A Night on Earth: Bobby Chacon vs Bazooka Limon IV
This was a time when title fights still went fifteen rounds and you could be the champion of the world and no one would know your name. On the 11th of December 1982, Bobby 'Schoolboy' Chacon fought Rafael 'Bazooka' Limon for the fourth time. The fight marked the only time the pair would compete against one another for a title, the WBC Super Featherweight Championship of the World, and it would be the final encounter of their careers. To the winner, the right to call yourself a champion and to fight another day; to the loser, the last big payday life. On one night in Northern California, Bobby Chacon freed himself from the shackles of professional sports competition and transformed a 17x17 ring into an arena of human experience so magnificent that if it had been Baryshnikov at the ballet the whole world would have stopped to watch. For Chacon and Limon however, this was simply another footnote in the history of a sport which does not care about your sacrifice.
Bobby Chacon's wife, Valorie, unable to convince Chacon of the toll boxing was taking on his body, committed suicide some months before the fight. This wouldn't deter Bobby however, his ten year old professional career would continue until 1989. It would be narratively convenient for everyone involved if Chacon/Limon IV had marked the end of Chacon's career, but boxing isn't a business of convenience or narrative. You start fighting because you have to, and you continue to fight because the system fattens you on money and thanks. After this fight, Chacon engaged in several more savage battles with the likes of: Boza Edwards, Ray Mancini, Arturo Frias, and Rafael Solis. He died in 2016, aged 64, broke, and suffering the effects of dementia pugilistica (boxer's syndrome, AKA: CTE).
ROUND ONE: Limon in the green, Chacon in the red, march towards the centre. The southpaw and the orthodox fighter open up with early swings and misses. They tease each other. They dance in the circle, waiting for the other to make that first attempt to establish the jab. Limon hits the shoulder, parrying Bobby's inquisitive strikes. The first barrage unloads, the two men opening fire at one another. Limon's huge uppercut misses and Chacon hooks him over the top! The timid flirting which opens the round gives way to that desire to grasp at an early advantage. It's not without principles, it's without fear. Limon lets out a combination to the body and to the head. Thirty second warning and it's apparent that neither Chacon nor Limon came into this fight planning to start slow. The bell rings as both connect with crosses to the head of the other.
-Limon comes out of the first looking better. Chacon doesn't get his hands up to protect against the jab, he doesn't even look to move his head out of the way. He's taking each shot clean and one begins to wonder how long this fight could continue if this is allowed to carry on. Limon takes the edge.
ROUND TWO: The way Chacon moves in the opening of this round accentuates the reach difference between the pair. While both Chacon and Limon stand at 5ft 5 and a half, Limon is able to keep Chacon away with his longer arms. Chacon is fighting up hill, trying to slip underneath Limon's strikes and get to the inside where he can make that right hand effective. The referee breaks up the fight as some shots are falling below the belt. The crowd is starting to get a little edgy. The fight's back on and the consequences of Limon's jab are starting to appear on the face of Chacon as Bobby lands a few shots over the guard. Limon has Chacon against the corner! He's wailing on him with everything he's got and Bobby is still standing, uppercut after savage uppercut. The strikes form a bombardment as the crowd begins to wonder if there's a way out for their hero. Chacon takes advantage of a missed hook and finds the space for his right hand. He's created the gap he needed to get out of the corner and Limon looks a little rattled. The crowd pushes Bobby onwards, willing him onto the offensive. Chacon goes on the counter attack, pushing Limon against the ropes with a series of big punches. Everywhere Limon tries to go Bobby is with him, closing the ground. The timekeeper stops the round with a ring of his bell.
-Round two had more peaks and valleys than the seismograph readings of the California fault lines. Both men had the other reeling at various points but neither could land the killing blow and neither could allow themselves to be the first to give up ground. Scorecard looked even after two rounds.
ROUND THREE: 'I don't know if it will go that far' the commentator says reminding us that this fight is set for fifteen rounds. Chacon rocks Limon with a right that has him nearly keeling over. Bobby smells blood in the water and leaps into the fray, but Bazooka hits a right that stops the Schoolboy in his tracks. The crowd erupts into a chorus, chanting: 'BOBBY! BOBBY! BOBBY!' Neither man will allow the other to open up any kind of weakness or gap in their play. Limon seizes the upper-hand, working the jab, taunting Chacon, trying to get him to come inside. Chacon goes down! He stumbles for a moment and is straight on his feet but the referee is counting it as a knockdown, the referee gives him the standing eight-count.
