George Kimball/America At Large I usually don't like this to get around, but I am a graduate of a Texas high school (Alamo Heights; class of 1961). I mention this only to illustrate I have some understanding of the often bewildering manner business is conducted here in the Lone Star state, where I have been an involuntary resident for the past several days.
A few days ago the Texas Boxing Commission announced it would begin testing boxers "and other participants in combative sports" for the HIV virus starting January 1st. Since regulatory bodies in most jurisdictions in the civilised world had adopted similar measures a decade ago, one might have expected the Texans to go lighter on the self-congratulatory aspects of this announcement - particularly in light of what is about to take place in a San Antonio ring on Saturday night, when Marco Antonio Barrera fights Filipino champion Manny Pacquiao in an HBO-televised featherweight bout.
To European boxing fans Barrera is primarily recognised as the man who gave Prince Naseem Hamed a lesson in humility in April 2001. Over the past decade the Mexican boxer has proven to be one of the most exciting, courageous pugilists on the planet. He is an intelligent fellow with a college education who once contemplated becoming a physician, which makes all the more astonishing the recent revelation he has been fighting for the past six years with a titanium implant in his head.
That Barrera's promoters, Top Rank, opted to stage the Pacquiao fight in Texas rather than Las Vegas had more than a few people scratching their heads, but the news about his 1997 brain surgery explained a lot of things. Several months ago the Nevada State Athletic Commission adopted a policy requiring MRIs to perform brain scans as part of its licensing procedure. It might be noted this measure was opposed by several promoters, including Top Rank, whose matchmaker Bruce Trampler filed a letter opposing the regulation in May.
At the time Barrera's condition had not become public knowledge. An MRI would have detected it, while a more conventional physical examination probably would not have. Texas, not surprisingly, does not require MRIs. Barrera-Pacquiao wound up in San Antonio. Draw your own conclusions. The cat slipped out of the bag last month when Thomas Hauser, the lawyer/author/Ali biographer who writes a column for the boxing website Secondsout.com, broke the news that for years Barrera had been fighting with the plate implanted in his skull.
On August 29th, 1997, following the second of his two losses to Junior Jones, Barrera, who had been complaining of headaches, underwent a surgical process, craniotomy, in Mexico City. His skull was opened, an abnormal cluster of veins was removed, and a titanium plate was screwed into his skull to protect the area.
Barrera has fought 16 times since. On each of those occasions he was obliged to list on his medical forms any past surgeries, and on each of them he apparently perjured himself by concealing his medical history.
Having been only recently made aware of Barrera's condition, NSAC executive director Marc Ratner passed the information to the Texas Commission. Remarkably, last week that body announced they had thoroughly examined Barrera and had determined the surgical residue "provided no competitive advantage or disadvantage", and cleared the decks for Saturday's fight to proceed. In endorsing Barrera's Texas boxing licence, Dr Andres H Keichian, a neurologist, wrote "the prognosis of this condition in Mr Barrera is excellent. Based on his clinical history and neurological evaluation I believe that Mr Barrera is fit to participate in combative sports."
The commission's physician, Dr Jorge Guerrero, compared the boxer's brain surgery to appendicitis: "You take the appendix out and you'll never have another appendicitis again. That's been taken care of, and he's as good as you and me."
In Barrera's favour it should be acknowledged since the surgery he has fought 16 times, with one no-contest and one highly controversial loss - a decision to Erik Morales that was accorded "fight of the year" in 2000. In that bout he and Morales exchanged more than 1,500 punches. He has fought 108 post-surgical rounds, going the 12-round championship distance six times, mostly against top-flight competition (since 1998 his opponents have had an aggregate 372-25- 7), including wins over Morales (rematch), Hamed, and Johnny Tapia. "If it was a problem," said Barrera, "I would have retired a long time ago."
Now, you might say any boxer is aware of the possible consequences when he enters the ring and if the Texans are foolish enough to let Barrera fight with a plate in his head, he should be allowed to take the risk if he so chooses, but at least a few questions leap to mind.
While Barrera has managed to banish the possible consequences from his mind, what about his opponents? Should Pacquiao, for instance, spot an opening for a clean shot on Saturday night, will he be able to pull the trigger knowing a single punch might kill his opponent? Another would be what Barrera's ongoing deception says to other boxers who have been forced to end their careers for medical reasons. (Kildare cruiserweight Cathal O'Grady, whose promising career ended when a similar condition came to light, leaps to mind.)
A final question might be left to the British authorities: Barrera didn't take many punches in his first-round knockout of Paul Lloyd at the Albert Hall four years ago, but how was he licensed for that bout, since the British Board of Boxing Control required MRIs in 1999? Or should this qualify the Brits as honorary Texans? "I tried to find that out myself, and never got a satisfactory answer," said Hauser yesterday.
