The ten Featherweight title fights you must see in your lifetime

Ayup chaps, hope this Monday doesn't prove too taxing for anyone.

Time now for the fourth installment of this series, and this time I'm casting my eye over the Featherweight division. To my surprise, this has actually been the toughest list to compile yet, and a cursory glance at some of the fights which were considered, but didn't make the final ten, will demonstrate just how many outstanding fights there are to pick from in the history of the 126 lb weight class. Amongst those fights which fell just short of inclusion were the two recent epics between Orlando Salido and Juan Manuel Lopez, Azumah Nelson roaring back from a points deficit to stop Wilfredo Gomez to claim his first world tite in 1984, the second, controversial bout of the Marco Antonio Barrera-Erik Morales trilogy, Sugar Ramos' compelling but ultimately tragic victory over Dave Moore, the tense twelve round draw between eighties / nineties mainstays Antonio Esparragoza and Marcos Villasana and a fair few others, which says much about how bleedin' good those ten fights which did make the cut must have been!

Anyway, I'm sure you know the routine by now, but here it is again for those who may not have had the misfortune to wander across on of these articles yet. I provide the 'skinny', a breakdown of the background of the fight as well as what happened during it, as well as explaining my choice and the subsequent place each fight commands in the order of my list. Once more, I've made sure that any fight featured below is available from start to finish on YouTube, so that if anyone hasn't seen a certain one (or few) of them and wants to contribute, they can.

Anyway, that's the small talk out of the way. On we go to the list. Enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

# 10 - Danny Lopez W KO 15 Mike Ayala, WBC title, 1979

The skinny: I suppose the introductions of each fighter, bellowed out in a style which went way beyond theatrical by a booming-voiced, quivering Mexican to a rapturous roar from the San Antonio crowd, set the pattern for this fight itself, and were well suited to a couple of words which would pretty much describe what unfolded in the ring; dramatic and bizarre. Mike Ayala had been a middling Super-Bantamweight contender, and wasn't expected to pose much of a threat to the grizzled veteran champion Danny 'Little Red' Lopez, a man who could pass for an Irishman or a Scotsman at a glance but whose style was very much suited to the country he fought for - Mexico.

The champion, as expected, controlled the pace in the opener but the first sign of what was to come came in the second when Ayala went to work on Lopez in the corner, jolting his head back with a series of whipping uppercuts. Already the fight had reached a frantic pace, and in the third Lopez took his turn at backing his man against the ropes. However, there was already a touch of frustration creeping in to his work, which was exaggerated further when Ayala countered with a neat left and then triple-jabbed his way out of the corner to nick the round. There were signs throughout the fourth and fifth that Lopez, who had not been taken the distance in any of his (so far) six successful defences of the WBC belt he'd won from David Kotey in 1976, was getting to grips with the short, squat challenger, but in the sixth Ayala was in control again, showing considerable defensive nous to roll with many of Lopez's best punches and firing off two quick, hard lefts.

Lopez, by now weary of Ayala's ability to counter in the pocket, stuck to his pure boxing skills in the seventh, and it paid off. Dominating behind his rangy jab, he gradually softened the swarming Ayala up before dropping him with around thirty seconds to go in the round. However, any suggestion that the fight had now fully swung the champion's way was quashed in the eighth, as almost instantly Ayala had Lopez reeling with a series of left hooks, an assault which lasted practically the whole round.

The next two stanzas were fought on a punishing and equal footing, before an eleventh round which was brilliant and ridiculous in equal measure. Lopez reeled off a quick-fire double jab and then dropped Ayala with a left which, although a good scoring punch, seemingly had no business putting over the man who had been fighting so brilliantly up until now in front of his home town fans. Curiously, Ayala seemed in no rush to rise and, when he did, the referee Carlos Padilla (of 'Thrilla in Manila' fame, of course) had reached ten and had waved the fight off. Lopez's team flooded in to the ring to celebrate with their man when, incredibly, Ayala's handlers were busy crowding Padilla, insisting that he had beaten the count and that there had been an error between him and the time keeper. Remarkably, Padilla then ordered Lopez and his team to stop celebrating as the fight will now continue - and the mistakes keep coming, as he and the time keeper then conspire to end the round almost straight after the restart, despite the fact there should have been at least another minute to go.

However, that was to be the last lucky break that the plucky challenger would get. Both men pushed for the finish in the twelfth and thirteenth, but by the fourteenth Ayala's legs were unsteady and a non-stop barrage of clubbing hooks to the head seem to beat the last bit of fight out of him. In the fifteenth and final round, Lopez stalked Ayala to the corner, making his knees buckle with a right hand and then flooring him with the follow up assault. Ayala was fully conscious, but simply too demoralized to beat the count, and this time there was no doubting that an epic encounter - one which Lopez described as "the toughest fight of my life" - had come to an end.

Why it's here: Aside from those surreal introductions, you mean? Well, we're hitting at the heart of this article when it comes to this fight - it was just a classic bout, good enough to be voted the 'Fight of the Year' by Ring Magazine for 1979. How often do you see a pace like the one in this fight sustained for twelve rounds, never mind fifteen as Lopez and Ayala managed? Neither man can command a place amongst the elite 126 lb greats, but between them they served up a fight which any of those men would have been proud to be a part of.



# 9 - Alexis Arguello W KO 13 Ruben Olivares, WBA title, 1974

The skinny: "The referee, Dick Young - I hate him! Because he took so damn long with the count!"

That was Alexis Arguello's reaction when asked, years later, about his memories of his first world title win, when he scooped up the WBA Featherweight belt from Mexican legend Ruben Olivares. I imagine, however, that anyone else who has watched the fight has rather different memories of it. Arguello, the tall and lean Nicaraguan, was making his second attempt at a world title, having dropped a decision for that very same belt against the Panamanian champion Ernesto Marcel a few months earlier. Facing him was Olivares, one of the most phenomenal knockout punchers in history but also getting on in years and above his best weight.

