Watching and Praying for Paul Gonzales

Back during the 1984 Summer Olympics, when all of Los Angeles fell in love with the young athletic heroes of that special time, I wrote a paean of praise to a Chicano boxer named Paul Gonzales, who won a gold medal that made every Latino in town especially proud.

Gonzales’ story read like a movie script. The son of a single mother who raised him on welfare in a tough Boyle Heights housing project, Gonzales ran with the local gang until he almost got himself shot to death. He was saved from the barrio streets by a cop who taught him boxing. Then came the Olympics and fame.

I’m happy to report that since his Olympic triumph, Gonzales has fulfilled the fondest hopes of all the people who rooted for him during the Summer Games. He has become a prominent and sought-after celebrity--and not only in the Latino community--and he uses his stature for good purposes. I have heard him talk to groups of young people, urging them to stay in school and become the kind of champions academically that he became athletically. He tells them that after pursuing a professional boxing career, he wants to go to college.

Last weekend Gonzales fulfilled the expectations of those fans who followed his exploits strictly from an athletic perspective. In only his third professional fight, Gonzales became the North American Boxing Federation’s flyweight champion. But somehow, having to report that doesn’t make me very happy.

I watched Gonzales’ championship bout on TV. The announcer told Gonzales’ inspiring story again. His sidekick praised the sheer beauty of Gonzales’ boxing skills. Against a veteran opponent, Gonzales skillfully ducked punch after punch, dancing away from danger like a gazelle, while landing his own punches to score points. He won decisively.

When it was over, Gonzales handled his victory with all the dignity and class he displayed during the Olympics. He praised his defeated opponent, thanked God and “all my fans for praying for me.” I wanted to be excited for the hero from the Eastside--but I couldn’t.

Something had changed. It wasn’t just that the aura of the Olympics was gone. It was the whole ambiance of professional boxing.

Amateur boxing, like in the Olympics, is as different from professional boxing as fencing is from a duel with real swords. In the former the object is to score points against your opponent. In the latter, the point is to hurt him.

Amateur boxing matches last for three rounds of three minutes each. The participants wear protective headgear and heavy gloves. Professional bouts also have three-minute rounds, but there can be anywhere from six to 15 of them. (Gonzales’ fight lasted 12 rounds.) There is no headgear and the gloves are lighter.

Most important, the professional boxers who are most popular and make the most money are usually not those who fight their opponents with evasive skill, but those who knock the other guy senseless most rapidly and dramatically. That’s the way most pro fighters attack each other. Skilled tacticians like Gonzales are rare.

As I watched Gonzales bob and weave so carefully, I kept remembering the last boxer I saw fight that way. He was another inspiring symbol whose career I followed closely--the former heavyweight champion Muhammad Ali. Whenever I recall what he was like in his heyday, the image of what he is today takes over. Ali is still strong and handsome, and a symbol of pride to the black community. But no one can honestly claim that he is the same man. His speech is slower and, if you listen carefully, it is slurred. That’s because even the best fighters sometimes take hard blows to the head. As my colleague Jim Murray once wrote in his inimitable fashion, “The human brain was not built to withstand a 45-minute barrage of bludgeons to the head, as any Gestapo goon or Mafia enforcer could tell you.” On Sunday, Gonzales took a few.

Thoughtful sports reporters like Murray and Howard Cosell have suggested many times that professional boxing be banned, or at least radically reformed, so I am not going to try and match their eloquence. I just hope that they succeed someday. In the meantime, I had to write what I feel about Gonzales’ new pro career before anything bad happens: It’s a mistake, and he should quit while he’s ahead.

Gonzales has proven what he can do, after all, both as an amateur and as a pro. The luster of his achievements will not be dimmed, and he can still go on being a role model to Latino kids. Lord knows they need him more than boxing does.

It would be hard to quit, of course. The television networks want him to fight for a world championship soon, and that’s a lot of money to walk away from. And there are many Latinos who will root Gonzales on because they like pro boxing. But I don’t anymore. So if Paul Gonzales goes on fighting, I won’t be watching. Just praying.