Getting the Lowdown on Golota

I bought the bout between Riddick Bowe and Andrew Golota, because I always enjoy good stand-up comedy. They didn’t disappoint me. As boxing matches go, this one was so ridiculous, it should have been pay-YOU-to-view.

It took place Saturday night in Atlantic City, N.J., where, no doubt, Donald Trump got down $20 million with his bookie, asking first if he could change a $50.

It ended with that big galoot Golota getting disqualified for belting Bowe below the belt, again and again. Golota hits below the waist so often, he must train in a women’s self-defense class.

Bowe got hit there so many times, his voice turned into Mike Tyson’s.

Bowe and Golota had fought last April 11 at Madison Square Garden, which hadn’t had so foul an event since the circus elephants left. A riot broke out that night after Golota’s disqualification for a low blow, or, as I came to think of it, a Golota low Bowe blow.

For the rematch, handy Andrew promised to behave himself, an interesting proposition for a boxer. Not only would he beat Bowe fair and square, but he would avoid having one of Bowe’s friends pound him over the head after the fight with a cellular telephone.

See, the fight in New York had ended with a melee in the ring, which was described by many the next day as “a black eye for boxing.” Trainer Lou Duva had to be carried off, and some other dude got his bell rung repeatedly with some kind of phone or walkie-talkie, making him the first man in history to suffer from injuries inflicted by Radio Shack.

Duva’s daughter later asked what made this a black eye for boxing, when other sports like hockey and soccer had brawls all the time. Good point. Boxing is supposed to cause black eyes.

In any case, the ruckus did create a buzz for the rematch. Golota was undefeated except for this disqualification, and he was beating Bowe when the fight was stopped.

Bowe was willing to fight Golota again, although he forgot to order a steel jockstrap.

Poor old Riddick. One night, he was fighting Evander Holyfield when some nut dropped into the ring by parachute. If they don’t come at him high, they come at him low.

I thought Golota might win this fight, because I knew how hard he was training in Vero Beach, Fla., where Duva supervised his training. To keep Golota entertained, Duva took him to the movies.

Drama? Action-adventure?

“Nah,” Duva told a Vero visitor. “He likes cartoons.”

Cartoons?

“Yeah. ‘Space Jam,’ ‘101 Dalmatians,’ that kind of stuff,” Duva said. “I take him to those. I even gotta buy him the popcorn.”

At which point Golota, who hadn’t said a word up to that point, looked up at the visitor and said:

“No butter.”

Well, clearly this man was training seriously. No butter! I couldn’t imagine George Foreman saying such a thing. Holyfield, maybe. Holyfield doesn’t have an ounce of fat anywhere near him, except for an occasional sportswriter.

Golota obviously knew that a victory over Bowe could lead to a title shot against Holyfield. And that was a guy Golota would love to fight, as opposed to Tyson.

He wouldn’t want to fight Tyson, because Tyson is too short. Too difficult to aim between those legs.

I half-rooted for Golota against Bowe, because the heavyweight division can use some new blood. Foreman is too old, and still in rehab from cheeseburger abuse. Lennox Lewis’s punch couldn’t crack a Dorito. I wouldn’t know Oliver McCall if he walked into my house wearing a bathrobe that said “Oliver McCall.”

At the bell Saturday, Golota came out punching. Bowe guarded his face. Big mistake.

A penalty in the second round was called on Golota for a low blow. A penalty in the fourth round was called on Golota for a head butt. I sat there thinking, “OK, next he’ll stomp on his foot.”

The referee, Eddie Cotton, halted the bout in Round 9, with Bowe rolling around the ring wondering if he would ever again be able to father children.

It was another bruised eye for boxing. Well, maybe not eye.