Stanley Ketchell was slain by an enraged Husband avenging his unfaithful wife; and everything the "Michigan Windmill" did up until then led to that fateful moment-he was wild but accurate. Back then Boxing was filled with hard drinking “Sporting” men that included Jack Johnson; barbaric by today’s standards the Sweet Science was a haven for men who would otherwise be jailed for any myriad of Social Trespasses, and that went for writers too. The sport of Boxing is inherently natural (fight or flight) and illogical in many ways and the men who take it on as vocation are often unbalanced as a rule; how else does one decide to do this for a living? Would any of us who love to follow and examine the Cruel Game do what Andre Berto and Robert Gurrero did a couple of Saturdays ago for money? If so would it not be those of us who have never been considered the well-adjusted of our peers? Violence outside of the Ring with Fighters is not an anomaly, because with many Fighters violence was there before they laced them up and will be waiting like a long lost love when they are through.
Whether it be in the violent environment they’ve come from like Alexis Arguello or the Horse Power in hobbies that limit all probability of safety as in the case of Diego Corrales-danger is always near. Violent circumstances and backgrounds are the places we traffic in, where Boxing can best reap their harvest of young men who may not transition well in any other situation but combat. Once they can no longer do it for pay they enter another fight to remain “The Champ” emotionally-and they rarely win. Johnny Tapia “had” to be a fighter given all he’d seen, and even then he could not defeat the pain and anguish that defined his life. Mike Tyson was of no social use to the “polite society” that had overseen the literal and moral divestment of Black and Latin New York in the 70’s, he was where he was “supposed to be” until he balled up his fists. Like Sonny Liston he represented the monster behind each corner of neighborhoods long evacuated by the establishment, facing them in their prime was like making that wrong turn you never come back from. What Arturo Gatti and now Ricky Hatton grapple with is the burden of the gladiatorial; when life slows down and presents you with demons you can’t simply put your fist through. Rebellious streaks are inherent in the best fighters; the behavior that might repel in other environments is encouraged in Boxing because this work environment is in no way a reflection of what “normal” people do. Our History is filled with men like Battling Siki who for a brief window was feted for his extreme behavior and wound up dead in an Alley-but unlike Football there is no legal threat forcing the sport to acknowledge their humanity. It is stark contrast between “haves and have nots” to consider the blows a fighter takes to the head vs. other contact sports, Football Players with post career issues are “impaired” by way of their Sports superior Corporate Infrastructure while Boxers are merely considered “Crazy”.
The Rebels among us revel in “still being crazy after all these years”; but those of us who love them are the ones who suffer the numbing finality that comes with an early grave.
Aretha Franklin sang about roses growing up through concrete in Spanish Harlem, Hector Camacho was in many ways one of those “roses”. A former Car thief (they didn’t say jacking back in the day) Camacho for me filled that void of flash and speed when Sugar Ray Leonard grappled with a detached retina and retirement. Camacho, if he was anything was colorful but he was too young (and small) for the Fab Four era of the 1980’s and too old for the Welterweight wave in the late 1990’s. He was a New York sensation years before Mark Breland was hailed as the next Tommy Hearns and he was every bit as obnoxious and polarizing as Floyd Mayweather. Like many great characters in Boxing Camacho was a thrill seeking missile outside of the ring, those who knew him back in the early days just sort of accepted the reckless path as it was well charted and worn by Stanley Ketchel long ago. Camacho was as garish and carefree as the 1980’s allowed, the women, the gold, and the leather gear that symbolized ghetto fabulous in the jheri curl era was all wrapped up into one Puerto Rican lightweight- and that was pre ring walk. When you heard the Macho Time chant back then you knew what you were in for, a show; from a man moving faster through life than he did confined to a Boxing ring. Boxing isn’t a place of personal reform, as our sport Is often the criminal stepson of all the major sports-the one always brought in to a line-up when it’s time to rave about what’s wrong with competitive men as spectacle. Camacho only become more of what he was when he graced us with his charisma and talent, more insatiable, more stubborn and rebellious-the way most champions are when they shine. He fit right in with the Ali’s and Robinsons, men of arrogance and profound compartmentalization, and like them he talked openly about the highs and lows of whipping back into shape after living too hard. Had he been younger he’d have been right there with Oscar De La Hoya, going hard and making weight not as an act of professionalism but insolence.
Last week his wake was typically "Macho", women brawled for the distinction of calling themselves his “lady” and it all overshadowed “him”. His flashy style often screamed over the whispers of his prodigious Boxing IQ, his bluster and braggadocio often shielded him from recognition as a truly gifted pugilist- Camacho’s exit felt like the funny guy you knew leaving a job and your realization that he was actually shy. Wild Men just sort of float through Boxing camouflaged in this way, and when they are gone all we are left with is the record, in Camacho’s case 79-6-3. You have to be just a little Crazy to step inside the ring, and maybe crazier to be at home there in an environment that is clearly destabilizing. But that is what Boxing allows-to either defeat Demons or be the Demon, either way fighters like Camacho will continue to push through our recollections and penal systems. In the landscape of Boxing wildflowers are encouraged to grow unencumbered, and in this Garden they wouldn’t be as beautiful any other way.
R.I.P Hector “Macho” Camacho
