Chris Rattue: Tuaman returns to pursue his dream

David Tua has slimmed down to a svelte 105kg for his bout with Shane Cameron. Photo / Dean Purcell

Ring the bell and let the punches begin, and by the end let's hope that even if boxing's reputation remains on its knees, at least that of David Tua is standing.

Tua and Shane Cameron, our very own prized fighters, will heave the leather in Hamilton on Saturday in a heavyweight contest that will most likely see the brave Cameron's blood on the floor.

Boxing's reputation spends much of its time flat on its back, thanks partly to the exaggerated publicity that the haywire heavyweight division receives at the expense of the lighter categories. But the Hamilton battle, which will cost TV viewers $40 a pop, should live up to its enthusiastic billing as a homegrown hit parade, if only for a few rounds.

Better late than never. What an occasion, one that many of us fervently hoped would take place despite real doubts that it would.

Okay, so the pseudo-American hype has been a little cringe-inducing for New Zealand's sensibilities, but what would a boxing contest be without snazzy posters and a bit of lip.

"I'm hoping to grow as a boxer" out of either man's mouth would hardly have cut it.

Boxing is a sport where men must overcome fear in front of strangers, whether it's at Madison Square Garden or in a makeshift, poster-lined gym. Hardly surprising, then, that many of the protagonists in these sporting dramas feel the need to talk themselves into the contest.

Both Tua and Cameron have added colour to our sporting world way beyond the reach of everyday boxing in this land.

Cameron is the undoubted underdog and if the trimmed-down Tua was in his prime he would have enjoyed a field day at Mystery Creek.

At his best, Tua was good enough to be regarded as a decent challenger for the world heavyweight title in these less than halcyon days for the division.

Tua has a neck like a tree trunk and had a left fist that could knock one down, but he froze on the big stage against Lennox Lewis and has spent the rest of his career with his financial assets and his prospects in a similar state.

Once the darling of New Zealand sport, his reputation has tumbled like those unfortunate men who came before him in the early days of his career.

Even those of us who struggled to understand the rights and wrongs of his protracted legal entanglements had no doubts about our affection for the man who spiked up his hair and our interest in pugilism.

Boxing is the most wonderful of sports even though it invariably falls into the wrong hands, and there is nothing like it to get the juices flowing.

This bloody, head-busting pursuit has its dangers, but none greater than those presented to this nation's most favoured soul, Sir Edmund Hillary, in the sport that he pursued, nor to the young men who put their bodies in strange and unprotected positions on football fields every week.

A problem with boxing, though, is that it brings too many of its greatest men down.

There is always a promoter eager to make that call suggesting a return to the ring. As to the reply of yes or no, the best answer is often only best known after the step into the ring has been made.

Like a gambler, there is always one more stake to put down, whether you have the readies or not. As with those who indulge in casinos, the results can be catastrophic. Is this the path for David Tua, you have to wonder, as he looks for payback against the Cameron taunts by putting a down-payment on a return fare to America.

Without wishing any ill towards Cameron, sentiment dictates that I hope Tua succeeds in Hamilton. Or maybe it is best put this way - I hope Tua doesn't fail.

Ultimately it didn't work out for Tua in America, not the way he or many of us truly hoped. Thrust into the world of American gyms, the young Aucklander found boxers dressed as rappers, and was forced to dance to mysterious tunes.

It must have taken a lot of courage to keep navigating those waters, keeping the chin up, not to mention stepping into the ring.

Every boxer experiences extremes of fear, even the great Muhammad Ali, the Louisville Lip, who used his own terror to talk and walk his way into victory against the positively frightening George Foreman in Zaire.

Boxing is a world where connections are everything and not just the ones that rattle an opponent's ribs, where breaks are not as lucky or unlucky as they may seem, where the canvas is never blank.

With a punch like the one Tua had, an ability to take one, and an image that was surely as interesting and marketable as anything in the sport right now, he could have been so much more. We all know that.

It may be that Cameron could do Tua a favour by out-pointing him in Hamilton, thus dashing his hopes of a career revival in America, but this is an unlikely result.

Cameron had to play his only trump card by throwing jibes to lure Tua out of his corner, but this has given Tua the aces when it comes to finding the desperation to train properly for the contest. There is now a lot less of Tua, which he hopes will bring him more.