However, it's hard to write off a great fighter, and the short, diminutive Olivares did not intend to give up the title that he'd won against Japan's Zensuke Utagawa (after Marcel's retirement had left it vacant) easily. Although Arguello would eventually become one of the great fighter of his era, his legendary straight right cross was absent in the early stages. Upright and mechanical, the Nicaraguan stalked the champion patiently, but Olivares was looking in complete control, his nice countering, in and out ambushes and deft footwork demonstrating that there was more to him than just brute punching power. Arguello finally got a foothold in the fourth, controlling the range and distance of the fight, and by the seventh round, which flew by at a scary pace and could easily have been staged in a phone booth, there were signs that the challenger's increased work rate was telling on Olivares, who was now having to replace sharp, concise jabs with desperate swings.

Perhaps Arguello thought so, too, and perhaps he switched off in the eighth and ninth as a result, allowing Olivares to get back to the neat boxing which had helped him dominate the early stages. This was his tenth world title fight, compared to only the second for Arguello, and that added experience was evident as he used all the tricks of the trade to frustrate the younger man; twice Arguello's team complained to Dick Young about sneaky fouls from the Mexican legend, holding the Nicaraguan's arm on the blind side of the referee and unloading with body shots as he did.

At the end of the twelfth, Olivares had the challenger backed in the corner and in a spot of bother, and as the bell sounded Arguello gave a long, furtive glance to his tormentor. Surely, it seemed, the handsome Nicaraguan was going to suffer the heartache of losing a world title fight again. However, he produced a nigh-on miraculous, and very sudden, reversal of fortunes in the thirteenth. Both men traded stinging one-twos early in the round but, convinced that Arguello was there for the taking, Olivares soon found himself walking on to a massive left hook inside which puts him down. He just about beats the count, spitting out his gumshield to buy valuable extra seconds, but his Latino machismo gets the better of him as he tries to brawl, rather than box, his way out of trouble, taking a big right uppercut which sends him to the canvas once more. Despite Young's cumbersome counting, the old war lord Olivares had nothing left and, as Young waved his arms over the beaten man, a new king was born.

Why it's here: This was, as they say, a "passing of the torch moment" for Latin-American boxing. For Olivares, it was more or less the end of his career as a truly elite level fighter, whereas it was the beginning of Arguello's rise to superstardom. Having beaten one of his idols, Arguello went to Olivares' dressing room after the fight, got down on his knees and said, "Thank you, Ruben. I promise you, I will defend this title with the very last drop of my blood." It was exactly the kind of warrior spirit you'd expect from a man who never lost any of his three world titles in the ring.


# 8 - Steve Cruz W PTS 15 Barry McGuigan, WBA title, 1986

The skinny: With the hysteria that survives to this very day around Lloyd Honeyghan stunning the hitherto unbeaten Donald Curry in September 1986 to take the American's undisputed Welterweight championship, it's easy to forget that 1986 saw another massive upset in a world title fight, this time in nigh-on unbearable heat and sunshine in Las Vegas. Steve Cruz, a good honest pro who subsidised his income with a part-time plumbing job, was given virtually no chance of wrestling the WBA belt away from Barry McGuigan. The debate about whether the champion was to be considered a British or Irish fighter raged on, but the fact that fight fans from both nations adored him, that he had a style custom-made for exciting fights and also that he was hugely popular along the east coast 'Irish' communities in the USA meant that, by the summer of 1986, the 'Clones Cyclone' was arguably the most famous and talked about active boxer on the planet.

There seemed little chance of the script being torn up early on. As he always did, the swarming McGuigan set a sweltering pace and Cruz was having immense trouble getting himself set to get his shots off. The first alarm bells began to ring in the sixth. Once more, McGuigan seemed well on his way to edging another round on pressure alone, but with about a minute left he was stunned by a sharp left hook by the challenger. Uncharacteristically, the champion tried to box going away in order to see out the round but, buoyed on by his sudden success, Cruz caught him with another punishing right hand as the round came to an end.

Cruz built on that success in the seventh as McGuigan's work became more ragged, resulting in him being warned multiple times for low blows. McGuigan rallied well in the immediate aftermath, but his world began to fall apart in the tenth when, as he advanced on Cruz in the corner, he walked on to a peach of a short left hook which sent him down. The champion was up at seven, but for the first time in the fight there was a real look of trepidation on his face, which can only have been worsened when a nice Cruz one-two at the end of the round snapped his head back, too.

McGuigan's wayward body punching, which had brought him perilously close to disqualification in the past, cost him a point in the twelfth, however he'd been in command of the round until that point, and when he produced a wonderful effort to snag the thirteenth and fourteenth rounds, his chances of retaining his belt for a third time seemed very much alive. However, boxing is a cruel sport and the next 180 seconds changed all that. Sensing he may still have needed a big finish to be sure of the victory, McGuigan once more charged at Cruz from the off only this time, the challenger was prepared, walking the champion on to a big right hand which sent his legs to jelly. The concept of buying time, evidently, was still alien to McGuigan, who continued to leave himself wide open as he threw wide punch after wide punch. A quick left-right combination put him over for the second time in the fight and, though he made it to his feet, the man from Clones was running on empty. Cruz, relentless, applied all the pressure he could and it paid off when, with only seconds left, he bundles him over for yet another count. The champion saw out the final few seconds, but in the space of three minutes, McGuigan's world had collapsed, and that huge last round proved decisive in the unfancied Texan Cruz being awarded a shock unanimous decision.

Why it's here: Rank outsiders aren't supposed to topple established world champions who, in the eyes of many, are on their way to legendary status, at least within their home shores. But every now and then, they do. That's part of what makes boxing such a fascinating sport. There are no team mates to bail you out, no substitutions to be made if you're feeling tired. All it takes is for one man to have, as McGuigan put it afterwards, an "off night" and anything can happen. And Cruz's victory here is a great example of that. For British and Irish boxing, this superb fight signalled the end of one of the great stories of the ring. No sportsman since George Best had commanded the respect and adulation of Brits and divided Irish the way McGuigan had. His rise to the top had been a welcome distraction and escape in the eyes of many from the problems which plagued Ireland throughout the times of The Troubles. In 1986, he carried the weight of a truly huge amount of people on his narrow shoulders. And then, just like that (barring a brief comeback in which he never scaled those heights again), he was suddenly gone.



