Their Camps Are Close,but De La Hoya, Vargas Couldn't Be Further Apart

By Bill Plaschke

Aug. 14, 2002 12 AM PT

BIG BEAR LAKE —

Oscar De La Hoya trains here, in a groomed compound surrounded by deep green grass and a babbling brook.

Fernando Vargas also trains here, in a creaky monolith at the end of a chipped driveway with a busted fence and yard full of dust.

“He’s manicured,” Vargas says. “I’m raw.”

In front of De La Hoya’s guest house stands a golf bag, in deference to the owner’s hobby.

In front of Vargas’ house stands an old gasping horse, in deference to the owner’s children.

“I will never play golf,” Vargas says. “I can’t see myself in plaid pants.”

Inside De La Hoya’s compound, pop music oozes from the television while cool air flows through the rooms.

The inside of Vargas’ compound is filled with the thumping of rap music and the whirring of cheap fans.

“When we get hot in there, we blow on each other,” Vargas says.

The line in the battle of Los Angeles is being drawn here, one month before De La Hoya and Vargas meet Sept.14 in a battle for our city’s unified boxing heart.

The line stretches the curious distance between the two fighters’ training camps, five blocks on the map, five universes in reality.

The line is as clear as De La Hoya’s smile when he explains his younger rival’s rage.

“All this talk from Vargas, it’s just something for him to hide behind,” he says. “He’s never been in a fight this big before. He’s scared.”

The line is as solid as Vargas’ glare when he jumps in your face and pulls off his shirt to show that De La Hoya is full of it.

“Look at this body, look at this!” he cries, flexing his hardened stomach, grabbing his giant tattooed left biceps. “Does De La Hoya have something like this? Does he have this?”

While jogging through the tall pines of this mountain hideaway, the two Los Angeles street kids have passed each other twice.

Each time, Vargas has been finishing his jog as De La Hoya was getting started.

Each time, Vargas has reminded him of the time.

“You need to get up a little earlier!” Vargas has shouted to his rival.

On the first occasion, De La Hoya held up six fingers, signifying that he intended to knock out Vargas in the sixth round.

On the second occasion, De La Hoya’s trainer Floyd Mayweather dispensed with the predictions and simply shouted, “Fatso!”

So often these fights are about hype. This one is not. The loathing and fear are real enough to hear in their voices, to see in their eyes.

De La Hoya thinks Vargas is nuts.

Vargas thinks De La Hoya is a phony.

Both men fear for their careers if they attack each other with the quick ferocity that fills their emotions.

Both men fear for their reputations if they don’t.

De La Hoya seemed to gain the early emotional edge in January, when Vargas shoved him at the fight’s first news conference, starting a street brawl in the Biltmore’s elegant basement, resulting in a broken leg for one of the publicists.

You see? The kid can’t handle his emotions, and De La Hoya will obliterate him.

But then, this spring, Vargas seemed to gain the edge when De La Hoya postponed the fight, originally scheduled for May, because he said his surgically repaired left wrist had not healed.

You see? De La Hoya doesn’t want to fight him because he knows he can’t beat him.

Since then, they have settled into their jogs, and hardened their stares, and now nobody knows quite what to think.

The only thing certain is that both fighters desperately long for the giant embrace of their hometown.

And that they know they will never be able to share it, because, while both are Mexican American, they are as diverse as Los Angeles itself.

This was evident again Tuesday, when De La Hoya held a gathering here for several dozen media members, while Vargas agreed to see just one.

De La Hoya’s visitors were welcomed behind his ornate black gates by a publicist.

Vargas’ visitor was welcomed inside his stark white gate by a intercom voice barking, “What?”

De La Hoya glided into his guest house in a pressed sweat suit and starched white baseball cap.

Vargas sauntered into his living room in a tank top undershirt and gym shorts.

De La Hoya treated his guests to box lunches while Vargas invited his guest into his small, cluttered bedroom with a “Scarface” poster on the wall and diapers on the dresser.

Said De La Hoya: “I don’t think this is about good against evil. I don’t think Vargas is an evil guy ... he’s just nervous.”

Said Vargas: “Let them think I’m crazy. Let them think I’m going to do something crazy. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. Let them think....”

De La Hoya doesn’t think Vargas will try anything else before the fight.

“He’s on probation, so I don’t think he’ll try to mess with me,” he said.

Vargas thinks De La Hoya should keep his legal opinions to himself.

“He wants to bring up stuff from out of the ring?” said Vargas, who pleaded no contest to an assault charge last year. “Then we can talk about the accusations of rape, about the accusation of how he doesn’t take care of his kids. That’s why he needs to fight me, so he can pay child support.”

Back and forth they go, with De La Hoya playing the part of the sophisticate and Vargas playing the part of the street kid.

It’s compelling theater, only it’s not theater, and De La Hoya gets truly angered when it is suggested that Vargas is more “Mexican” because of his hardscrabble attitudes.

“What is being Mexican?” De La Hoya asked. “Because I don’t talk like him or dress like him, I’m not Mexican? I grew up on the same hard streets ... but the fact is, I wanted to do something better in life.

“It’s degrading to Mexicans, this image that they have to dress like a thug and talk hard to be Mexican.”

Vargas hears this, laughs, and invites his visitor into his garage.

While the walls De La Hoya’s gym are filled with drawings of himself, the walls in Vargas’ gym are adorned with drawings of an Aztec warrior and temple.

Said Vargas: “It is one thing to say you are Mexican. It is another thing to show it.”

Said De La Hoya: “I think it is strange he is so obsessed with me.”

Said Vargas: “Let him think that. I hope he thinks that.”

Said De La Hoya: “I hope we get divorced after the fight.”

Said Vargas: “What is he talking about? What does he mean by that?”

Who knows? Who cares? One month to go, and eventually Oscar De La Hoya and Fernando Vargas will stop talking and start fighting. But we can certainly wait.

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

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX)

How They Compare

OSCAR DE LA HOYA

Age: 29

From: Los Angeles

Record: 34-2

KOs: 27

Height: 5-10

Reach: 73”

Title: WBC super-welter-weight cham-pion

FERNANDO VARGAS