Print

Email story

Comment

Email editor

One boxer ignores him, another ducks

Jeff Lacy's too polite to confront his boxing rivals, so John Romano steps in for him.

By JOHN ROMANO
Published November 9, 2005

ST. PETERSBURG - Nice guy, that Jeff Lacy.

Leads with a smile and counters with a chuckle. In a sport that rewards loudmouths and liars, he is as polite and true as they come.

Sure, we wish that, occasionally, he would step out of character. To consider being a bully or give thought to acting tough.

But, somehow, it doesn't fit. Lacy can neither huff nor puff. He barely gets indignant and can hardly manage disrespectful.

He just doesn't do obnoxious.

So I'll do it for him.

HEY ANTONIO TARVER, WHY SUCH A PUNK?

You know it's true. You walk around acting as if you are the baddest man on the planet, and yet you see nothing wrong with snubbing Lacy.

He called you out. Offered to move up to your weight class. Agreed to take a lesser payday. And yet you behave as if you've never heard of him.

Where's the dignity in that?

I admit, you are in a delicate position. You are coming off your second victory against Roy Jones Jr. and your celebrity will never be greater.

You will soon turn 37, and have a limited number of purses remaining. So you want to capitalize. You want the most money with the least amount of risk.

That's understandable.

It's also hypocritical.

A few years ago, you were the one chasing the big name. You were the one hoping to shame Jones into giving you a shot at his legacy. And there was nothing gracious in the way you went about it.

You were in Las Vegas the night Jones took down John Ruiz for a share of the heavyweight title. It was, perhaps, the pinnacle of Jones' career.

Yet you showed up at the post-fight news conference and embarrassed him. You stood up in front of cameras and reporters and mocked Jones.

"I want my shot at history, Roy. Stop running from me," you shouted. "I'm so glad you won tonight, so that when we meet, your legacy will be intact when I knock you out. Until you beat me, I won't be impressed.

"If you want to convince me, then let's step into the ring."

Security would ask you to leave, but the trap had already been set. Jones was humiliated. He gave you a shot later that year, the first in a trilogy of fights that made you wealthy and left you in demand.

Now, a little more than two years later, you're the one calling the shots. You decide who gets to share in your pay-per-view riches.

And what are you doing? Talking nonsense.

You want to fight Mike Tyson, a circus freak with no credibility in boxing. You want to fight James Toney, a one-time middleweight now on his last legs. You even wanted to fight Vitali Klitschko, who hadn't seen an opponent in a year and finally decided to retire Wednesday.

Meanwhile, Lacy waits.

And a window is almost closed.

Of course, you have excuses. You claim Lacy hasn't done enough to earn a date. Sort of the same bull Jones used to fling around, too.

You say you'll fight Lacy if you get $6-million, a payday you know is not feasible. You say you're going to Hollywood and you say you'll be a star.

You also say you're the best around.

So here's an idea:

Prove it.

HEY JOE CALZAGHE, WHY SUCH A WUSS?

Oops, I guess that's disrespectful.

You are, after all, an undisputed champion.

I believe the exact title is Undisputed Champion of Anyone Who Will Travel to Wales To Meet Me In Mum's Backyard. Or something like that.

I know you've got a perfect record. And that you've made 17 title defenses. I also know you've somehow avoided every difficult fight in your path.

That's why you're barely a name outside the local pub.

You've talked of fighting Jones. And Tarver. And Bernard Hopkins. And Glen Johnson. And Lacy. And, yet, something always comes up.

Like the money wasn't enough. Or the opponent wouldn't come to Wales. Or there was a mandatory title defense in the way, and you'd call back later.

Then there were the injuries. You've pulled out of a fight with a broken hand. With a bad back. With a run in your stockings.

Look, I'm sure you're a great champion. But the time has come to demonstrate it. To have a fight against someone not named Tocker Pudwill or Mger Mkrtchian. (And, by the way, where do you find these guys?)

Even in Europe they say you have not yet had a career-defining fight. How crazy is that? You're 32. You've been in 40 professional fights. You've been a champion since 1997. And you still haven't had a big fight?

So make the deal.

Don't do it for Lacy. Do it for yourself. For your peace of mind. Do it for the little hole in your heart that longs to be filled.

Lacy will be fine. He has time to find other big names, time to further his own reputation. You're the one who needs to define his legacy soon.

I know your manager is talking, once again, about scheduling a fight with Lacy. That February is still a possibility.

So do it.

No more fooling around. No more games. Pick a date, find a site, name a price. Oh, and one more thing.

Try showing up this time, eh?

[Last modified November 9, 2005, 18:14:28]