Here's Saoul last year in April, sitting in on this youtube clip about his son, Meischan. He clearly knows where he is and what's happening, turns to his son at 1:36 to quietly remind Meischan "Plus you won the Golden Gloves in Pennsylvania..." when his son momentarily omits that amateur accomplishment after offering his record. Saoul is interviewed briefly at 5:43, looking up and responding appropriately when the interviewer asks him to say a few words, barely audible over the gym racket, but that was his manner of speech decades ago. Danny "Little Red" Lopez and Roberto "Squeaky" Elizondo are two others who have always been so soft spoken it was hard to clearly hear what they were saying, even in the aftermath of an electrifying win when they might have been expected to be hyped up. Little Red's wife sometimes had to speak in the ring for her husband during post fight interviews because Danny spoke so quietly, in absolute contrast to his KD exchanging thrillers.)
Meischan displays the crazy rope skipping skills he picked up from his father at 1:18...:
Saoul was always extremely quiet, very soft spoken and understated, even in loud gym surroundings during the early 1980's, well noted for calmness rather than energy. (Duran outhustled him to win over ten rounds, Mamby's usual path to dropping decisions, although he was blatantly robbed at least a dozen times.) Saoul didn't over expend, but boxed within himself, and even when older, that combination of poise with disciplined conditioning often allowed him to overtake much younger opponents late. He didn't load up much, but when he did, it wasn't uncommon to see him produce knockdowns with a single hook or cross. Pure textbook. Excellent hand speed and legs which bounced like rubber bands.
Criminally overlooked as one of the ATG chins ever. Dropped only once, in the opening round by a temple shot at age 46 from Derrell Coley in Coley's hometown. Mamby bounced right back up without a count, but the referee immediately waved it off in a bullshit TKO stoppage. Otherwise, Sweet Saoul would've never been halted in 85 professional bouts. He might be the last Vietnam combat veteran to have won a world boxing title. (This may partly explain why he was so relaxed in the ring. He'd been shot at by and killed enemy combatants. Peak Roberto Duran had no hope of intimidating him in any way after that. Combat veterans like those who then proceed to the gridiron or boxing ring have a different sort of fearless mentality.)
Perhaps Mamby was displaying signs of decline in that interview, but if you're observant, you can see his son isn't really all that expressive and animated either, aside from trying to play to the camera a little.
Here are a couple other interviews with Mamby to judge just how much he had or had not declined by early last year:
No, he shouldn't have been fighting at 61, but he was in vastly superior condition to Meldrick Taylor (who needed closed captioning in interviews by age 40), Muhammad Ali (who was badly struggling with his speech by 45) and sounded better than Hearns (who doesn't quite need captioning, but has clearly struggled for years).
In any event, he got to live the dreams so many boys he placed in body bags at Nam never got a chance to. In interviews, he expressed happiness he even got a chance to live long enough to box professionally, let alone win a title and become respected by both Muhammad Ali and Larry Holmes.
He also outlived the opponent who gave him his most savage beating, poor Billy Costello, by over eight years. (Billy was only 55 when he died of lung cancer. Deaths like theirs and that of Howard Davis, Jr., also from lung cancer at age 59, are extremely disturbing to me, Howard being a clean living vegan conscious of his mother's heart attack death during the Montreal Olympics. These weren't substance abusers, of drugs, alcohol, PEDS, cigarettes or food [like the 507 pound Buster Mathis, Sr.], and not crazies, but solid people who died a disturbingly brief period of time after they stopped competing without letting themselves go physically.)
Becoming a champion:
The only man not named Duran to ever stop DeJesus, sending him into retirement:
Using his hand speed to manage Termite Watkins inside over the Championship Distance:
Pardon the static as he takes veteran Monroe Brooks to school as Larry Holmes provides commentary for his future trainer's win (I was watching this telecast live, so I didn't have to deal with that static):
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