When the short, bald-headed guy climbed off the canvas after being knocked down for the second time in the very first round, he already knew what he was going to do when the referee finished the 8-count and wiped off his gloves. He was going to throw himself at his tormentor and fight as hard as he could for as long as he could. To hell with the consequences.
It's difficult to know what comes over a man at a moment like that, when he chooses to sacrifice himself with Charge-of-the-Light Brigade abandon, rather than submit to surrender's sweet embrace.
But that's exactly what Kiko Martinez did last Saturday in Anaheim, California, an act that transformed what should have been a routine win for house-fighter Leo Santa Cruz into an exhilarating, albeit brief, firefight.
In fewer than five rounds, featherweights Santa Cruz and Martinez generated more white-knuckle drama than the rest of the weekend's fisticuffs combined. Santa Cruz could have played it safe and boxed Martinez from the outside, and he knew it. But instead he, too, opted to stand and fight.
What else could you expect from a fighter born in Michoacán de Ocampo, where his Purépecha ancestors repelled Aztec invaders in the 15th century? And whose cowboy hat-wearing father began showing him videos of Julio Cesar Chavez when he was barely out of diapers.
Brawling is in Santa Cruz's blood.
"I got carried away. I wanted to go toe-to-toe," said a grinning Santa Cruz by way of an excuse. "I wanted to please the fans, to make it a war."
There's almost always a transient moment in a memorable fight when something happens to lift it above the commonplace. That instant came Saturday when the B-side boxer Martinez, who earned a reported $150,000 to Santa Cruz's $1 million, went for broke.
Striving to satisfy the blood lust of the howling mob (you know, the paying customers) is not a universal trait among fighters. But the truth is that quite a lot of them enjoy a dustup just as much as the fans. Martinez has always been a puncher and decided to go out doing what he does best, and Santa Cruz was happy to oblige.
When referee Raul Caiz Sr. saved a by-then helpless Martinez from additional abuse with more than a minute to go in the fifth round, the grizzled Spaniard was still on his feet.
Guillermo Rigondeaux, arguably the best fighter currently campaigning in the 122-126-pound range, looks down his nose at such recklessness. He relies on sublime boxing skills to thwart opponents with as little fuss as possible. Taking unnecessary risks in search of greater glory is the last thing on his mind, a pragmatic approach that has not particularly endeared him to the masses.
Make no mistake, there is a cadre of appreciative fans who value Rigo's mastery and are indignant that he hasn't received the recognition they feel he deserves. But there's no way of getting around the fact that he is a marketing and matchmaking nightmare -- kind of a virtuoso outlier who can't quite find his place.
In the end it comes down to a simple choice: Do boxing consumers want technical perfection or the excitement only mutual vulnerability provides?
Sometimes, of course, the decision is easier to make than at others. How many of you are even remotely psyched about Rigondeaux's scheduled rendezvous with one James "Jazza" Dickens on March 12 in Liverpool?
It reminds me of the time I saw future Hall of Famer Bob Foster defend the light heavyweight championship against Joe Palooka-lookalike Tommy Hicks at the Scranton CYC. No TV!
Genius on the chitlin' circuit.
But what are you going to do? Life isn't fair, and we can't expect boxing to be any different.
Happily, the abundance of talent currently residing in the 122 and 126-pound classes is bountiful enough that Rigondeaux's involvement is not de rigueur.
Earlier last Saturday, roughly 5,300 miles to the east of Anaheim, more than 20,000 delirious fans filled the Manchester Arena to watch the highly-anticipated showdown between Northern Ireland's Carl Frampton and England's Scott Quigg, two leading lights of the renaissance U.K. boxing is currently enjoying. The charged atmosphere and earsplitting din inside the arena were reminiscent of past nights, when Ricky Hatton graced the same venue.
