ESPN Classic showed Duran-Buchanan last night, so I finally got the chance to see the controversial ending to this fight. In my ooinion, that was one of the worst referee jobs I have witnessed (even worse than Walcott in Lewiston). You don't get a real clear view of the low blow, but Buchanan's reaction leaves little question that the punch was low. No one could fake an immediate reaction like that. At the very least, Duran should have had a point taken away, and yet he was awarded the title.
I am only 33, so the fight was before my time, but was there much outrage about the official decision at the time of the fight?
I finally saw the Duran-Buchanan title change last night
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CarneraKOsSharkey
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 27
- Joined: 10 Oct 2005, 04:07
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CarneraKOsSharkey
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 27
- Joined: 10 Oct 2005, 04:07
Wow, I just saw the fight and I was almost sure the official decision was that the referee gave the win to Duran because Buchanan was unable to continue. The broadcast even interviewed the ref after the fight.
Last edited by CarneraKOsSharkey on 25 Jun 2006, 15:39, edited 1 time in total.
KOJOE90 wrote:wasn't Kenny following his fathers advice on this matter? As Buchanan Sr was hoping to get a DQ win for his son.klompton wrote:duran was awarded the title because buchanan refused to continue.
That's my take, a gamble that did not pay off. Was there a doubt what was going to happen if it continued? Do you think Ken was going to win that fight?
"No one could fake an immediate reaction like that. At the very least, Duran should have had a point taken away, and yet he was awarded the title."
My reply is in regards to the way it was worded. You dont DQ a fighter for an unintentional low blow (which I think it was as Duran was either weaving under a punch or having his head forced down, cant remember which, besides Duran was winning why would he foul out). Even if it was intentional a ref takes a point and gives the other fighter time to recover. If the other fighter cannot continue within the time allowed to recover then he loses. Its as simple as that. So, the official ruling was the correct one. Duran deserved the fight based on the events that occured.
My reply is in regards to the way it was worded. You dont DQ a fighter for an unintentional low blow (which I think it was as Duran was either weaving under a punch or having his head forced down, cant remember which, besides Duran was winning why would he foul out). Even if it was intentional a ref takes a point and gives the other fighter time to recover. If the other fighter cannot continue within the time allowed to recover then he loses. Its as simple as that. So, the official ruling was the correct one. Duran deserved the fight based on the events that occured.
Remember that it was actually Buchanan who initiated an after-the-bell assault, not Duran. Duran just retaliated.
Besides, Duran was punching the shit out of him anyway. Some say he was doing well in the last few rounds, but they haven't watched the fight close enough. The twelfth was perhaps Buchanan's most painful since the fifth, and the eleventh was none too good either.
At the end of the thirteenth round by scores were 10-2-1. Buchanan only scraped his rounds, and one could argue them even. Most of Duran's rounds were clear.
Besides, Duran was punching the shit out of him anyway. Some say he was doing well in the last few rounds, but they haven't watched the fight close enough. The twelfth was perhaps Buchanan's most painful since the fifth, and the eleventh was none too good either.
At the end of the thirteenth round by scores were 10-2-1. Buchanan only scraped his rounds, and one could argue them even. Most of Duran's rounds were clear.
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CarneraKOsSharkey
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 27
- Joined: 10 Oct 2005, 04:07
What did Buchanan say about Duran in his boook?Flump wrote:The facts are that Buchanan tried to win the fight on a DQ when he probably could have continued, failed and then I'll bet regretted it ever since. It would certainly explain some of his slightly bizarre behaviour towards Duran mentioned in his book years later.
In interview with Ken Buchanan. March 2005.
Ken Buchanan endured tough times when his glorious boxing career ended but claims he is now happy with life
At first glance, he is nowhere to be seen. “Meet me at Moriarty’s,” he had said. “I’ll be there at 1pm.” The bar is busy with the lunchtime crowd, the hum of voices hanging in the air like cigarette smoke, and he is lost among the throng of ordinary faces. It takes a walk round the room to eventually spot a figure that looks familiar, sitting with two other men who have also long since left behind middle-age. One is carefully rolling some tobacco, another is studying his football coupon and the third is him. “Hello Ken.”
