Shadow Boxing : Flyweight Espino Is 18-0, but Success Can’t Erase Memory of Opponent’s Death

On May 22, 1989, in Tijuana, boxer Hector Ruiz collapsed and later died after a bout with Cecilio Espino.

Now, 26 months later, Espino fights on, learning to live with the memory. He sees Ruiz’s face every day. He hears his voice every day. He sees him at the weigh-in every day. And every day he wonders when the memory will begin to fade.

Espino, 20, sees Hector Ruiz standing in front of him, throwing punches. The memory is clear and sharp.

At first, the punches are hard. Then Espino feels the punches becoming softer. Then he sees Ruiz’s gloves dropping.

Since Ruiz’s death, Espino has become a highly rated flyweight on the Los Angeles boxing scene. On the night he won a close decision over Ruiz, Espino became 8-0. Now, he is 18-0 and a headliner at the Forum.

At his mountain training camp the other day, he laid bare the hurt.

Often, Espino has the impish look of someone about to pop a paper bag. Or light a hotfoot. But when he talks about Hector Ruiz, his coal-black eyes melt into sorrow.

“At first, I saw his face after I started boxing again, during fights,” he said quietly in the English he learned on schoolyards around Modesto, where his parents worked in the San Joaquin Valley fields as vegetable pickers.

“But that was just for two or three fights. I see his face in front of me every day, but not during fights anymore. It (Ruiz’s death) affects me as a fighter, though. Sometimes when I’m getting off good punches in a fight, and hurting a guy, I start wondering where the referee is, and why he isn’t stopping the fight.

“When I fought Rogelio Martinez (Oct. 8), I stopped him in the fourth round. But I had him hurt on the ropes and I couldn’t understand why the referee wouldn’t stop it. So I lightened up on my punches until he did.”

The Espino-Ruiz bout was a fight Espino thought he would lose.

“He was a 10-round fighter and I was a four-round fighter. So it was a six-round fight. Fifteen days before our fight, he had been knocked cold. Later, they told me it wasn’t my fault he died. But it’s still hard not to feel bad.

“I weighed 114 pounds, he was 111. He was very good. He won the first two rounds. In the third, I started throwing harder punches and I got to him.

“After that, I noticed his hands started dropping and he wasn’t as quick. I hit him a lot.

“In the sixth round, he went down from a jab. That kind of surprised me, but he got right back up. Then I knocked him out. But it didn’t seem he was hurt bad. He congratulated me and he seemed OK. I left the ring first, and I was talking to all my friends in my dressing room when I heard.

“Right after he left the ring, he collapsed in the hallway. The ambulance came to get him. We went to the hospital, and the doctors told us he was fine. But they wouldn’t let us see him.

“Two days later, I was walking past a newspaper stand on my way to the furniture factory where I worked. I saw a headline that said, ‘ Ruiz Muerto Despues de Pelea (Ruiz Dead After Fight)’.

“I sort of went numb. I hoped it wasn’t the same Ruiz. I read the newspaper, and I didn’t know what to do. At first, I thought it was my fault. Then friends and my brothers and my father talked to me, after they learned he’d been hurt bad in his previous fight.

“But I still felt bad. I went to the funeral, but I was afraid his family would be angry at me. His mother walked up to me, and I was afraid. She said: ‘Are you the one that fought Hector?’

“When I said I was, she just hugged me and started to cry. So I cried, too. Then she said: ‘Come on, let’s go say goodby to my son.’ So we stood at his coffin together.

“I felt I had to leave, to get away. I thought I wouldn’t feel as bad if I went somewhere else. So I bought a bus ticket and rode a bus to our hometown, Michoacan. From Tijuana, it’s almost a two-day trip. I sat by myself and cried.

“I stayed with my uncles in Michoacan for about three months. My uncles kept telling me it wasn’t my fault. I wanted to quit boxing. When I came back to Tijuana, my manager talked to me and told me it was best to go back into the gym.

“I no longer think it was my fault. But I still think of him.

“And do you know what? He was the friendliest guy of all the guys I’ve fought. After the weigh-in on the morning of the fight, he asked me if I wanted to eat breakfast with him. We just had orange juice together.

“That was the only time I ever talked to him.”

For the Espino family--Cecilio, Sr. and Emma, their four sons and two daughters--life has never been easy. In 1978, when Cecilio and Emma had only five children, they picked peas in the harvest seasons from 1978 to ’82 in the San Joaquin Valley towns of Grayson, Patterson and Westly, all near Modesto.

While young Cecilio Jr. attended California public schools, his parents picked peas and tomatoes under the broiling sun.

“My older sister did all the cooking in the house we rented,” Cecilio Jr. said.

“My parents would come home so tired they couldn’t even talk. They would walk straight to their bedroom and fall into bed, in their clothes. But my sister wouldn’t let them sleep until she’d fed them, in bed.

“My parents intended to stay in California, but when we went to Tijuana when my grandmother died in 1982, my father got a good construction job and we stayed.

“Today, I send most of the money I make boxing to my family. My father is building us a big house in Tijuana.”

Espino may be only a few fights from a championship opportunity.

“We think Ysaias Zamudio is going to get a flyweight title fight at the Forum against Humberto Gonzalez,” said Joe Hernandez, Espino’s manager. “If that happens, the Forum people have told me that Espino could get the winner.”

In the meantime, Espino fights on. He will earn his biggest purse, $2,500, when he fights Miguel Martinez on Aug. 5 in Tijuana. Then he will earn $3,000 when he meets Daniel Lagos at the Forum on Sept. 16.

Espino arrived as a star on the Los Angeles boxing scene July 1, 1990, when he stopped Jose Montiel in the third round. When a jubilant Espino performed a victory dance afterward, the crowd loved it.

Espino lives and trains these days at the Buckhorn Motel in Mt. Baldy village, where Hernandez has set up a 13-foot outdoor ring under a gnarly oak, which is also the residence of an outraged blue jay.

Espino and his older brother, Misael, a pro lightweight, do a 3 1/2-mile road run early every morning to the Mt. Baldy ski lift, gaining about 2,000 feet in elevation along the way.

Hernandez said Espino often lacks confidence, and he wonders if it is because of the memory of Ruiz.

“He’s an outstanding fighter, but he’s better than he thinks he is,” Hernandez said.

“Nacho Huizar, Jose Montiel’s manager, told me before their fight at the Forum that no one could knock out Montiel, but after Cecilio stopped him, (Huizar) was really impressed.

“Just the other day, Cecilio and I talked about a Zamudio fight. He said: ‘Wait, he’s ranked seventh. Maybe I’m not ready for him.’ When I took the Martinez fight (Aug. 5 in Tijuana), he said that was moving up too fast, too.

“So, I sat down with him and said: ‘Cecilio, listen to me. You’re better than these guys. You could beat Martinez and Zamudio on the same night.’ ”

Asked about confidence, Espino smiled thoughtfully and said: “Joe tells me I’m good, and (trainer) Al (Stankie) tells me I’m good. Maybe I am. Maybe that comes with time.” Maybe the memory will go away, too.

With time.