Late To The Party: The 2013 BWAA Awards Dinner
NEW YORK, N.Y.–There are only a handful of professional journalists left in the U.S. that cover boxing.
Most self-described boxing writers are really glorified fans, folks devoted to the Sweet Science and willing to trade favorable coverage for a seat on press row at the occasional TV show. Any talk of the sport’s fade from the mainstream must start with the depressing state of the fight press, which frequently regurgitates rumors and spin with little regard for truth or objectivity.
The Boxing Writers Association of America is supposed to serve as a bulwark against the degradation of fight writing, an art once practiced by giants such as Ernest Hemingway, A.J. Liebling, Joyce Carol Oates, Pierce Egan, and Red Smith. The BWAA has had its problems over the years, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit attending Thursday night’s 88th annual awards dinner was a humbling reminder of just how storied the scribes that cover the Sweet Science used to be.[[MORE]]
Beyond the long-deceased, the BWAA still boasts members like Thomas Hauser and Gordon Marino, along with almost every other respected boxing writer in the U.S. The group’s star power has dwindled along with the sport’s mainstream appeal, but the awards are still prestigious enough to draw a host of fighters and tables full of employees from HBO, Showtime, Golden Boy, Top Rank, and all the other major players.
But it was hard not to notice the absence of actual journalists that earn a living by covering the sport. Of those, I counted only a handful that aren’t tied to a TV network, most notably Lem Satterfield of Ring Magazine. Even the most prominent among the writers have side gigs or day jobs, and I’m no exception. As Lem noted, I’m fortunate that covering politics pays the bills. My income from boxing wouldn’t even cover the cable bill.
The night at Capitale in Little Italy began with a cocktail hour sponsored by Top Rank, with a silent auction featuring a host of boxing and New York-themed memorabilia. I arrived just in time for dinner, and was pleased to find myself seated next to the excellent Ryan Maquiana of Comcast Sports Network in the Bay Area. We discussed the sport and guest of honor Nonito Donaire, the BWAA’s 2012 Fighter of the Year, who had yet to arrive.
Soon host David Diamante launched into the night’s major awards, which he accurately described as 20 minutes of action crammed into four hours. The highlight was Main Events promoter Kathy Duva’s poignant speech accepting the Barney Nagler award for long and meritorious service to boxing. Manager of the Year Al Haymon and A.J. Liebling Award winner Peter Finney, on the other hand, were unable to attend, as were several fighters scheduled to appear.
Donaire delivered a heartfelt speech where he recounted being so terrified before his first fight that he urinated on himself. Boxing helped him morph from a scrawny, terrified child to one of the most feared and respected fighters in the world. Donaire’s speech had the feel of a valedictory, and his aura was that of a man that has accomplished his goals. Meanwhile his opponent Guillermo Rigondeaux, was sequestered somewhere nearby, focused on preparing for the biggest fight of his life.
The most worthwhile portion of the evening was spent conversing with the few other young journalists attempting to make a go of it. To his credit, Mike Coppinger of Ring Magazine correctly predicted Donaire’s poor preparation would cost him two nights later at Radio City Music Hall. But on this night, it was all smiles from the Filipino Flash, who arrived late with his growing entourage and was besieged by autograph requests.
While lingering in the lobby, I was hailed by a colorful gentleman clad in all black and boasting a strong Brooklyn accent. His name was Aaron Braunstein, and he introduced himself as the current owner of the now-defunct Boxing Digest. Over the next 15 minutes, Mr. Braunstein delivered a recruiting pitch that where he compared himself to Ted Turner and promised me a key slot in his growing media empire. Considering how unhelpful most boxing writers are to those coming up behind them, I was fairly touched.
I did re-introduce myself to a few of the bigger names in boxing media that evening, but barely made an impression. I understand; most people don’t have time for those with nothing to offer them. Still, I would hope that helping younger writers would be part of the organization’s mission, and crucial to preserving its existence.
In the end, I found myself talking to the same folks I’d hung with before joining BWAA. Mike, Ryan Songalia and myself made our way afterward to a nearby bar, where the Main Events crew was toasting Duva’s award. Main Events is a remarkable story, a promotional company that consistently pulls rabbits out of its hat. The company’s recent success is due largely due to the tenacity of Duva, its CEO. She understands that like politics, boxing is ultimately a local pursuit. You must take care of your own backyard before setting your eyes on the bigger prizes.
The BWAA dinner was once one of the most glamorous nights in sports; now it feels like the annual prime rib dinner at the VFW. Gray heads abound, and few non-sports outlets were represented. Like the sport, the room was divided between Top Rank and Golden Boy, HBO and Showtime. The remaining networks and promoters filled in as needed, while trying to ignore the elephants the room.
If covering boxing now is like being perpetually late to the party, the BWAA dinner was an entire evening spent hearing how much fun everyone had the night before. Fortunately, even a night spent hearing old boxing stories counts as a good one for me.
After all, if boxing is dying, someone has to write the obituary. And if it rattles on, as I expect it will, then eventually the money will dwindle, and the sport will once more return to folks like Kathy Duva and myself, who do it simply for the love.