This is more like a curtain fall.
From Section 20, row 9 and #11, I’m listening to the 1959 masterpiece by Miles Davis painted “Kind of Blue” and feel anything but sadness. There are those who call themselves gods who should listen to one. Amid the noise of 20,203 fans, it was as radiant on the ears as the sight of unified middleweight champion Canelo Alvarez (52-1-2, 35 KOs) appearing from the sky of T-Mobile Arena.
I wanted to feel what I assumed Daniel Jacobs (35-3, 29KOs) was feeling– fiercely hearing his own classic jazz; while insisting the music in the air on this Cinco de Mayo was his own. But as sonnets pour over Mexican trumpets and horns, this orchestral sport of war in my seat is clashing with peace. Then, I can see it in their eyes. Canelo wants war a little more; Jacobs more or less needs peace. I find those of a mediating Gennady Golovkin and come up with warmth.
The best fights in boxing history almost always involve fire pitted against fire. With a tidal wave of raw emotion, I can’t ignore the logic of what I’m not seeing before the opening bell. I feel like I’ve lied to the people. This ain’t gonna be no Julio Cesar Chavez Vs Meldrick Taylor I. Man, the realization hit me and it sucked. The Taylor in this case (a stately conqueror of cancer now aged 32), is more interested in his tailor; even as the would-be Chavez already has it made for life in his late 20s.
What the fuck were they gonna kill each other for?
Can boxing be literary in a musical way? All of the physical malady in the world could stop him, only it didn’t. He viewed the last fight of a penniless Sugar Ray Robinson, a dear friend, at Madison Square Garden with sadness; knowing he couldn’t punch trumpet notes in the ring anymore. Because of time. Maybe a few short years later, Miles remembered what he could never forget: No regrets. Take as much time that’s needed to eke out greatness for infinity.
This was Daniel Jacobs’ time to do just that– to reopen death’s door and push Canelo in there, no matter what, before closing the door in front of his adoring fans on “their” holiday. To make that unique WBC belt commemorative of Mayan culture and Mexican history now part of his story. Talk about Jacob’s Ladder. If he does that, somehow, it’s a ‘proving I’m great’ Miles Davis upstaging Liberace at his piano shop.
Maybe Jacobs morphs into a black, urban, English speaking Felix Trinidad, defeating an unbeaten and Canelo flavored Oscar De La Hoya whose never tasted defeat against Floyd Mayweather.
I can’t imagine pure jazz being muted by a marching band.