The appearance that was Bobby Chacón

Sometimes I have the arrogance to think that I can write and on certain subjects I sometimes seem to do a reasonably fair job, that is, unless my friends and readers are patronizing. But when it comes to the true love of my life, boxing, I seem to have all kinds of trouble expressing myself. I hope that is not the case here, because this essay is too special and too spiritual for that to happen. This is Bobby Chacón and if anyone deserves special treatment, that is Bobby.

Bobby “Schoolboy” Chacón was inducted into the Boxing Hall of Fame last year and that made me very happy. You see, Bobby was my favorite fighter, and since I’ve seen literally thousands of fights in my 68 years of life and consider myself something of a fan, I hope that accolade has at least minimal weight. Hell, I’ve seen them all; the “month-long bums”, the thrill that was Bob Satterfield, the fights between Charles, Louis and Walcott. LaMotta-Robinson, Ward-Gatti, Ward-Green, Ward-Augustus, Zale-Graziano, Correlas-Castillo, Ali-Frazier, Patterson-Johansson, Barrera-Morales. I watched Sugar Ray send Dave Boy Green to dreamland with the perfect left hook … and I witnessed Hearns’ illogic driving Duran away with a lethal right hand, and then Duran brutalizing Barkley and then Barkley knocked out Hearns. I saw Leotis Martin starch Sonny Liston. Bruce Curry and Monroe Brooks go off the cliff, and Kid Paret, Laverne Roach, Duk Koo Kim, Johnny Owens and Leavander Johnson leave it all in the ring. I witnessed the sudden and numbing of the Mesa-Garza fight and the shootouts between Moorer-Cooper and Lyle-Foreman. The slow glide of Jerry Quarry and many others. I can feel the first signs … the drag … the monotonous nasal tone. I saw Foreman’s epiphany. The disappointment that was Tyson. I was dazzled by the magic, I listened to the music and saw the dance. I pray for Michael Watson, Gerald McClellan and Greg Page and remember the courage of Robert Wangila, Pedro Alcazar and Beethoven Scottland. I have seen very good things, some not so good and some downright ugly, but nothing comes close to what I saw and felt during a period between 1978 and 1982 that involved three warriors by the names of Chacón, Limón and Boza-Edwards.

Bobby Chacon was born on November 28, 1951 in Sylmar, CA. He was a tough guy of Mexican American descent and he soon found himself in the gym. He became an amateur Diamond belt champion and wrestled in the Gold Gloves National Tournaments in both 1971 and 1972. He turned professional in Los Angeles in 1972 while attending California State University at Northridge, thus acquiring the nickname ” Schoolboy”.

With a fearless, wild and very exciting style, he became a fan favorite immediately. While the word “fighter” might better describe him, he was also a crafty slugger who could slide strikes off the ropes. Although short, it had a deceptively long range advantage. He was often willing to absorb heavy punishment in order to impose it and this probably contributed to his later difficulties. He knocked out 23 of his first 25 opponents, including a TKO over Chucho Castillo and an electrifying ninth round TKO victory over future Hall of Famer Danny “Little Red” Lopez. His only loss at the time was a ninth round stoppage to tough Rubén Olivares in 1973. The following year, he stopped Alfredo Marcano in 9 rounds to capture the WBC featherweight crown. He successfully defended against Jesús Estrada but lost the title to rival Olivares in 1975 (whom he finally defeated by decision in his third match in 1977).

But the genesis of this story began in 1975 when he faced Rafael “Bazooka” Limon in Mexacali, Mexico. Bobby lost a ten-round decision, but started a four-fight rivalry that compares to the best in boxing history. Neither boxer liked the other and the word “grudge” was mentioned frequently. The two would fight for a technical draw in 1979. Chacón then stepped up in the class and lost to the great Alexis Arguello by knockout in the seventh round. Then, in what would become another great rivalry, he lost dramatically by knockout to Ugandan Cornelius Boza-Edwards in the 14th round. Bobby couldn’t come out for the 14th round, his left eye was almost closed and his nose was horribly cut off. This loss was considered by many to be Bobby’s swan song, and he was encouraged to take a hard look at the outing, but he wanted none of it.

He stood up, racked up a string of victories, and began to climb the ranks again. But during this time, that other story that others write about so often … the personal, self-destructive side of Bobby’s life … was in a state of turmoil. But unlike others, I won’t deal with that, because I really think it diminishes that side of Bobby Chacón that was the fighter. Suffice it to say that his personal life was outright tragedy, and I simply do not have the inclination (nor perhaps the literary skills) to give it its due melodrama. If Bobby was not an angel in his personal life, he was certainly a lion in the ring and that is where my focus and memories remain.

