Commentary : Style, Grace Set Sugar Ray Apart

Put Sugar Ray Robinson in a telephone booth and throw a handful of rice at point-blank range. Not a kernel would hit him. Elusive and wise. And carrying knockout drops in either hand.

The boxing beauty of Sugar Ray Robinson was in the way he could dance all night. He might have had a better pair of legs than Betty Grable.

Clever. Deft. And so adept. Boxer. Gymnast. Dancer. He was all of that. Put taps on his boxing shoes and he would have been the equal of Fred Astaire or the other Robinson of show biz fame, the man they called Bojangles. Chasing after him in a ring was like trying to corner a cat whose tail had been dipped in kerosene.

The movements were blinding. In and out. Then he would go laterally, come back inside, pull away, a half-step forward, feint with a left hand and deliver a right cross. And before the opponent could retaliate, he was putting down a new pattern of footwork.

How that Sugar Man could move. Firing shots from all angles. Doing what had to be done. Comparing others to him is an insult to his memory. And erroneous, too. Why patronize impostors?

He was, indeed, the original. No carbon copy or facsimile. The genuine article ... Sugar Ray Robinson. He went down for the count at age 67 Wednesday after fighting three rivals at one time -- diabetes, hypertension and Alzheimer’s disease.

The death of Robinson takes away a fighter of multiple skills, combining speed, stamina and style. The sport probably has never had such a gifted boxer-puncher. He was active from 1940 until 1965, and five of his 19 defeats in a quarter-century took place in the last six months of his career, when he had extended himself, at age 44, to taking bouts so he could make a payday.

Robinson was the middleweight champion five different times. It was as if he would put the title out on loan to Randy Turpin or Gene Fullmer or Carmen Basilio or Carl “Bobo” Olson. He always came back to reclaim it. Watching him box and punch, delivering those jackhammer blows that could knock you out, was an unforgettable experience.

Away from boxing, he carried himself in a flamboyant manner. He lived up to every dollar. He owned a nightclub, a boutique, a barber shop and a wardrobe with more than 1,000 suits. And when he was making money by the ton, he drove a flamingo-pink Cadillac, usually with the top down.

He carried a regal-sized entourage with him on the road, including a valet, manicurist, secretary and barber, who also served as his golf pro, and enough hangers-on to fill up the ringside. “I went through $4 million, but I have no regrets,” he once said. “Money is for spending and having a good time.” Why not?

Robinson had a reputation of driving a tough bargain. Promoters found him difficult to deal with because of the financial terms he imposed.

Once he was to box at Memorial Stadium in Baltimore, but he never showed up. Overall, though, his record shows 175 wins, 19 losses and six draws. He also scored 110 knockouts. At one point, during the height of his career, he was 128-1-2.

In a tax battle with the Internal Revenue Service, he won a split decision. It was a landmark case that introduced the law that permits income to be deferred over a period of time. But Sugar Ray enjoyed the bright lights and the champagne, the pretty dolls, the music and the sharply tailored clothes. Boxing is a hard business, and he believed in partaking of what it could give him in purchased pleasure, along with the fame and the clamor his presence created.

It was said, without dispute, that Robinson was the most competent fighter, pound-for-pound, boxing has ever known. It was repeated with such redundancy it became a cliche. Challenge the statement if you want, but as a fighting machine, he had every quality. Measure him against all the others, past and present, and there’s no contest.

The excitement he generated didn’t come from any contrived jitterbugging, be-bopping or idle jiving. There was a purity to his satin-smooth movements ... the way his fists flashed out so sharp and crisp and those magnificent legs, carrying him so effortlessly, as though he was riding a bicycle. They took him to brilliant performances all over the world.

Sugar Ray Robinson was a virtuoso with eight-ounce gloves. The music he played, with his hands and feet, rocked foes to sleep. He was so poised and pleasing to watch that boxing, which goes back to Cain and Abel, never had one to compare.