03.03.06 – By Aaron King: February 24 was supposed to be a showcase for the Duva family’s utterly coddled egg. The plan was for a few layers of protection to be peeled away as heavyweight prospect Mike Marrone commemorated his coming out party on ESPN 2’s Friday Night Fights. The event was supposed to be a showcase for his skills, but it revealed so much more – or less, depending on your point of view..
Dino Duva’s proclamations of the emergence of a new heavyweight king raised the ears of many in the fight game still searching for an element to spice up the division. So, when Kendall Holt was forced to pull out of the Friday night card, Duva found the forum necessary to mark the map with his prized young heavyweight.
The fodder for “The New Italian Stallion” was a man named Zack Page. Page’s official weight was 198, but a source said that he drank gallons of water before the weigh-in to reach that number. The source said he was more like 189, which, last time I checked, is under the OLD cruiserweight standard.
From the looks of it, Marrone might be benefited by the idea of looking at the cruisers for a change. He came in the ring at a soft 210. Not to say that he should be built like his statuesque opponent was, but he may very well be aided by dropping the ten pounds. However, a campaign at cruiserweight for Duva’s fighter is as likely as a ceasefire in the Sudan.
As the two men stood near each other in the ring, their sharply contrasting physiques weren’t the only distinctions to be made. Marrone is white, and Page is black.
The crowd quickly picked up on this feature.
I could hear two men behind me beginning to argue before the opening bell.
“No way man, there ain’t gonna be anymore good white heavyweights.”
“Marrone is just too big. That black dude don’t stand a chance.”
“Size ain’t gonna matter.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
While I don’t remember exactly how the conversation went, you get the idea. One of the men behind me was black, the other was white. I’ll let you guess who was who.
Once the fighting commenced, two things were apparent – Page was the much swifter of the two, and Marrone wasn’t what he was cracked up to be. At different times during the bout, other writers on both sides of me commented on how surprised they were by the general absence of ability in Marrone’s attack. Like me, they heard a lot, and were expecting a lot too. It was turning out that the hope was looking more like hype.
For the first two rounds, Page easily maneuvered around the bigger and slower Marrone, ripping him with quick combinations and awkwardly-angled counterpunches. Marrone’s attempts to get his opponent into his range were repeatedly thwarted by Page’s movement.
In the third, Marrone began going to the body with strong left hooks, sapping energy from the already tiring Page. Page was able to stay out of trouble, once again, through movement and defensive prowess, and recovered well in fourth, taking advantage of Marrone, who too was beginning to tire.
As the fight turned to the fifth, Page continued to touch up Marrone’s face, but was fading very quickly. The men behind me continued yelling and cheering for their respective favorite of corresponding skin tone. Page finally seemed to fizzle out under his own fatigue and the weight of Marrone when he fell straight to his back after a stiff right from the “Italian Stallion.”
The nickname was lost on nobody in attendance. As the whites in attendance cheered “Rocky, Rocky” for their white hope, the blacks and Latinos urged their man to rise to his feet. The crowd had the partisan feel of a Senate proceeding – some for Page, most for Marrone, very little in between.
Marrone kept the pressure on in the sixth and floored Page again with the punch that started Page’s downward spiral, a left hook to the body. The punch was clean, albeit crude, and it turned Page’s legs into wet noodles as he crumbled to the floor. It was all but over.
As Marrone came out to clean up the mess of a man he had in front of him, he left his left hand down at his waist. Even the nearly comatose Page could see it. He delivered the best punch of the fight; a straight right hand on a rope to Marrone’s reddened face. Marrone collapsed to the canvas, and Page, who is a light puncher by cruiserweight measures, had new life.
When he rose, the “Italian Stallion” was out on his feet.
Page desperately hurled off-balance and undirected power shots to the bigger foe. Marrone was continuously wobbled by perpetual lefts and rights from the exhausted cruiserweight. Blood poured from Marrone’s eye, but it blended in with the hue of the rest of his face. He was out, but surviving. Indeed, it was now Rocky-esque. Then the bell rang.
Marrone looked stronger at the bell to start the eighth. Page’s punches were Michael Nunn like slaps with no heat to speak of. The men traded power shots, but the smaller fighter seemed to win most of the exchanges.
The scorecards were ready – a majority decision. Although I doubt that there were crowds of people huddled around televisions in airports and diners awaiting the verdict, a very tenuous feeling persisted as the ring announcer read the scores.
It was in. 74-74, 75-74, and 76-75 for the winner, Mike Marrone.
Page raised his hands happily in defeat, and in an unconcealed showing of partiality, received a mountain of boos. They weren’t supplanted until Lou Duva paraded around the ring afterwards.
I, as well as another man next to me, scored the bout 75-74 for Page. No matter what the outcome, one fact is clear. Mike Marrone is no contender. If Zack Page, who has a record of 10-5 with 4 KOs, was on the verge of chopping him down, imagine what might happen if he steps in the ring with Wlad or Calvin Brock.
He’s entertaining, but entertaining doesn’t correlate to wins. America is going to have to wait longer yet for its next “Great White Hope.”