# 7 - Salvador Sanchez W TKO 8 Wilfredo Gomez, WBC title, 1981

The skinny: Two young, sensational fighters near the top of everyone's pound for pound tree, both undefeated in world title contests and, best of all, one a Mexican and the other a Puerto Rican, continuing a rivalry between two boxing-mad countries which as produced some of the most astonishing fights of all time - a bout like this one was a dream come true for any boxing fan. Wilfredo Gomez, the fearsome-hitting WBC Super-Bantamweight king, was running out of viable options at 122 lb having obliterated everyone who'd had the sheer temerity to step in to the ring with him in all of his thirteen successful defences so far, and the Featherweight division was it. He was the smaller man, stepping up in weight to try for Sanchez's 126 lb crown. No matter, felt many observers; if Sanchez, the handsome, curly-haired Mexican was being taken the distance by the unheralded Pat Ford and also being given all he could handle by the incredibly tough, but also limited and inexperienced Juan La Porte, then what chance did he have of withstanding the onslaught of Gomez, who had been a brilliant amateur and was now an even better professional who, with the exception of his first outing in which he was held to a draw, had vanquished every other man who he'd faced for pay inside the scheduled distance? A place amongst the immortals awaited Gomez if he were to take Sanchez's title, and the betting odds said he would.

It took Sanchez three minutes to rip that script to pieces, as he produced one of the great first rounds in world championship history. The shorter, more robust challenger from Puerto Rico didn't manage to lay a glove on the champion in the first sixty seconds, while Sanchez signalled his intentions with a nice counter right hook and a stinging jab. Mid-round, he had Gomez following him to the ropes and, as the Puerto Rican swung, the champion fired off a grazing right hand and then a stiff, short left inside which toppled Gomez to the canvas. He beat the count, but was battered from pillar to post for the remainder of the round and, had the opening stanza been another thirty seconds longer, the fight would surely have been over there and then.

Having been a destroyer in the opener, Sanchez switched over to boxer mode for the ensuing rounds, dominating behind his rangy jab throughout the second and third. Gomez, forcing the pace as he always did, marched forward manfully but found, much to his frustration, that Sanchez was just that little bit out of range every time he tried to exploit an opening, the the champion's neat footwork allowing him to glide out of danger and his superb head movement and ability to roll with shots leaving Gomez befuddled when exchanges took places on the ropes - and once more, as Gomez tried to pin Sanchez against them, he had to take two more booming counter lefts which made his eyes widen in apprehension.

The bell arguably saved Gomez again in the fifth, as Sanchez turned defence in to attack in remarkably quick time, rolling under shots, spinning his man in to position and then unleashing a long, sustained barrage of unanswered blows. So used to looking and feeling omnipotent, Gomez was being made to miss for fun in the sixth, but proved he had the will and belief to match his thunderous punching power in the seventh, finally having some notable success as he scored with successive hooks (a right, then a big left) in a rare moment in which Sanchez was wide open. However, this seemed to just annoy Sanchez more than anything, as if it rekindled his desire to close the show as soon as possible - and in the eighth, he did exactly that.

Once again, he had Gomez following him to the ropes and, once again, he managed to roll under the incoming fire, turn on the proverbial sixpence and trap a tired Gomez in the corner, where he unleashed three absolutely enormous left hooks to the ribs in succession which were then compounded with a crisp right uppercut. Gomez continued to try and fight his way out of trouble, but even he could delay the inevitable no longer - a whipping left, right combination pushed him almost through the middle ropes, and the follow up series of hooks and uppercuts had him on the deck once again, scrambling for survival. Bravely, he rose to his feet and expressed his desire to carry on but the referee, quite rightly, had decided that enough was enough and wisely called a halt to the contest. The odds, as well as many Las Vegas punters, had been upset, and in Sanchez, a new Mexican legend had been born.

Why it's here: Anyone who thinks that Salvador Sanchez's terribly premature death, aged just twenty-three, in 1982 has resulted in historians and fans alike overstating or embellishing his abilities as a fighter should take a look at this fight. Given the opponent, the sheer magnitude of the occasion, the fact that he was the betting underdog and the pure virtuosity he demonstrated, there is a sound case to be made that the Mexican's performance in this bout was the greatest individual showing of all time. In this fight, Sanchez was a boxer, a slugger, a counter-puncher, a slickster, a swarmer and a defensive whiz all rolled in to one. There is no hint of Gomez being 'exposed' in this fight, remember; the Puerto Rican would defend his Super-Bantamweight title another four times inside schedule and, in subsequent years, would add titles at 126 and 130 lb, too. But Sanchez was so great, he reduced a hitherto wrecking machine in to a broken down wreck in this fight. Producing a performance such as this is always special. But to do it against a fighter of Gomez's quality? Nothing short of mind-blowing.



# 6 - Barry McGuigan W PTS 15 Eusebio Pedroza, WBA title, 1985

The skinny: The Featherweight title was fragmented in 1985, but there was little doubt that the 'real' champion was Eusebio Pedroza of Panama. The tall, rugged and rough Panamanian had defended his WBA title nineteen times successfully and was the definition of a 'world champion', having risked his belt in the USA, Papa New Guinea, Japan, Venezuela, Italy, Korea, St Vincent and Puerto Rico. Now, he was in England to face Barry McGuigan, the all-action, body-hooking man who had boxed for Ireland in the Olympics, won a Commonwealth Games gold medal for Northern Ireland and had then taken out British citizenship to compete for - and win - the British Featherweight title two years previously in 1983. The globetrotting of each man had made this a truly significant world title fight, demonstrated by the fact that McGuigan's manager Barney Eastwood had needed to shell out almost £1 million, unheard of money for a Featherweight given the times, to convince Pedroza to risk his title in front of 25,000 partizan McGuigan supporters at Loftus Road stadium.

Pedroza's jab had kept plenty of aggressive swarmers at bay before, and for much of the early stages it looked as if it may well have been enough to contain McGuigan, too. The challenger had his moment in the second, scoring with a hard right cross which was followed by a trademark left to the body, but the Panamanian was controlling range and distance well, despite being eight years older and needing to use as much ring space as possible. In the fifth, however, McGuigan started off with a clean right which brought a roar of approval from the crowd before switching from upstairs to downstairs with his left hook, seemingly worrying the champion for a moment or two. When the Panamanian danced his way through the sixth, however, it was clear for all to see that McGuigan was behind, and that anyone expecting the fight to be merely a procession had been sorely mistaken.

