By William Dettloff (The Ring)



In late July, world-class trainer Freddie Roach told boxingscene.com that he wouldn’t be training Bernard Hopkins for his upcoming fight with Kelly Pavlik, which is scheduled for October 18 in Atlantic City, essentially because he fears for Hopkins’ safety.


Roach, who suffers from Parkinson’s syndrome that he attributes to having boxed for too long, said he saw some things during Hopkins’ razor-close loss to Joe Calzaghe in April that alarmed him.


“Four times in that fight he walked to the wrong corner after the end of the round,” Roach said. “One time they showed it on TV and made a joke about him looking for the ring card girls, but it happened four times. Why do you go to the wrong corner four times? Something’s not right, because Calzaghe hadn’t buzzed him.”


I don’t remember Hopkins going to the wrong corner even once, nor the broadcasters joking about it. But then, I did have trouble finding the number to order the pay-per-view show and even once I had it, kept getting caught in an endless automated loop. Took me a good 20 minutes to figure it out. I hate those things.


I’ll take Freddie’s word that it happened. I don’t know why Hopkins walked to the wrong corner and couldn’t contact him before deadline to ask (okay, I lost his number and then forgot that I’d lost it and by then it was too late). But I did spend about three hours with him recently at a gym in Philadelphia, and, aside from the fact he inadvertently left his Blackberry in a local coffee shop and had to run out to retrieve it, he seemed as sharp as ever.


That we were delayed while he looked for his phone worked out well for me. I used the time to scribble some notes that I had forgotten to take earlier. Plus, I had taken a wrong turn (even though I had been there three times before) and was 20 minutes late getting to the gym.


When not scribbling completely indecipherable notes, I repeatedly patted my pants pocket to make sure I hadn’t left my cell phone somewhere. I hadn’t. I congratulated myself over and over.


Anyway, Roach knows so much more than I do about these things that ordinarily I would give him the benefit of the doubt—if I hadn’t just spent time with Hopkins. So I typed up an e-mail to Ring colleague and friend Dr. Margaret Goodman, the highly respected former Nevada State Athletic Commission Medical Advisory Board chairman and chief ringside physician.
After some first-paragraph chitchat, I started to dive into the reason for my e-mail, but then forgot what it was. It took a while. I waited. Eventually it came. I asked what she thought of Roach’s comments.


Dr. Goodman replied that she couldn’t speculate on Hopkins’ condition because she hadn’t examined him in a very long while. She did allow that, “it is concerning to see any fighter with Bernard’s age, history, and recent record continue to compete.”


She wrote that she too was concerned with Freddie’s comments and that, “Few understand as well as Freddie what the ravages of this sport can do. You have to take what he says seriously.”


I do take Roach seriously. It would be foolhardy not to. I also know that I’m a year younger than Bernard and it took me four tries to spell
“inadvertently” correctly above. I lost my keys twice this year, I can’t remember anyone’s name, and frequently call my daughters by their sister’s names. I walk into a room and forget what I’m there to get or do. I can’t remember if I let the dog in. My vocabulary shrinks daily.


And it’s not just me. All my 40-ish friends and family are in the same boat. That’s all we talk about anymore. I’m waiting for the day when I forget how to operate the toaster or start my car. It won’t be long.
Walking to the wrong corner in a heated, high-pressure fight? I think that’s forgivable.


Postscript: After corresponding with Dr. Goodman, I meant to send her a thank-you e-mail as a courtesy, but four days later couldn’t recall if I had. “Did I reply to this?” I wrote. “I don’t remember.” Alas, I had not.
Go get ’em, Bernard.