THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, April 21, 1996 TAG: 9604210227
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Bob Molinaro
LENGTH: Medium: 77 lines
It won't end as well as expected for Sweetpea Whitaker. What I mean is, when the time comes for him to call it a career, he will resist the temptation to leave boxing on top.
This is not intended as a criticism or low blow. Call it a reluctant prediction based on historical precedent.
Down the road, why should Whitaker be spared the sort of awkward departure that even Muhammad Ali could not avoid? Or Sugar Ray Leonard. Or any number of champions.
If Whitaker's career takes the traditional path, boxing will be finished with him before he is ready to go. This is the natural order of things, assuming there is any order to boxing.
The subject comes up because of Whitaker's most recent fight. His unimpressive split-decision victory over a promising prospect named Wilfredo Rivera leads some to believe that the crown rests uneasily on the head of the World Boxing Council king.
Whitaker pleaded boredom: Small fights against no-names just don't thrill him. It's understandable.
But at 32, Whitaker is closer to the end than to his prime. It's been 12 years since his gold-medal winning performance at the Los Angeles Olympics. As a pro, he is 38-1-1, and has defended his welterweight title seven times.
``I've been in the game a long time,'' Whitaker says, ``and I need to get excited.''
First comes boredom, then rust. He needs the excitement that would be created by bouts against the likes of Felix Trinidad, Ike Quartey or Oscar De La Hoya.
If he gets his way, Whitaker will fight younger men who are approaching their prime.
Will these opponents be hungrier, as well? Perhaps. It's unwise, though, to underestimate a warrior who is defending his turf.
Mention the debate over who is regarded as the mythical pound-for-pound best boxer - himself or super-middleweight Roy Jones - and Whitaker gets his back up.
``There's no other pound-for-pound until Pernell steps down,'' he says. ``Let the record stand for itself.''
Whitaker stands for a lot of things - quickness, cunning, toughness. His reputation is secure. The only thing left for him to prove is how well he copes with the passing of time.
When it comes to this, potential role models are almost nonexistent.
Ali wanted one more fight, even when the money wasn't there. Even when dwindling interest in his career pushed his final bout off the mainland to a crummy little spot in the Bahamas.
In a minor-league baseball park in Nassau, Ali was pummeled by Trevor Berbick. His career finally over, a pathetic shell of his former self, Ali had adhered to the ancient athletic tradition.
Except for the brain damage that can visit a boxer who hangs on too long, fighters are no different from other athletes. Even the greatest - especially the greatest - bluff along a few extra games or seasons.
Ted Williams is a notable exception to the rule. So are Jim Brown and Sandy Koufax.
Supporting the custom of belated departures are any number of household names, from Babe Ruth to Joe Montana.
In general, the concept of athletes finishing with a flourish is a creation of fiction writers.
As for Whitaker, the money is too good, the challenges too obvious, his talent still too rare to expect him to walk away anytime soon.
He is Mr. Pound-for-Pound only as long as his boast can be believed - only as long as he adds to his record.
But how many bouts are enough? This is the toughest call a great fighter ever makes. ILLUSTRATION: At 32, Sweetpea Whitaker is past his prime and approaching the
end of his time in the ring.
by CNB