There was a time, not so long ago in Oscar De La Hoya's memory, when the "Golden Boy" from East L.A. was treated not to hometown worship, but to boos.

On Saturday, he fights Steve Forbes, and for De La Hoya it is in a sense a homecoming because he hasn't boxed here in eight years.

Many close to the Olympic gold medalist predict a cascade of cheers from the expected capacity crowd of 27,000 at Home Depot Center's soccer stadium -- a tribute, they say, that will finally end what they see as a stubborn backlash to De La Hoya's success.

That success came swiftly. He won instant fame after the 1992 Barcelona Games, and his leading-man looks and charisma fueled wild popularity when he turned pro.

Yet, there was an undercurrent of disfavor.

Some still call him a traitor. Others still revile him as a pretty boy. Some in his own neighborhood still are ready to boo him. The disdain is less mean now, though, and certainly less enveloping.

"I didn't understand it," De La Hoya said the other day. ". . . Everywhere I'd go, I'd get booed. It was frustrating."

Ron Shelton, who wrote and directed "Bull Durham" and "White Men Can't Jump," has closely followed De La Hoya.

"We have a lot of icons in L.A., but not many of them are homegrown," Shelton said. "Magic was drafted from Michigan, Koufax came from Brooklyn, Fernando was from Mexico. This guy's one of us. And he's immortal."

Fame came so fast for De La Hoya, now 35, yet has been so lasting: A bronze statue of the boxer will be joining those of Magic Johnson and Wayne Gretzky outside Staples Center.

It began with the gold medal won for the U.S., and for his mom, who had died of cancer. Many still remember how he fought back tears on the victory stand.

By 1996, he was 21-0 as a pro. Then he landed a fight against the legendary Julio Cesar Chavez of Mexico. Chavez, who held the World Boxing Council light welterweight title, was beloved by Latino boxing fans here for his toughness, his Mexican roots and his common-man persona.

De La Hoya destroyed Chavez in a fourth-round technical knockout. He destroyed something else too: part of his fan base. Many Latinos were left feeling angry, they loved Chavez so. They openly mocked De La Hoya as a pretty boy and a "pocho" -- not a true Mexican, and not a true American, the boxer's former publicist Bill Caplan recalled.

This scorn flew full force later that year, when Chavez fought Joey Gamache in Anaheim and De La Hoya made a public appearance there. He was greeted with ear-splitting boos.

"Here I am, an athlete thinking only about being a champion," De La Hoya said. "I beat the biggest name in Mexico, and it was like everyone turned on me. The die-hard boxing aficionados couldn't stand me. I didn't understand."

Alexandro Jose Gradilla, assistant professor of Chicano studies at Cal State Fullerton, said De La Hoya probably never will be able to win over Latinos with strong roots in Mexico.

"This hits at the heart of the 'old' versus the 'new' thinking," Gradilla said. "While De La Hoya represents through his charities and financial success something that many can point to as a great thing, a source of great national pride is boxing.

"This is something the immigrant does better, and for some, the one thing they at least had was boxing and Julio Cesar Chavez."

Gradilla noted that even De La Hoya's style gets picked on.

"From the perspective of Mexicans, they don't get Oscar, a Mexican American, walking into the ring with mariachis. . . . It's a combination of national and male pride," he said. "Oscar can't measure up to the 'manliness' of a Mexican man. He's always going to be viewed with suspicion."