James Toney has become illegible, maybe even more punchy than paunchy, and not because he spouts nonsense such as Samuel Peter winning at most three rounds the other night. That was just his warrior’s pride talking. What is much more worrying is that it has become difficult to make out the garbles and slurs when he speaks. Oh, he can still fight a bit, can still beat most heavyweights, but Peter emphatically and clearly pronounced the end of an aura. King James is no longer going to be able to intimidate opponents, not after the embarrassment of being outboxed by the no-longer novice Peter.
That’s the great news, that this may be a very happy new year, after all, that the Nigerian Nightmare looks like the heavyweight of our dreams. All the sly and subtle tricks Toney played on Peter during their first meeting last September seemed to be turned around. The pupil was teaching the master. There was Toney, falling into the same traps he has been setting so elegantly for decades – throwing punches only to be countered by the larger, younger, sturdier man.
By the end of the convincing performance, Peter had seemingly given up on the idea of knocking out the durable Toney and instead began to torture him in the way that Sugar Ray Leonard made fun of Roberto Duran in New Orleans. In the late rounds, I half-expected the proud Toney to simply walk out of the ring.
“You saw what I did tonight,” an elated Peter said at the post-fight. “I taunted him. I gave him the Muhammad Ali shuffle, with a little Floyd Mayweather, too.”
Peter gave him wonderful portions of prime James Toney. He did what Hasim Rahman failed to do last year. He stayed back, made Toney the counterpuncher with the old legs, move toward him. If Rahman had listened to the advice of his trainer at the time, Thell Torrence, Toney would never have been able to squeeze out a draw and there would have been no chance for Peter to attend graduate school.
Peter had said after the September meeting that he had learned a lot from Toney. He can thank Jose Sulaiman and his gang for ordering the rematch because now he has a Master’s degree, magna cum laude. Some more rounds with Toney and Peter might become illegal.
Some credit must also be given to Don King. Yes, that’s what I said. King, in buying 50 percent of Dino Duva’s company, bequeathed himself half-sharfe of what now could be the most dominant heavyweight in the world. And to enrich his investment, King brought in one of his house trainers, Stacey McKinley, to help Peter’s longtime coach, Pops Anderson.
McKinley may be considered a loud-mouthed boor by some of my colleagues. That was one of the roles he played when attached to the corner of the last chapter of Mike Tyson. But don’t let the clown suit fool you. The Detroit veteran knows the game and you could see from the start the improvement in Peter.
It started with the jab, a purposeful punch that was from the opening moments both offensive and defensive weapons. It took away Toney’s own fine jab, yes, but it did more. It even knocked the off-balance veteran down in the second round, the first time Toney had tasted the canvas since Roy Jones Jr. put him down in 1994.
Toney was able to land some big punches, but Peter has proven he has a pretty nice chin – never mind James hits like a middleweight, Wladimir Klitschko hit him with some pretty good shots that did nothing until Peter got fatigued late in his only loss. What’s more, it seemed every time Toney landed, Peter immediately countered with something harder.
He showed a veteran’s patience, moving backwards, making Toney come to him, then countering. His hand speed was surprising. He threw combinations. He did not ignore Toney’s still soft body. He noticed which way Toney likes to move – a scouting report that has been available since Roy Jones Jr. and I’ve got to believe that this was another contribution from McKinley.
Then there was the delicious move off the ropes when he weaved under a Toney hook, looking somewhat like James himself, or even Pernell Whitaker.
There can be little doubt Peter would be heavily favored over Oleg Maskaev, for whom he is the mandatory challenger, or the title-bearers Nikolay Valuev and Shannon Briggs. His improvement would warrant being the choice even against the top heavyweight, Wladimir Klitschko – who retains his No. 1 ranking in my house because of his victory two years ago against THAT Samuel Peter. THAT Samuel Peter knocked Klitschko down three times. THIS Samuel Peter should finish the job.
Now comes the gamesmanship. Peter, refreshingly, seems above the frayed. He says he is not the best, yet, that he first has to beat all the title-holders. Maskaev’s promoter, Dennis the Menace Rappaport will of course try to broker the best deal for his unlikely champion. That could mean a unification bout with Klitschko, who has the backing of boxing’s biggest promoter, HBO. If King and Duva insist that Sulaiman orders Maskaev to fight Peter, there is always the chance that Rappaport throws that belt in the same trash can used by Rock Newman all those years ago with Riddick Bowe – and then Maskaev will challenge Klitschko.
For the amiable Maskaev, the younger Klitschko represents more reward and possibly less risk than facing Peter. Maskaev has only the proverbial puncher’s chance against either. Peter seems to have the much better chin. Should Maskaev be able to fight, and then beat Wladimir, he and Rappaport will certainly look for Peter, who would then be by far the biggest payday.
The thing is, we do not need to pay attention to the politics of the negotiations. Peter freed us from that. He now is the main man. Klitschko is No. 1, he’s No. 2 and the public sentiment will surely force the hands of those more accustomed to sticking their hands in other people’s pockets.
Surely, King’s hand will be seen in the months ahead. He’s been like a jockey looking for a Kentucky Derby mount, switching from Rahman to Chris Byrd to Shannon Briggs to Nikolay Valuev to Ray Austin to James Toney to Top Hat (okay, that last was the nag in the Marx Brothers’ “Day at the Races”). He tried for the Klitschko’s, but lost out to Shelly Finkel. It won’t be easy, but my gut feeling is that Wladimir – even if he accepts a Maskaev fight first – will be looking to beat Peter again so he can prove he’s worthy of his status as No. 1. Peter will be looking for him. King and Finkel can’t get in the way.
PENTHOUSE: I’m not sure of all the nuances, but Travis Simms was sidelined by the WBA, Don King or politics in general for 27 months. It’s another sad tale and the happy ending Saturday night with Simms splattering Jose Antonio Rivera’s blood around the ring to win back the title the alphabet took from him does not atone for the lost time. The way he looked dominating the tough Rivera showed he could have made a lot of money during his exile. Hopefully, King and the WBA will get him some rewarding fights in the near future. He’s 35 and deserves every break from now on.
OUTHOUSE: Toney’s denial of the truth does not rate him a spot here. He’s given too much over the years to be castigated for refusing to see the Light’s Out. However, I thought Samuel Peter should have at least mentioned Dino Duva once; after all, Duva was the one who brought him to the dance, although no one would be surprised if Don King takes him home.
TOILET BOWL: Main Events lousy 2006 has flopped over to 2007. Carl Moretti, still wearing his old stable’s colors, finished last of 59 entrants in the yearly college bowl pool run by Vegas boxing ace Royce Feour. Next year, the astute matchmaker will be picking them for Lou DiBella Entertainment – he’s a major pickup for DaBully, a major loss for the Jersey-based promoters. But I don’t think Moretti was deserting a sinking ship; he was just taking a better job. The pool, by the way, was won by Reno’s Jeanne Ireland, a mother of seven and grandmother of 16. Tied for second was one of her sons, but her husband, Bill – the first football coach at UNLV and the athletic director who would hire Jerry Tarkanian to coach basketball at that school – finished in a six-way tie for 41st, with, among others, me.
M
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