Baby Jake growing bigger
Baby Jake Matlala will be stepping into the big time when he steps into the ring for his next bout against a meanie from Mexico
BOXING: Gavin Evans
THE magnificent renaissance of lovely little old Baby Jake Matlala is about to be taken into a higher realm. He is set to fly over the rainbow and into where dreams are made and broken and lost, for his first and probably final flyer at the big time.
Big time, little, little men. Tiny men. So the concept of big is relative. But in the world of 48kg human fighting cocks, the name Humberto Gonzalez is, genuinely, big potatoes.
Yes, indeed, our Jacob is off to the Los Angeles Forum in two months to tangle with the toughest, wiliest, sonofabitch Mexico can produce (well, just about), and if by some chance he wins that one, well, we’re talking stratospheric stuff here: a unification bout with America’s WBC world champion, Michael Carbajal, later in the year. There’s even talk of another drop in weight for Jake (he’s already dropped from flyweight to light fly), to take on another diminutive Mexican of stellar proportions, Ricardo Lopez, but one thing at a time.
At least this is all according to Matlala’s promoter Mike Segal, who, like most in his profession, is rather better at hyperbole than he is at delivery, but my cross checking suggests that the Gonzalez deal is as solid as these things get in this game.
So who is Mister Gonzalez when he’s away from the barrio, and how did Baby Jake get into his line of fire?
Humberto Chiquita Gonzalez is one of the all- time great (the three words are not allowed to be separated in boxing parlance) of the sports dwarf and midget class (oops). Seven years ago he lifted the most prestigious of the titles at light flyweight, the WBC version, defended it five times, lost it, regained it, and then lost it in a brutal shootout with IBF champion Carbajal in a unification bout. They said he was finished, but a year later, in 1994, he transformed himself from banger to boxer and outfinessed Carbajal and then did it again to seal the point.
But in the fourth defence of his now-unified world title, he was astonishingly blown out again by one Saman Sorejaturion of Thailand, and is now in the process of regrouping. He’s won 42 times in 45 outings against the best in the world. Carbajal, meanwhile, won back the WBC version of his crown and wants another shot at vengeance against Gonzalez.
Jacob Matlala found his way into the picture with a superb win over Scotland’s former two- weight WBO champion, Paul Weir, in Liverpool last Saturday night. It was a slightly whacky night, but a very satisfying one. I visited Jake in his dressing room just before he made his entrance, and found him as jokey and nice as ever, talking about Gonzalez and Carbajal, as if Weir just didn’t matter, which, as it turned out, was a realistic assessment.
When Jake Shosholosa’d his way into the ring, he was accompanied by his promotional stablemate, Gary Murray, who was screaming and shouting his head off for his buddy. Only thing is that his head was covered by a Nelson Mandela latex mask and his hollering was done in the thickest of Scots accents — Murray hails from Renfrew, just near Glasgow where Weir grew up. But, hey, this is boxing.
In their first fight, Matlala won a fifth round technical decision, after a disgusting attempt by Puerto Rican referee Ismael “Wiso” Fernandez to force a technical draw (which would have saved Weir’s crown). This time Segal petitioned the WBO to keep Wiso out of the ring, and in the end he succeeded.
Weir had a different plan second time around. For months he’d been doing weights and he came into the ring looking stronger and hitting harder. He cracked home some hefty body punches and the occasional big right cross to the chin, but his confidence in his new-found power was his undoing. Jake is a hard man to tag cleanly and he was connecting six to Weir’s one, and his own pit-a-pat body attack was gradually weakening the taller, heavier Scotsman. In the seventh Weir’s legs shuddered twice, in the eighth he was driven back, in the ninth he was punished mercilessly, and in the tenth he was taken out with brutal efficiency.
A six-punch Matlala combination dumped him onto his back for the count of nine. He wobbled up and Jake — a truly lovely man when he’s not at his office — pounced. Four more perfectly placed headshots put him down again, and referee Paul Thomas waved it off without administering the death rites of a count. For five minutes Weir remained prone, before rising and exiting to hospital.
Six years ago Jake didn’t even own a South African title — he’d lost it and had been beaten four times in a row by Vuyani Nene (who faded after too much dagga had its way — good for thinkers, bad for fighters). Three years ago, after a brief domestic revival, he was again said to be finished. But he just kept on working and improving, and in his 30s started beating the big boys (bigger than him, anyway).
“Hey!” said Jake in the dressing room a few minutes later. “Man. I’m feeling so good. He came for me this time — that was his mistake, because he was just there for me, so I did my job. He was stronger and hit harder, but I like to show that boxing is fun, that it’s an art, that you don’t need to get hurt, and all the time I was workinghis body, till those hands came down. Next it’s Gonzalez and I will surprise him. Then it’s Carbajal, and then I can retire to my family and businesses. Maybe.”