Malik Jackson, Gary Antonio Russell & Lamont Roach Jr. Give D.C. Clean Sweep At U.S. Boxing Finals

Michael Hilton & Leroy Davila photo by Sue Jaye Johnson

by Sarah Deming

SPOKANE, Wash.–The only problem with Fai’s Noodle House as a post-fight hang is that it doesn’t serve liquor. You have to buy cocktails one at a time at the Turf Bar and carry them back through the rows of slot machines.

While transporting my second Manhattan, I ran into some Gary Russells. Bantamweight Gary Antonio was still wearing the ceremonial blanket he’d won as the best senior male in the tournament. His brother Gary Antaunne – eliminated in the quarters by eventual silver medalist Genaro Gamez – had on a snazzy sweater vest. I spilled some Manhattan hugging them, but it was worth it.

“You know, that blanket is a real honor,” I said. “They don’t give it to many people outside the Kalispel tribe.”

I tried to remember what my friend Albert had said about the blanket’s iconography, but after six days of boxing and over two hundred fights, my brain wasn’t working so well. I told them I hoped to see them in D.C. when I pass through this Wednesday for the Bad Plus gig. Stiff Jab’s hometown swept the best male boxer awards, with Lamont Roach, Jr. winning for juniors and southpaw slugger Malik Jackson for elite males.[[MORE]]

Jackson’s gold medal flyweight bout against Shawn Simpson of Chicago drew a standing ovation from the crowd. The heavily-muscled Simpson came in favored after his 2012 Olympic Trials silver medal, but Jackson had the stronger will and turned things into a brawl. Whenever they clinched, Jackson gazed defiantly into the crowd, his eye still black from a headbutt he’d suffered on Monday. I wonder if doing away with headgear will prove tougher on southpaws, who tend to be involved in messier bouts.

Back at the noodle house, we telephoned Coach Christy Halbert to debrief her on the women’s action. Overall, the female divisions showed a disappointing lack of depth. The only really competitive bouts came in the three Olympic weights.

Olympic bronze medalist Marlen Esparza outfought the fast southpaw Virginia Fuchs (A typo on the USA Boxing website lists this as a split decision; it was unanimous and lopsided, belying the stiff challenge posed by Fuchs). I was pulling for Esparza for elite female boxer of the tournament, but the honor went to lightweight Queen Underwood instead, who won a split decision over D.C.’s Tiara Brown. I thought Brown might have pulled it off, but wasn’t surprised when USA Boxing’s darling got the nod. Best junior female went to the powerful Rashida Ellis. 

I told Christy about the scandalous way Raquel Miller had behaved after losing a rowdy middleweight fight to Franchon Crews, aka The Heavy Hitting Diva. When the Diva went in for the customary post-decision hug, Miller shoved her back.

It’s how you act when you lose that shows who you are. I was proud of my heavyweight Earl Newman, Jr., who stood in the back of the stadium cheering loudly for the man who had beat him in the semis, Michael Hilton (top left) of Trenton.

“Mike can beat this guy,” Earl told me. “He just has to stay on his chest. Josh can’t handle pressure.”

Josh Temple had looked unbeatable to me, but I love being surprised. It was a victory for the working class fighter as Hilton pushed forward, frustrating the young puncher.

“The medal brings the ladies,” Earl said later, leaning on the bar of the Impulse Disco. There is no better dance floor than one filled with boxers, trainers, and refs. The only problem with the Impulse was that it closed too early.

Championship rounds were contested in the suite of USA Boxing’s Executive Director Anthony Bartkowski, because why sleep when you have a 5:45AM flight back to New York? Marlen Esparza and I fell upon the platter of mini carrot cakes like lionesses upon mini antelopes.

Michael Hilton passed on the beer.

“I’m a recovering alcoholic,” he said. “When I was nineteen, I was drunk every day.”

I’d already been happy about Hilton’s win, since it made Earl third in the nation, but when I heard his redemption story I was even happier. A father of three young girls, Hilton came up hard on the streets of Trenton. He hopes to start a boxing program to help those trying to get their lives back on track after incarceration.

“I want a new life for my city,” said the gentle giant.

His teammate Leroy Davila of New Brunswick took gold in the smallest division of the men’s elites, 108 pounds. When I commented on how tiny he looked next to Hilton, Davila said, “I’m just as big as him, but in a different way.”

Even in defeat, Mikaela Mayer lit up the room. She was worried her loss might drive off sponsors, who wouldn’t care that it was a controversial decision nor that she boxed beautifully.

“If I can’t get paid to do this, it’s like I’m living a pipe dream,” she said.

I wanted to tell Mikaela – and Tiara Brown, too – that they could never live a pipe dream. They are artists, regardless of the judges’ pronouncements or the marketplace’s indifference. With two unsold manuscripts on my shelf, this is something I need to believe. Amateur comes from the word for “love.”