I didn't get a chance yesterday to mark the death of Floyd
Patterson, who was heavyweight champion of the world from
1956-1959, and then again from 1960 -1962. He was the first man to
regain the title after losing it - which is a lot easier to do
today with all the phony title belts floating around, and multiple
champions in every division.
He was an incredibly soft-spoken and gentle man, and he carried
with him, often right on the surface, a psychic fragility that
would have destroyed lesser men. Most fighters are desperate to
repress their vulnerability and fear, even though all of them have
more of it than they'd like to admit. (Patterson, an expert on such
topics, once opined that Muhammad Ali's excessive boasting was
mostly an effort to talk himself into confidence.) The press at one
point dubbed Patterson Freudian Floyd, and he became infamous for
leaving the arena in disguise after his humiliating defeats to
Sonny Liston. But he also learned how to use fear to his advantage
in the ring and, Liston excepted, face down his adversaries on even
terms. He came from the rough streets of Brooklyn's Bedford
Stuyvesant neighborhood, where he had a similar early life to
Brownsville's Mike Tyson, and they were trained by the same man -
Cus D'Amato. But where Tyson progressed all the way to becoming a
human beast, Patterson became a sportsman, a gentleman, and a
citizen, beloved by his neighbors and fellow parishioners in his
adopted hometown of New Paltz, New York.
Patterson may have been the most maligned champion in history.
Undersized (he would have been a fabulous light heavyweight), with
a very suspect chin, he was knocked down an astonishing 19 times in
his career. But as he noted with his usual quiet pride: he got up
17 of those times. That may not have always translated into victory
in the ring, but it sure says something about the man.
topics:
Sports