The match was more than a regional rivalry. Going in, Frampton and Quigg were ranked No. 2 and No. 4 junior featherweights, respectively, by ESPN.com. Moreover, they were unifying two alphabet titles and Showtime Extreme thought enough of the fight to broadcast it live in the U.S.
Much was expected. Maybe too much.
For the first six rounds the fight was uncomfortably reminiscent of the Floyd Mayweather-Manny Pacquiao charade. Frampton did just enough to win every round, while Quigg did next to nothing.
We would later learn that Quigg's jaw had been broken by a uppercut in the fourth, which would certainly explain his reticence to engage. Why he barely threw a punch prior to that is harder to justify.
Equally baffling was Quigg's late charge, which started in the seventh and peaked in the 11th when his body shots had Frampton hanging on and looking at his corner. But when the Irishman rallied to win the 12th, any hope Quigg may have harbored vanished at the sound of the final bell.
In the end, it was half of a good fight. Even Frampton -- who stayed unbeaten with a split decision that should have been unanimous -- failed to dazzle. He calls himself the "Jackal," but resembled a scrappy terrier against Quigg, figuratively nipping at his heels instead of going for the jugular.
Even so, Frampton got the job done and sent his loyal fans back across the Irish Sea with a song in their hearts. And as far as his manager, Barry McGuigan, is concerned, there's no looking back.
"With the greatest respect for Scott Quigg that [rematch] is not an attractive fight for us," McGuigan told Ciaran Gallagher of the Irish Examiner. "We need to step up to the next level and I think Santa Cruz is a real possibility. We're not interested in Rigondeaux. He can't draw 500 Cubans in Miami. This is a business. Don't get me wrong, he's fabulous but he's awkward and negative. The money-fight is Santa Cruz. It would be breathtaking."
You can't argue with McGuigan's reasoning. Santa Cruz-Frampton would be a money-spinner on either side of the Atlantic and, even more importantly, it would in all likelihood turn into the thriller McGuigan predicts.
The appealing matchups don't end with Frampton and Santa Cruz. Hugo Ruiz, who blew out Julio Ceja on the Santa Cruz-Martinez undercard, has also punched his way into serious contention. He regained the 122-pound belt he lost last August, when Ceja came of the floor to stop him on the Santa Cruz-Abner Mares card. This time was different.
The right hand that finishes Ceja in the rematch was a beaut, flush on the chin over top of a lazy left. Ceja went down hard, twisting his right ankle as he fell. It was all over by the 0:51 mark of the opening round, a stunning result that left the victor battling to control his emotions.
Despite his defensive lapses, Ruiz would be a handful for anybody in or around the featherweight division. He's 5'9.5" with a 69.5" reach, giving him an advantage over most men his weight. Combined with a puncher's temperament and the pop to back it up, the latest danger-man from the fertile breeding ground of Los Mochis, Sinaloa, is not to be underestimated.
Lee Selby, Andres Cuellar and Mares are also in the mix, but political gridlock remains a crippling impediment to many mouthwatering matchups. Even so, every now and then there's a sign of willingness to forge at least a temporary truce.
Bob Arum, who promotes featherweight Vasyl Lomachenko, Nonito Donaire and Eugeny Gradovich, says he's willing to work with Al Haymon to make a match between junior welterweights Terence Crawford and Adrien Broner. It's a long shot, but if Uncle Bob's olive branch bears fruit, who knows where else it could sprout?
It wasn't that long ago that Pacquiao, Marco Antonio Barrera, Erik Morales and Juan Manuel Marquez engaged one another in a magnificent series of featherweight wars. It was a great time for boxing, and there's no sane reason something similar couldn't happen again.
Granted it would not be on the same exalted level, but there are certainly more than enough good fighters in and around the featherweight division to get things rolling.
Last Saturday's action brought the possibilities into sharper focus so all we need now is a modicum of cooperation, a little luck and fighters who behave the way they should. The way Martinez did last Saturday when he gave his all in losing cause.
It's not always the winner who lights the fuse. It's the ensuing explosion that counts.