Carbajal cuts off skeptics who question his nephew's legitimacy, saying he'll bet his house -- that nice, well-furbished house on Fillmore -- that one day Baby Angel will be a world champion. Then he'll repeat his claim. And repeat it again. And with the energy of commitment behind that high, hoarse voice, the former champ is convincing.
But then there's Cameron Dunkin, Jesus' manager. He's convincing, too. He gets impatient at the mention of Carbajal's name, and before what Michael has said about Jesus can be recounted, Cameron Dunkin tells you what he thinks of Michael Carbajal. Michael is "bitter," he contends. Carbajal's afraid Jesus will steal his thunder. Dunkin thinks Carbajal's opinion shouldn't be trusted. Remember, never trust what a fighter says about another fighter, particularly one whose glory is long passed.
Emily Piraino
Jesus Gonzales
Emily Piraino
Jesus Gonzales works through his combinations at the gym at 60th Avenue and Grand.
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Then there's Top Rank. It looks beyond Carbajal. Its agents compare Jesus to De La Hoya. But they have also likened De La Hoya to other prospects. Promoter Bob Arum said during an August press conference, at which the signing of Philadelphia boxer Anthony Thompson was announced: "We compare this with the signing of Oscar De La Hoya. Eleven years later, we've seen Oscar become a superstar. We expect no less of Anthony Thompson."
So what do we know about Jesus' potential if the words of big-time experts are of no help?
Well, what about Jesus in the ring, dancing around his opponents? But this won't do, because the ring, as Ernie Gonzales reasons, can be tainted by politics. Fight judges are sometimes biased, even racist, Ernie insists.
Okay, so what happens when you take away the judges? What happens when only trainers, the real experts, are watching in an atmosphere that's about as far from supercharged big-arena bouts as you can get? In a place where favoritism -- based on anything other than skill and power -- is all but nonexistent?
Before Jesus turned pro, he spent a week at the Kronk gym in Detroit training for that inevitability. This is Emanuel Steward's place, and in late January, he invited the best amateurs in the country -- and some professionals -- to show up and fight. No frills, just sweat and blood. No judges were around, no records kept. Only two guys at a time in the ring preparing for the future. It was the boxing equivalent of Harlem street hoops; respect was what was on the line.
Jesus was trying to cut weight, trying to make 152 pounds, so when he boxed at the Kronk, he often wore long-sleeve shirts and cargo pants. On his hands were huge yellow gloves, nearly comical in their dimensions, that protected his fists and built his strength. At the Kronk, it was nearly as important for Jesus to train well as to win. Nearly.
"He whupped everybody," Emanuel Steward recalls.
Guys his weight, heavyweights, professionals -- it didn't matter. If they wanted to come at Jesus hard and fast, he'd return the favor until they'd be doubled over, protecting themselves in a corner. Then he'd slow it down. Work through his combinations. On a whim, he'd speed it up again. The opponents would retreat again, protecting themselves once more.
Jesus fought eight guys that week. He dominated every one.
Jesus knocked most guys down. If he'd been wearing lighter gloves, he brags, he would have knocked them out. Maybe so. When he sparred with Eric Kelly (a 170-pound 2000 Olympic hopeful out of Brooklyn), he knocked Kelly clean out of the ring.
Most of the time, guys wouldn't watch the sparring that closely, preferring to hit the speed bag instead. But when Jesus sparred, everybody watched. One of the fighters keeping a close eye on the young fighter from Phoenix was Thomas "The Hitman" Hearns, the former middleweight and light heavyweight world champion who still lives in the Detroit area.
Hearns pulled Jesus aside and told him to keep it up -- keep doing what he was doing. Maybe The Hitman saw a little of himself in the hard-punching Jesus.
For Emanuel Steward, the Kronk is proof of what's in store for Jesus Gonzales. But maybe it's best to also remember what happened two months after Jesus mowed down or bowled over everybody at the Kronk.
For whatever reason -- politics, fatigue, racism, illness, lack of skill, lack of savvy -- he lost to Andre Dirrell.
E-mail paul.kix@newtimes.com, or call 602-238-4807.
