It would have been hard to find someone in Las Vegas who thought that would happen on May 6th. On that day, standing among the thousands who'd traveled from all over the country and farther, gathering outside at theToshiba Plaza just to watch him weigh in, you would have thought all of this was a formality.
All of this was just part of the show before the fight, and before the title was unified. The Mexican boxer walked on stage, past the mariachis playing "El Rey," the classic Mexican song about being underappreciated and carrying yourself like a king, and stepped on the scale in the heat. He wore a pink and white outfit.
David Diamante yelled into the microphone "174.4 for Sal 'Canelo' lvarez!" As the crowd applauded, he flexed his muscles. They yelled his name, waved their Mexican flags, and held cellphones above their heads, trying to get a picture of him.
The crowd wiped sweat from their faces and foreheads when Bivol weighed in. The boxer was surprised by the reply. He said that he had never seen so many Mexican fans against him. Bivol must've underestimated how important boxing is to a culture.
You can tell a lot about a person by how they play sports. Bivol must have been unaware that his fans' opponents were also his opponents, if for no other reason.
The crowd at T-Mobile Arena was silent on the night of the fight. The illuminated ring in the middle of the dark arena made you feel differently. The difference of sounds was what made it different. The crowd was so loud that it made the spine tingle.
The screams were deafening when he waved at the crowd while atop a rising platform with flares behind him and smoke around him. After the fight began, it became quieter and quieter.
I've been to a few fights where he wasn't involved, and I've never heard it so quiet. It felt like something out of a science fiction movie. Bivol, a decorated amateur, a world champion, a bigger man, and someone unintimidated by everything that surrounds big Las Vegas fights wouldn't beat Canelo. It looked easy, but it was. It was obvious to see that on a hot Nevada night in May.
The extra weight on his legs made him tired. He was tired even more because he seemed to throw mostly power punches. He was unable to keep Bivol away from him. Bivol was too smart and patient to give chase when Canelo tried to get him into the ropes. In nine years, he had never materialized, so most of the crowd expected that to happen. It's really sad to see how long it will take to watch Canelo.
As we waited to hear the scores, we wondered if Bivol would get robbed. The man was not. He got booed again as he thanked the crowd for coming and then wished them a happy fiesta after beating the most important Mexican boxer of this century.
Out of T-Mobile Arena into the night fans walked, some having to content themselves with cheering when Canelo claimed he wanted a second fight because, as he explained, "This doesn't end like this."
The day before, the plaza had been filled with joy and life. The excitement that comes with watching a fight is gone. There wasn't a celebration in the street. There were no people dancing, singing, or chanting. I assume that after the fight, people folded their Mexican flags and put them away.
There was a lot of uncertainty about how they should act. It would have been easier to process his loss if he had been more disciplined. Canelo doesn't have that, so far as we know. Knowing that he lost to a bigger and better boxer made everyone sad.
A Mexican who was the world's best boxer meant a lot to a lot of people. Because of politics and memories and stories and fantasies shared between people, some from different generations and of different sides of the border, Canelo symbolized something unique. He split his time between training and fighting in the U.S. and living in Mexico.
Mexican superiority was visible in a time when not much of it was seen. He was a star to both Mexican and Mexican American people. Most of us can't relate to someone who seemed to have every advantage throughout their career and that's when things get complicated. The focus was always on excellence. Then, then, then, then, then, then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,then,
It was not necessary for you to experience it in person. It was easy to imagine a 15 year old sitting at home and watching their hero die. Mexican morning radio shows continued to talk about it. Some people felt like they lost a part in that, too, because of all the jokes. "No llorar, g--y" -- "Don't cry, f---er" -- one man told another in his group of friends, standing just outside the doors of the arena. The man's voice broke as if he was pretending to cry. They laugh for a short time, then are subdued along with thousands of other people.
It was dark. The street vendors were desperate to sell what was left in their duffel bags, and they offered discounts. The smell of the bacon-wrapped hot dogs and grilled onions was not enough to make people want to talk.
The thrill of being there, overstimulated by Las Vegas' lights, sounds, daydreams, and everything else that makes it hard to wind down until late was gone. The people pressed their backs against the walls.
They looked at their phones, trying to match the license plates of the cars they were waiting to take out of this place. If he becomes the center of the Mexican universe when he fights, then this is what happens when he loses. The most confident man in the game just lost. It was difficult to not ask myself if what I'd seen was more than just a fight between a bigger man and a smaller one.
You can't fully comprehend or appreciate someone if you don't know who he was and what he stood for. Oscar De La Hoya and what he once represented are not known. Without them and understanding their role and place in all of this, you don't have a lot of context to analyze.
Chavez was the perfectMexican boxer. A country's style of fighting was defined by aggressiveness. He was the epitome of machismo. He had, in a way. "Balls" is a translation that means a lot more than that. It is a way of living that is similar to a personal philosophy. He became Mexico's national hero because of his perseverance.
He tried to escape the poverty that came from growing up in an abandoned boxcar to fighting for millions and the influence that came with it. That was Chavez, right? A idol who fit perfectly into a country that has a complicated history with its northern neighbor embraces antiheroes.
During an influx of Mexican migration to the United States, the peak of Chavez's career took place. Chavez went from being a boxer to more than that. He was a way for the many who supported him to remember and celebrate a small part of what they left behind. Chavez was uncompromisingly Mexican.
Chavez insists on being Mexican, according to a U.S. network sports executive. Since it affected the boxer's marketability, it was more of a sad thing. During his career, Chavez lived in a modest neighborhood in his hometown of Culiacan, but he never learned English. The best boxer in the world inspired songs, poems, soap operas and a television series.
