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Last Friday (Nov. 3), the night before the NYC Marathon, Gotham Boxing presented a heavyweight battle pitting two behemoths who exemplify the effects of trans-fatty acids. David Tua and last-minute substitute Maurice Wheeler headlined an “interesting” evening of action.
5’9’’ Tua, who’s always been criticized for his weight management issues, came in at a whopping 250. One guy next to me said “Wow, Tua looks in tremendous shape. As Tua’s shirt came off I said, “Oh yeah, he’s a shape alright!” Seeing him disrobe can be likened to watching Superman running into a phone booth, taking off his costume, and John Candy pops out.
The bell sounded and it looked like two freight trains headed for a collision. Wheeler was smart and got his punches off first. Tua seemed content to wave his arms around like he was trying to get the circulation back into them after they’d fallen asleep. Two minutes through the first and Wheeler had Tua spinning his wheels like if he was stuck in mud.
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I don’t recall seeing Tua extend his heavy short left arm past a 45 degree angle. It was disgraceful. When the bell sounded ending the first, the former contender’s thermometer popped out—he was done.
Wheeler continued a similar pattern for the next few rounds. Jab, jab, right. Jab, jab, left. When Tua tried to slip the jab and come in, a Wheeler right was ready to welcome him.
[img width=700 height=515]http://www.fightbeat.com/tua/Picture-294.jpg[/img]
Wheeler’s success had everyone astonished. Don’t forget, the 10-8-1 (1 KO) opponent was here on a day’s notice and had lost his last four. Dominating Tua wasn’t in the script. Most of the NY fans and media weren’t familiar with Wheeler, but this kid is from Philly—the home of badass boxers. Fromer boxer (and now FB analyst) Joey Gamache reminded the uninformed in press row that Wheeler “once had the talent to possibly crack the top ten. But he trains on doughnuts and became this instead.”
Think back to 1990, when a young, rising prospect called Jovin Mercado was scheduled to fight a four-rounder on ESPN. Hours before the fight not one but two opponents pulled out. The promoter and manger scrambled to find an opponent—they dialed the wrong number. The man on the other end of the line: Bernard Hopkins.
By the 6th round Wheeler had abandoned the jab and his tires were being flattened, thanks to Tua’s debilitating body shots. Every body shot landed could be heard on the street. Shooting pics from ringside, I was leaning on the canvas, my teeth rattling. That’s why people love the big boys; what they lack in finesse, they make up for in Bombs. Tua had worked his way back, and the officials had the fight dead even.
The end came when most people were looking for a place to take a nap. I thought I heard, but did not see, a body shot. When I looked up I saw Wheeler doing a swan dive. He moaned on the canvas like a wounded duck.
As the referee counted him out, he slowly made his way up. Inexplicably, Tua then raced across the ring and threw some WWE-style body punches with nothing on them. There’s a first. The ref moved in to break it up, but seemed as confused as we were. Bada bing, bada boom; it was over, and the paying customers filed out like so many sheep. But several folks in press row exchanged quizzical looks: What just happened? Did you see a shot? I didn’t? Fixed? Even stranger was what took place a minute later; the fighters were hugging and taking pictures for the family album. I’ve never seen a body shot leave someone in such good spirits.
Once again, Tua makes another move towards a title shot by fighting a top 1000 contender. Hell, if it worked for Shannon Briggs, why not for the Samoan sea monster? Maybe Max can pick up a few wide angles and offer Tua fights for $9.99?
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KO of the night goes to the two drunken white boys that went at it at the bar. There was a scuffle and as they were turning away to go about their business the taller guy got sucker-punched and tumbled to the ground. He was out. He was OK and five minutes later, at the bar ordering drinks.
Thoughts on Tubby?
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