He has never been a shrinking violet, a wallflower, a supporting character content with his secondary role. Instead, he has been charismatic when cast as the hero, defiant when dubbed the villain, and loquacious whenever the cameras are on, the microphones are near and the topic involves him.
And so it was his quiet that spoke volumes.
There was little of the usual bluster, less of the verbal swagger from Tarver in the months before his rematch with light heavyweight beltholder Chad Dawson. That was not the case when the two first met, when Tarver had a title around his waist and could still claim to be of consequence in their division.
It was Dawson who had given up a title belt of his own to challenge Tarver, Dawson who sought to capture the shine off one of the men who had ruled the division. That recognition had been traded between Tarver, Joe Calzaghe, Bernard Hopkins, Glen Johnson, and Roy Jones Jr., five fighters who took in the large paydays but were either approaching 40 years old or already past it.
While they reigned, Chad Dawson rose through the ranks, first as a prospect plying his trade at middleweight and super middleweight, then as a talented young fighter who would jump to 175, defeat veteran Eric Harding and then go on to do the same against Tomasz Adamek. The Adamek victory earned Dawson his world title. Beating Tarver, he thought, would bring him to the next level.
Tarver bristled at the notion of being Dawson’s stepping stone. He thought himself still to be the mountain looming over the land.
In their first meeting, Dawson, 14 years Tarver’s junior, was faster of hand and fleeter of feet, strafing him with combinations and then moving out of harm’s way. Even in rounds when Dawson was clearly taking a break, he would let Tarver throw at will and then mock him for his inability to hurt him.
Younger. Faster. Better.
Tarver, suddenly, was quieter.
He had leverage at the bargaining table. For the right to face him once, Tarver had the option of facing Dawson again. Soon after the October unanimous decision loss, Tarver exercised his contractual rematch. They would meet again.
Perhaps Tarver’s seeming civility came from a case of humility. Or maybe he was coolly confident, intent to let his fists do the talking, as they had three times before in such situations.
Harding. Jones. Johnson. Each defeated Tarver by decision once. They would not do so twice.
Tarver avenged the Harding loss in 2002, two years after the fact, via stoppage. He erased the Jones defeat in 2004, half a year after they first met, with a one-punch knockout. And he outpointed Johnson in 2005, six months after their initial bout, outworking him over 12 rounds.
Every time Tarver had a chance at a rematch, a shot at revenge, he came through. His reputation preceded him. Could he succeed once again?
Not this time.
After 12 rounds, the scorecards had Dawson ahead by nearly the same margins as before. In October, they read 118-109 and 117-110 (twice). This time, the judges’ tallies came to 117-111 (twice) and 116-112.
The fight itself looked similar. In their first meeting, Dawson had thrown 657 punches, landing 236, while Tarver connected with 226 of his 897 shots. Again, Tarver threw more punches than Dawson, sending out 749 shots but landing just 121. Dawson put forth 677 punches, landing 209.
After Tarver’s first fight with Roy Jones, he admitted to being caught occasionally watching his opponent’s hand speed. Against Dawson, Tarver often would wait to throw until his foe was finished. Dawson did the same, strategically avoiding exchanges.
But Dawson’s shots were crisper and harder. He dug into the body and then followed up top. Dawson dictated the pace early, landing more telling blows, while Tarver would throw as much but, through three, had only connected with 16 shots.
There would be no single-punch knockout, no reliance on power. But Tarver wasn’t about to roll over and surrender. He would not go out with a bang, but he would not go out with a whimper either.
There were a few rounds Tarver clearly won, when he found the energy within his 40-year-old body to go for a full three minutes. Yes, he had already been throwing more punches than Dawson. But he also needed to apply enough pressure to close the gap, to slow Dawson down.
He didn’t do enough.
When the verdict was read, Tarver remained standing, like a defendant who had just heard the sentence and now understood his fate. He walked away without comment – the cameras and the microphones were on Dawson.
There was little shame in losing. It was but a defeat, not a drubbing.
Others leave boxing too late, taking too much punishment, falling short against fighters who previously never belonged in the same ring as them, embarrassing themselves as shells of what they once were because they either do not know that it is over or cannot accept that they’ve reached the end.
If this is the end for Tarver, then it’s a fitting conclusion.
He began his run through the division at the turn of the century, working his way toward a shot at Jones until he was unavoidable. Jones returned from capturing a heavyweight title to take on Tarver, then, after winning closely and with controversy, faced Tarver again. Tarver took his fate into his own left hand and was on top from there.
He earned a role in Rocky Balboa, playing Mason “The Line” Dixon, essentially a version of himself, opposite Sylvester Stallone’s title character. Then he returned to reality, handing over the reins of the division with a loss to Bernard Hopkins.
Tarver stuck around since then, winning three fights before the pair of losses to Dawson. His return to contention meant he hadn’t stuck around for too long. That may not be true if he attempts to rise again.
