When I spoke with Jose Luis on Thursday, the very first thing I noticed were his cheekbones, for they seemed higher than normal; and then I took note of his jaw line, for it was more than just defined and salient: It was like that of a skeleton. And so I thought then, There is no way Jose Luis won't make weight. He's obviously so frightened of failing the scale that he has taken this drastic precaution; he has desiccated himself to his irreducible minimum.
What neither I nor anyone else other than Jose Luis Castillo knew at that moment was that it had apparently become a physical impossibility for his body, now 32 years old, to any longer make the lightweight limit of 135 pounds. (This is not uncommon in boxing. Very few non-heavyweight fighters remain at the same weight class their entire careers, for as they age their bodies mature and thus become more resistant to weight classes they had no problem achieving in their youth.) With his words slow and drawn-out, and his typical rapid Spanish impeded by severe lassitude, as if he had just walked across the many deserts that separate Las Vegas from his hometown of Empalme, Sonora, Mexico, Jose Luis told me: "I'm not worried about fighting Corrales on Saturday—I know I'm going to knock him out. It's weighing in tomorrow that I'm worried about."
As everyone knows by now, his fight with Diego Corrales, scheduled for Saturday, June 3, a day that could not approach soon enough for both faithful and nontraditional boxing fans, was cancelled. Because Jose Luis missed the weight. Even after two hours of sweating and exercising in a sauna on Friday, he could not negotiate his bare-bones body below 139 1/2 pounds. His reproach was not a lack of discipline, for in his skeletal face and sluggish speech anyone could see without equivocation that he had done everything possible with his diet and training to make weight. No: It was a lack of honesty. Either he was dishonest with the boxing world (which put tons of money into this fight: more than 10,000 fans paid for tickets; the cable network Showtime pumped millions into the event; and the patriarch of Las Vegas spectacles himself, Steve Wynn, put more than just his money into the mix—he invested his name and reputation), knowing when he signed the fight that his body was no longer capable of making the inflexible lightweight limit, and then giving false reports when his body weight was periodically checked throughout training camp, and even up until Thursday afternoon, by boxing officials. Or Jose Luis Castillo was dishonest with himself, convincing his own mind of a reality that was no longer plausible for his body. Having gotten to know Jose Luis from my exhaustive story on the legendary rematch between him and Diego Corrales last year, I tend to think it was the latter—that out of competitive pride and sheer stubbornness he told himself that he would again—just one more time—make that rigorous and formidable 135-pound limit.
In other words, his fault was not missing the weight; it was taking the fight in the first place.
When Jose Luis agreed to fight Diego Corrales for a third time, for the lauded lightweight championship of the world, a rubber match that would once and for all settle the score between these two mythical men, it was to do just that: prove that he was the better of the two unparalleled fighters, and therefore the best lightweight boxer in the world. He had been the reigning champion before Diego Corrales took his belt last May, in their first meeting, an historical fight that might well have been the best clash (on an athletic level, a literary level, a philosophical level—you name it) since Roman gladiators were pitted against one another with their lives on the line more than 2,000 years ago. He would have won it back last October, when in their rematch Jose Luis knocked Diego out with an instantaneous and eternal left hook, but he had failed to make the lightweight limit for that fight, too, registering in at 138 pounds the day before. (This should have been the indicator for him, that his body could no longer, even after all the sweat and sacrifice of training in the austere mountains for months at a time, make 135 pounds. Because up to that fight he had been on record as saying that it had become progressively harder for him to make that limit.) And so this was his final chance to prove that none—not Diego Corrales nor anyone else—was better than he. He told me that he was aware of the compound significance surrounding the fight—the historical implications for the sport; the cultural implications for Las Vegas, the town without a professional sports team but famous for, and largely defined by, its Fight Nights; and the fiscal implication for all the people who devoted money and manpower into this highlighted event—but to him, it was just another day of business. It is how he earns his daily bread, and it is how he satisfies his soul. In essence, it was the same thing Diego had been saying to me all along, and it's the same mind-set any boxer needs to have going into a big fight, lest he lose himself in the hoopla. That is, lest he be not his best. And because boxing is no game, the ramifications can be more devastating that just an "L" on an athlete's record when he is anything less than his best.
Had Jose Luis' motivation been all those calculable factors and not his immeasurable competitive pride, I, a former athlete, do not believe it would have made a single ounce of difference. He wanted nothing more than to fight Diego Corrales, earn back his lightweight championship, and earn his $1 million payday in the process. Plus, he knew that he had several more lucrative fights lined up for him so long as he fought and beat Corrales. But nature—uncompromising and unconquerable—just wouldn't permit it.
But no matter: Everyone suffers now. The fans. Not just those who paid for plane tickets all the way out to Southern Nevada, those who booked hotel rooms and necessary accommodations, those who purchased seats at the Thomas & Mack, but also those who had been eagerly anticipating the third installment to the epic trilogy between Jose Luis Castillo, a man cultivated in the very earth of Mexico and who rose to improbable heights from under the venerable wing of Hall-of-Fame boxer Julio Cesar Chavez, and Diego Corrales, a stellar athlete who without trying says and does all the right things simply because he is one of the few who gets it; a bout which was assured to be full of action, full of adrenaline, full of entertainment worthy not only of a man's dollar but also his time and even his admiration; a fight that would, from the pit of Las Vegas, bellow loud and unbridled: "This is boxing in its incorruptible form, courageous and captivating and oh so cinematic! This is what made it great, and this [in longtime promoter Bob Arum's words] is why it is synonymous with Las Vegas in minds all across the world."
Instead, there was a funereal ambience spread dark and ineludible throughout the Thomas & Mack on Saturday evening, and for the 2,000 or so fans who showed up despite the terminated fight, the night was, in reality, a non-event.
All those who devoted their time, money, and reputation suffer too. The Bob Arums and Steve Wynns and Showtime television networks, and even the city of Las Vegas itself.
And Diego Corrales, for now he, after training his heart out for 10 weeks, not only misses out on his chance to fight and make money, but also must drown side by side with Jose Luis for belonging to the greatest fight that never happened.
But, above all, Jose Luis will suffer. Fans and writers who have never once stood toe-to-toe with another man in a ring, let alone had to assume a child's weight on the 5-foot-10 frame of an athletic man, have been castigating the Mexican boxer to no end. There is a good chance he will be banished from boxing, if not in all of America then at least in Las Vegas (which is too bad, in my opinion; for Jose Luis is one of the finest boxers of this era, and there are few more thrilling to watch). In the end he will be forced to compensate the fans, the benefactors, Corrales and even the sport of boxing in general. But worse: Jose Luis will have to live with himself. Diego Corrales, Bob Arum, Steve Wynn, Showtime, the sport of boxing and the magnificent city of Las Vegas—they will all rebound and prosper as usual once again. But Jose Luis' future is not so certain. Simply on account of four and a half pounds.