The champion looked well enough in the seventh, but then came a true fight-changing moment, as McGuigan detonated a ramrod straight right hand through the guard and on to the chin of Pedroza, who crumpled to the canvas as a result. He survived the round, but suddenly the dynamic of the fight had altered. Bizarrely, he opted to switch things up hugely in the eighth, initiating exchanges with the extremely risky and very much out of character right hand lead. It worked, as McGuigan was hit with the shot over and over, but at the end of the ninth the challenger had the older man in danger of being stopped, rocking him with a massive hook and then sending his legs in to spasm with the follow up before the bell sounded.

Pedroza hadn't reigned as champion for so long for nothing, however, and he rallied splendidly to win the eleventh and twelfth, catching McGuigan coming in, getting the snap back in to his jab and seemingly having a new lease of confidence. A twentieth successful title defence looked a possibility, but then in the thirteenth a hard McGuigan left hook knocked the wind out of him, as he was forced to hold and desperately spoil to see out a round in which he had to absorb a huge amount of punishment. Pedroza's legs looked weary and unstable throughout the fourteenth and, although he had one more highlight moment with an excellent right hand cross, there just wasn't enough in the tank to prevent the younger, fresher man walking him down until the final bell went. After it did, Pedroza embraced McGuigan and, according to the 'Clones Cyclone', said in his ear, "You'll be a good champion." And so it was, that the decision came out unanimously in McGuigan's favour, kick-starting one of the biggest sporting parties London has ever seen.

Why it's here: If you strip away all the peripherals, then first and foremost this was just a truly dramatic and absorbing fight. Ebb and flow, a beautiful mix of styles and both men giving one of their career-best performances. But there was more to it than that. If number eight on this list signified the end of a phenomenon, then this fight represented the peak of it. For those who had followed McGuigan's career closely, it was as if a nation had won the world title with him. Football stadia in Britain in the eighties were largely considered forbidding places where trouble was a given, but police reported only two arrests in the subsequent celebrations. Moreover, though the night belonged to McGuigan, great credit must be paid to Pedroza. This is how a world title should be lost, with honour, dignity and having gone out on the proverbial shield, having done everything possible to hold on to the belt for just a little while longer. A truly joyous night for boxing not only in the UK and Ireland, but for the sport in general. Just about everything good about boxing captured in fifteen thrilling rounds.



# 5 - Juan Manuel Marquez D PTS 12 Manny Pacquiao, WBA, IBF & lineal titles, 2004

The skinny: The three knockdown rule has been one of the most debated ones in boxing for many years, but I suspect that everyone was immensely pleased that it wasn't in use when Manny Pacquiao, the explosive southpaw who has helped to light up the sport over the past decade, and Mexican counter-puncher extraordinaire Juan Manuel Marquez first squared off for a collection of Featherweight titles in 2004 - everyone except Pacquiao himself, that is. Now aged thirty, Marquez had finally reached the world champion status he'd craved with wins over Manuel Medina and Derrick Gainer giving him the IBF and WBA Featherweight belts respectively the year prior. In October of that same year, Pacquiao had stunned another Mexican great, Marco Antonio Barrera, to a surprise defeat to claim the lineal 126 lb honour. The reason behind this fight, then, was clear and simple - to see who was the best Featherweight in the world.

As it turns out, rather than answer that question, the fight only added more confusion to it. Pacquiao's claim seemed on its way to becoming undisputed at the start, however. In his typical fashion, he acknowledged a nice counter-right by the Mexican but then unleashed hell on him; a reaching left to the chin caught Marquez not quite leaning back far enough, and down the IBF and WBA titlist went. He rose, but within seconds of the restart the exact same shot put Marquez down for a second time. Once more, he tried to come to his senses and buy time, but he'd soon been backed up to the ropes where - yep, you've guess it - another left hand buckled his knees, with the follow up forcing him to touch down. A third count.

Marquez clung on to see out the round, but that must have been scant consolation at the time to the millions of Mexicans watching the drama unfold. Naturally, many would have seen the fight as little more than a damage limitation job now in Marquez's eyes, a belief which will surely have grown when Pacquiao again landed his ridiculously quick straight left hand for fun in the second. What followed, however, was one of the most remarkable turnarounds the Featherweight division has ever seen, which got underway in the third, Marquez finding that bounce in his legs, getting off first to prevent Pacquiao from scoring with his world-famous flurries and putting the seal on an excellent round with a gorgeous counter right at the bell.

Suddenly, Marquez's jab was looking dominant and his head clear. Some neat boxing secured the fourth, and any doubts that he was still in the mix despite his horrendous start were dispelled when he rocked Pacquiao in the fifth, connecting with a beautifully-timed right hand as the Filipino sensation lunged after him and then sending him temporarily reeling to the ropes with two jabs to the body followed by another right to the head as the round came to an end. From the worst opening two rounds of his life, the Mexican was now turning in a career-best performance, mixing up his head and body attack beautifully, forcing Pacquiao to swat first and constantly positioning himself just that little bit out of range whenever the return fire came.

Pacquiao, however, rallied well in the seventh and ninth in particular, improving his high guard and even producing some clean jabbing of his own before finishing off with an excellent left hand over the top of Marquez's defence. However, two superb right crosses from Marquez in the tenth, along with a strangely cautious and subdued effort from Pacquiao in the eleventh, meant that the lineal champion was unable to build on that success. There was little between them in a frantic twelfth, although the Mexican arguably had the last word with some calm, clean work in the final sixty seconds, after which came the nervous wait for the decision. John Stewart, incredibly, saw it 115-110 to Pacquiao, Guy Jutras 115-110 to Marquez, with Burt Clements having it dead even at 113 apiece. Alas, this epic Vegas showdown was a draw, and the question as to which of these men was the better Featherweight was never conclusively answered.

Why it's here: Although nobody would have predicted it at the time, this fight represented the beginning of one of the great rivalries of the modern era, and with the two combatants having shared a ring again this very weekend, what better time to reflect upon this fantastic, pure boxing match? Each of their four clashes have been fascinating in their own way, but this first encounter, as well as being a joy to watch, reminds us boxing fans of two inescapable truths which we'd all do well to remember; first off, a fight is never over or a forgone conclusion until an end is reached no matter how much it may seem that way, and secondly (as the debate still raging on eight years later shows), scoring a fight will always be a damn hard thing to do when you're pitting the best against each other.



