By Patrick Kehoe

Marco Antonio Barrera has been taking Manchester England by stealth. The Mexican legend has been looking interviewer after interviewer in the eye over the last week patiently, and in his measured English, stating what he feels is the obvious case. He’s going to beat Amir Khan, the Bolton lightweight wonder kid of British boxing, just as he’s beaten a virtual who’s who of three generations of world class boxers, over his 20 year boxing career. “This is nothing new for me,” Barrera assures with iced brown eyes that don’t seem to blink, concentrated alertness his natural state of being.

Of course, Marco Antonio Barrera, now thirty-five years old, points to his experience as his main advantage over his rising star of an opponent, England’s twenty-two year-old fast hitting Olympic idol turned ambitious pro prospect on the cusp, Kahn. The word experience translates for Barrera as tactical awareness under fire and the proven ability to keep clear headed, compelling the body past momentary pain, confusion and unscripted duress, so that micro-adjustments can be made.

Even in recent fights that didn’t go his way, as against Juan Manuel Marquez, Barrera fought with his classic composure and punishing effectiveness. That much about the great Barrera’s over all ability hasn’t changed too much. Allowing for flowing combinations to come out sporadically, so as to produce scattered fire, or off timing a jab, unleashing counters under then over, working to the body for an entire round, loading up with right hand leads and left hooks to the liver, all of those are options Barrera might choose against Kahn, to counter act Kahn’s orthodox fast jab, quick footed, stylistics. 

With Barrera, his greatness has been build upon big left hooks in his daring youth and then a steely adroitness, acquired in mid career, producing creative flourishes of masterful boxing dictations. And it will be Barrera the boxer who must now establish those intricate patterns of economic boxing against the speedy Khan, saving “the baby faced assassin” for any last minute, back against the wall scenarios that might arise in madcap Manchester.

If Barrera is not jabbing, then Kahn is really in trouble; Marco Antonio Barrera only discards his jab when his disdain for an opponent has become so peeked no respect remains or when he and Erik Morales are in the final rounds of one of their savage honour-or-die wars of attrition. And no, Amir Kahn is not Erik Morales, nor made from the same mould. Still, Barrera knows full well anything may be required of him. Age and experience has taught him to be ready for the best in any opponent and the worst that may come his way, no matter his will and skill.

Seventy two fights and three weight divisions of Hall of Fame boxing into his storied career, Barrera tries to convince the media that he doesn’t mind having to cross the Atlantic Ocean and fight in Ricky Hattonland, against a guy with twenty fights no less, including a first round wake-up call knockout loss just two fights ago. Even legends, it seems, have to swim against the tides of economic necessity and the travails of being an aging ring master; thus, Barrera flies to Manchester, England to fight a 5’10” lightweight he might otherwise spar with somewhere in the convections of the California training camp world of mentoring opportunism, that tends to blend generations and passing fortunes. He’s being a true green soldier seeking an independent fortune and life after Golden Boy Promotions, taking his own name and shield to fight a war on foreign shores, making his personal destiny fill in for Oscar De La Hoya’s entity of global concern.

Barrera, minus Golden Boy, has the vested interest in his own honour and future in the boxing ring. Still, he’d rather cast himself in the guise of Shane Mosley or Bernard Hopkins rather than Oscar Del La Hoya, as far as his former fighting partners go. With Manny Pacquiao’s centrifugal career density gathering in most of the known universe of little men boxing auroras, Barrera – like Marquez – sees the penultimate possibilities looming. Barrera can observe for himself just how much cosmic gold dust waits but a fight or two away from a repurposed, reinvested Marco Antonio Barrera, the Mexican legend coming off a sensational knockout of Amir Khan. It’s as if an internal teleprompter has been screening the headlines of his Manchester mashing of Khan inside his brain for the last month. And, at first, we thought it was just the old Barrera prefight facade of confidence cool.

Yes, no one need remind Barrera just how important losing to Marquez two years ago – March 17, 2007 – has become, for the overall course of his late career championship boxing prospects. Though one wonders how he would have stood up to the wind-milling Juan Diaz onslaught in Houston, Texas, which Marquez solved mainly with sheer power authorized by a signature uppercuts. And thus, it’s Barrera who must fight the prospects, and in the person of Amir Khan, fight the Freddie Roach tutored youngster before a beer sodden, chanting stadium horde, at the famed MEN Arena. Winning, after all, does expedite matters financial and logistical for big time fighters. Sure, we could envision Barrera’s perfectly thrown right hand that decked Marquez, in the seventh round, as a fight stopper, rewriting their respective fates. But what’s the point of day dreaming when so much vulnerability readies for display?

Barrera’s name and fame have him in the ring of opulent possibilities anyway, fighting on the road, with his career at the top squarely on the line. He’s right. Nothing has really changed for Barrera. A win puts him into the vital mix with names like Marquez and Pacquiao and who knows Mayweather? Why? Barrera is revered, if not always adored, as an incontestable giant among the living legends battling it out for future mega-bout status and theoretically a date with Floyd Mayweather. But is he a winnable win away? Barrera believes in himself. Believes in all the names animating the lightweight and light-welterweight divisions interwoven, mega-fight destinies constellating because one man’s destiny seems bound up in all those concerned, positioned, anticipating every move, every result hard earned by the other. Considering all of this historical speculation in the making, for the taking, Barrera must wonder, ‘who the hell does this Khan kid think he is?’

Whoever he believes he is; that’s who. And then Barrera remembers what he must remember. Nothing can be taken for granted, nothing and no one, especially pretentious talents who don’t know exactly into what they are headed. Yes, clichés can be signposts. For Barrera knows, remembers, the fierce side of youthful rising blood, fighting without the jaded perspective accumulated reservation. You just let your hands go and trust in your natural ability, applied through the easy method of your trained technique, for all you are worth, all reflex and impassioned expectation, a dangerous mixture. 

Old, great fighters like Marco Antonio Barrera do understand that each and every fight is a one off deal, fully contained within its self. No promises, leading to promises of glory when winning is secured. The fighter concerned need only be exceptional for the contest at hand, for as long as it goes, no matter the direction or severity. For the purpose of winning, an entire future does not exist; there is no career, no body of work past or future.

Barrera must keep to his technical advantages, where he finds them; Khan must keep applying the advantages he takes into the ring, ordained by simple biology.

Barrera knows only a few more great outings is required of him, a summation of all he’s ever been, everything he’s already accomplished and proven. Everything loads up for great fighters at the end of a career, especially a great career, in the guises of immanent opportunity recast, more money and more glory, almost enough for the imaginings of egoistic men like boxing champions.

For Khan all of this is hypothetical, a possible truth he can someday embody to someday be. Something close to being alike a Marco Antonio Barrera, conqueror of all he surveyed, until the bitter end?

And those brown eyes tell us, Barrera doesn’t see anything except victory, when he dares to let himself glimpse tomorrow. He’s never been able to stop doing that.

Patrick Kehoe may be reached at pkehoe@telus.net