It’s Jones in a Waltz

He came, we saw, the evidence was unconquerable.

Pound for pound, Roy Jones Jr. is the world’s best . . .

Dancer. Sprinter. Poser. Rapper.

Anything but boxer.

This may not be a very sophisticated opinion, but boxing is not a very sophisticated sport, so allow me to lead with my gut.

Roy Jones’ unanimous decision over Julio Gonzalez Saturday night was the most boring event in Staples Center since the Sacramento Kings last showed up.

Jones, fighting in Los Angeles for the first time, was supposed to wow.

Instead, he bored.

He knocked Gonzalez down for the first of three times in the opening round, pounded him consistently early, and was seemingly charging toward a mid-fight knockout.

Instead, he retreated toward his reputation.

Quick fighter, strong fighter, smart fighter . . . but not a dramatically tough fighter.

In a sport of the dramatically tough.

You could have personally passed out sheets with Jones Jr.’s punches-connected margin to each of 20,409 fans Saturday--51% to 15%--and it wouldn’t have mattered.

They would have still booed, which they did beginning in the seventh round.

They would have still whistled, a noise that began a round later.

This is a sport of heart and instinct, not smarts and strategy.

In other words, this ain’t baseball.

So stop wondering why people will give a standing ovation for a 1-0 ballgame, then jeer a 12-round display of the so-called manly art of self defense.

Boxing is supposed to make your chest thump and your palms sweat and your throat scratch.

On those counts Saturday, Jones was 0 for 3.

“I fight with this,” Jones said afterward, pointing to his head.

Pointing to his gloves, he added, “Then, if I have to, I fight with this.”

He could have pointed to his legs, which he used so often while retreating late in the fight that at one point, referee Raul Caiz ordered him to box.

He could have pointed to the ropes, which he often hugged while peering out from between those gloves.

Gonzalez said he wasn’t hit harder than in his other fights, which, considering some of the stiffs on his resume, says everything.

If Jones is the best fighter in the world, as so many boxing technicians claim, then Shane Mosley is the best fighter in the galaxy, and Felix Trinidad laces up in another universe.

Jones, incidentally, could fight Trinidad next, if Trinidad defeats Bernard Hopkins this fall.

It should be a great fight. It should also be a short one. Trinidad will deck the dancer.

The best fight Saturday was the final preliminary bout in which Erik Morales survived Injin Chi in a 12-round brawl. There was sweat spraying and fists flailing and fans standing. That was boxing.

The MVP of the evening was promoter Bob Arum, who somehow managed to attract all those people to an arena for a card that included a tubby boxer whose record was 7-30, and a woman who stands 4 feet 11 and refused to stand on the scales before the fight because she was embarrassed by her weight.

The fat guy was Brad Rone, a last-minute substitution who had not trained in nearly two months, didn’t arrive in town until Saturday afternoon and is now 7-31 after getting whipped by fellow heavyweight Javier Mora.

The woman was Imelda Arias, who fought former Playboy model Mia Rosales St. John to a draw, then said, “The only reason she wins her fights is because she is so good looking. I knew I didn’t have a chance.”

Los Angeles, as it proved again Saturday, can be a great boxing town again. It deserves a better card, with better matchups. It deserves Mosley and Oscar De La Hoya, or Fernando Vargas and De La Hoya.

We should have guessed that Roy Jones would be a different sort of fighter when he came into the ring wearing light blue Air Jordan sweats, and singing along with his new rap song as it blared over the loudspeakers.

The tune, based on his lack of respect, is titled, “Y’all Must Have Forgot.”

An hour later, some of us were wondering, forgot what?

The first round was spectacular, with Gonzalez falling on his white trunks, buckling under a left hook, but jumping back up.

The second round was much of the same, with Gonzalez wildly missing and Jones Jr. hitting him from seemingly nowhere.

By the fifth round, Gonzalez had been dropped again, and Jones had connected on 63% of his punches, Gonzalez just 11%.

But something happened in that round that made Jones figure Gonzalez wasn’t going down easily. Ironically, it happened when Gonzalez was on the canvas.

He waited about four seconds after taking what was Jones’ toughest punch of the night . . . then shook his head in determination and climbed up.

“You knock him down, he gets up like you give him a burst of energy,” Jones said. “So I’m not going to be foolish, punch myself out trying to get him down.”

He certainly couldn’t be accused of punching himself out. With the exception of a couple of powerful flurries in the ninth round, Jones spend the remainder of the fight just trying to stay out of the way.

“If you’re a true champ, you’re supposed to be able to fight any kind of fight,” he said. “If I’m a true champ, I have to beat you the way you fight, and I fight.”

Judging from the seven light-heavyweight championship belts he retained--that’s how many his huge entourage brought into the ring, surely some sort of record of fistic haberdashery--he is indeed still a champ.

But he is also still an enigma.

“Whether he is still, pound for pound, the best boxer in the world, that’s up to you guys,” Gonzalez said.

If that’s the case, count this guy out.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com.