# 4 - Salvador Sanchez W TKO 15 Azumah Nelson, WBC title, 1982

The skinny: This was supposed to be a straightforward night's work for Salvador Sanchez. Since his aforementioned demolition of Wilfredo Gomez in 1981, the WBC Featherweight champion had set his sights on a rematch with Juan La Porte, who'd he'd outscored in a barnstormer earlier in his reign, or a unification bout with WBA kingpin Eusebio Pedroza. With the La Porte rematch looking set for late 1982, the Mexican sensation, still only twenty-three but already making the ninth defence of the title he'd taken from the grizzled veteran Danny 'Little Red' Lopez in 1980, needed a tune up fight, and so Azumah Nelson, a thirteen-fight novice from Ghana, was plucked from a possible plethora of unremarkable opponents for this July 21 booking at Madison Square Garden, New York. A Commonwealth Games gold medal in 1978 and an undefeated start to his career suggested that Nelson was a fighter of promise, but he was lacking the credentials to give Sanchez, by now universally accepted as one of the finest fighters on the planet, a stern test.

Or so everyone thought. The African's own take on the Ali shuffle, which he attempted more than once throughout the fight, may have left a little to be desired but a hard right hand in the first, despite it being an otherwise clear Sanchez round, demonstrated that he was bringing something to the table. Perhaps not respecting the threat which the short, bulky Nelson brought, the champion produced a leisurely performance in the second, allowing Nelson, guard tight around his head as ever, to close distance quickly and bang home to the body, regularly having the last say with the left. Sanchez was quickly learning that Nelson was a strong young fella, too; each time they held and grappled in the third, the Mexican seemed to be coming off second best as the plucky challenger imposed his will on the fight, using nice, effective double and triple jabs, which outshone the singles being thrown by Sanchez - singles which were usually being caught on Nelson's gloves, in any case.

The champion began to pick up his pace in the fourth, introducing his elusive defense for a short while after it had been absent earlier on and jabbing with more urgency himself, but it proved only a brief respite as the man from Ghana drove him to the ropes with a series of punishing body hooks in the fifth, which were backed up with two scoring uppercuts at the death, too. In the seventh, however, Nelson's lack of big-time experience was evident. Rocked and sent tottering to the ropes by a wonderful Sanchez hook, the challenger, unwisely, tried to brawl his way out of danger rather than box, leaving himself wide open to an inside left which put him down. He lifted his arms and nodded towards his opponent to acknowledge the shot, and was once again soon back amongst the thick of the action, even landing a big right of his own just before the bell.

The pattern was set; Sanchez's more patient approach, looking for the openings to counter and trying to get off behind the jab, against the relentless forward march and booming body attack of Nelson, who continued to set a scorching pace even as the fight headed towards the late stages. In the thirteenth, Nelson looked as if he could well upset the odds yet as he sent his Mexican foe staggering to the centre of the ring after bouncing two brutal right hands off his chin, but Sanchez dug incredibly deep in the fourteenth to do enough solid work going away to take the round and make sure that he only needed to stand up throughout the fifteenth to win. Naturally, Nelson had no intention of letting this happen, swarming Sanchez almost immediately as the round got under way. It proved to be his undoing; wide open, two missile-like right hands turned his tired legs to jelly and, although he showed great courage to continue to trade with Sanchez, the end was nigh. A looping left sent the twenty-four year old African to the corner, and the following shot put him to the deck. There was one, final act of bravery as he rose gamely to his feet, but after being waved back in to action he was again peppered with the left which sent him reeling to the ropes - and before the champion got the chance to follow him there to complete the job, the referee threw his arms around the challenger, bringing an end to his wonderful effort.

Why it's here: It's always a pleasure when a fight from which you're not expecting much goes on to exceed all expectations. This fight was meant to be a routine work out for Sanchez, and yet it turned out to be an absolute classic. What's more, the fight left an incredible mark on the landscape of the Featherweight division; in defeat, Nelson had made a name for himself and, after upsetting Wilfredo Gomez for the WBC title two years later in 1984, he would go on to establish himself as arguably the greatest African fighter of all time, spending thirteen almost uninterrupted years contesting the biggest and best 126 lb and 130 lb fights in the world. As for Sanchez, well once more the fight came to be a byword for his greatness. Always ice-cool under pressure, banging his gloves together as he circled his man, his face a picture of supreme concentration, eventually finding a way to win when lesser men might not have been able to delve so deeply in to their reserves. And of course, such a victory will always add to that 'What might have been?' question, as this was to be his last fight - he was killed just three weeks later after a high speed collision in his Porsche.



# 3 - Naseem Hamed W KO 4 Kevin Kelley, WBO title, 1997

The skinny: In Britain in the mid nineties to the early years of the twenty-first century, nobody who owned a television, radio or computer could escape 'Prince' Naseem Hamed. Bombastic, loud, arrogant and a truly chilling puncher, his heavy hands had carried him to the WBO and IBF (the latter one now relinquished) Featherweight titles, twenty-eight professional wins from twenty-eight starts and the kind of superstardom which any boxer currently operating on these shores could only dream of. The only problem was that America wasn't convinced - at least not yet. And so, in an effort to convince the game's greatest power of his worth, Hamed took on a truly daunting task a week before Christmas in 1997; he'd make his American debut against the classy operator Kevin Kelley, a former WBC champion who had been touted for great things and who still harboured hopes of fulfilling those prophecies. And what was more, he'd do it in Kelley's backyard of Madison Square Garden, New York.

From the off, it was clear that the twenty-three year old Hamed was desperate to make a big statement - his first punch was a wild, swinging right which was designed for a knockout, but missed the intended target by a margin so big that it brought jeers from the hugely pro-Kelley crowd. Nevertheless, Hamed looked the part for the opening two minutes, demonstrating the hand speed and elusiveness which had bewildered so many men before and, somewhat uncharacteristically, adopting a high guard and more upright style. However, the latter didn't come easily to Hamed, which was shown when, having backed Kelley in to a corner, he dangled out his chin and he pulled back from a return shot, hands dangling, and took a big right hook flush on the chin. He was down, and he was visibly shaken. The end of the round came, and when it did an infuriated Brendan Ingle yelled at his charge to keep his guard up at all times, as he'd been doing earlier in the round.