He jumps to his feet, jolted from his thoughts. Even now, at nearly 60, the scales would not concern Ken Buchanan. His body is taut and lean and his clothes seem to cling to him fiercely. “Ah sonny,” he says, reaching out his hand. “Would you like to go somewhere quieter to talk?” He leads the way through to a side room, his gait slightly stiff and awkward, and one or two people nod hello or call his name. It is 23 years since he last fought a recognised professional bout and life outside the ring has been harsh, yet his reputation remains undimmed.
There are two Ken Buchanans, the one who lives on day to day, making the most of what he has, and the one suspended in time, the 25-year-old who reached for his dream and found that he could grab it. In 1970 he became the first British boxer in 55 years, and the only Scot, to win a world championship abroad when he defeated Ismael Laguna in Puerto Rico. He successfully defended the lightweight title twice before losing it two years later to Roberto Duran in a fearsome fight. He fought at New York’s Madison Square Gardens six times; he shared a dressing room with Muhammad Ali; he is the only living Briton to be inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in New Jersey. From an asbestos pre-fab in an Edinburgh council estate, he went out to conquer the world.
“So what are you here to talk about?” he asks as he sits down.
“I’m here to talk about your fight with Jim Watt. I’m here to talk about your career. I’m here to talk about you, Ken.”
THEY met late in the evening of January 29, 1973 in the ring of the newly-opened St Andrew’s Sporting Club in Glasgow. Watt, a 24-year-old Glaswegian defending his British lightweight belt, against Buchanan, a 28-year-old from Edinburgh, who was attempting to win the title for the third time. Although it was not the defining fight of either man’s career, and being held in a private venue only 500 tickets were sold, it is still an encounter that resonates with significance. Two of Scotland’s greatest boxers coming up against each other, glove to glove.
In the run-up, Watt’s manager, Jim Murray, stoked the fires with jibes at Buchanan, who responded in turn. A sense of enmity seeped into the contest and it was a hard resolution in the ring. For 15 rounds they traded blows but, ultimately, experience told. It was Buchanan’s 48th professional bout and Watt’s 18th and the challenger took the verdict on points. At the end, the two men embraced.
“People used to think ‘Aw, Jimmy hates Ken and Ken hates Jimmy’, but it had nothing to do with that. I just wanted to fight him because if I won I’d win the Lonsdale Belt outright.
But imagine that fight was nowadays,” Buchanan says, shaking his head wistfully. “I mean, I was a former world champion and Jimmy was going to be the world champion. We have some good laughs now, like. Jim’s brand new, I’ve never thought any differently.”
A week on Friday, two of Scotland’s better current fighters will meet to contest a British title; Alex Arthur, from Edinburgh, against Craig Docherty, of Glasgow, for the vacant superfeatherweight belt. It is a faded echo of the fight of 32 years ago, but it brings a mischievous smirk to Buchanan’s features. “I phoned Alex,” he grins, “ken about him saying he’ll run down Princes Street naked if he loses. I said to him, ‘See, if you lose to Craig Docherty, I’ll be running with you. And I’ll be taking a big stick to smack your arse with, too’.”
He laughs, a thin, reedy sound that seems fragile. The fight will be at Meadowbank, yet Buchanan never once fought in his home town. Edinburgh, it was thought, would not turn out for boxing, even for a world champion who is one of their own. “I had 69 pro fights, 40 in England, six in Scotland and the rest all over,” he says. “I suppose I never got the recognition that I maybe should have.”
As he puts down his coffee, there is a faraway look in his eyes, an opaque stare, as though he has to squint to see back into his past. His wiry arms are seldom still and he is restless on his chair, as though his body is an animal he cannot always control. Some questions bring a frown, while others twist his pale lips into a broad smile. It is as though as he walks along his memories, he passes through shadow and light. He still attends boxing shows and he is always well received by those who understand most clearly the breadth of his achievements. You wonder, though, if he misses being a central figure in the fight game? “Aye,” he sighs. “I do.
Boxing’s been in my blood since I was eight when I won my first title, at 3st 2lbs. So that’s only natural.
IT WAS a series of events in Buchanan’s childhood that coalesced into a firm ambition to become a boxer. His dad, Tommy, took him to see The Brown Bomber, a film about the life of Joe Louis; his aunt Agnes bought him a pair of boxing gloves; and his grandmother sneaked him into a boxing show underneath her coat. Yet you feel that he would always have been railing against something, that fighting comes naturally to him. He often scrapped with older boys during his schooldays and he grew up nursing a sense of persecution that he carried into later life. It was supplemented, though, with fierce dedication and a refined style, with Buchanan possessing an almost exemplary left jab and fluid, fleet movement.
