I feel betrayed by the wealthy silent treating us all like a bitter ex.
Around the time that I took this picture (above) with Vasiliy Lomachenko in Las Vegas just before the November 2016 Superfight featuring Andre Ward Vs Sergey Kovalev in Sin City, I felt like a rebellious teen from Boston (by the way, how do you pronounce Rebellion in Boston where the “R” is The Scarlett Letter?) with a luggage handle shipped off to Vegas like I wasn’t gonna gamble.
Fighters roll the dice and wager on themselves for pride and dignity.
At its purest, it has nothing to do with a flag or anything else someone can rightfully define as foolish by choice. There’s consequence in not having a voice. It’s about a principle, where the wages of men is life. Where to not wage war is to have no peace and means death to the spirit. What becomes of a man who cannot fight when that is all he knows? In what world can a pugilistic virility be so readily replaced a pugnacious docility? I offered the world a glimpse of my “thoughts and feelings” a few years ago, on a green t-shirt devoid of envy with the world’s best fighter — then and now — to express my regards for “rules”. Rules by Mules (Jackasses for sure), who adhere to a credo of “Do as I say, not as I do.” It’s easy to forget about so called Democracy, when all any one can fairly remember is Hypocrisy if we’re really being honest.
I blame The Silent Generation of billionaires, wherever they are, for this Cowardvirus that should make anyone, no less a fighter, reach for a Corona by the case. A lot of cancelled everything is happening right now all over the world in my estimation for one simple reason — they can’t control or shape narratives with money anymore. About 15 minutes after I took that picture with Loma–whose May 30 megafight of All-in Olympic proportion with Teofimo Lopez is now in the air, all because of a Phantom Menace that would piss off Darth Maul– I took a much more innocent one with Shakur Stevenson just outside of Credentials at the box office… the “Love of The Game” shaping the polaroid no different than the one with Loma reflected a “Work of Art.” It’s all so nostalgic now, with this feeling of nothing to look forward to.
And it has everything to do with salt n pepper grey-headed of sage now sprinkled with rage.
I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m driving along still in love, and very happy about that, but look into the rear-view mirror with a sadness for what wants to be left behind because of this need to get ahead at all costs — even if it means the future. It’s not just the boxing world that’s been lead astray by a political system that’s either lost its religion or never found God desirable, but a collective adult media of mass hysteria consumed by the frightful whiff of “What if?”, as opposed to the comparative fightful gift of “What is this?” in the eyes of the children.
You would think that they were the ones who knew the theme song to All in the Family and sang along badly with Archie and Edith for understanding.
Believed with their whole hearts that they would find a way to get there, as they searched for answers to their questions. Even at the risk of mistakes, for it is through mistakes that we learn to gather wisdom.
I look around and I just see youth wasted because of the old. They don’t expect them to fight again… It’s just that they won’t teach them how to fight anymore for things that matter and they’re in charge of soldiers.
Some of us will wonder why till the end.