BOXING: Gavin Evans in London
THE morning after the fight before, Thulane Malinga was on the blower to his promotional boss, looking for a way to recuperate the R3-million he had just squandered.
“When can you get me my return? Have you got a date yet?” he pleaded to Rodney Berman. And though it wasn’t spelt out quite so clearly, the answer, probably, is, no, never.
Surgarboy has fair claim to having been robbed once again when he lost his WBC super middleweight title to Italy’s Vincenzo Nardiello last Saturday night, but he also stunk the house out with a flaccid, lethargic display, unworthy of a world champion, even in these days when alphabet soup titles multiply by geometric progression.
Then again, you never know in boxing. A day later Malinga’s British co-promoter, Frank Warren, was assuring the South African manager-trainer, Nick Durandt, that his fighter was still part of the plan, that he’d be back in action in September, and that he’d get his return, and maybe he’ll be as good as his word, but somehow I doubt it. Unless he fights Nigel Benn again, Malinga is dead, old meat in this country.
And old may really be the operative adjective, or middle-aged, anyway. Thulane is officially 36 years and seven months old, and looks five years younger. But there are knowing whispers from those around him, and I tend to believe them, who say he’s really 41, which is how he boxed on Saturday night.
Four months ago he delivered a performance of youthful and inspired brilliance in lifting the title from the bewildered head of Nigel Benn. This time he trained just as hard, but the inspiration was totally absent. He’s always been an erratic performer, and this time he just couldn’t get it together.
While Nardiello ran and flurried, and Sugarboy plodded and pawed, the 21 000 crowd in Manchester’s Nynex arena booed and hissed, and then lost all interest, concentrating instead on Mexican waves, rolling cheers, anti-IRA chants, completely ignoring what was happening in the ring. Even those of us at ringside whose job it is to record the events between the ropes, were straying a bit. The talk was on the savings all too apparently made on the cut- rate inter-round babes, on the twin mullett hairstyles of Nick Durandt and his helper, of Mal Washington and Frankie Fredericks.
For three rounds Malinga did next to nothing before he finally got his flappy jab and right cross within range and slowly worked his way back, connecting now and then with halfway decent head blows and the odd dig to the ribs. In the ninth Malinga dropped his man with a body punch, but the referee inexplicably failed to make it official (which would have given Malinga an extra point) and then soon after deducted a point from the South African for a low blow. Without these two dubious judgment calls, Sugarboy would have retained his crown, with at least a draw.
Nardiello, by this stage, was looking for a place to lie down, but Malinga failed to capitalise and lost two of the next three rounds. One judge gave it to him by five points, while the other two gave it to Nardiello by two and four points.
The Italian, who had seemed bemused throughout the contest as if he did not quite know what he was doing there, had a look of total astonishment when it was announced he was the winner and new world champion.
Malinga took it like a trooper. He felt he had won, but, hey, he’d been there before. By my reckoning this was the fifth bad decision he’d suffered in his 51-fight career; by his own reckoning it’s the seventh. It’s just that this time, it cost a little more. If he retained his title, he was set to take on the winner of the Steve Colling-Nigel Benn WBO world title fight which headed the Manchester bill (won by Collins in four rounds after Benn sprained his ankle) and was guaranteed a purse of R3-million.
Now, once again, he’ll be begging for fights, and, like Benn, who, as always, retired and then unretired for a return with Collins, Malinga will be hoping for that one last shot at glory which he held all too fleetingly.
But if Malinga is on his way out, there are several wonderfully talented local youngsters who are starting to spread their wings — though unfortunately not at home. Two who are currently being promoted by Warren in Britain are Malinga’s stablemate, Cassius Baloyi and Brian Mitchell’s new protege, Harry Simon.
Early on Sunday morning, Simon, having only his 11th fight, showed a devastating combination of speed, accuracy and power in stopping former British welterweight champion Delroy Bryan in six rounds. A chum of Frankie Fredericks, this 24-year-old from Booysens via Walvis Bay, has the tools and the application to go the whole way. And Baloyi, the fast, elusive, 1.82m, 22-year-old featherweight from Gazankulu, completely outclassed former British champion Peter Harris to give him his 13th straight victory.
It will be a surprise if both of these lads don’t make it at least as far as Malinga, but unfortunately, like most of the best South African fighters these days, they’ll be doing almost all their boxing in other countries. The crowds, television revenues and the exchange rate, give them very little alternative.