A Classic Boxing Underdog Has His Day

Yul Witherspoon, a heavyweight boxer brought in to face young fighters on the rise, puts up with long journeys and hardships to stay in the sport. (Jonathan Newton - The Washington Post)

"We came down here with what we got on and what we got in our pockets," Daley said. "You've got to want to do this miserable [stuff] to do it."

Soileau would open the card, four rounds or less against Mike Dietrich of Dundalk, the local favorite. Witherspoon, who had been alternately pacing and sitting on a straight-backed chair, looked out from behind the curtain to see how Soileau was doing. The place was crowded, about 1,200 people, one of the countless fight nights that continue to take place in small towns across America. The low ceiling and rows of chairs extending far back on two sides of the ring gave the room the horizontal look of an old movie in Cinemascope. It was a panorama of ring card girls, cocktail waitresses, big south Baltimore guys, old Colt Lenny Moore, women who had come in wearing large, warm coats on the arms of finely dressed men. George Bellows could have painted this.

Soileau could not seem to fire his punches. The problem might have been that he didn't know until the opening bell that his adversary was a southpaw. Soileau saw jabs and power punches coming at him from reverse angles. The fight went the four rounds, the judges' decision foregone.

"It's all you, man. It's all you," Daley said to Witherspoon, back behind the curtain. He was in the third fight.

In the hall, boxing manager Shelly Finkel could see beyond this night in Glen Burnie when his man Chazz would have his name in lights. "If he could go all the way," Finkel said, "the heavyweight division would have someone people would be very proud of, who would set a great example."

Yul Witherspoon had to wait in the ring until someone decided that anticipation for the heroic Chazz had grown sufficiently. Yul wore orange trunks and punched at the air a little to keep warm. Chazz, dressed in a gloriously embroidered black robe, bounded down the aisle to cheering. He danced in his corner as the robe was removed. He wore black trunks and white shoes and appeared utterly at ease.

The crowd sent up a hum of favorable impression when Yul was introduced as a "former two-time Marine champion." But there was no question who the fans liked. Chazz's father hugged his son, which Yul noticed, causing him to wish his own father, who died in 1989, were there. "It kind of touched me, the family thing," he said later.

At the bell, Yul rushed the favorite and backed him up with stiff punching. Yul tried to lean his 260 pounds on Chazz. Chazz bent to his right, pointing his head toward the ropes to avoid part of the attack. Yul dominated the first minute and a half. But suddenly, like a dramatic pass interception or a bases-clearing hit, events turned. He took a combination to the body that hurt him, really hurt him. He needed several seconds to get squared up again. But he was not the same. His punches fell short. Chazz landed hard, again and again. As the bell ended the round, the fight clearly was going Chazz's way.

Round two. Chazz landed a thunderous right hand to Yul's left ear in the opening seconds. It was the quintessential haymaker, but somehow Yul stayed upright. Wobbly, but upright. Punches and shoves sent Yul down, but the referee, Bill Holmes, waved the fighters to their corners, then told each of the three judges that he had ruled a slip, not a knockdown. The delay wasn't long enough for Yul to recover.

After the action resumed, Chazz connected repeatedly, with Yul unable to counter, until Holmes jumped between the two, raised his arms and waved the fight over. It was 1 minute 26 seconds of the second round, reality had trumped romance.

One thing, though: Yul Witherspoon had finished on his feet, dignity intact.

A few minutes later, he went to see the doctor on the second floor and learned that he would be taking home a perforated eardrum in addition to the modest sum of $1,500 -- minus $500 for his trainer. "The thousand will come in handy," he said, without complaint.

He sat on the chair behind the curtain and talked in bursts.

"I'm sorry about that. I really wanted to do good. . . .