"Vulnerability always comes with risks, but its rewards are deep." -- Aisha Mirza
There comes a time in practically every good fight when the boxers abandon common sense, forget their uncertainties and totally commit to the moment. It's a leap of faith sparked by an overwhelming desire to prevail and powered by instinct and muscle memory.
That's when the magic takes place.
Last Saturday that moment came during the eighth round when Canelo Alvarez and Miguel Cotto stood their ground and cut loose with a ferocious exchange of punches. The capacity crowd of 11,272 at the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas rose to its feet as one, cheering wildly as the spectacle unfolded.
They were responding to something deep inside of them as much as what was taking place inside the ring. Like the fighters, the crowd (and I suspect most of the pay-per-view customers) was captive of an emotion as old as mankind -- an atavistic love of violence.
That's what boxing is really all about, not the athleticism and technical virtuosity the fighters display. Not really. That's just a politically correct patina that masks the cruelty of our base desires. We want to get carried away, albeit vicariously, by the danger of it all, and for the vast majority that requires a heavy dose of ferocity.
True, some fans are perfectly happy to watch defensive wizards weave their spells, but they are a minority. Moreover, if nobody ever got hurt, even these patrons of the art probably wouldn't be interested.
There is nothing the matter with appreciating the finer points of the sweet science, providing the payoff is satisfying. Canelo and Cotto both exhibited solid boxing skills, but their focus was on beating their adversary, not getting back to the locker room looking as pretty as when they entered the ring.
Without danger, professional boxing would be fencing with boxing gloves, just like today's Olympic boxing. And look how low Olympic boxing has sunk since every effort has been made to pacify it.
The simple truth is that a lot more people are willing to pay to see fighters who take risks than they are boxers who refuse to put themselves in harm's way.
Why do you think the fight action in Rocky movies is so over-the top? The long-running franchise probably would have folded after the first film if the title character fought like Floyd Mayweather, Guillermo Rigondeaux or Erislandy Lara.
There's a difference between rushing in face-first and measured aggression, when a fighter uses feints, angles and traps when he goes on the attack. Mayweather was an exciting fighter during the first half of his career, but grew increasingly cautious after a narrow escape in his first bout with Jose Luis Castillo and habitual hand problems.
While Mayweather's remarkable success seems to contradict the premise that violence is at the root of boxing's popularity, he's the exception that proves the rule. Like a snake shedding his old skin, "Pretty Boy" morphed into "Money," a narcissistic windbag that appealed to millions of folks who wanted to be just like him, especially the money and undefeated part.
It was a brilliant marketing tactic but it took a fighter of exceptional ability to pull it off. Although they're not quite on Mayweather's exalted level, there's no denying that Lara and Rigondeaux have mad defensive skills. The trouble is that they lack the personality and chutzpah so essential to Mayweather's ascent to unprecedented wealth.
I sincerely doubt we will see his like again. There will be plenty of wannabes and pretenders but just like all the boxers who patterned themselves after Muhammad Ali, none of them will come close to duplicating the original.
Mayweather and Ali were one-offs, as were many of the iconic fighters whose images now hang on the wall in Canastota, New York. It's one thing to be inspired by other fighters, but quite another to try and become them.
Standing in for the supposedly retired Mayweather on the Canelo-Cotto card was Rigondeaux, the circumspect Cuban who even Bob Arum couldn't peddle to the public. Fans that delight in Rigo's splendid technique believe he's been ill used by the boxing establishment, and on personal level they have a point.
But professional boxing is a product, and as such has to appeal to the largest number of consumers possible. Shoving something down customers' throats that they don't want is bad business, as Rigondeaux proved against Filipino club fighter Drian Francisco on Saturday's undercard.
It was a fresh start for Rigondeaux, his debut with new promoter Roc Nation and his first fight in the United States since a 12-round waltz with Joseph Agbeko on Dec. 7, 2013. Although Rigondeaux won every round, the crowd began booing early and never stopped.
At one point, the game but outclassed Francisco stopped chasing, laughed and gave the ref a what-am-I-gonna-do-with-this-guy shrug. At least he went home with the satisfaction of going the distance with a boxer some purists consider among the very best in the world and escaping virtually unscathed.
That Rigondeaux's tepid outing was juxtaposed with Canelo-Cotto was bad enough. But the fact that the mind-boggling junior lightweight war between Francisco Vargas and Takashi Miura was also on the card, made for a comparison about as odious as one can get.
Vargas and Miura didn't have just one moment of total abandonment. Until referee Tony Weeks rescued Miura in the ninth round, it was an orgy of unrestrained savagery, a seesaw battle that had all the attributes of a fight of the year candidate.
What Alvarez, Cotto, Vargas and Miura shared in common is that they were vulnerable at some point in the fight, some more than others, but they all crossed that threshold that creates a special moment.
Rigondeaux did not. He didn't have to, of course, but that's beside the point. He stunk the joint out on HBO PPV.
Yes, Rigondeaux has been inactive. Yes, he probably needed a tune-up. I get it. But not on PPV and thus having the dubious distinction of being the only downer on a damn good show.
The promotion yet again highlighted boxing's biggest dilemma, a Catch-22 that will always be part of the sport, as we know it.
At it's very best boxing is a transcendent experience, a natural high unlike any other. But the price the participants pay can be the ultimate one.
The risk-reward factor is even more complicated by our heightened awareness of the long-range consequences of concussion syndrome. There's no getting around it: Getting hit in the head is bad for you, always was, always will be.
You can't blame any boxer for trying to limit the amount of punishment he takes by mastering as much defensive technique as he can and fighting cautiously. It makes a lot of sense. But it rarely makes good box office.
As writer Bill Dettloff likes to remind us: We can either have boxing (as we know it) or not. There's really no in between. We try to pretend there is, but there's not.
People are always going to get hurt, some will die and some will fall apart one way or another, including from all those horrible things that brain injuries do to you.
But we carry on, nonetheless. Boxing is an international sport, more so now than ever, and it shows no real signs of dying out. Not if you look at the big picture with clear eyes. For some reason boxing is still a significant part of cultures around the word and one or two of its contestants are usually among the top-earning athletes every year. That should tell us something.
We all feel it differently, I suppose, but I believe that the particular sensation that only watching a good fight can deliver has an awful lot to do why boxing endures.
There will always be room for the cuties, speedsters and artful dodgers. Some, such as Argentina's Nicolino "El Intocable" Locche, were unique geniuses that became huge stars. But defensive artists are very seldom as popular as their more offensive-minded -- and more vulnerable -- brethren.
In boxing, as in all businesses, the customer is always right. Consequently, except in rare circumstances, pure boxers of defensive resolve earn less money.
Mayweather is gone, at least for now. It's time for the action heroes to shine. They are the fighters that bring you out of your chair at least once a fight. True, they're also the vulnerable ones, but that's how it has to be.
Our greatest heroes are always at risk, or they wouldn't be heroes.