But it wasn’t in a ballroom where Tokuyama whirled and twirled. It was in the ring where Astaire never belonged.
Poor challenger Gerry Peñalosa was reduced to an unwilling dancing partner. Tokuyama unraveled a hit-and-run routine that left the Filipino southpaw–desperately trying to make a fight of it–chasing shadows for 12 dull rounds.
There was little action throughout the title fight. Only when Peñalosa managed to pressure Tokuyama into trading punches was there a semblance of fireworks. Otherwise, the mouse stayed clear from the cat.
The outcome was inevitable. Tokuyama threw a lot more leather than Peñalosa but his markmanship was below par. Peñalosa caught most of Tokuyama’s blows on his shoulders, arms, and gloves. The Filipino landed the cleaner shots although they were few and far between.
The judges had no difficulty picking the winner. John Keane of England saw it 116-113, meaning he scored eight rounds for Tokuyama and four for Peñalosa. Chuck Williams and Chuck Hassett–the two ugly Americans who conspired to strip Peñalosa of the WBC 115-pound crown in 1998 when they saw In Joo Cho the winner by a split decision–had it both 115-113, also for Tokuyama. Their scorecards meant they gave seven rounds to Tokuyama against five for Peñalosa.
My feeling is neither Tokuyama nor Peñalosa deserved to win. A draw would’ve been fair but in that eventuality, Tokuyama would’ve retained the title.
What left a bitter taste in the mouth was referee Larry O’Connell’s incompetence. Tokuyama repeatedly butted Peñalosa. In the last three rounds, Peñalosa could hardly see as blood streamed down his eyes from a nasty gash on his scalp.
The scalp wound couldn’t have been inflicted by a punch. Only a butt or an elbow or some foul blow could’ve done the damage. Yet O’Connell never deducted a point from Tokuyama.
In the fifth, Tokuyama opened a cut on Peñalosa’s left eyebrow with a butt. Peñalosa immediately motioned to O’Connell that he was butted but the referee didn’t react. In the seventh, Tokuyama sliced open another cut, this time on Peñalosa’s right eyebrow, with a butt. Again, Peñalosa signaled to O’Connell. Still, no deduction.
Twice, Tokuyama pushed Peñalosa down on the canvas. Thrice, he drew blood from Peñalosa with butts. Why was O’Connell blind to Tokuyama’s shenanigans? He stopped the fight twice to ask the ringside physician to examine Peñalosa’s cuts – once in the ninth and once in the 11th. Obviously, O’Connell thought the cuts were bad enough to merit an interruption of the action. And if they were indeed severe, why didn’t he take action against the culprit? Or did O’Connell think the cuts were opened by legitimate blows?
If O’Connell had slapped three point deductions on Tokuyama for the three cuts he opened because of headbutts, Peñalosa would’ve won by a split decision. And if Peñalosa had’ve won one more round in the scorecards of Williams and Hassett, the fight would’ve been declared a split draw–even without deductions. That’s how close it was.
O’Connell, 63, was the same Englishman who was castigated by fight experts for scoring a 115-all draw in the first Evander Holyfield-Lennox Lewis world heavyweight title bout in New York in 1999. Lewis clearly won the fight and was robbed of a victory when the verdict was announced as a split draw. Boxing News of London said O’Connell should be questioned for his judgment, not his honesty. O’Connell later confessed that he made a mistake in scoring it a draw. It was a sad admission of incompetence.
An irate English fan J. Priest of West Midlands wrote to Boxing News and said O’Connell should never be allowed to judge another fight. Another fan Jake Hinde of Blackpool lashed out at O’Connell for rationalizing his scorecards which didn’t match the computerized punch stats of the fight by saying the computer has no ability to interpret the rules.
In the WBC rules on cuts, Section 14 WC-29a states that "an unintentional butt that produces a cut will be penalized with one point to the uncut boxer, two points will be the deduction if the headbutt is called intentional by the referee."
It’s possible that O’Connell didn’t deduct a point or points from Tokuyama because he, too, was cut from his own butting. But that’s unlikely. Tokuyama’s bleached-blond hair was red with blood – Peñalosa’s.
O’Connell had no business working the fight in Yokohama. His incompetence was exposed in 1999. It was exposed again last Monday.
As for Peñalosa, he looked tight and tense. Tokuyama’s stick-and-dance routine destroyed Peñalosa’s rhythm. Tokuyama was too quick, too long, and too slippery. Peñalosa could hardly unleash his vaunted combinations because Tokuyama, like a phantom, was gone before the Filipino could follow up.
The win didn’t do anything to enhance Tokuyama’s reputation as a champion. He did what he had to do to win. But what price for glory? Tokuyama avoided mixing it up, resorted to dirty tricks, and danced the night away to frustrate Peñalosa’s bid to regain the title.
Tokuyama should bow his head in shame. Peñalosa, in contrast, has nothing to be ashamed of – he fought courageously against a dancing champion who owes his victory more to his feet than his fists.