It is a moment not soon forgotten.
In the arena of the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, where so many big fights of the modern era have taken place, George Foreman's quixotic quest to regain the heavyweight championship of the world seemed to be drawing to a close.
When he came back to the ring after a decade in retirement to earn a bit of money, it was treated as a joke. Foreman didn't look like his former self, he was overweight and moved at a glacial pace, and as he knocked out a succession of tomato cans, his was almost a circus act.
But he didn't quit, he started to perform better, he was credible losing a decision to Evander Holyfield in a championship fight - and at the same time, reinvented himself as a jolly, grill-peddling huckster. There would be this one last bout against Michael Moorer, who had claimed the linear heavyweight title from Holyfield, one last payday, and then Foreman would be off to retirement again, enjoying the last laugh.
Moorer won the first nine rounds - or, more precisely, he won every second of every minute of the first nine rounds.
Then in the 10th, Foreman started tapping him with the jab, and then tapping him a little harder, and then from nowhere came a short right hand, and Moorer was on his back unconscious, and Foreman was in the corner on his knees, praying, and a whole bunch of assumptions about what old meant, about what was deemed impossible, flew right out the window.
It is in that context that one has to view the WBC light-heavyweight championship bout Saturday at the sold out Pepsi Colisée between the champion Jean Pascal, a fine young Quebec fighter just now approaching his prime, and Bernard Hopkins, who if he wins will break Foreman's record, becoming the oldest world champion (28 days shy of his 46th birthday) in the sport's long history.
Hopkins, when it comes to boxing ancients, is actually more Archie Moore than Foreman. Employing a full arsenal of skills, he isn't a caricature of his younger self (he had his first professional bout in 1988, after spending five years in prison, and held the middleweight title for 10 years, successfully defending it 20 times), but rather a reasonable facsimile, both in terms of style and physique. He is a clean liver, a constant trainer, and it shows.
Though there has been some diminution of his work rate, a succession of bright young fighters have found to their great surprise that Father Time does indeed play favourites: Kelly Pavlik, Winky Wright, Antonio Tarver all bet that Hopkins was finished, and all bet wrong (never mind the close losses to Jermain Taylor - twice - and Joe Calzaghe, in which Hopkins pushed undefeated fighters to the limit).
"It means a lot to be able to still compete in a young man's sport," Hopkins said during the prefight build-up - during which he's done his best to wear the black hat, coming into Pascal's backyard. "I'm a guy that the boxing world said should have been gone 10 years ago because of his age, not because he got his ass kicked. So I feel that it's a great accomplishment to beat George Foreman's record. … All of this stuff is great. All of this is historic. It's something that's outside of what everybody else is doing in boxing, whether young, whether you're middle-aged or whether you're considered old. This is a time where I get to decide. … I'm not here, you all, because I can't get away and walk away. I'm here because my body still can do it. I'm here because I did the things that I was supposed to do early to be able to be here now."
So to heck with the dying of the light. Let's sit back, and enjoy watching the old professor fight.
A quick plug
Art Hafey, who hails from Stellarton, N.S., is largely a forgotten figure, even for devoted Canadian boxing fans, but he shouldn't be. For a time during the 1970s he was the No. 1 contender for the featherweight championship of the world, a star in the red-hot Southern California scene at the Olympic Auditorium and Fabulous Forum, and by any measure one of the finest fighters this country has produced. But Hafey never got his title shot, he never made his fortune, and he wound up back in Pictou County, partially blind and wondering how he had missed the gravy train. Hafey's story is the subject of an excellent documentary, The Toy Tiger, written, directed and produced by Brad Little, that has won film festival accolades, and that is available on DVD only to the end of this calendar year. (You can find it at toytigermovie.com). The film is a bit rough around the edges, and there are places where you can tell that it doesn't have an HBO-level budget. But it's packed with great fight and interview footage, capturing a special time and place in the history of the sport, and telling the story of a lost Canadian sports hero.