Over the next couple of weeks, BoxingScene writers are listing their favorite fights. Some are fights they attended, some are not. Some are included because they were epic contests, others because they involve a favorite fighter, a favorite moment, or hold some kind of special significance.
Kicking us off: Kieran Mulvaney and the coming-out party of one of boxing’s modern greats.
It has been almost 22 years since I was first credentialed to cover a boxing card – Shane Mosley-Oscar De La Hoya II at the MGM Grand Garden Arena on September 13, 2003, if you were wondering – and I have legitimately lost count of how many I have attended since then.
There have been two in the UK – Golovkin-Brook and Joshua-Klitschko; a pair in Macau; one in Monaco; one in Russia – when HBO passed on sending its most expensive talent to watch Sergey Kovalev beat Isaac Chilemba in Ekaterinburg and dispatched me instead. There has been a handful in Montreal.
And there have been dozens and dozens here in the States, perhaps a couple of hundred at this point, from Colorado to California, from Texas to Florida, in New York, New Jersey, and Nevada.
The best fight I ever saw in person was arguably the best fight that anyone ever saw, and was incontrovertibly one of the greatest of all time: when a seemingly spent Diego Corrales peeled himself twice off the canvas in the tenth round and knocked out Jose Luis Castillo.
My favorite fight, though, wasn’t in Las Vegas, Atlantic City, or Monte Carlo. It was in the comparative boxing backwater of Omaha, Nebraska, on the night of June 28, 2014, when Terence Crawford announced himself to the world by stopping Yuriorkos Gamboa in front of just about the most rabid and enthusiastic crowd I’ve ever seen.
Both men were 23-0 with 16 KOs when they entered the ring at the CenturyLink Center, but their paths to that point had varied considerably. Gamboa had earned a reputation as an explosive, fast and powerful featherweight, beating the likes of Rogers Mtagwa, Daniel Ponce de Leon, and Orlando Salido en route to taking the IBF title, before stepping up to 130 and 135 pounds in successive outings.
Crawford had fought the bulk of his career at lightweight, although he had also garnered notice for his willingness to step up to 140 pounds on short notice to tackle dangerous Breidis Prescott on the undercard of Brandon Rios’ rematch with Mike Alvarado. He had overcome that challenge with relative ease, scoring a clear unanimous decision, but his technical excellence wasn’t winning everyone over.
His next outing, a stoppage of Alejandro Salabria, was broadcast on HBO, but the one after that, a decision win over Andrey Klimov, left viewers and the cable outlet feeling unfulfilled. So neither HBO nor any other US broadcaster was on site when Crawford took a lightweight belt from Ricky Burns in Scotland, but so impressive was his defeat of a very good champion that the self-professed heart and soul of boxing had little choice but to sit up and take notice.
Crawford had fought all but one of his pro bouts outside his home state of Nebraska, but his promoter Bob Arum proposed that his first defense be just across the Missouri River, a stone’s throw away from where Crawford grew up, at a casino in Council Bluffs, Iowa, on the border of the Cornhusker and Hawkeye states. It is just a ten-minute drive from the casino to the heart of Crawford’s Omaha hometown, but that wasn’t close enough for the newly-minted title holder. If he was going to have a homecoming bout, he wanted it to be a homecoming bout.
Some of those who would happily travel to Vegas or Los Angeles for a fight stayed behind for this one; “I don’t think my passport is valid for Omaha,” one person said to me when I asked if they would be going. That was their loss because Omaha, it turned out, is a fantastic city, with an eminently walkable downtown and a host of restaurants and bars. Now, it sure helps if you like steak, but even Johnny Vegetarian found plenty of places to have a fine and satiating time.
So already, it had the ingredients for a good week. But added to that was the fact that I was a few months into what I felt had to be just about the best gig in boxing, as HBO’s digital reporter. My job was to interview boxers during fight week for bite-size YouTube preview videos and cover the fight itself for HBO’s website. By the standards of freelance boxing gigs, it paid well, and being with HBO ensured easy access and meant that boxers and others tended to lower their guards.
Well, most of them did. Crawford, on the other hand … I don’t remember our fight week interview, but I feel pretty confident saying it wasn’t very good. I was still learning on the job, and when it came to Bud and interviews, the phrase “pulling teeth” comes to mind. I’m not sure he entirely understood why strangers wanted to ask him questions. (It’s been a minute since I last talked to him but he appears to be far more comfortable with the whole process these days.)
I don’t remember my interview with Gamboa, either, but I’ll wager he was animated and dynamic and full of promises of what he would do to win.
Meanwhile, my HBO colleagues were filming in Crawford’s old haunts and spending time with his family, and in particular his mother, Debbie – aka Miss Debra. If Crawford was reserved in front of a camera or microphone, the same could not be said of Miss Debra. She was and remains a force of nature, diminutive in stature but not in spirit, and there was never any doubt when she and her family were around. The Hilton was connected to the CenturyLink Center by a skybridge that entered the hotel via the lobby bar, and after every press conference or weigh-in, the bar’s volume would increase exponentially when the Crawford clan rocked up.
