching back.

Eventually, though, Burgos, just a couple of minutes away from hearing the final bell, succumbed. He fell to the canvas without being hit, and arose on wobbly legs. Referee Jon Schorle looked at him closely and, after a couple of meaningless punches by Darchinyan, stepped in and stopped it. The damage had been done. Burgos collapsed in his corner, and was taken from the ring on a stretcher. He is in a Los Angeles hospital, fighting for his life. So, the question isn't, 'Why didn't Schorle stop the fight sooner?', or 'Why didn't Burgos' cornermen stop it?'. No, the bigger question is, 'Why did this fight happen in the first place?' Boxing fans were hardly clamoring for Darchinyan-Burgos. And it's obvious that Burgos did little to actually earn a shot at Darchinyan.

So, again, why did he get the title opportunity? Why did the fight happen? Surely, a dark, sinister reason exists somewhere. It probably has something to do with money. You know, sanctioning fees - or what has become a modern-day avenue for greedy men in business suits to rip off fighters.

Squeeze in a meaningless title defense, subject a fighter to a brutal beating and possibly death, and collect cash. That is what this sport has come to. But how many times must we be witness to such executions before someone with a brain steps in and says, "That's enough?" Unfair, "mandatory" mismatches have been happening for as long as these corrupt, disgusting organizations have existed. It happened to Johnny Owen in 1980, when the inexperienced, unqualified Welshman died as a result of injuries sustained in his WBC title fight with Lupe Pintor. It happened to Duk Koo Kim, an unknown who was somehow ranked No. 1 by the WBA in 1982. He paid for that generous ranking with his life, as Ray "Boom Boom" Mancini fatally knocked him out in the 14th round of their Las Vegas disaster. It happened to Jimmy Garcia, who was sadly outgunned in a WBC title fight with Gabriel Ruelas in 1995.

Garcia took a beating very similar to the one absorbed by Burgos, finally being stopped in the 11th round. He died days later. WBC boss Jose Sulaiman laughingly conducted an "investigation" following Garcia's death, as though the tragedy arose from nowhere. But, in a shot against WBA titlist Genaro Hernandez six months prior, Garcia was similarly dominated in losing a unanimous decision. The scores? 120-107, 119-109 and 117-109.

Garcia didn't belong in the ring with Hernandez. And he surely didn't belong in the ring with Ruelas. But Sulaiman santioned it anyway. Perhaps he should have investigated himself.

Before that, Kiko Bejines died in a 1980 title fight with Albert Davila. Unlike Garcia and Kim and Owen, Bejines belonged in the ring with Davila. But he hadn't fought in a year. Ironically, that was one of the first-ever 12-round title fights, which the WBC had recently mandated for safety reasons. A lot of good that did. And, in one of the more recent tragedies, Leavander Johnson died in an IBF title fight against Jesus Chavez in 2005. Yes, Johnson had a belt. But he won it under manufactured circumstances. Johnson beat someone named Stefano Zoff for the vacant IBF title in June of '05. Zoff was a nobody. It was a made-up championship fight for a paper title. Johnson won the paper title, then fought a legitimate top contender in Chavez three months later.

You know the rest.

This is not meant to disparage Johnson, a tough-as-nails campaigner who displayed courage beyond words. He had challenged for three world titles before the Zoff fight, back in his prime. Which speaks for itself.

Leavander certainly didn't need some cheap plastic belt wrapped around his waist to be called a champion. But, by the the time he fought Chavez, Johnson was on his last legs. He probably should have never been in the ring with a hungry, eager contender whose reflexes made Johnson look slow by comparison. The fight should have never happened. And how those people at the IBF sleep at night is a mystery. But, a year-and-a-half after Johnson's demise, and a week after the Burgos disaster, it's happening again. Wladimir Klitschko is defending his IBF heavyweight title Saturday against someone named Ray Austin, 24-3-4 (16 KOs). What has Austin done to earn a No. 2 IBF ranking and a fight against the man many consider the best big man in the world? Well, he had a draw with previously undefeated Sultan Ibragimov in his last fight.

He beat Owen  "What the Heck" Beck by split decision in 2005. This is the same Beck that lasted three rounds with WBA champ Nikolay Valuev last year. He was held to another draw, this time by the 130-year-old Larry Donald, in 2005. And he was also held to yet another draw by Zuri Lawrence in 2003. The same Lawrence that was crushed by Calvin Brock last year. So, go ahead, answer the question: Based on what Ray Austin has done in the ring so far, does he appear to be suitable competition for the best fighting machine in the division?

The answer is an emphatic no. Another weekend, another disaster waiting to happen. All these watered-down titles and this overabundance of world championships and undeserved world rankings are more than just annoying to boxing purists. They're dangerous and all-too-often fatal flaws that have made the entire fight game a joke. A joke that is relegated to inch-long briefs in the nation's sports pages - if at all. What's worse is that people are dying as a result of these mismatches. This is not some game.

As fighters themselves often say, you don't "play" boxing. And, as fight scribe Richard Hoffer once wrote in KO Magazine, this is serious business. So if these jokes that call themselves ruling bodies want to continue throwing unqualified fighters in with the best in the world, the severe injuries and deaths will keep coming. Apparently, no one is strong enough, bold enough or inspired enough to stop them. But they're killing the sport. And they're killing human beings. You just hope that, one day, they are made to answer for all of this killing.

M

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