With his pallid skin, sandy hair and tartan shorts, he became something of an iconic figure, yet always with a slight detachment from the UK. His greatest moment came in the 130 degree heat of a Puerto Rican afternoon when he won the WBA title against Laguna, a fight that only one British reporter attended. Between rounds, Buchanan had to have suntan lotion applied to his back and his dad had to buy a parasol from a spectator for shade, but he fought with heart and precision to a points victory. “I must be the only guy to have gone into a fight and come out with a world title and a suntan,” he says with a glint in his eye.
Some memories may be lost to time, but others remain intensely real. His next fight was against Donato Paduano at Madison Square Gardens, when he shared a dressing room with Ali. “There was some chalk in an ashtray and the floor was lino or something, so I drew a line across the centre of the room,” he says, leaping to his feet. “Imagine it. The whole room went dead quiet. Then Ali says, ‘What are you doing?’” Buchanan mimics Ali in a rich American accent as he paces back and forth. “I said, ‘Well, this is my dressing room and I’m allowing you to share it. That’s your side and this is mine’. My faither’s mouth was in his arse, like, but then Ali just burst out laughing.”
Other stories fall out easily, too, like his fateful meeting with Duran. In the 13th round, with Buchanan behind on points, the Panamanian landed a heavy punch below the belt that ended Buchanan’s involvement and left him passing blood in his urine for days. “You’ve got metal in your protector and that burst into my right ball,” he says unflinchingly. “Even today I get pains from that, a shooting pain that goes up my stomach to my belly button.”
BUCHANAN was Britain’s highest earner in 1972, ahead of Jackie Stewart, Mick Jagger and Tony Jacklin, but a divorce that forced him to sell his hotel and a series of misguided investments forced him to return to joinery, his trade, after retiring in 1982.
“People used to say, ‘Why do you go back to that?’ I wasn’t intelligent enough to do anything else, because all I wanted to be was a boxer. So why run me down because you see me in a pair of jeans with a tool belt around my waist? What really hurt was when people said ‘Aw, Ken, you pissed it up against the wall’. I could tell you some stories about money I lost stupidly. I trusted people too much.”
Now he lives a pared, austere existence. Yet for all the pathos etched on his sallow face, he is not without vigour. When he jabs out his arm to mimic a punch, you cannot help but recoil quickly, for it still flows with an elemental force. And although his body still remembers the punches it absorbed, it is an injury suffered outside the ring that leaves the most lasting legacy. While staying in a guest house in the mid-1990s, Buchanan was sexually assaulted, an incident that he recalls vividly in the autobiography he wrote without the help of a ghost writer. When he fought back, he fell against a bed and damaged one of his vertebrae.
“I can’t work because of it,” he grimaces. “As the years go on I’m having to take more painkillers. And they’re not cheap.”
It was brave, though, to reveal all that happened in his book.
“Maybe it gets it off your chest,” he says solemnly. “Sometimes when you bottle things up, it’s worse. It helped me a lot, like. What happened, it’s just filthy. I’m glad it happened to me and not some wee laddie, you know. I was strong enough.”
Life has turned on him since he left the ring, yet bitterness has not overtaken his soul. There are moments when he must feel that he is owed something more for what he achieved, but despondency does not cloud his outlook. There is still playfulness and hope, a contentment of sorts. So you ask him if he is happy? “I am, I’m very happy,” he says. “Things are starting to come along now. I’ve got a good life in many respects.”
As we approach the bar to pay for our drinks, the barmaid shakes her head and winks at Buchanan. “Don’t worry about it, Ken.” Then he sits back down with his two companions. Back to the life he lives now.
Ken Buchanan endured tough times when his glorious boxing career ended but claims he is now happy with life
At first glance, he is nowhere to be seen. “Meet me at Moriarty’s,” he had said. “I’ll be there at 1pm.” The bar is busy with the lunchtime crowd, the hum of voices hanging in the air like cigarette smoke, and he is lost among the throng of ordinary faces. It takes a walk round the room to eventually spot a figure that looks familiar, sitting with two other men who have also long since left behind middle-age. One is carefully rolling some tobacco, another is studying his football coupon and the third is him. “Hello Ken.”
