Ferocious Approach

In the early ‘70s, “El Topo,” The Mole, became a cult film on college campuses for reasons I don’t recall. I do recall a scene in which two boxers entered a ring constructed on the dusty main street of a small town in Mexico, a “High Noon” setting, with barbed wire wrapped around their gloves.

When the bell rang, they proceeded to beat each other until they collapsed simultaneously into pools of blood and sweat. The crowd gathered to revel in the gore was hushed as the referee bent to listen for a heartbeat of one fighter, then the other.

“This one died first,” he finally announced, raising the hand of the other in victory.

The crowd erupted in celebration.

Fernando Vargas should see that scene. Perhaps then he would realize that the only people who have an absolute investment in what occurs in the ring Saturday night at the Mandalay Bay Events Center are he, Oscar De La Hoya and their families.

I bring this up because of a comment Vargas made Wednesday morning while sitting with a few reporters in the living room of his hotel suite.

“I would rather die in that ring on Sept. 14 than lose to him,” he said of De La Hoya.

That’s a useful quote to put on the wall of the media center as part of the promotion for a fight billed as “Bad Blood,” alongside the one from Vargas’ co-manager, Rolando Arellano, saying that De La Hoya is about the enter the “caves of hell” and dance with the devil or from De La Hoya saying, “I really hate this guy.’”

But there was something about the tone in Vargas’ voice, his earnestness during a revealing hourlong interview, that made it clear his declaration was not intended as part of the pre-fight hype.

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How can you tell these days when a boxer is baring his soul? With Vargas, the realization came when he was asked about his relationship with his two children, Fernando Jr., 5, and Amado, 2. He tried to answer, but the words got stuck in his throat. His eyes welled with tears.

The first time I met Vargas was in 1995 in Argentina. He was the youngest member of the U.S. Pan American Games boxing team and, an official with the U.S. delegation told me, the best. The day I talked to Vargas, he was wearing a T-shirt that read, “I’m Not Scared, I’m Not Afraid, I’m Tough, I’m an Animal and I Will Eat You If I Have To.” I thought he was a punk.

That opinion, in my mind, was confirmed after he and friends were charged in an assault in 1999 in Summerland. He pleaded no contest and earlier this year served 90 days under house arrest. He remains on probation.

Maybe that episode served as the signal he needed that it was time for him to become a responsible citizen and parent. Maybe not. Maybe he will find trouble again.

But, on Wednesday, he seemed more mature when talking about his aspirations for providing a stable home for his fiancee and children. They recently moved to an upscale subdivision in Camarillo, where, he says, he is not tempted by the “homies” from his unruly youth in Oxnard.

“When I was young, I used to get crazy a little,” he said. “Now I’ve got a family. I’m thinking about them going to Princeton or Harvard or Yale. I want them to be better than their dad. All their dad can do is fight.”

He had no positive role model as a parent. His father abandoned him. His relationship with his mother and his stepfather was strained at best. He is having to figure out his adult priorities for himself.

Shelly Finkel, his other co-manager, said Vargas’ children have helped him with that.

“He told me once, ‘I never had it before, but my children give me unconditional love. They love me because I’m me.’ ”

So Vargas gets emotional when he talks about his boys.

Therein lies the conflict. If his family is so important to him, if it is so essential for him to be there for his boys when they grow up, unlike his own father was for him, how does he reconcile that with the proclamation that he would rather die than lose a prizefight?

When someone asked him that Wednesday, he fidgeted for a moment. It was clear that he had not thought this through. When he finally answered, he said he would do it for the fans who expect him to lay it all on the line.

“When you’re in there, you’re fighting for them,” he said. “I’d rather give up my life in the ring than let them down. That’s the difference in a coward and a real man.”

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Similarly afflicted with chronic machismo, Hemingway, in “Death in the Afternoon,” wrote about a bullfighter’s “growing ecstasy of ordered, forced, passionate, increasing disregard for death.”

James Michener read that and said Hemingway sounded like “a star-struck little boy.”

Vargas said Wednesday that he is 24 “going on 30-something.” But there are times when he is still only 24.

De La Hoya, 29, who discovered a long time ago that the real sport in boxing is in not getting hit, was asked Wednesday about Vargas’ comment.

“Boxing is a brutal sport and you have to give it your all,” he said. “But dying in the ring is ridiculous. Who wants to die in the ring? It’s very naive of him. It’s one thing to get knocked down and get back up. I’ve done that before. But dying in the ring, I would never do.”

That is the sort of response that leads Vargas to charge that De La Hoya is not passionate about boxing. It also leads Vargas to claim that fans, especially Mexican American fans, prefer him, even though both he and De La Hoya are Mexican Americans. Vargas operates under an ill-defined, unproven assumption that Mexican American fans can be proud of their heroes only if they fight to the finish, consequences be damned.

But there is nothing courageous about dying in the ring. In fact, if Vargas’ assumption about some fans is true, it is more courageous to walk away from a beating. Fans who expect him to do otherwise are not his fans.

The sooner he learns that, the better off his two little boys will be. Imagine how proud they will be if he is in the audience when they graduate from Princeton or Harvard or Yale.

Randy Harvey can be reached at randy.harvey@latimes.com.