As it was once said before me while I waited for my turn in the barber's chair, Evander is a roughneck fighter who hit you hard enough to make you beg and when you fell it was acknowledgement of who the better fighter was. The old gent saw many fights in New York and the east coast and in his ninety plus years called himself a supreme fan and had some collection of fight tickets and programs in his valise. He said the only thing that spoiled his admiration of Holyfield was he seemed too nice to be a fighter. I met him fifteen years ago on his ninety second birthday and wished him many more. I forgot to ask him his name but sometimes it is more important to remember the person.