Not for the first time, such valuable advice seemed to go in one of Hamed's ears and straight out of the other. After a cagey opening, the second round burst in to action when Kelley, who by now was jabbing with confidence and aplomb having been buoyed by his first round success, caught the champion napping and forced him to touch the canvas with his gloves when he buzzed him with a solid right and a grazing left. Once more, the Brit was up without too much trouble, but the writing was on the wall; he was being outboxed, and was in the toughest fight of his life.

Things seemed to be going from bad to worse for 'The Prince' as he was sent staggering across the ring by a sharp Kelley combination, but as the former world titlist lunged after him Hamed landed a short hook inside which resulted in an off-balance Kelley being half-punched, half-bundled to the ground. No knockdown was called, and Kelley seemed unconcerned by that blip as he forced Hamed to hold after firing off another wicked left hook to the champion's jaw, which was by now a wide open target. However, if Hamed could be terrible one moment, he was always capable of being sensational the next and, out of absolutely nowhere, a looping right hook of his own caught the American on the button and now Kelley was on the deck. In his typical showman style, Hamed winked at his opponent on his way to the neutral corner, while Kelley smiled, nodded his head in appreciation of the shot and boxed away the rest of the round nicely after beating the regulation count.

Both men stayed on their feet in the third, and once more it seemed to be Kelley who was stamping his authority on the fight, outboxing the hard-hitting southpaw using his exceptional timing to dominate with his jab and also making Hamed's knees dip slightly with a double of hard left crosses. At the break between the third and fourth, Hamed looked to a highly animated Ingle and simply said, "Don't worry." Easier said than done, but in a sensational fourth round the champion took care of business the way he'd been vowing to since the start. The two men began the round by exchanging superb left hooks, but Kelley, who said after the fight that he was his "own worst enemy" as he was too easily drawn in to Hamed's kind of fight, then failed to pick up an elaborate, leaping left from Hamed. It landed flush on the chin, and this time when Kelley went down, he was hurt. He got up at six, however, and drew another roar from the partisan crowd when he replied with a good right of his own which forced the off-balance Hamed to touch down with his glove again - yet another count.

The pace of the fight, the knockdowns, the fact that both men were relying on their chins - something had to give. And finally, it did. This time it was Kelley looking to end things, and almost immediately after he had some success with two short hooks, the champion came up with a short, devastating right hand on the inside, which saw the challenger crumple to the floor for the sixth knockdown of the bout. "I felt sure he'd get up" said Hamed, looking back on that knockdown years later. And perhaps he should have, too; he rolled over almost instantly and seemed in command of his senses, but seemingly mistimed his rise. By the time he got himself straight up, the referee was reaching 'ten' and waving the fight off, and the 'Mecca of Boxing', Madison Square Garden, had another scintillating chapter written in to its incredible history.

Why it's here: Love him or loathe him - and opinion does tend to be incredibly split - it's hard to deny that Naseem Hamed was a forerunner for these days in which boxing's 'little men' can command the same kind of purses and media attention as their larger counterparts - and it's largely due to fights such as this. Unequivocally, this fight was a great moment for his career, and represented a genuine risk, too. Any theory suggesting that the man was all style, no substance was washed away by this performance, and when watching it, even Hamed's biggest critics would have to acknowledge that the seeds of greatness were there. He gave British boxing many interesting nights, but none more exciting than this. Afterwards, Kelley said, "I showed everyone that he's no Roy Jones." And he wasn't. But I doubt he wanted to be anyone other than Naseem Hamed, and these four rounds were what that name was all about - drama, action and unmissable entertainment.



# 2 - Johnny Famechon W PTS 15 Mashiko 'Fighting' Harada, WBC title, 1969

The skinny: History beckoned for Mashiko 'Fighting' Harada when he stepped through the ropes in front of a hostile Sydney crowd to take on Australian hero Johnny Famechon for the WBC Featherweight title in 1969. The all-action Japanese fighter had already reigned as the Flyweight and the Bantamweight king in the past, scoring wins over names as great as Pone Kingpetch and Eder Jofre during those runs. If he were able to get past the elegant, smooth-boxing Famechon, of French descent and whose uncle Ray had been a superb Featherweight himself in the forties, then he would become the first and only fighter in history to complete the treble of title at 112, 118 and 126 lb, as well as becoming one of only a very small handful of men to have won titles in any three divisions at all.

As fate would have it, this fight was to be refereed by the very man who had turned away Ray Famechon's world title attempt, the great Willie Pep, who would also be acting as the sole judge. Not an eye was batted at the time, but this element would leave its mark on a fight which was remarkable for a number of reasons. Everything seemed to be going to plan for Harada early on. Setting a truly phenomenal pace - which was basically the only pace he knew - he prevented the tall, rangy Famechon from getting any worthwhile shots off. Undeterred by the large and boisterous Australian crowd, Harada drove him a series of strength-sapping body hooks in the second and then followed up with a stinging left hook over Famechon's guard, sending the champion down. Famechon made it to his feet, but Harada had an early finish on his mind, even seeming to push referee Pep aggressively out of the way as he came between the two. Famechon saw out the round, but Harada had stamped his authority of the fight in the best possible way.

It wasn't until the fourth that Famechon finally found his timing; he owned one of the best jabs in the business, and once he started throwing it with regularity, the dynamic of the fight quickly altered. Intelligently sliding in and out of range, the Australian demonstrated the full array of his boxing mastery in the fifth, punctuating a superb round for himself by downing the on-rushing challenger with a beautifully-crafted counter left hook as he bounced off the ropes. The man so reliant on workrate had, it seemed, come out of the blocks too quickly; as Harada was buzzed by another left and then made to look amateurish as he swung wildly with no success against the ducking and swaying champion, the Sydney faithful seemed confident that their man had overcome any problems he was going to face in retaining his crown.

They spoke too soon, the lot of them. Two solid right hands in the eighth reminded Famechon of the danger that the Japanese challenger still carried, and though the champion had a good ninth, he was repeatedly finding that containing such an aggressive, busy fighter for more than one round at a time was virtually impossible. Famechon was rocked again in the tenth, and then in the eleventh had to overcome another crisis moment as a huge right hook sent him to the canvas for the second time in the fight. Harada desperately pushed for the finish, but Famechon, as canny an operator as you could wish to see and who was never stopped in a career spanning some sixty-odd fights, used all of his survival instincts to hang on until the end of the round.

