No refuge for the sport of boxing in Hopkins' win

All right, everybody back on the bandwagon. We picked against Bernard Hopkins, and he punished us for it. This time it was the media, not the opponent, that made Hopkins do what he did. Afterwards, gracious as ever, Hopkins showed how disgusted he was with us. So get back on the bandwagon.

Must we really?

Did the 'Executioner' win over any new fans? (Getty Images)

Maybe not. Before we begin our obligatory allusions to all-time greats, before we take an oath to write the word "legend" as often as we write the name Hopkins, we might answer this question: Did Hopkins win boxing any new fans Saturday night? Plenty of fans -- mostly from Ohio -- just left. But did the legendary all-time great Hopkins just give his sport a net win? Doubtful.

Hopkins undid Kelly Pavlik in Atlantic City on Saturday. He beat him from turnbuckle to turnbuckle and won a unanimous decision one judge had 119-106. I had it 116-110 because a fighter who stays on his feet for 12 rounds probably deserves more than 106 points.

But that's academic. The size of Hopkins' victory was larger than expected in every sense of the word.

Starting with the weigh-in. Was anybody else surprised to see Pavlik, the man who'd stood monstrously over a crumpled Jermain Taylor, look so small across from Hopkins? Pavlik held his own at the weigh-in, yes, but he could do nothing about the difference in the men's thickness. Friday afternoon, Pavlik and Hopkins looked exactly as they were: an inflated middleweight champion and a former light heavyweight champion.

Saturday came, and a master's thesis in pugilistic arts could be penned about Pavlik's undoing. I'll not try my hand at that. But I do want to explore the two most important things I saw Hopkins do once I finished thinking, "Little Kelly was supposed to wear this guy down?"

The lead left hooks to the body Hopkins threw in the opening round were the night's most important punches. From Hopkins we expected sideways movement, defensive intricacy and a sneaky right cross. But nobody expected a left to the body in the first round. Least of all Jack Loew, Pavlik's trainer.

For all the credit Hopkins gets for his mastery of footwork, rhythm and defense, he rarely impresses folks with his offense anymore. That changed Saturday. What Hopkins figured out that no one before him had -- not Edison Miranda, Jermain Taylor or Emanuel Steward -- was that Pavlik couldn't counter with his right hand, and that Pavlik's vaunted right cross never led and couldn't be converted into a counter uppercut.

Twice in the first three minutes, Hopkins moved himself away from Pavlik's jab and stung Pavlik to the body. Hopkins' second left hook left a mark. Pavlik's powdery skin turned pink exactly where Hopkins's left glove went, right where the ribcage tries to protect the liver.

What effect did Hopkins' hooks have? They made Pavlik holster his right hand. All of a sudden Pavlik's right elbow was low and tight to his body. Mechanically, Pavlik's right cross was remanded to a different plane. Psychologically, Pavlik's right cross was retired for the night.

With his primary weapon holstered, Pavlik began the second round in much worse shape than the first. He would have to manufacture momentum with his left hand alone, while providing somewhat hapless defense with his right. He would have to jab his way into contention and hope Hopkins tired.

This was when Loew began providing the only piece of advice he had: "Kelly, double-up on the jab!" Makes more sense in the corner of the ring than the center. Pavlik's jab has always been a timing device to cock, hide and trigger his right cross. Because he is longer and sturdier than opponents, Pavlik imposes his jab on middleweights. It arrives unexpectedly fast and hard. But not Saturday, and not when Pavlik is 10 pounds heavier.