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In Clutch, Moorer Proves Less

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I had an interview--of sorts--with the heavyweight champion of the world the other day.

I’ll give you a clue: His initials are M.M.

No, it’s not Riddick Lewis or Evander Bowe or Lennox Holyfield or some guy named Tony Something-or-Other or whatever their names are.

Of course, he has a number of initials after his name to tell you what jurisdiction he’s champion of. These days, you get a champion of the Upper Volta River or the heavyweight champion of South Texas. Heavyweight champs used to come one-to-a-generation. Now, they’d fill a bus.

No, the M.M. doesn’t stand for Manassa Mauler II. This M.M. stands for Michael Moorer and he’s heavyweight champion--let’s see, I have to go look this up. Ah! Here it is . . . of the WBA and IBF!

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This champ is going to defend his titles against a guy who was champion of the whole world, not alphabetized, back in the days when Nixon was President, “The Godfather” was movie of the year and Moorer was 5 years old.

The heavyweight championship has been broken up in so many jurisdictions, it resembles the Balkans. A Brit, the Right Honourable Lennox Lewis, O.B.E., is the WBC (World Boxing Council) champion, thanks to the fact the holder of that bauble, the commoner Riddick Bowe, tossed it and the belt that came with it into a trash can rather then defend it against Lewis.

On Nov. 5, George Foreman is scheduled to fight Moorer for a title he lost 20 years ago. He may be the first heavyweight challenger in history to climb into the ring wearing bifocals. If he had any, his hair would be gray. He can tell if it’s going to rain by his knees.

He will be almost 47 years of age the night of the fight. Now, at 47, a man should be able to play golf, checkers, maybe doubles tennis, shuffleboard, gin rummy and Scrabble and probably even bowl--but fight for the heavyweight championship? I mean, I didn’t think boxing had a senior tour.

Can you imagine a 47-year-old man fighting the young Joe Louis? Get in the ring with Jack Dempsey when he was champ, would he? At 47, the heavy bag should be even money against you. And Foreman will be within a few weeks of that age when he meets Moorer at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.

Bear in mind, Muhammad Ali beat George when he, George, was only 27, and you get some notion of the parlous nature of pugilism these days.

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I had in mind to ask the once and future champion, Moorer, why this geriatric turn of events? Michael was not in the most congenial of moods when I saw him. The wages of fame were weighing heavily on him. The news conference with Foreman had gone badly. George had treated him as an upstart, an attitude known in the ‘hood as “dissing.” Now, I was interrupting his afternoon nap.

Michael thought our interview could be conducted by phone, but since I was in the lobby of the hotel and had driven some miles to get there, I thought a four-floor elevator trip was not too much to ask. Michael appeared, reluctantly and irritated.

Why Foreman? I wanted to know. Why not Lennox Lewis? Riddick Bowe?

“We did try to fight Lewis,” Moorer said resentfully. “But he wanted a rematch clause in case he lost. What kind of confidence does that show?”

Moorer’s manager, John Davemos, turned Lewis’ proposal down.

What abut Bowe?

“What about him?” Moorer asked. “I think we have to see what happens. He lost to Holyfield, and I beat Holyfield. He has to earn his way back. Sure, I’ll fight him. I’ll fight anybody. I’ve never been beaten.”

Is that one of his goals? To become the only heavyweight champion besides Rocky Marciano to retire undefeated? Was Rocky a champ he looked up to?

“I never followed heavyweights,” Moorer said. “My favorite fighter was (middleweight) Marvin Hagler.”

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Why Hagler?

“A determined guy,” Moorer said. “A hard guy. A guy you could emulate.”

But won’t taking on a soon-to-be-47 opponent be more of a mugging than a contest?

“I’ll fight whomever,” Moorer said irritably. “I defended my light-heavyweight title nine times. Is this going somewhere?”

What was his most difficult fight?

“They’re all difficult,” Moorer allowed. “Foreman will be difficult. What’d you say your name was again?”

I told him, never mind. “I’m just a fan,” I lied.

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