His recovery in the twelfth was verging on the miraculous as the fantastic fight continued to provide highlight after highlight. Snapping Harada's head back heavily with almost every jab, Famechon showed his defensive skills once more against the ropes before finishing with a cracking right hand, and the two of them slugged out an utterly absorbing and compelling thirteenth which could have gone either way. It was still anyone's fight with two rounds remaining, but Harada seemed to have taken a gigantic step towards victory when, at the end of the fourteenth, he produced a whipping right hook to put the champion down once more. The Japanese man screamed to his corner in ecstacy, knowing that, despite the fact that Famechon had made it to his feet, the pendulum had surely swung back in his favour. Famechon showed boat loads of grit to survive a brutal fifteenth, in which Harada battered the still-groggy Australian without remorse, but by the end there could have been little doubt in the mind of any observer; Harada had won.

No doubt in the mind of any observer apart from referee and sole judge Willie Pep, that is, who raised both men's arms at the end of the fifteenth round to declare a draw. Rough justice on Harada, but not a robbery....At least, not yet. The announcement of the draw triggered an angry reaction from Famechon's Sydney followers. They should surely have taken the draw as a fortunate result, given the action that had unfolded before them, but such reasoning seemed a long way off. Pep was booed mercilessly and violence, it is reported, began to erupt in the crowd. Incredibly, Pep suddenly alerted ringside reporters and commissioners that he'd made a mistake in his scoring, and that the fight wasn't a draw after all. But incredibly, he deemed that it was Famechon, rather than Harada, who had won the fight outright.

The truth of whether Pep's decision to alter his initial ruling came as a result of the threat of crowd trouble and home-town pressure from Famechnon's fans, or if there had been a genuine mistake in his scoring which was surely unjust to the Japanese challenger in any case, died with 'Will o' the Wisp' in 2006. But whatever the truth, it was a dramatic but equally bizarre ending to an incredible fight, sadly, doesn't quite get the recognition it should. It was a beauty, from start to finish.

Why it's here: It's unfortunate that 'Fighting' Harada, one of the most scandalously underrated fighters of the post-War era, should feature twice in this series so far but be the loser of the fight each time in decisions which can, at best, be described as questionable. However, that he should feature in two separate divisions 14 lb apart is a testament to what a great value for money fighter the man was, and this fight was a prime example of that. Take out all other factors, and it's impossible not to enjoy the fifteen rounds on offer here. The momentum changed with remarkable frequency and Harada's buzzsaw attacks were the perfect fuse for Famechon's graceful boxing going away. But the fact that the result, and the odd nature of it, prevented a slice of history from being made and still provides such a big talking point today means that the fight is an unmissable slice of the Featherweight division's history. The ensuing debate will forever continue, but whatever way you view it, the fight itself was tremendous.



# 1 - Vicente Saldivar W PTS 15 Howard Winstone, World title, 1967

The skinny: In 1990, historian Gilbert Odd wrote, "Had Howard Winstone carried a more worthwhile punch, it is doubtful if any other Featherweight in history could have beaten him." As it was, Winstone, the slick-boxing Welshman who had been an ABA champion and Commonwealth Games gold medal winner before turning professional, was a pretty damn good fighter even without that big punching power, as demonstrated by his first world title tilt against the outstanding Mexican southpaw Vicente Saldivar in September 1965 in London. Saldivar had retained his title on an extremely close points verdict that time, but the fight had been a classic of the British ring and, as Saldivar vanquished three subsequent challengers and Winstone continued to successfully defend his European title, the calls for a rematch grew louder. And so in June 1967, the still only twenty-four year old Mexican was back in Britain - this time Cardiff - to make the seventh defence of his undisputed title.

The Welsh challenger owned maybe the finest jab in world boxing in his pomp, and it showed from the off. Both he and the challenger held the centre of the ring expertly in the opening round, but twice Saldivar found himself throwing the right hard and straight, only to then find that the slippery, lightening-fast Winstone was no longer there and then finding himself swiftly countered. Winstone's legs were in perfect synch as he danced his way through the second with some equally neat boxing, but the fight began to show signs of really coming to the boil in the third and fourth, as Saldivar's legendary body attack began to show. Winstone sucked it up, however, taking some sickening lefts to the ribs and being momentarily wobbled by a high-low combination before bouncing back with a dominant display in the fifth, a round in which the full beauty of Winstone's defensive artistry was on show to his adoring fans - he parried punches, slipped them, countered them and rolled expertly underneath them in the rare moments in which the champion was able to trap him on the ropes. If this kept up, then there'd be a new champion by the night's end.

Winstone was looking absolutely imperious throughout the sixth, but suddenly struggled in the next round as he began having trouble picking up Saldivar's left, the Mexican scoring nicely with two hooked ones and two more straight ones. However, it appeared to be only a small hiccup, as the Welshman's reflexes and footwork left the champion hitting little but thin air throughout the eighth and ninth, an eye-catching right hand being the sole cause for concern for Winstone during that period.

After ten rounds, there could be no doubt that Winstone was ahead, and ahead by a wide margin at that. It was going to take a titanic effort from the Mexican to salvage his title against a man who was boxing the way most men can only dream of doing. And as I'm sure you can all anticipate, seeing as this fight tops my list, he produced exactly that, starting in the eleventh where a renewed urgency and conviction within his boxing saw Winstone forced to fight for a sustained period on the Mexican's terms. Winstone did a fine job of bobbing and weaving his way out of the first onslaught, but three times in the final minute of the round he was jolted heavily, each time by a Saldivar left hook.

The crisp, accurate jabs from Winstone, which were controlling the fight almost exclusively earlier on, were becoming extremely rare by the twelfth, a round in which he gamely smiled and Saldivar and gestured him to take the fight to him, but in which he also spent an awfully long time trapped on the ropes, being stunned by vicious, short uppercuts and hooks to both head and body. It had been a late burst in their first fight which had seen Saldivar scrape home, and now he was threatening to do the exact same thing again. Realising that boxing going away for three minutes is asking too much against a man of such limitless stamina, Winstone tried to slug it out with the champion throughout the thirteenth but, while he had some success, he was also forced to hold and spoil as the end of the round neared, the right hand over the top now being the chief cause of his woes.