He jumps to his feet, jolted from his thoughts. Even now, at nearly 60, the scales would not concern Ken Buchanan. His body is taut and lean and his clothes seem to cling to him fiercely. “Ah sonny,” he says, reaching out his hand. “Would you like to go somewhere quieter to talk?” He leads the way through to a side room, his gait slightly stiff and awkward, and one or two people nod hello or call his name. It is 23 years since he last fought a recognised professional bout and life outside the ring has been harsh, yet his reputation remains undimmed.
There are two Ken Buchanans, the one who lives on day to day, making the most of what he has, and the one suspended in time, the 25-year-old who reached for his dream and found that he could grab it. In 1970 he became the first British boxer in 55 years, and the only Scot, to win a world championship abroad when he defeated Ismael Laguna in Puerto Rico. He successfully defended the lightweight title twice before losing it two years later to Roberto Duran in a fearsome fight. He fought at New York’s Madison Square Gardens six times; he shared a dressing room with Muhammad Ali; he is the only living Briton to be inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in New Jersey. From an asbestos pre-fab in an Edinburgh council estate, he went out to conquer the world.
“So what are you here to talk about?” he asks as he sits down.
“I’m here to talk about your fight with Jim Watt. I’m here to talk about your career. I’m here to talk about you, Ken.”
THEY met late in the evening of January 29, 1973 in the ring of the newly-opened St Andrew’s Sporting Club in Glasgow. Watt, a 24-year-old Glaswegian defending his British lightweight belt, against Buchanan, a 28-year-old from Edinburgh, who was attempting to win the title for the third time. Although it was not the defining fight of either man’s career, and being held in a private venue only 500 tickets were sold, it is still an encounter that resonates with significance. Two of Scotland’s greatest boxers coming up against each other, glove to glove.
In the run-up, Watt’s manager, Jim Murray, stoked the fires with jibes at Buchanan, who responded in turn. A sense of enmity seeped into the contest and it was a hard resolution in the ring. For 15 rounds they traded blows but, ultimately, experience told. It was Buchanan’s 48th professional bout and Watt’s 18th and the challenger took the verdict on points. At the end, the two men embraced.
“People used to think ‘Aw, Jimmy hates Ken and Ken hates Jimmy’, but it had nothing to do with that. I just wanted to fight him because if I won I’d win the Lonsdale Belt outright.
But imagine that fight was nowadays,” Buchanan says, shaking his head wistfully. “I mean, I was a former world champion and Jimmy was going to be the world champion. We have some good laughs now, like. Jim’s brand new, I’ve never thought any differently.”
A week on Friday, two of Scotland’s better current fighters will meet to contest a British title; Alex Arthur, from Edinburgh, against Craig Docherty, of Glasgow, for the vacant superfeatherweight belt. It is a faded echo of the fight of 32 years ago, but it brings a mischievous smirk to Buchanan’s features. “I phoned Alex,” he grins, “ken about him saying he’ll run down Princes Street naked if he loses. I said to him, ‘See, if you lose to Craig Docherty, I’ll be running with you. And I’ll be taking a big stick to smack your arse with, too’.”
He laughs, a thin, reedy sound that seems fragile. The fight will be at Meadowbank, yet Buchanan never once fought in his home town. Edinburgh, it was thought, would not turn out for boxing, even for a world champion who is one of their own. “I had 69 pro fights, 40 in England, six in Scotland and the rest all over,” he says. “I suppose I never got the recognition that I maybe should have.”
As he puts down his coffee, there is a faraway look in his eyes, an opaque stare, as though he has to squint to see back into his past. His wiry arms are seldom still and he is restless on his chair, as though his body is an animal he cannot always control. Some questions bring a frown, while others twist his pale lips into a broad smile. It is as though as he walks along his memories, he passes through shadow and light. He still attends boxing shows and he is always well received by those who understand most clearly the breadth of his achievements. You wonder, though, if he misses being a central figure in the fight game? “Aye,” he sighs. “I do.
Boxing’s been in my blood since I was eight when I won my first title, at 3st 2lbs. So that’s only natural.
