Guardian Newspaper: The Joy Of Six Great Boxing Rounds

 From Hagler v Hearns to Ward v Gatti via the Manassa Mauler and the Wild Bull of the Pampas, we pick six of the best rounds ever seen in the squared circle.

1) Marvin Hagler v Thomas Hearns, first round, Las Vegas, 15 April 1985 (Hagler won by third-round knockout)
It was billed, simply, as The Fight. Marvellous Marvin Hagler, the undisputed middleweight champion of the world and unbeaten since 1976, against the world's best light-middleweight, Tommy 'The Hitman' Hearns.

Hagler could box, brawl, switch-hit, punch – and his shaven skull seemed impervious to pain. Few disputed his claim never to have been hurt in the ring. Even so, many smart analysts believed Hearns possessed the tools to trouble him: he was four inches taller, a smart boxer and his outstanding record – 40-1 with 35 knockouts – advertised his punching power. Hearns was briefly a betting favourite in the week leading up to the fight. The big question was, could he use his physical advantages to outbox Hagler?

The Caesars Palace crowd never got a chance to find out. In the ring beforehand, Tommy's brother Billy taunted Hagler as he shadowboxed. "I saw him," Hagler said later. "I was thinking right then: 'All you're gonna do is get your brother's ass kicked.'"

Hagler was as good as his word. He leapt off his stool and threw a hard right, which missed, followed by a left to the body that sent Hearns towards the ropes. As Hugh McIllvaney wrote in the Observer: "The fighter who had come off the stool at him when the first bell sounded was not a Marvin Hagler anyone had ever seen before. He was a man possessed, the very incarnation of furious hostility, an enemy who shrank the ring with the heat of his malevolent intent."

Hearns, who believed that a pre-fight massage had weakened his legs, decided he had no choice but to pour hot oil on Hagler's raging fire.

He threw four hard right hands in a row, including a brutal uppercut that forced Hagler to clinch. In a matter of seconds the pattern had been set, the rules of combat laid down: Hagler the hunter, Hearns firing back at every opportunity. The gasps from the crowd whenever a punch landed told their own story.

With just over a minute left of the round, Hagler was cut on the top of his forehead. Unbeknown to anyone, Hearns had also broken his right hand on Hagler's skull. But they continued to unload bombs, with Hagler wobbling Hearns just before the bell, before glaring at him as he walked back to his corner.

As McIllvaney wrote: "Hooks, swings and anything else that might rock or demoralise Hearns were hurled across with what might have been mistaken for wild abandon. In fact, only Hagler's spirit was really wild, for there was always a pronounced element of calculation in what he did with those powerful arms … the surge of mayhem seemed to go on forever".

It was all too much for Harry Mullan, the editor of Boxing News, who confessed: "I was praying for it to end, I thought I was going to have a heart-attack."

Unsurprisingly Hagler, never a sentimentalist, took a different view. "I was sorry to see that round end," he said. "I hated to give Tommy a chance to go back to his corner and recover."

Two rounds later, Hagler got his man, chopping him down to the canvas.

But Hearns played his part too. As his trainer Emanuel Steward later revealed: "After the first round his hand was broke and his legs were gone. But that night Tommy told me not to mention anything about the hand. He said he didn't want to take anything away from Hagler's victory. That's the kind of guy Tommy was."

2) Jack Dempsey v Luis Angel Firpo, first round, New York, 14 September 1923 (Dempsey won by second-round knockout)

"Has there ever been a fighter quite like the young Dempsey? — the very embodiment of hunger, rage, the will to do hurt; the spirit of the Western frontier come East to win his fortune" asked Joyce Carol Oates in her book On Boxing. Not on this day. Not perhaps ever.

In 1916 Jack Dempsey arrived in New York as a nobody with less than $30 in his pocket. Three years, and several adventures later, he was heavyweight champion of the world. By 1923 he was the biggest star of boxing's first golden age. His nickname, the Manassa Mauler, gave advance warning of his intentions; in the ring, his fists rarely did.

