Williams-Lara: Worst robbery you ever witnessed?

Lewis Holyfield I was a ****ing shame.

 

Yeah, that was not even close.

 

For me, it was.

I'm just shocked. Williams landed maybe 2-3 flush shots from the outside. All of his "work", if you want to call it that, was in the clinch which required little skill but just him overpowering the much smaller man. Lara dominated almost every round. He landed countless flush, hard shots it's not even funny.

The only question for me is how much money the judges were paid. I've never witnessed a worse robbery in my life.

 

It's the worst where there hasnt been a point deducted or a knock down Ive ever seen.

 

Augustus-Burton is prob worst robbery Ive seen.

Augustus won EVERY round EASILY, and they gave the fight to Courtney Burton.

 

The Chavez JR one was worse.

 

Thought this account I did of a smoker at the Wild Card Gym might make you more confident about the survival of boxing:

FIGHT NIGHT AT WILD CARD

Fight fans despair: What's to become of boxing? It has no future in a world of extreme sports.

If the looks on the faces of fathers, mothers and sons that showed up for an old-fashioned smoker at Freddie Roach's Wild Card Gym in Los Angeles is any indication, boxing’s very much alive.

In this tiny spot in the heart of Hollywood above a Chinese laundry, it was the 1940s again (in every settlement house and church in Brooklyn and the Bronx), including battlers with names like "The Asian Tiger," "Repo Man," and "Bugsy."

There were 13 bouts scheduled -- three two-minute rounds, with 12-ounce gloves and headgears. Since they were unsanctioned by the AAU, every great fighter from the ‘20s through the ‘70s served his apprenticeship in smokers without risking his amateur record. Many of boxing's hardcore fans got their addiction by lacing’em-up as kids in smokers. Downstairs in the parking lot, with cars being jockeyed like a Rubik's Cube, a trainer cooked-up franks.

The gym very quickly looked like it was going to collapse into the laundry under the weight of all the bodies pushing to get a better view of the ring. Some stood on tables and chairs. Some stood above the others without any visible means of support. The mood was like Mariachi music. Though it was a chilly evening, it was quickly a sauna in the gym, without a centimeter to breathe -- people peeling down to T-shirts.

Freddie Roach was the referee; his brother, Pep, was a second, and his mother was one of the other judges. Hollywood A-listers lined ringside, and local fighters and trainers sprinkled the crowd -- that looked like ten pounds in a five-pound bag.

It was an adrenaline rush for three hours — raucous, profane…old friends and opponents ragging on each other – eyes lit up, rolling back the years. 93-year-old trainer Eddie Cousins hadn't slowed a bit climbing into the ring, furiously demonstrating what his charges needed to do.

There was one moment when the crowd booed a decision for a fighter that Pep was handling. He gave them the finger. They booed even louder. Pep stood on the ring apron, dropped his pants and mooned them roundly. Laughter shook the building. People rocked in their seats, stamping their feet. The pure joy was like a sports bar when the home team wins the World Series. That alone was worth the $5. It was the fix that satisfied the jones of every old-school boxing junkie.

Mario Lopez, the actor/ TV personality, sporting the handle "Bazooka," was a big surprise to those who didn't know how seriously he took boxing. With his black headgear with the bar across the front, and his powerful build, he looked like Spartacus. "The Jersey Kid," his opponent, must have felt he'd been ganged up on by what seemed the entire Lopez family -- all with one face -- who jumped up and down at ringside, taking pictures, shouting encouragement and swinging along with every punch Mario threw. Lopez wasn't just a fired-up swinger: He showed what he'd learned in the many rounds with James Toney and Shane Mosley, using some of their signature moves: pivoting left and right inside for the best angles and leverage. He was patient, didn't lunge, threw multiple left hooks and accurate, short lead rights. Lopez not only landed with the kind of punches that made the crowd go "OOH!" he showed enough meanness that he had to be warned several times by Roach for unnecessary roughness. "The Jersey Kid" hung in there tough but he was outgunned and overpowered. When Lopez was announced the winner, and the little bronze medal on the red and white ribbon was placed ‘round his neck, he flashed a mega-watt smile that couldn't have been broader if he’d won the Academy Award.

There must have been a sudden exodus from Dublin, when "Irish Man" battled "The Russian Sleeping Pill." Rows of lads who'd had more than a few to drink -- wrapped in the Irish flag -- chanted, "Irish!" "Irish!" Some scruffy leprechauns feeling no pain smushed their faces against the gym's second-story window screens -- all but inaccessible from the ground -- yelling "Irish Man! Irish Man!"at a level that would normally summon the police to a domestic disturbance.

The crowd warmed to anybody that showed heart, and were no less appreciative of the two women's bouts, which were wars. "The Moroccan Princess" and "Killer" staged their own version of Gatti-Ward 1. And, "The Torpedo" must have studied Jake LaMotta films, trying to walk through the bombardment of "Knockout."

When "The Bruiser" was in a grueling struggle with Danny "The Man," "The Bruiser's" mother stood near me wringing a handkerchief and tensing with his every effort. "Yes, my son!" she repeated, tears welling in her eyes when he was given a majority decision.

After conferring with Freddie Roach, the ring announcer said: because his opponent didn't show up, seven-year-old Steven Ayala was declared the winner in his 57-pound match.

With the medal ‘round his neck, Steven was encouraged by Roach to shadow box for the crowd. He looked like a scale-model Ricardo Lopez, throwing perfectly executed, blurring combinations. The cheers grew as the crowd took him to their heart.

After the naming of the Best Boxer of The Night, and the Most Courageous, the crowd filed out, still buzzing with the evening's excitement. Mario Lopez -- medal still around his neck -- posed with his arm around a young Manny Pacquiao relative. She looked like she’d treasure it.

Trainer Eric Brown turned to me: "We should do it in the parking lot next time. We could fill it." There was no question in my mind.

The demise of boxing -- with thoughts of skateboarding and street luge siphoning away the sport’s life blood -- seems much less likely after feeling the electricity and camaraderie... And, above all, seeing the growing dream in the eyes of young Steven Ayala as he left the ring holding his medal up for his dad to see.

 

So you are admitting that Williams-Lara was a bad decision despite you openly claiming you scored it for Williams?

 

Actually yes maybe. :verysad

 

For fights I've actually seen, Casamayor-Santa Cruz was terrible. So was Campillo-Shumenov 2. But Lara-Williams is right up there with the worst I've ever witnessed live.

 

yes it was imo.

PW landed 19% of his ****ing punches. His "work" was irrelevant.

Lara was STARCHING his ass for the whole fight. I thought Lara was going to kill him if he would have been more aggressive and went for a KO.

 

Go watch the Brandon Rios-Urbano Antillon fight, if that doesnt turn you on back to boxing, then i guess boxing just isn't for you.

 

Martinez-Cintron.

Sergio knocked him out and still lost a decision.

 

George Peterson has no right training fighters at this level. It's obvious he has led Williams to disaster. He didn't give PW one good instruction during the fight. Williams has/had good talent but was taught like a tomato can. Such a waste of talent.

 

Hell no, and there are too many to mention. I'd have to do the research.