IT WAS a series of events in Buchanan’s childhood that coalesced into a firm ambition to become a boxer. His dad, Tommy, took him to see The Brown Bomber, a film about the life of Joe Louis; his aunt Agnes bought him a pair of boxing gloves; and his grandmother sneaked him into a boxing show underneath her coat. Yet you feel that he would always have been railing against something, that fighting comes naturally to him. He often scrapped with older boys during his schooldays and he grew up nursing a sense of persecution that he carried into later life. It was supplemented, though, with fierce dedication and a refined style, with Buchanan possessing an almost exemplary left jab and fluid, fleet movement.
With his pallid skin, sandy hair and tartan shorts, he became something of an iconic figure, yet always with a slight detachment from the UK. His greatest moment came in the 130 degree heat of a Puerto Rican afternoon when he won the WBA title against Laguna, a fight that only one British reporter attended. Between rounds, Buchanan had to have suntan lotion applied to his back and his dad had to buy a parasol from a spectator for shade, but he fought with heart and precision to a points victory. “I must be the only guy to have gone into a fight and come out with a world title and a suntan,” he says with a glint in his eye.
Some memories may be lost to time, but others remain intensely real. His next fight was against Donato Paduano at Madison Square Gardens, when he shared a dressing room with Ali. “There was some chalk in an ashtray and the floor was lino or something, so I drew a line across the centre of the room,” he says, leaping to his feet. “Imagine it. The whole room went dead quiet. Then Ali says, ‘What are you doing?’” Buchanan mimics Ali in a rich American accent as he paces back and forth. “I said, ‘Well, this is my dressing room and I’m allowing you to share it. That’s your side and this is mine’. My faither’s mouth was in his arse, like, but then Ali just burst out laughing.”
Other stories fall out easily, too, like his fateful meeting with Duran. In the 13th round, with Buchanan behind on points, the Panamanian landed a heavy punch below the belt that ended Buchanan’s involvement and left him passing blood in his urine for days. “You’ve got metal in your protector and that burst into my right ball,” he says unflinchingly. “Even today I get pains from that, a shooting pain that goes up my stomach to my belly button.”
BUCHANAN was Britain’s highest earner in 1972, ahead of Jackie Stewart, Mick Jagger and Tony Jacklin, but a divorce that forced him to sell his hotel and a series of misguided investments forced him to return to joinery, his trade, after retiring in 1982.
“People used to say, ‘Why do you go back to that?’ I wasn’t intelligent enough to do anything else, because all I wanted to be was a boxer. So why run me down because you see me in a pair of jeans with a tool belt around my waist? What really hurt was when people said ‘Aw, Ken, you pissed it up against the wall’. I could tell you some stories about money I lost stupidly. I trusted people too much.”
Now he lives a pared, austere existence. Yet for all the pathos etched on his sallow face, he is not without vigour. When he jabs out his arm to mimic a punch, you cannot help but recoil quickly, for it still flows with an elemental force. And although his body still remembers the punches it absorbed, it is an injury suffered outside the ring that leaves the most lasting legacy. While staying in a guest house in the mid-1990s, Buchanan was sexually assaulted, an incident that he recalls vividly in the autobiography he wrote without the help of a ghost writer. When he fought back, he fell against a bed and damaged one of his vertebrae.
“I can’t work because of it,” he grimaces. “As the years go on I’m having to take more painkillers. And they’re not cheap.”
It was brave, though, to reveal all that happened in his book.
“Maybe it gets it off your chest,” he says solemnly. “Sometimes when you bottle things up, it’s worse. It helped me a lot, like. What happened, it’s just filthy. I’m glad it happened to me and not some wee laddie, you know. I was strong enough.”
Life has turned on him since he left the ring, yet bitterness has not overtaken his soul. There are moments when he must feel that he is owed something more for what he achieved, but despondency does not cloud his outlook. There is still playfulness and hope, a contentment of sorts. So you ask him if he is happy? “I am, I’m very happy,” he says. “Things are starting to come along now. I’ve got a good life in many respects.”
As we approach the bar to pay for our drinks, the barmaid shakes her head and winks at Buchanan. “Don’t worry about it, Ken.” Then he sits back down with his two companions. Back to the life he lives now.
