As the prospect of a match up between Pound for Pound King, Manny Pacquiao and Miguel Cotto draws nearer to materializing, Shane Mosley finds himself in a frustrating position. After his impressive January win over Antonio Margarito, Mosley reinstated himself as a legitimate contender in the welterweight division. Many took to drawing similitudes between his condition and that of Bernard Hopkins. They were drinking the same elixir of youth, grasping the mantle of victory in contests where few gave them a chance to do so. So, inevitably Mosley came to wonder, why shouldn’t he have the opportunity to fight Pacquiao next?
Mosley, at thirty-seven years old, may have looked entirely rejuvenated in his last outing against Antonio Margarito, but having a showing reminiscent of the capabilities of Bernard Hopkins doesn’t mean that he has the same DNA. Inevitably, maintenance of that condition will be challenged by Father Time, and the expanse between thirty- seven and forty-four in boxing years is gargantuan. Against Margarito, Mosley appeared to be the Sugar Shane of old, all sweetness in the execution of his craft. But the opponent standing in front of him assisted that in every possible way. Up to their January bout, Margarito was chronically avoided due to his almost superhuman willingness to walk through assaults in order to mount his own. Though he is a fighter riddled with shortcomings (he comes forward in straight lines, squares up, and doesn’t think much of defense), he focuses doggedly on his target. He concentrates on this target in the manner of one who has been put under a spell; somehow temporarily rendered impervious to the sensations of pain and fatigue; reanimated for one purpose alone: to destroy. His trainer, Javier Capetillo served as conjurer, rasping orders into his ear.
The night he met Shane Mosley at The Staples Center in Los Angeles, Margarito was forced to perform as a lesser version of himself, both literally and figuratively. Before the fight, a foreign substance was found in Margarito’s hand wraps. The deceit was detected by Mosley’s trainer, Nazim Richardson, during the routine inspection. The hand wraps were confiscated and any lengthy consideration was unnecessary in presuming what Margarito must have been thinking. Whether he knew of the tampering with the hand wraps or not, and Capetillo insisted he didn’t, he knew he was in trouble. Stripped of his battle implement, one that potentially assisted him in an unknowable number of fights, he was helpless against Mosley. Without doubt, the uncertainty of what was about to come was playing ceaselessly on his mind, and that kind of distraction drowns out even the most emphatic of incantations. Margarito was reduced to mere mortality; more capable of being hurt, less capable of inflicting hurt.
It would have served Margarito far better if the Shane Mosley who fought Ricardo Mayorga had shown up on that night, but it wasn’t to be. Mosley had a new lease on life. He was separated from his wife and had taken on a new trainer in Richardson. He was mentally prepared for the challenge that lay ahead of him. He knew the reputation of Margarito going into the bout, and he was stepping up to the plate by taking on a fight that it seemed no one else wanted. He was going to prove that he had been restored to the Shane of old, and that he did. Whatever the condition of Margarito mentally on that night, whatever his shortcomings, they cannot detract from what Mosley was able to accomplish against him. He was fast, focused, determined, and intelligent; a reminder of the style that had at one time earned him the title as Pound for Pound King. He looked like a fighter at the top of his game, and one that could offer a legitimate threat to any of the division’s elite.
At this point in time, Manny Pacquiao has been fabricated into a practically untouchable entity. He is the man everyone wants. He is the man who generates the kind of money that makes the risk of challenging him worthwhile. He has taken on the mythically proportioned title of “The New Henry Armstrong.” Miguel Cotto now seems to be the one getting the next crack at the golden egg, which is certainly not undeserved, but is also not the most expedient choice. The convenience of setting up a match between two of Top Rank’s most prominent fighters is obvious, but it doesn’t fully respect the integrity of the welterweight field. There is an order that should be observed. And Mosley is next in line. At his age, with his past accomplishments, and his past identity as Pound for Pound King, he deserves a chance to see if there is any water left in the well. Mosley has been voicing his discontent at the choice of Cotto, claiming a bit unfairly that Cotto had all he could handle in Joshua Clottey. It’s important to mention though, that Clottey is a difficult opponent for any fighter; like Luis Collazo, he always comes up a bit short in the elite ranks, but creates havoc while there nonetheless.
In 2007, Miguel Cotto won a unanimous decision against Shane Mosley. This has been offered as reasoning for bypassing Mosley and going directly to Cotto. But that Shane Mosley, the one who lost to Cotto, isn’t the one who has been witnessed recently. This one, at least for now, shows the promise of reclamation, of restoring himself to his old self. He deserves the opportunity to see what he can do. Suggesting that Mosley wouldn’t be able to generate enough money to make the fight worthwhile is untrue. His fight against Margarito drew out a huge number at The Staples Center. There is a definite interest in seeing Shane test himself against the best. Oscar had his chance to see if he was still golden; Shane deserves his. In the end, if Pacquiao were to dispose of Mosley in the manner of De La Hoya, he would be criticized yet again for the superfluous destruction of a has-been. And that’s a label that is hardly unfamiliar to him.
Without Pacquiao in his future, Mosley does have options. The welterweight division is one of the most impressive in boxing, with interesting match ups figuring almost every which way. There is the up and coming talent, Andre Berto, as a possibility. There is Kermit Cintron, whose only two losses came at the hands of Antonio Margarito, and no one can be sure what was packed on those hands at the time. And then there is Paul Williams, the impossibly rangy, endurance driven menace to the division. If Mosley has complete faith in himself, and is willing to risk all to prove his point at a slightly less glamorous level, he should challenge Williams. Nobody would be able to ignore the man who lays Williams down at his feet. Not even a King…
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