Datsue wrote:Jhonny "Don't Call Me Johnny" González, a fighter whom for years I've been calling the "Bargain Basement Poverty Line Mexican Knock-Off Tommy Hearns" (can't think why that didn't catch on) goes to the well once more tonight, fighting once-beaten Septic flash-boy Gary Russell Jr. in Vegas on one of those new-fangled Haymon cards that ver kidz find very exciting.
Not that anyone cares, but I have a man-crush the size of Distrito Federal on Jhonny G. He's the kind of fighter only a broken, bitter romantic could love: elongated, with a chin made of papier maché, coat-hanger shoulders, pipe-cleaner limbs. He lacks classic grace. He has a tendency to stumble about like a new-born foal on date-rape drugs. He is as reliable as the British weather.
Another classically unreliable fighter, Tommy Hearns was my favourite fighter when I were a lad: the gunslinger aura, the sense of drama, the annihilation the man could deliver, then the ignominious Bambi-like collapses on the brink of triumph. Watching Tommy Hearns made me what I am today, o̶l̶d̶ ̶&̶ ̶n̶o̶s̶t̶a̶l̶g̶i̶c̶ ̶&̶ ̶e̶v̶i̶l̶-̶s̶m̶e̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ an incurable romantic, with an oozing, tender soft-spot for anyone tragically flawed, always rooting for those whose fault lies not in the stars but in themselves, all those who have some gaping hole in their own make-up (whether psychological, emotional or physical)...
Enough about my gaping hole, however. Jhonny's nowhere near as good as Tommy, but fvck you man he's all I got left. Like Hearns, you never know quite what you're gonna get with Jhonny, & that unpredictability, & his shocking vulnerability & his ability to end fights with one punch is why I shall love him always & fervently wish I could bear his man-babies, despite him lacking in classical gifts & sometimes crossing his feet & sometimes looking like I did when I attempted a three-punch combination.
After ending the career of the great Marc Johnson & then thrashing a disinterested Fernando Montiel (I think Fernando, heavily favoured, shipped a big one early & thought "Fvck that for a lark" for the duration) for a bantamweight title he moved up to challenge Israel Vazquez, & was about forty points ahead on the cards & two knockdowns to the good when Vazquez's constant numbing pressure began to tell & he was spectacularly despatched. Like a Latino Andrszej Golota without the fouls & the steroids & with a shit-load more power, you can always rely on one thing with González: you cannot rely on him.
He went to Japan & decapitated Hozumi Hasegawa with an Exocet of a right hand when no-one thought he could; he ran up a seventy-point lead over Gerry Penalosa & found a way to crumple for the ten-count from a bodyshot; he dropped Toshiaki Nishioka & had him reeling & walked into the sweetest left cross southpaw counter you ever did see, a shot that left him staggering about like a man on stilts who's just realised he looks a berk up there & now has no way of getting down apart from the hard way, straight onto his face. He was meant to maul Daniel Poncé De Leon, & couldn't do a thing with the squat rat's-tailed southpaw & surrendered reasonably meekly after nine rounds, bloody & battered & muttering something vague about butts & over-training, massively discomfited by the crude swipes & swings of his bullish opponent.
Then to crown it all, he was brought in as fodder for unbeaten star Abner Mares, & crumpled the guy inside a round with the sweetest long-armed left hook you ever could see. Whip out a feinted jab, quick step in, set the hips, &
pivot that motherfucker right the way through the side of the jaw left exposed to deal with the pretend jab. He left a fighter who'd never ever shown a susceptibility to a heavy shot prostrate & blinking in on the canvas, a look on his face that said "Fvck that, they didn't tell me he hit like
that". But in Spanish, obviously. A left hook that (whisper it) reminds Those Who Know of the kind of leverage that Alexis Arguello (another improbably gangly puncher, though one technically levels above JG) used to generate, a kind of a shittier Alexis Arguello maybe, but Alexis Arguello-like it was nonetheless. Except Jhonny doesn't have a rad 'tache.
(An aside: I would probably love him even more if he took to wearing Alexis Arguello-esque velvet shorts. Mmmmm. Hmmm-mmm-hhmmmm. MMm. Tune in tonight to find out!!!)
Russell Jr is much younger & more athletic; he fought absolutely
no-one of note until losing most of the rounds to rising Wunderkind Vasyl Lomachenko; & he has he promotional power of Haymon behind him (so much promotional power that despite no-one knowing who he was & the fact that he's a boring slappy southpaw, he had about 12 fights in a row on HBO & despite being beaten up fairly comprehensively by the Ukrainian, one judge gave him a draw).
Anyone sensible would think that the Yank
must win, that either Jhonny's innate frailties will let him down again or the Yank will be too young & quick or simply that as the House Boy, the guy with the money behind him, Russell Jr will, if he remains upright, get two judges scoring eleven rounds for him no matter what transpires. Or even more simply, that Jhonny will beat the shite out of him & then walk into one when you least expect it.
But I don't care. I'm staying up tonight, & watching me some Jhonny. Because sometimes, it doesn't matter if you won or lost: it matters that you theoretically could've decapitated the other fella even up to the point where you face-planted ignominiously into the canvas whilst twenty-six rounds up on the cards.
Yeah.
Assorted JG highlights:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHp_CIBpx50
JG doing Mares:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M74X5PHdTFw
The classic González performance, versus Israel Vazquez:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ElorO9owSPo