Now, after his loss to Boza-Edwards, he scheduled and fought his fourth and final fight with Limón. According to Ring and KO Magazines and Ring En Español, the fourth Chacón-Limón fight became one of the fights of the year and the decade. First one would be shaken; then the other. They would both be stunned. Bobby, was cut, bleeding profusely, beaten up and ready to go only to come back and score his own knockdown. Chacón rose bleeding after falls suffered in rounds 3 and 10 to knock Limón down in the closing seconds of round 15, and closed with an indisputable decision. Surely, if Limón had not fallen, Bobby would not have won. I was living in Boston at the time and I remember jumping out of my chair, spilling beer and food all over the place and on my friends, and blatantly yelling at the top of my lungs, “Get it, Bobby, get it, knock it out.” And get it did. The score was: Judge Angel L. Guzman 142-141, Judge Carlos Padilla 143-141 and Judge Tamotsu Tomihara 141-140.

This was the fight that turned me from a dedicated boxing fan to a full-fledged addict and I make no apologies for it. This fight, the essence of which was head-to-head, ebb and flow, back and forth action, was impressive and I mean that quite realistically. It was the closest two intrepid men can come to death, to the brink, if you will, and still survive. Lemon actually had a strange smile on his face when he was last knocked down and was getting back up; I swear by a stack of Bibles that smiled at the crowd. It was almost mystical, surreal, whatever label you could put on it. All I know is that I will never forget the fifteenth round of that fight. “I broke down after the Limón fight,” he says. “To begin with, I didn’t like that guy and with everything that happened … I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat …”

Unbelievably, Bobby would then defend against Boza-Edwards at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas and retain his crown in another “fight of the year” that made me scream once again. Swapping vicious hooks everywhere, this one almost equaled Limon’s struggle for its ebb and flow action and sheer savagery. Ring Magazine called this 1983 fight the second in a row involving Bobby. Once again, Chacón rose from a fall (this time in the first round) and despite a deep and dangerous cut, he dropped Boza Edwards in round twelve as the crowd roared in approval and Bobby avenged his previous loss and retained his WBC junior lightweight crown. . One fight was unreal, but my God, another? How much could you take? Like the Limón fight, the unanimous decision he won against Boza-Edwards was surreal in its spectacularity … but unfortunately that would be the last of Bobby’s ring glory.

Stripped of his title in June 1983 for refusing to fight Héctor Camacho in his native Puerto Rico, Chacón later attempted to win a third world title, but was stopped by lightweight champion Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini in 3 rounds. unilateral in 1984 (and according to boxing fortune, Greg Haugen would do the same with Mancini in 1992 and then himself would have the favor returned by Thomas Damgaard in 03). The last time I saw Bobby fight was in 1985 when he exposed and brutalized the up-and-coming Davey Montana in Reno. He won seven straight fights against solid competition, including Freddie Roach and Arturo Frias, to close his career in 1988 with a record of 59-7-1 (47 KOs) and a legacy as one of boxing’s most exciting and popular fighters.

But his personal life was again clouded by tragedy when his son was murdered in 1991. Later, Bobby was seen in a public appearance in 1996 to watch the Pay Per View fight between De La Hoya and Chávez. By 2000, he had lost all of his material possessions, including his mansion, farm, and numerous cars. But far more tragic, he now reportedly suffered from pugistica demenetia, a condition that sometimes occurs among ex-combatants who take too many blows to the head. Bobby’s speech is slurred and thick-tongued, his memory is poor and he is now shaky on his feet. In 2002, USA Today published a story detailing his residence at a Los Angeles transit station, where local nonprofit groups buy rooms for the homeless. He was 47 years old and living on a social security disability pension, and has been seen searching the streets and junkyards for aluminum cans to support himself.

I don’t know exactly where he is today, maybe living with his mother. He was apparently seen with Mike Weaver and a bunch of other former California boxers in 2005 at an autograph signing event in Los Angeles, but I’m not sure I want to know much more than that. The memories I want are the impressive ones of those afternoons in my Boston lair when I saw his life and death fights with Bazooka Limon and Conrelius Boza-Edwards, fights in which he was left alone in the middle of the ring more as an appearance than as a boxer. and he seems to say “come on let’s make this special, I’m willing to pay the price.” There was a determined and unflappable warrior, there was a fighter.

Simply put, Bobby Chacón had the biggest fighting heart of any fighter I have ever seen. Win or lose, he would give everything he had. And wherever he is, I know he will sport his trademark ingratiating smile as he did when he was admitted to the Hall last year.

“As much as I love boxing, I hate it. And as much as I hate it, I love it.” Budd schulberg

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