His opponent, Luis Angel Firpo — who was three inches taller and 30lb heavier — had earned his shot at the title having won 13 fights in 17 months, mostly by knockout. Firpo was billed by Dempsey's promoter, Tex Rickard, as the Wild Bull of the Pampas. Not everyone in the fight game was convinced – the Argentinian enjoyed eating more than anything else and reporters noted how he would "stuff himself to bursting point, point, pause, ask for more, and then drop off to sleep" — but the public certainly were. 86,000 people crammed into New York's Polo Grounds for the fight, and it needed hundreds of mounted police to maintain order.

Just before the men entered the ring, Rickard came to see Dempsey in his dressing room and told him: "We got another million dollar gate! If you put him away with the first punch, all those people out there won't get their money's worth."

"Listen Tex … Firpo is a slugger," replied Dempsey. "He could kill me with one punch."

"But, Jack, how is he going to hit you? He's slow and hits like an old tub. I hate to think of all them nice millionaires going out here sore at both of us."

"Go to hell!"

In the ring the two boxers shook hands, paused for photographs, and then set about tearing strips off each other. As the bell sounded, Dempsey charged at his bigger opponent, who cuffed him to the ground with his giant fists. It was a flash knockdown, and Dempsey bounced back up and into range: bobbing, weaving, sometimes holding, but mostly swinging. Firpo fired back, usually with an overhand right.

Both men fought as if throwing a jab had been outlawed, and taking a voluntary step backwards would leave a permanent stain on their masculinity.

A thudding right to the body put Firpo down for a three count. Clubbing left hooks and right uppercuts, from close range, dropped him for a second and third time. Yet the Argentinian got up and kept throwing bombs. Dempsey — the faster man — responded with more violence. A hurtful hook to the body left Firpo on the canvas for the fourth time, arms outstretched overhead and body occasionally twitching as if a low current were running through it. Somehow he got up at nine. In those days, there was no neutral corner — a rule that was only brought in after this fight — so as Firpo staggered up, Dempsey put him down for the fifth time.

Firpo remained determined to live up to his nickname. A wild overhand right sent Dempsey tipsy, and although the American's gloves touched the floor, no count was administered. The brawl continued. A right cross knocked Firpo down for a sixth time; a short left uppercut put him down for the seventh time a few seconds later.

"He wouldn't stay down — the lust to kill was burning in his eyes, and nothing was going to stop him," remembered Dempsey in his autobiography. Suddenly he was hit with an overhand right. Then another. And another, which sent him flying through the ropes and on top of the sportswriters and their typewriters below.

As Dempsey later remembered. "Everyone was yelling. It was pitch dark for a few seconds, then I managed to focus on Firpo's fuzzy form in the ring. I don't remember climbing back in the ring but I remember seeing about 20 Firpos standing in front of me."

Dempsey survived to the bell. "I mumbled to [his trainer] Doc [Kearns]: 'What round was I knocked out in? What's all the fuss?'"

"'You son of a bitch, you weren't knocked out! Get in there fast and box this guy. Finish it!' I crashed a left to his jaw and Firpo went down as if he had been struck by lightning."

The fight was over 57 seconds into the second round. "Every blow Firpo landed staggered me," admitted Dempsey. But he survived. Dempsey was always a survivor.

3) Riddick Bowe v Evander Holyfield I, 10th round, Las Vegas, 13 November 1992 (Bowe won by unanimous decision)

By late 1992, Evander Holyfield was the head of a church with few believers. After knocking out a blubbery Buster Douglas to become a heavyweight champion, Holyfield had gone the distance twice against Larry Holmes and George Foreman (combined age: 84) and had been rocked to his soles by Smoking Bert Cooper, before rallying to win in seven.

Most regarded Holyfield as a puffed-up cruiserweight with Venice Beach muscles — and Mike Tyson, by now festering in prison after being convicted of rape, as the true champion.