-Another back and forth rally, and, whilst things remain even in the ring, that knockdown is going to effect things on the scorecard. Bobby needs to take control of the fight if he's going to win. The fight is threatening to go either way and remains deeply competitive. Limon is working the body, Chacon is looking for any opportunity to land with that boulder of a right hand.
ROUND FOUR: A round made out of an individual moment. Bobby Chacon refuses to die in the corner. Every trench he's found himself backed into he's worked his way out of. An accidental headbutt cuts Chacon's nose, but there's no sign of it interfering with the fight just yet.
ROUND FIVE: 'Recognition, that's what Chacon wants.'
ROUND SIX: Game little men in a big brawl. Bobby is finally breaking through Limon's defences. Those big right hands are starting to sneak their way through the tired parries. Each right that hits carries something of the will of the spectator within it. The crowd moves with Bobby, demanding that the 30yr old fighter refuse to give up on a career built for nights like this. This is not the indifferent audience of bloodsport, but the sound of a people collectively realising that nights like this define lives. They've chosen their side and are going to carry him over the line for them.
ROUND SEVEN: Vaseline and grease above the eye to cover up the nicks and cuts. That leading right hand connects again and again and again. You've got to fight your way out of it every time. It's no use dying on your feet like that. A good left hand, a good right hand, and Chacon screams that he can take more than that.
ROUND EIGHT: Limon's tired, he's not moving the way he used to. He's not blocking the body. Bobby keeps breaking to the inside, lighting up the champion's torso. Bazooka's head snaps back, another huge right. Bobby's dominating now, Limon stumbles forward in lethargy hoping to snag a quick knockdown, but the Schoolboy's there. Both men smell it, that hint of doubt that opens up weaknesses in a man's heart. The fear's there to be exploited.
ROUND NINE: Basic boxing logic suggests that we're moving into Limon's territory. The quicker, more defensive Mexican fighter looking to dominate the American as he tires. And yet, Bobby is moving better than he did in the early rounds, he's ducking and diving faster than he did in the early rounds. Both men are still swinging like they're hammering through granite. There is no defence in that traditional sense. In the sense that you try to avoid getting hit. The Schoolboy and the Bazooka are taking each other's best because neither of them came this far to run away. You only duck if there's a chance the strike will be a guillotine. The fighters seem insistent on allowing the hit so they can open up gaps to strike back, tactical self-destruction. Limon's losing this battle of wills, everyone in the room can feel it, but he will not go down. He doesn't know where he is, and no one in the room, especially not Bobby, can understand how he's still on his feet. The bell rings in an act of mercy.
ROUND TEN: 27 Minutes have past. The arms are heavy, the ring is huge, and the adrenal glands are nuclear. And Bobby's down! Completely against the run of the action. Limon finds something within himself, that second wind of spirit that defines a champion, and lands a huge strike on Chacon. Everyone is stunned. Can Limon take advantage of it? Is the slip the exposed weakness he needs? Five good rounds for Bobby, undone in a with a flashy flick of the wrist. That's the risk you take when you fight to win. Round Ten: Bazooka Limon.
ROUND ELEVEN: It's as though the last round never happened. That cut on Chacon's nose is reopened but he keeps scoring.
ROUND TWELVE: If this fight had taken place in 2021, this would be the finale. But, in 1982 we see the last hoorah of the true prizefight. The Super Featherweight Champion of the World would be decided after 45 minutes. Limon has two knockdowns, but Chacon has been relentless since the fifth round. The scorecard is anyone's to take a guess at.
ROUND THIRTEEN: The doctor isn't going to stop this fight. Anything but a decisive victory for either fighter and the audience burn the ballroom to the ground. The day before the fight: The Weigh-In, neither fighter looked at one another, so deep is this feud that's been raging since 1975. A decision win each and a technical draw for an unintentional headbutt in 1979. A left hand and a right hand connect at the same time, staggering both. Bobby rallies quickest and leaps onto his wounded prey, Limon, realising he just has to stay alive tries to force some distance. If he can't keep his distance he has to lock Bobby up, keep him in the clinch until the end of the round. The fight is long past intelligence, existing purely in the realm of instinct. Limon's legs are buckling, you can see it. Bobby's chopping down the tree. Grabbing and clawing, the clinch is the only thing that keeps the Mexican Bazooka in the fight as the bell rings.