Kenny was a tremendous fighter but Duran was a force of nature at that time in his career. You can never say for sure in Boxing but all things being equel Duran would have won anyway either by stoppage or points. He was laying one serious beating on The Tartan Warrior that night.BoxBuzz wrote:Was there a doubt what was going to happen if it continued? Do you think Ken was going to win that fight?
Wonderfull writer. I assume you have his 'On Boxing' book?expug wrote:Hugh Mcilvanney
Did you ever hear the story that about 10 years ago Hugh, who like a drink, was at some sort of Boxing dinner and was sat next to Henry Cooper. Hugh had 'one to many' got into a heated debate with 'Our Enry' and challenged him to a fight there and then.
Good thing for Hugh that Cooper didn't take him up on his offer.
I have his book , "on Boxing"I think its an excellent read. There is also a great story in the same article about Ken in which he talks about Liston visiting Scotland and getting wise with someone at a party.
I dont remember who the former Bantamweight Scottish Champ was that sat down on Listons knee with a drink in his hand and said "Mr Liston if ya keep it up yer gonna leave by either the door or the windey".(window)
Mcilvaney almost getting into it with Cooper is hilarious.Henry is probably the type of guy to just laugh it off .
I dont remember who the former Bantamweight Scottish Champ was that sat down on Listons knee with a drink in his hand and said "Mr Liston if ya keep it up yer gonna leave by either the door or the windey".(window)
Mcilvaney almost getting into it with Cooper is hilarious.Henry is probably the type of guy to just laugh it off .
Who's winning a fight should have no relevance whatsoever when considering a disqualification. Montell Griffin wasen't going to beat Roy Jones Jr in there 1st fight, Riddick Bowe wasen't going to beat Andrew Golota in there 2nd fight, but the referees made the right decisions.
Never knew Buchanan was hurt that bad.
Never knew Buchanan was hurt that bad.
I agree 100% whose winning has nothing or should have nothing to do with how the ref decides in a matter of fouling. However, the ref made the right call in this fight regardless and my point was not that Durans being ahead should have influenced that call but that the foul was, in my opinion, unintentional because he was winning handily and as stated before he was either ducking under a punch or having his head pushed down when he threw the low punch (if indeed it was as replays are inconclusive and the best angle doesnt look all that low, certainly not enough to rupture Ken's testicle).
One other point that has always been interesting to me is when boxers get hit in the nuts they always go down immediately. I have always found this odd as I have boxed, wrestled, and played soccer (football to the rest of the world LOL) and I have had the misfortune on more than one occasion to have been kicked or punched in the nuts (my boys still swim though ) Now, whenever I or anyone I have witnessed (outside of boxing) has ever been hit in the nads, it is almost always a delayed reaction where there is an initial "shock" but the actual pain comes seconds later and creeps up into the stomach. I have always found it suspect when a boxer gets hit low on a steel or aluminum cup (which by the way rides fairly low if youve ever worn one making it pretty damn hard to actually hit anything sensitive) he instantly falls and grabs his groin. In my experience and those Ive talked with, as stated before, the pain is delayed a few seconds and usually you would be grabbing your lower abdomen, not your nuts. So in short, anytime I see a guy drop immediately after a low punch and grab his nuts I have a twinge of doubt. On the other hand Ive seen guys get hit low, take a few steps back then go down grabbing their stomach. Those guys, I KNOW GOT HIT LOW.
One other point that has always been interesting to me is when boxers get hit in the nuts they always go down immediately. I have always found this odd as I have boxed, wrestled, and played soccer (football to the rest of the world LOL) and I have had the misfortune on more than one occasion to have been kicked or punched in the nuts (my boys still swim though
) Now, whenever I or anyone I have witnessed (outside of boxing) has ever been hit in the nads, it is almost always a delayed reaction where there is an initial "shock" but the actual pain comes seconds later and creeps up into the stomach. I have always found it suspect when a boxer gets hit low on a steel or aluminum cup (which by the way rides fairly low if youve ever worn one making it pretty damn hard to actually hit anything sensitive) he instantly falls and grabs his groin. In my experience and those Ive talked with, as stated before, the pain is delayed a few seconds and usually you would be grabbing your lower abdomen, not your nuts. So in short, anytime I see a guy drop immediately after a low punch and grab his nuts I have a twinge of doubt. On the other hand Ive seen guys get hit low, take a few steps back then go down grabbing their stomach. Those guys, I KNOW GOT HIT LOW.