No one doubted that Riddick Bowe, all 6ft 5in of him, was a genuine heavyweight. Or that he had decent skills and a weighty clip. But the same knocks were heard repeatedly. The laziness. The ill-discipline. The fact that every time he saw a cake he wanted to eat it. But after what Bowe's manager Rock Newman called the best training camp ever, he was ready.

The fight was always close and enthralling, but by the time the ninth was put to bed Bowe appeared to have an answer for everything that was put to him. When Holyfield stayed on the outside he was out-jabbed; up close he was out-powered by a man 30lb heavier.

The bell sounded for the 10th. The fighters entered mid-ring. Bowe stuck with a right to the body followed by a uppercut of such viciousness it sent Holyfield's legs tumbling towards the ropes and his senses into la-la-land. Somehow Holyfield stood upright, taking the licks, before daring to walk forward towards Bowe, a manoeuvre that appeared as futile as a first world war private marching towards machine gun fire.

"He hit me so hard, and my eyes were swollen up so I couldn't see," remembers Holyfield. "Riddick Bowe used to be my sparring partner. He was a smart fighter with good hand speed, but he was known for running out of gas. Why didn't he run out of gas? [But] if you can still feel the pain, then you're still in the game. It's when you don't feel the pain you're out."

Finally, after nearly two minutes of constant pressure, "the storm got quiet", to use Holyfield's evocative phrase. "Uh-no, now, oh boy, I'm gonna hurt you," he said to himself. And for the last 30 seconds of the round he did just that, slinging potshots from every angle.

Just for good measure, the pair were still going several seconds after the bell. As they were finally separated, Bowe gave Holyfield an affectionate tap. "I was impressed with him, you know, so I patted him on the stomach to say well done," he said afterwards.

It looked as if Holyfield was on top. But he had little left to give. He was down in the 11th and lost a wide points decision 115-112, 117-110, 117-110. Holyfield had been doubted before, when he moved up to heavyweight, and he would be doubted again, particularly before his first fight with Mike Tyson in 1996. But after such a defiant and belligerent stand, few would ever claim he was a puffed up cruiserweight ever again. He was the Real Deal.

4) Micky Ward v Arturo Gatti I, ninth round, Uncasville, Connecticut, May 18 2002 (Ward won by majority decision)

Can a contest between two evenly matched boxers ever be too brutal? So savage that, even as a fan, you grimace while admiring the seemingly limitless capacity to absorb punishment? If so, the ninth round of the first fight in the Micky Ward v Arturo Gatti trilogy is a category-one case study.

All 10 rounds were a blue-collar brawl par excellence. Subtlety was tossed into the wash bucket at the opening bell. Defence became an unfathomable foreign language. And the ninth? Well, that was something else. The Compubox stats showed that Gatti landed with 42 of 61 power punches, with Ward connecting with 60 of 82. As the two men staggered back to their corners, Emanuel Steward, breathless and high on adrenaline, announced: "This should be the round of the century."

When Gatti was dropped by a Ward left to the body after 15 seconds, Steward didn't think he could survive, warning: "It's not like a head shot." But survive Gatti did. Despite blinking out of his right eye, he fought back. Every hook to the body had Ward nodding in grim appreciation. For a time he was pinned to the ropes, taking punishment, before landing two enormous rights.

This was a Rocky film played for real. When the HBO commentator Jim Lampley announced: "Can you believe there's still a minute and a half to go in the round?" he was merely echoing the stunned thoughts of those watching.

Ward was dominating to such an extent that, according to Eric Raskin, the former managing editor of the Ring, Gatti's trainer Buddy McGirt "climbed the steps, white towel in hand, prepared to stop the fight with about 30 seconds to go" but the referee Frank Cappuccino didn't see him.

And so it went on. Gatti survived. Ward won the fight by a split decision. And the two men went on to do it twice more, with Gatti getting his revenge and then winning the rubber match.

