His Credo: Have Gloves, Will Travel

Many years ago, decades, in fact, there used to be an African light-heavyweight prizefighter with the improbable name, Battling Siki, whom the press liked to call the “Singular Senegalese.”

Siki, whose real name (or Frenchified version thereof) was Louis Phal, marched to nobody’s drummer. He was as close to nature as a man gets and he roamed the world in search of happiness he never found. Not surprisingly, he died of a gunshot wound on a New York street.

He flew in the face of convention his whole life but most audaciously defied fate on March 17, 1923, in Dublin, Ireland, when he defended his light-heavyweight title against Mike McTigue.

Now, in case the date means nothing to you, be advised it meant a lot to 3 or 4 million Irishmen, to say nothing of their compatriots around the world. It is the feast day of the country’s patron saint, St. Patrick.

Now, fighting an Irishman for a title in Dublin on St. Patrick’s Day is the height of nonchalance, to put it as politely as possible. Siki could have kept that title only if the seas dried up or shamrocks turned orange. In fact, keeping it might have seemed a complicated form of suicide.

McTigue won it, of course. All he had to do was survive to do that. If he was breathing when it was over, he was going to win.

But I often think of Battling Siki these days whenever I come upon the fistic adventures of another peripatetic African, the Right Honorable Azumah Nelson, of the Accra, Ghana, Nelsons.

Azumah, it so happens, answers to the title “Ambassador” in his native land as he is the ex-officio legate of his government wherever he goes.

In the case of Azumah, this is a lot of places, the far reaches of the planet. This brave little character--he weighs 130 pounds--roams so far and wide in pursuit of his pugilistic career that he answers to the nickname “the Road Warrior. “

He asks no quarter of life. He goes to the wolf’s lair. He fought and beat Wilfredo Gomez, the pride of Puerto Rico, on Wilfredo’s turf, San Juan. He fought the British featherweight, Pat Cowdell, in Cowdell’s native Birmingham, England. He fought the Aussie, Jeff Fenech, in Melbourne. He fought Gabriel Ruelas in Mexico City. And he fought Jesse James Leija in Leija’s hometown of San Antonio. He would fight a shark in a tank if the price was right.

Azumah, fortunately for him, is a very fair fighter. If his opponent is tangled up, he steps back. When he floors a man, which is frequently, he turns to the neutral corner. When he loses, which is seldom (twice in 41 fights), he is gracious. He is so decorous, so circumspect, his nickname is also “The Professor.” He is the only man of ambassadorial rank ever to hold a pugilistic championship. And he has held two--featherweight and super-featherweight.

His Excellency had 52 amateur fights, then seven pro fights in his native Ghana. His first road fight was in, of all places, Bakersfield.

He then fought all over Africa, from Freetown to Zambia. Then, he packed his trunk. He fought Salvador Sanchez in New York. He fought in McAfee, N.J.; Cleveland; Las Vegas, Richfield, Ohio; Lagos, Nigeria; Puerto Rico, Miami, England, Los Angeles, Atlantic City, Zaragoza, Spain; Sydney, Mexico and Texas. Home has ropes around it.

It’s not a career, it’s an odyssey.

He’s a curious little fellow, Azumah. He ricochets between the featherweight and super-featherweight titles, but made a brief step-up to lightweight, and lost closely to Pernell Whitaker--his only other loss was to the hard-punching Sanchez.

At 35, he is too old to be fighting, but too good not to be. His fights are studies in style. He is not hard to hit, simply hard to hurt. His fights have all the delicacy of a train wreck. Only a dozen of them have gone the distance.

He will fight Leija again on Saturday in one of four championship rematches on a card inelegantly titled, “Revenge! The Rematch!” It will be held at a rare neutral site for Azumah--the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. It’s hard to tell who is avenging whom as their last fight in San Antonio ended in a draw.

Azumah is spotting Leija eight years in youth, but Azumah figures those are years of boxing lore that Leija will wish he had by mid-fight.

Azumah might fight a polar bear on an ice floe next. But don’t look for him to end up on a New York street bleeding to death. Ghana’s roving diplomat owns a distillery and a trucking firm in his homeland.

Still, he’s a permanent tourist. And if he does get hurt and the ring doctor asks him if he knows where he is, and he can’t for the moment remember, it won’t be because he’s dazed. It will be because he has to think back for a minute and that, if it’s Tuesday, it must be Bakersfield.

He probably is the only one who really could fight an Irishman in Dublin on St. Patrick’s Day. And get no worse than a draw.