There is always a concern when an older fighter loses so much weight - Tua is a positively svelte 105kg I am told - but he has had plenty of time to trim down correctly.

Tua in his prime, with that thunderous left hook, would have been untroubled against a journeyman heavyweight whose courage is thicker than his skin.

Cameron sheds enough blood in a fight to keep the Harlequins rugby club in handy capsules for decades, and in boxing it is virtually impossible to plaster over cracks like that.

Tua was a few classes above the best of Cameron, a whirlwind of devastation that recalled images of a typhoon named Tyson.

It turned out that when it came to the big chance, Tua could barely muster a gentle breeze and even that was a long time ago. And how much energy can be left in bulging arms which, as Tua jokingly admits, have only been aired in public over recent years in front of a disbelieving neighbour as the one-time contender hung out washing on his family's clothesline.

Stepping back into the ring in America, flailing away in a fog while hanging on to lost dreams, could be the worst thing Tua ever does.

But Tua doesn't see it like that. And as the fight draws near, old sympathies are rising to the surface.

Despite high admiration for Cameron, to back him means hoping that Tua, by far the better fighter in his prime, takes a final tumble rather than an honourable bow at home.

Not that it will matter in the end. The trouble and tragedy is that somewhere, somehow, a final fall remains on the cards for the Tuaman.

* * *

More on the fight night ...

I was watching a sequence of fascinating Sky television advertisements recently that were being rudely interrupted by reruns of the American sitcom Seinfeld.

Moments later, Sky was at it again, suggesting that those interested in buying coverage of the Tua-Cameron fight should part with their $40 quickly to ensure they didn't miss out.

"Get in quick" makes sense in promoting a Christmas sale, but not a televised boxing day.

The sky and beyond is the limit with Sky's advertising. It's a deluge that leaves you dazed and confused by their exaggerated sporting claims and self-promotion.

Sky is all flashing lights and a bombardment of music, like a mad disco.

Subscriber television is truly fantastic, especially for sport, but our version could be so much better. If there aren't enough employees to give it substance, which is understandable, they could at least tone the nonsense down.

Is Sky seriously suggesting that by waiting to book the fight on Saturday, you may miss out?

The company's ability to take money from the public for a unique event is either fragile to the point that shareholders should ask some serious questions, or they think the rest of us are extremely gullible. Past form means you suspect the latter.

* * *

The errant French rugby player Mathieu Bastareaud might think about making his peace with this country by offering to do a portion of his community rugby service in Wellington.

Bastareaud is, if reports are to be believed, a troubled man. He made an enormous mistake by falsely claiming he had been attacked by a group of people in Wellington after France lost to the All Blacks there in June.

French rugby has ordered him to undertake 18 instances of rugby service as reparation. Bastareaud's inner peace could perhaps be best served by doing repair work at the scene of the crime.

* **

Auckland rugby is a disaster, as evidenced by the team's loss to relegation-threatened Tasman - an amalgamation of rugby backwaters that is headed down the river under the NZRU's streamlined first division policy. Well done Tasman, the mini-me of Canterbury rugby, but with all due respect, you shouldn't stand a hope in hell of beating the mighty blue and whites. Andy Dalton is the man in charge of this dreadful Auckland chaos, so it only seems fair to ask how long the former All Black captain should remain in the chief executive's job?

* * *

And so to the sport of mountaineering and beyond.

The late, wonderful and endlessly humble Sir Edmund Hillary may have been a saint, but his miraculous rises did have limits. Research New Zealand announced last week that Sir Ed has topped a poll of 500 Kiwis which sought out the most respected living New Zealander. The great man was our sure to rise Edmund when it came to mountains, and he rose from his knee as a knight. But qualifying for a list of living New Zealanders any more is a step too far, even for him. RNZ kindly interpreted the result as a desperate search for heroes rather than questioning our current affairs comprehension.

Sir Edmund's ineligibility leaves that well-known patron of league Helen Clark as our favourite Kiwi. Prime Minister John Key, who is so enamoured of the All Blacks that it would be no surprise to see him track-suited up on the reserves bench, was also on the list, but well back. The next general election is likely to be held just weeks after the 2011 World Cup final at Eden Park. The PM's Boy's Own rugby gamble may pay off, and then again ...