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Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Sayson: Battered Vargas
By Homer Sayson
Second overtime
CHICAGO — At 28 years young, Fernando Vargas is supposed to be just peaking. In fact, right now, he should be lording over the junior middleweight division, the 154-pound class where he has fought exclusively since turning pro last March 25, 1997.
But Vargas was ranked only No. 33 in the world when he climbed the MGM Grand Garden Arena ring last Saturday night. And when he exited the same ring following a sixth round TKO defeat, Vargas was clearly a fractured shell of what once was a devastating force.
For a pay-per-view fee of $49.99, I was able to validate that the Aztec Warrior is now a beaten warrior, punched from out of the ropes, and quite possibly, straight into the pastures of retirement.
Vargas is done. Once a typhoon among junior middleweights, he’s been reduced to an annoying drizzle. His once fearful left hook has lost its sting, it probably couldn’t hurt my mother. Heck, even his piercing black eyes, which threw daggers in his heyday, wouldn’t scare a five-year old anymore.
So what happened to El Feroz? He simply flamed out. And sadly, long before his time.
Because of his skills and destructive power, Vargas’ handlers rushed him to the pressure-cooker of big fights too soon. I don’t know why, but my guess is that they were salivating over the big paydays, the multi-million-dollar paychecks that make everybody happy.
Vargas was only 20 when he fought Yory Boy Campas on Dec. 12, 1998. He fought the always rugged Winky Wright in December the following year, and in April of 2000, Vargas engaged in a violent, energy-sapping 12-round showdown with veteran Ike Quartey.
As if those assignments weren’t tough enough, a 22-year-old Vargas challenged the legendary Felix Trinidad last Dec. 2, 2002. It was the beginning of the end. Vargas lost by 12th round TKO.
Two years later, on Sept. 14, 2002, a fight that I was honored to cover as a credentialed boxing writer, Vargas took one more stab at stardom, this time aiming for the head of his sport’s ultimate prize — Oscar dela Hoya, the Golden Boy.
Vargas and dela Hoya hated each other like Israel and Lebanon. Naturally, their encounter was brutal. But after 11 rounds, where the protagonists spilled more blood than the Spanish-American War, Vargas was the victim of another TKO.
That Saturday night, many experts thought, was the night El Feroz finally died.
And so last Saturday, when Vargas fought Shane Mosley for the second time in five months, the outcome was predictable. Even Mosley, wary that he might sound immodest, reluctantly admitted that Vargas was a lot easier to hit this time around.
As usual, I had rum and Coke while watching the pay-per-view non-event. I should have just settled for flowers, and mourned the death of the career of a previously promising fighter.
But on hindsight, I’m not sure if I should grieve Vargas’ painful flame-out. His career did not die a natural death. It stopped breathing largely because of greed and living dangerously on the edge by taking on ace fighters in succession.
But then again, this is boxing. And in this savage sport, there is never a graceful exit.
(homsay@hotmail.com)
For Bisaya stories from Cebu. Click here. (July 19, 2006 issue)
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