THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, March 4, 1996 TAG: 9603020052
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY DAVE ADDIS, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 116 lines
EVERY MAN, so the saying goes, is a hero in his dreams.
Tuesday night, Roger E. Belch II, a commercial diver from Virginia Beach, intends to stay wide awake through a dream he's had for years.
Belch will strap on 16-ounce leather gloves, climb through the ropes and go toe-to-toe for three minutes with Pernell ``Sweetpea'' Whitaker, the WBC welterweight champion of the world.
Dozens of boxers have had that same dream. Whitaker turns it into a whimpering, sweat-soaked nightmare for them. Whitaker is widely regarded as, pound for pound, the finest boxer in the ring today. He deconstructs professional fighters the way a 4-year-old deconstructs a bowlful of chocolate ice cream: relentlessly, and with no small amount of joy.
And Roger E. Belch II is not a professional fighter. He's a professional underwater fix-it man for a very serious Portsmouth dive operation. He repairs ships and submarines and the plumbing at nuclear power plants.
Whitaker can rearrange your plumbing, too, but in ways few of us would care to experience. For Whitaker, tomorrow night's event is a no-sweat charity exhibition where anybody who antes up enough money can get in the ring. These things usually are pretty funny, and pretty friendly, and nobody gets hurt.
Belch doesn't see it that way.
He is working out on the speed bag and the heavy bag, out in his garage. He is working on his footwork and his hand speed. He is sparring with his brother, Chris Conover.
Roger Belch intends to turn this into a fight.
He has become used to questions like, ``Roger, are you nuts? That guy's the welterweight champion of the world. You tick him off, he'll turn your face into Spaghetti-O's.''
``I am not afraid of him,'' Belch will tell you. ``I'm in good shape, I've been fooling around with boxing since I was a kid. And I wouldn't be going through all this, having my company and all my friends put up $1,500, just so I could get in the ring and run away from Sweetpea Whitaker.
``It's my dream, and I'm gonna try it.''
As mortals go, Belch is, indeed, in pretty good shape. At 5-foot-11 and 158 pounds, he's a bit bigger than Whitaker, but not by much. Long hours of dark, dangerous work deep under ships - even, at times, burrowing under huge metal objects stuck in harbor mud - might well condition him to keep his fears in check, and keep his 24-year-old body in pretty good trim.
He doesn't have that razor-strapped, tightly drawn musculature of a pro boxer, but he's plenty strong enough to get through one three-minute round.
Whitaker, though, is not a mortal human being.
``Roger, the guy's a six-time champion of the world. Are you seriously going to go in there and try to hit him?''
``Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, `Pound-for-pound, greatest boxer in the world.' I know that. I have tapes of all his fights. But I'm still not afraid of him.
``I've been having this dream for years now. Ask anybody. Hey, Steve, tell him, how long I been talking about fighting Sweetpea?'' Belch says, calling to a diver colleague in the living room.
``Long time,'' Steve Cunningham replies.
Belch says he has fought Sweetpea in his dreams for at least four years. There is never an outcome. ``It never gets that far,'' he says.
Brother Chris prods him: ``Sometimes you knock him down.''
``Oh, man, I don't want that in the paper,'' Belch replies, though he admits that sometimes in the dream he puts Whitaker on the canvas. ``But he gets back up. He always gets back up.''
To everybody else involved, tomorrow night's show is just that: a show, an added attraction to a Scope fight card that features a couple of championship bouts. Singer-pianist Harry Connick Jr. was supposed to box Whitaker but had to pull out. TV talker Geraldo Rivera was mentioned, but he, too, excused himself. Two local TV sportscasters will go one round, and a pro fighter will spar with Whitaker for three rounds.
Belch was even treated to one of those press conferences you see on TV in the days before a title fight. Whitaker didn't show, and his co-manager, Lou Duva, announced he was switching sides, that he was going to work Belch's corner because he was mad at Whitaker for calling him ``Fatso.'' Everybody laughed.
The only one taking all this seriously is Roger E. Belch II, who probably could whip the tar out of Harry Connick, Geraldo Rivera, Lou Duva and the two sportscasters, though nobody would pay to see it. His employer, Crofton Diving Corp., put up $1,200, and Belch's bowling buddies raised another $300 to get him on the card with Whitaker. The proceeds go to the Joy Fund and the Diabetes Foundation.
And they're welcome to the money, as far as Belch is concerned. He isn't looking for charity from anybody, including Sweetpea Whitaker.
``I know he's going to try to clown, try to pull my pants down, juke and jive, that kinda stuff,'' Belch says. ``But to be honest with you, I'm going to go right at him, head to head. There ain't no other way.
``I've only got three minutes, so there's no time for a game plan. You go out there and start to dance and run, and real quick the round is over. And then the dream is over.
``I wish it was two rounds. Three, even.''
It's his dream, you see. And who ever wants a good dream to end? ILLUSTRATION: L. TODD SPENCER
THE CHALLENGER: Twenty-four-year-old neophyte boxer Roger E. Belch
II, at 5-foot-11 and 158 pounds, is just a bit bigger than the
champ.
Belch is an underwater fix-it man for Crofton Diving of Portsmouth,
which put up $1,200 to get Belch on the card with Whitaker.
THE CHAMP: Pernell "Sweetpea" Whitaker, thought by many to ne pound
for pound, the finest boxer in the ring today.
WANT TO GO?
[For a copy of the graphic, see microfilm for this date.]
L. TODD SPENCER
Roger Belch, preparing for his bout by training on punching bags in
his garage, says: ``I work 60 feet under water with tons of steel
over my head. Why would I be afraid of Sweetpea Whitaker?''
by CNB