Chavez was through and through with the Mexican flag.
Boxers are the same if they come from the same background. There are a lot of poor kids here.
The child of a Mexican came to the United States. He is from a boxing family. He was the Mexican American who benefited from his parents' sacrifice. He was good looking and talented. He became a U.S. Olympic gold medal winner because of his boxing skills. He was the rare boxer who was wholesome.
The United States' Latino population increased by over half a century. Mexicans made up more than half of the growth. The soft voice of De La Hoya was noticed by advertisers. He was capable of selling products. According to People Magazine, his clean-cut style is giving boxing a much-needed image lift.
De La Hoya had his detractors because of the long shadow that Chavez casts. He was too pretty, that's what I thought. A lot of a celebrity. It's too golden. He was called White because he moved away from the neighborhood as fast as he could, because of how he fought, and because part of the sport was appealing to a non-Mexican audience.
The fight between De La Hoya and Chavez exposed the fault lines of Mexican identity. Picking a side was not as simple as cheering for the boxer who came from where you were born.
It was older than new. Chavez had a lot of professional fights. The biggest paycheck of his career was after De La Hoya. De La Hoya was in the prime of his career at the time. He talked about the many fights that would come after defeating Chavez.
I've never watched a boxer get old. It became clear during his fight with De La Hoya that it was going to be very hard for him to win. In less than four rounds, Chavez was destroyed. When the referee stopped the fight, fans at some closed-circuit shows fought in the stands. Mexicans versus Mexicans. Some fans of Chavez walked away shocked.
At least a dozen people were involved in that fight. All of us were shocked. I was pretty sure Chavez would win. He was the one who made me fall in love with boxing. I used to brine my hands until my mother saw what I was doing.
I told her in Spanish that I wanted to strengthen my skin. She ordered me to stop wasting salt.
While sitting inside a trailer home in an unincorporated part of El Paso, I watched De La Hoya play with Chavez. Chavez looked like he needed someone to protect him when I was a teenager. I felt it so powerfully even if I had no words to explain it.
Boxers get something from losing. If they lose after a career of thinking there's no one left who can beat them.
Chavez fought for another decade after he lost to De La La. He fought until he was beaten by a used car salesman. His claim that he'd be out by age 26 was not true. He was 35 when he was beaten so badly I can still hear Jim Lampley's voice saying that a young Manny Pacquiao was changing De La Hoya's face. I didn't feel sorry for De La Hoya until that night.
He was adamant that he had won after the loss to Bivol. He said that he had not lost the fight. He stopped short of saying that the industry had colluded to give Bivol the win, but he did say that it was the way it happens in boxing.
Gennadiy Golovkin will be fighting again. A good part of Golovkin's career has been waiting for his next fight, since he had a good Mexican following at his peak. He waited a long time for their first fight. When the fight ended in a controversial draw, Golovkin waited for the second fight as his opponent served a suspension.
The criticisms against him were louder because of that. The once friendly relationship between the two was soured. The critical voices went up a notch when their second fight ended with a close win for the Mexican. The man wanted a third fight. He was forced to wait four years.
In the time Golovkin has been waiting, his career has fallen by the wayside. It felt like he had lost a part of himself as he got older. For a few years, because of marketing, because of his aggressive style of fighting, and because of the doubts of who he was, Golovkin was seen as the heir to Chavez.
In the early part of his career, a boxer from Kazakhstan who fought for years in obscurity throughout Germany, was particularly interested in the idea. The heritage is different but the spirit is the same which explains why the Mexican fan base was so strong. He talked about fighting in the Mexican style as well as having Mexican blood. He had built a lot of strength with them.
Golovkin finally has what he wanted. The man who could claim to have beaten Canelo though he was past his prime is 40. Retirement is not far away according to him.
The winner of the match will be Golovkin. It's just the way it is when boxers get older. It didn't end well when Ahab hunted after the white whale that took a part of him. The criticisms against him will awaken if he were to lose.
He wants to fight Bivol again if he wins. He no longer wants to fight Mexicans. That type of thing can cause a fan base to break. It was like the time Chavez fought De La Hoya. After there was a lot of discussion about who the next great Mexican boxer would be, it was not too long after the fight that there was another fight. Five years ago, the last Mexican boxer was fighting.
He wants to fight for five more years. If that's true, and there's no reason to believe he's lying, that would mean that he would have fought professionally for 22 years. He had to prove himself in the past. He was more of a TV product. It's too much like De La Hoya in terms of marketability. Even though some didn't see it, he was the next great Mexican boxer.
"I thought I would be a world champion," he said. He looks so imposing when standing within arm's length of him, because of everything that's around him and what he symbolizes. I didn't think of the magnitude of what I could do. I have accomplished more than I thought.
He's been around for a while now. A young man makes his name and money in one place, but not in any other place. Things change for boxers as he gets older. The reflexes don't move fast. You can't take a punch. It's possible that the change will be a willingness to sacrifice when you have already won it all.
He would like to fight until he is 37. He said that prior to his loss. He was no longer a 19-year-old baby-faced fighter with the reddest of hair who was almost knocked out in the first fight he had when the spotlight got brighter. No longer was the young man who got schooled in the way of boxing when he fought Floyd Mayweather Jr.
Maybe he's still the best boxer. He might have had a bad night against a boxer who had the perfect fight. Maybe after he avenges his loss against Bivol. Maybe that is just the type of thing you want to believe. Men fighting can lead to complicated emotions. As a boxer who just lost, we've seen how vulnerable he is.
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