Despite this shift in momentum, Winstone must still have been confident of holding on for a famous victory with two rounds remaining, but the fourteenth round - which had also been a costly one for him then the two had met a couple of years previously - suggested that the tide was now turning inexorably against him. The early stages could have taken place in a phone booth, as the champion nestled his head in to the chest of Winstone and drove home to the body, as the challenger did his best to reply with short punches to the head. However, mid-round, Winstone is pushed back to the corner where a succession of rights - the last of which is a foul landed after he'd already taken a knee - put him down for a count. He made it to his feet, but was under siege until the bell, twice tottering dangerously close to being stopped as the champion stalked him with a non-stop barrage of unanswered hooks.

Saldivar's knack of reaching his peak pace in the championship rounds was evident for all to see, and so it was with a touch of irony that it was Winstone, in the early stages of the fifteenth, who finally rediscovered the jab which had made life so difficult for the Mexican southpaw for so long - how he must have wondered where it had been when the last few rounds had slipped away. Regardless of that, it didn't last too long here. In the middle of the round, Saldivar again walked his man down and forced him to the ropes. Knowing that any decision would be razor-thin and that his title was very much in the balance, he produced a wonderful effort to hurt Winstone with three successive lefts to the chin, and it took an equally wonderful effort of a different kind from the Welshman to hang on until the final bell. As it rang, there was a great uncertainty for a moment as the referee and sole scorer, Wally Thom, totaled up his card. However, the general feeling amongst most of the Cardiff faithful is that Winstone had, by the skin of his teeth, done enough to edge the win, and with it the title.

And as such, they weren't shy in showing their displeasure when it was the Mexican who had his hand raised, by a half point margin. Thom, who'd been an old rival of Winstone's manager Eddie Thomas in their fighting days, had reportedly been awaiting the chance to gain revenge over Thomas due to an unspecified feud between the pair, and the theory that such a rift was to blame to Winstone losing the decision has been suggested many times over the forty-five years which have passed since this outstanding battle. I'm not so sure, myself. But whatever the truth, this fight had a bit of everything. Winstone's performance in the early rounds was jaw-dropping, a lesson in how to take the sting out of a relentless, swarming opponent using the ability to judge distance and move. As for Saldivar, it was a typical Mexican performance; non-stop pressure, unshakable self-belief in the face of adversity and that willingness to walk through whatever punishment is dished out to you in the hope that you can dish out just that little bit more in return.

Why it's here: "Everyone except the referee thought I beat him", said a dejected Winstone after this fight. Not quite true; I personally had Saldivar edging an extremely close fight by a single point or so, using the modern, ten point must system. But so brilliant was this fight, and so evenly-matched were its two combatants, that the result almost becomes irrelevant, to some degree. Win or lose, neither man ever performed better than this during their whole career. When a great fighter reaches his peak, those who get to see it can count themselves very, very lucky. But when two great fighters hit their absolute peak against each other, it's something which should be celebrated, truly. With no hyperbole at all, I can honestly say I've watched this fight all the way through at least half a dozen times in my life, and I've enjoyed it more and more each time.

I defy anyone on here, absolutely anyone, to watch this fight and not share a similar feeling. Sensational fight, a great moment for British boxing despite the outcome, just has to be number one in my eyes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A massive thanks to anyone who has managed to last the full course. If you have, then be sure to leave your take on matters, what you think of the list and anything else which you deem relevant! Cheers once again, lads.

Love it. Things around boxing in the last couple of weeks have been glowing and the phoenix seemingly rising from the ashes. Just capped off a fantastic courage filled weekend with a brilliant article like this. I've watched all these fights and I cant really add anything bar praise apart from one thing.

Hameds mettle was tested in that fight and anyone who thinks he lacked courage ought to watch that fight. Desire is a different thing to courage though the former requires tons of the latter.

Great read, thanks!

Splendid, Chris - I suppose, I'm mildly surprised at the absence of one of the Pep-Saddler quartet here, but your choices are first-class. It is much appreciated that you continue to take the time to produce such high quality articles.

captain carrantuohil wrote:Splendid, Chris - I suppose, I'm mildly surprised at the absence of one of the Pep-Saddler quartet here, but your choices are first-class. It is much appreciated that you continue to take the time to produce such high quality articles.

+ 1 on that, I know from the top ten uncrowned champions series how tough it can be deciding who gets in and who misses out on these things so can only begin to imagine the headaches this must have caused and most continue to cause, but since you have Naz in there you'll hear no grumbles from myself

Thanks, everyone.

I'd have loved to include a Pep-Saddler affair, captain, particularly the second one in which Willie gave his greatest performance in what was a pure boxing match, as opposed to a foul-filled war like the other three. But annoyingly, it seems as if those fights, short highlights aside, aren't available on YouTube just now, which knocked it out of contention (see what I did there? Ba-boom).

There's one fight which is on my hit list for the Featherweights but which I've not been able to find just yet, which is Ruben Olivares losing his last world title to David Kotey. Has anyone here seen that one? I've heard it's an absolute barnstormer, can anyone confirm? I'm surprised it's not easier to come across as Olivares was such a hugely popular fighter, and was already a Mexican legend by the time of that one.

Glad you enjoyed it too, Shah and Jeff. Like you two, I tend to get a bit wound up when I see Hamed casually dismissed as a fraud who was given a diet of chaff to build him up in some quarters. He was one hell of a fighter, and he has more than just that one fight against Kelley to back that claim up.

Thanks Chris, great read as always. This made my hour bus journey fly by this morning

Great stuff, as usual, Chris. I'll certainly be Youtubing a few of those.

On the subject of Winstone, if you haven't seen it I can recommend the film Risen for your Christmas list.

Thanks, SoF and Union. Not seen 'Risen' yet but it's something I'd like to get round to as soon as I can, as most reviews I've seen have been very positive.

88Chris05 wrote:Thanks, SoF and Union. Not seen 'Risen' yet but it's something I'd like to get round to as soon as I can, as most reviews I've seen have been very positive.

I'd go as far as to say it is Shane Richie's best film Chris