ROUND FOURTEEN: The flame is rising through the wick and is inching its way closer to the powder keg. The referee has to intervene, there's too much holding. Holding isn't in the spirit of this fight, it can't be allowed to sully the purity of the dance. We're beyond watching two human beings, we're under the spell of a romanticism. Chacon and Limon aren't fighters, they're matadors or painters engaged in pure instinctual magic and we are honoured to witness it. You punch, I punch, we both find our mark clean. They're standing in the ring, launching every last bit of energy they could muster at one another. This isn't how real boxing is supposed to be. No one's supposed to want a leather strap with a bit of metal screwed to it this much. This is the boxing of fiction. It's boxing as we want it to be. It's a human simply trying to triumph over another human in the hopes that other humans acknowledge them. It's beautiful, it's heartbreaking, it's everything the 21st century media hype machine promises life to be but fails to fulfil.
ROUND FIFTEEN: They made it. Beyond any possible comprehension they have made it to the final round. Chacon is boxing like a man completely possessed; Limon is on his feet by the grace of God. The savage beauty of the sweet science is on full display as the Schoolboy is leaping into every punch, hoping that it'll be the one to take down the Super Flyweight king. On this night Bobby is king and he knows it! He smells the next ten years, the next dozen paychecks, the next magazine cover, it's all there if he can get Limon to the mat. Limon has nothing left, he's showing nothing, it's a miracle he's still moving. CHACON GETS THE KNOCKDOWN. 26 SECONDS ON THE CLOCK. Limon topples like the Colossus of Rhodes. He barely gets to his feet, but the bell signals the end of the fight. The Sacramento Auditorium has exploded; the powder keg has erupted. Somehow, both fighters are standing at the finish.
The great trainer/commentator, Teddy Atlas, once said: 'A fight is not a fight until there's resistance, until there's something to overcome. Until then it's just an athletic venture. I think life is like that.' I think what he means is that, everything, regardless of what you choose to do with your life, prior to facing an obstacle is merely sport. The measure of your spirit is found in how you reacted to the moments when you actually had to choose between pushing forward or going home. The triumph of this spirit in the face of the fight, is the thing which makes myths out of men. We long to be Spartacus because Spartacus dared to live free. We read Superman and Batman comic books because we dream that we too can dodge the bullet. We surround ourselves with myths and legends because deep down we all know that when it comes time to face whatever wolf is knocking on the door that we will fight it the way they did. In reality, this isn't always the case, it can't always be the case. We have just as many myths about the failure in the heart of men. On this night in December 1982, Bobby Chacon entered into combat with another man, fighting for the prospect of potential immortality, and for one hour both men transcended beyond their lives and into a magical space unfathomable to you and I. You don't need to watch this fight if you don't want to, that's not the point. The point is simply to share a moment in time which so deeply captures something wonderfully human. This is the story of two men willing to kill themselves for five minutes where they got to celebrate being the best in the world. On that night, Bobby Chacon became more than a California college drop out, he became more than Bobby Chacon. Only the greats know the silence they leave behind.
For history's sake, I can tell you that Bobby Chacon won this fight on the judges scorecard: 142-141, 142-141, and 143-141. That final knockdown crowned Bobby Chacon the World Champion for the second time (The first being the WBC Featherweight Championship in 1974). I don't really think that matters. What matters is, that for 45 minutes, Bobby Chacon and Bazooka Limon engaged in one of the most beautiful expressions of human passion ever put to film and, ultimately, few people know and fewer people care. These two aren't like Ali, or Tyson, or Holyfield. They didn't get the coverage of Leonard, Hearns, Haggler, or Duran. It's said of boxing that you shouldn't do it if you don't have to but, if you do, you need to make enough money to get out quickly. Boxing isn't a sport for people who fit into society as it is now. It's for people who are so desperate to be acknowledged that they are willing to punch and be punched repeatedly for night like the one above. The human body is not designed to live like that. Bobby Chacon made a small name for himself having fights exactly like this. Every fight was a fight -- not an athletic endeavour -- a fight. He made a point of being able to power through the toughest situations because he knew that's what we want and what we need from our heroes. But, eventually, Bobby couldn't do it anymore and the world moved on without him. If you watch interviews with Chacon in the last few years of his life, he could barely speak and barely remember his name. The cost of his magic was Chacon's life, and the life of his first wife. I don't know what the cost of greatness is. What I know is, for one night, we got to watch the kind of magnificent display of heroism that deserves to stand as a testament to what it truly means to exist. Do you know, I mean really know, about the straight right hand of Bobby Chacon?
Bobby Chacon vs Bazooka Limon IV: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAcwAEZkzhk
R. T. Sweeney