To retire now would be the quiet way out. No one expects Antonio Tarver to do anything quietly. But there are plenty of outlets with cameras and microphones. And there’s always room in boxing for a man who can speak.
And so it was his quiet that spoke volumes.
There was little of the usual bluster, less of the verbal swagger from Tarver in the months before his rematch with light heavyweight beltholder Chad Dawson. That was not the case when the two first met, when Tarver had a title around his waist and could still claim to be of consequence in their division.
It was Dawson who had given up a title belt of his own to challenge Tarver, Dawson who sought to capture the shine off one of the men who had ruled the division. That recognition had been traded between Tarver, Joe Calzaghe, Bernard Hopkins, Glen Johnson, and Roy Jones Jr., five fighters who took in the large paydays but were either approaching 40 years old or already past it.
While they reigned, Chad Dawson rose through the ranks, first as a prospect plying his trade at middleweight and super middleweight, then as a talented young fighter who would jump to 175, defeat veteran Eric Harding and then go on to do the same against Tomasz Adamek. The Adamek victory earned Dawson his world title. Beating Tarver, he thought, would bring him to the next level.
Tarver bristled at the notion of being Dawson’s stepping stone. He thought himself still to be the mountain looming over the land.
In their first meeting, Dawson, 14 years Tarver’s junior, was faster of hand and fleeter of feet, strafing him with combinations and then moving out of harm’s way. Even in rounds when Dawson was clearly taking a break, he would let Tarver throw at will and then mock him for his inability to hurt him.
Younger. Faster. Better.
Tarver, suddenly, was quieter.
He had leverage at the bargaining table. For the right to face him once, Tarver had the option of facing Dawson again. Soon after the October unanimous decision loss, Tarver exercised his contractual rematch. They would meet again.
Perhaps Tarver’s seeming civility came from a case of humility. Or maybe he was coolly confident, intent to let his fists do the talking, as they had three times before in such situations.
Harding. Jones. Johnson. Each defeated Tarver by decision once. They would not do so twice.
Tarver avenged the Harding loss in 2002, two years after the fact, via stoppage. He erased the Jones defeat in 2004, half a year after they first met, with a one-punch knockout. And he outpointed Johnson in 2005, six months after their initial bout, outworking him over 12 rounds.
Every time Tarver had a chance at a rematch, a shot at revenge, he came through. His reputation preceded him. Could he succeed once again?
Not this time.
After 12 rounds, the scorecards had Dawson ahead by nearly the same margins as before. In October, they read 118-109 and 117-110 (twice). This time, the judges’ tallies came to 117-111 (twice) and 116-112.
The fight itself looked similar. In their first meeting, Dawson had thrown 657 punches, landing 236, while Tarver connected with 226 of his 897 shots. Again, Tarver threw more punches than Dawson, sending out 749 shots but landing just 121. Dawson put forth 677 punches, landing 209.
After Tarver’s first fight with Roy Jones, he admitted to being caught occasionally watching his opponent’s hand speed. Against Dawson, Tarver often would wait to throw until his foe was finished. Dawson did the same, strategically avoiding exchanges.
But Dawson’s shots were crisper and harder. He dug into the body and then followed up top. Dawson dictated the pace early, landing more telling blows, while Tarver would throw as much but, through three, had only connected with 16 shots.
There would be no single-punch knockout, no reliance on power. But Tarver wasn’t about to roll over and surrender. He would not go out with a bang, but he would not go out with a whimper either.
There were a few rounds Tarver clearly won, when he found the energy within his 40-year-old body to go for a full three minutes. Yes, he had already been throwing more punches than Dawson. But he also needed to apply enough pressure to close the gap, to slow Dawson down.
He didn’t do enough.
When the verdict was read, Tarver remained standing, like a defendant who had just heard the sentence and now understood his fate. He walked away without comment – the cameras and the microphones were on Dawson.
There was little shame in losing. It was but a defeat, not a drubbing.
Others leave boxing too late, taking too much punishment, falling short against fighters who previously never belonged in the same ring as them, embarrassing themselves as shells of what they once were because they either do not know that it is over or cannot accept that they’ve reached the end.
If this is the end for Tarver, then it’s a fitting conclusion.
He began his run through the division at the turn of the century, working his way toward a shot at Jones until he was unavoidable. Jones returned from capturing a heavyweight title to take on Tarver, then, after winning closely and with controversy, faced Tarver again. Tarver took his fate into his own left hand and was on top from there.
He earned a role in Rocky Balboa, playing Mason “The Line” Dixon, essentially a version of himself, opposite Sylvester Stallone’s title character. Then he returned to reality, handing over the reins of the division with a loss to Bernard Hopkins.
Tarver stuck around since then, winning three fights before the pair of losses to Dawson. His return to contention meant he hadn’t stuck around for too long. That may not be true if he attempts to rise again.
To retire now would be the quiet way out. No one expects Antonio Tarver to do anything quietly. But there are plenty of outlets with cameras and microphones. And there’s always room in boxing for a man who can speak.
Source: Boxing Scene
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