5) Marco Antonio Barrera v Erik Morales I, fifth round, Las Vegas 19 February 2000 (Morales won by split decision)

After sharing an emergency room in a Connecticut hospital following their first fight, Ward and Gatti became close friends and golfing buddies. Dempsey, meanwhile, recalls his delight at meeting Firpo again in Argentina 1960. At the end of his visit Firpo "draped his massive arm across my shoulders ... and handed me an envelope, telling me not to open it until I reached New York ... Ripping it open I found, in large denominations, $20,000, with a note simply stating: 'Just a small token of friendship and appreciation from one old friend to another ...'"

This is hardly unique. Smashing 50 shades of black and blue into each other, and them becoming good mates, is what boxers often do. But not Barrera and Morales, whose shared antipathy has remained undiminished by 36 rounds of combat or the passing of time. The animosity surfaced when Barrera called Morales "an Indian" on a Mexican TV. Morales retaliated by suggesting Barrera was a homosexual after which Barrera did this. Both were Mexican legends; both wanted to be top dog.

In the ring, though, the pair were a perfect couple. Technically gifted, highly-energetic, and with a thirst for combat that would have impressed Pancho Villa. When Arturo Gatti was asked about his favourite fight of all time, he plumped for Barrera v Morales I, which was named Fight of the Year by Ring magazine. And the fifth round — a fast-handed, back-and-forth technical slugfest of the highest order -was the pick of the bunch.

6) George Foreman v Ron Lyle, fourth round, Las Vegas, 24 January 1976 (Foreman won by KO in the fifth)

George Foreman the brutaliser. George Foreman the bully. George Foreman slain at Muhammad Ali's feet. These are the enduring images of Foreman in the 1970s. As usual, Hugh McIllvaney's description of him –"a man who shrinks the ring the moment he rises from the stool, and punches as if he has promised to deliver his victim piece by piece to someone in the tenth row" – was on the money.

Most of Foreman's opponents – famously Joe Frazier, twice, and Kenny Norton – were swatted away with the impatient disdain of a brute annoyed by a pesky fly. Even Ali, who beat him brilliantly, absorbed huge amounts of punishment before finishing what was left of him in the eighth. Arguably only Ron Lyle went at it toe-to-toe, blow-for-blow, with Foreman in his near-prime, in a half-forgotten classic.

Lyle, one of 19 brothers and sisters, only turned pro at 30 after spending seven years in prison for second degree murder following the shooting of a rival gang member. "We were all in it together. I was involved," Lyle told the Denver Post, before admitting he could have received a reduced sentence if he had revealed the killer. "But where do you live after that?" While inside Lyle was also stabbed in the stomach, and was twice pronounced dead on the operating table. After what he had gone through, fighting Big Bad George was a breeze.

Lyle had already had one shot at the world title, losing to Ali after being stopped while ahead, while Foreman was having his first proper fight – there had been a farcical exhibition where he boxed five times in one night – since the Rumble in the Jungle.

The fight started steadily; Lyle hurt Foreman, who was sluggish and easy to hit, in the first, Foreman, returned the compliment in the second, the third was split. And then came the incredible fourth stanza.

First Lyle felled Foreman with a seven-punch combination: right to the body, left hook, right hand, right uppercut, left hook, right hook, left hook, every shot laced with venom. But Foreman, who had a remarkable chin, recovered, and was soon trading blows in the middle of the ring. Three left hooks had Lyle's head wobbling; a hard right put him away.

Somehow Lyle rolled himself over and clawed himself up. But he looked spent. Foreman spent the next minute firstly prodding away at him on the ropes, looking for the finisher, before – incredibly – connecting with seven consecutive left hooks. In desperation, Lyle throw a Hail Mary left hook in retaliation before, after another wild exchange, dropping Foreman again with just three seconds to go in the round.

"I'll never forget that night, Ronnie Lyle is the hardest puncher I've ever been in with," said Foreman, who afterwards admitted he was "rusty", adding: "There's no substitute for action in the ring. Whether you are a piano player or a boxer you've got to have action."

The fifth round was just as brutal, with both men staggered again before Foreman sent Lyle face-first into the canvas to finish the fight. Unsurprisingly, the Ring Magazine made the fourth and fifth rounds joint-winners of their 'best round of 1976' poll.