Debbie’s baby boy was a world champion and was making Omaha proud, and she wasn’t about to not remind the world of that fact. However good anyone else’s fight week was, hers was better.
But truth be told, the entire city was jazzed. Big-time boxing and Omaha rarely intersected at that point; only once before had The Big O hosted a world title fight: in 1972, when local fighter Ron Stander fell in four rounds to the mighty Joe Frazier.
The town was more than ready for some more big-fight action, and nobody – not even Debbie – was happier about the event than Stander. Long forgotten outside Nebraska, he spent the week once more in the spotlight and made the most of it, happily telling a succession of off-color jokes to anyone within earshot.
All the above would have just made for some nice fight week stories were it not for the fact that the fight itself exceeded anyone’s expectations.
It is worth repeating that Crawford at that time was regarded as the sort of boxer you could easily admire but struggle to love; his wins had generally shown far more artistry than excitement. And while Gamboa could often be relied on to entertain, he was stepping up two weight classes from where he had spent the bulk of his career and there was little reason to expect too much of him.
Perhaps the atmosphere in the arena on fight night inspired everyone. The arena was loud and boisterous from the very beginning; even Omaha boxer Bernard Davis – who at the time was 1-0 and who finished his career 3-0 – received the kind of full-throated roar normally reserved for popular main eventers as he outpointed Heath Cline.
By the time referee Genaro Rodriguez beckoned Crawford and Gamboa to ring center for final pre-fight instructions, the crowd – including Warren Buffett, the “Oracle of Omaha,” who was ringside - was on the point of losing its collective mind with excitement.
A steady chant of “Crawford! Crawford! Crawford!” ricocheted off the walls of the arena as the two boxers returned to their respective corners to await the opening bell. And then the fight began and the noise only increased.
Crawford, as we now know, can be a slow starter, an ambidextrous analyst who takes his time to calculate what he has to deal with before stepping on the gas. Gamboa, meanwhile, overmatched in size, had all the advantages in speed and he put them to use as he darted in and out, ripping power shots at Crawford’s chin and moving before the champion could react.
As the fight picked up steam, however, Crawford found the right gear. He began to fight fire with fire, exchanging with the Cuban and catching him clean on several occasions. The atmosphere was now borderline febrile as the crowd responded to every blow. Their hero was in a real fight, and when the camera alighted on Stander, he leapt to his feet and began shadowboxing, the crowd responding with an enthusiastic cheer.
Then, in round five, Crawford broke through. In the middle of an exchange, he landed a short southpaw hook that caused Gamboa’s legs to dance a jig, and a cuffing follow-up left hand to the side of the head dropped the challenger face-first to the canvas.
Gamboa was up rapidly, but Crawford was dialed in now and the atmosphere switched from one of nervous excitement to fevered anticipation as they waited for their champion to strike the definitive blow.
For Gamboa, the ring must by this point have felt like a bear pit as seemingly every one of the 10,943 in attendance roared lustily for his head. But he was a champion in his own right and he continued to fight back as best he could until his resistance eventually crumbled.
In the eighth, Crawford broke through again, a short counter right dropping Gamboa to his knees as he wound up a right hand of his own. A crisp left/right at the bell had Gamboa wobbly again as Crawford emphasized his superiority.
The crowd raised its noise level once more as the two men came out for the ninth, but there would nearly be a twist in the tale. After one combination, an over-confident Crawford dropped his hands and admired his work and a fast Gamboa right hand clipped him on the chin.
Crawford’s legs stiffened and he briefly was forced to back peddle to recover, the Cuban in pursuit, but the danger did not last long.
Gamboa’s exertions had exhausted him and after missing with a couple of wild swings, he was open for a Crawford counter. A pair of left hands along the ropes sent him crashing to his side and onto his back for a third knockdown.
Gamboa’s face as ever remained impassive but his body language told the tale of a fighter on his last legs. He tried to clinch – never a Gamboa strong point – but Crawford shrugged him off and when Gamboa walked into a long Crawford right hand and dropped for a fourth time, Rodriguez waved it off without a count.
Crawford climbed the turnbuckle and spread his arms wide as the crowd exulted. And in that moment, boxer and spectators were united in a feeling of perfect mutual ecstasy unlike any I’ve witnessed before or since.
It was a win that would not come without criticism, but it was a win nonetheless, and an exciting one. Terence Crawford had just become must-see TV, in front of his own people. A new star had been born.
I remained ringside to write my story and then crossed the skybridge to the Hilton bar. A short while later, a wave of cheers and roars signaled the arrival of the Crawfords.
The celebrations were just beginning.
Kieran Mulvaney has written, broadcast and podcast about boxing for HBO, Showtime, ESPN and Reuters, among other outlets. He presently co-hosts the “Fighter Health Podcast” with Dr. Margaret Goodman. He also writes regularly for National Geographic, has written several books on the Arctic and Antarctic, including most recently Arctic Passages: Ice, Exploration, and the Battle for Power at the Top of the World, and is at his happiest hanging out with wild polar bears. His website is www.kieranmulvaney.com.
