shun the 1976 Olympics in Montreal. It was time to punch for pay, time to start making money for his family. Jose Luis Vellon, who’d won the lightweight bronze medal at the World Championships, took on the scholarship. As reported in Mario Diaz’s 2003 documentary Bazooka: The Battles of Wilfredo Gomez , the fighter signed his first professional management contract with Yamil Chade and Roberto Duran’s promoter, Carlos Eleta, for $15,000. The vast majority of that, $13,000, was reserved for Jacobo to buy a taxi. His mother got $1,000 and Wilfredo took the remainder to decamp to Panama. “In Panama, they teach boxers how to move inside the ring,” Chade claimed. Exquisite and subtly elusive footwork was a calling card for Gomez early in his career, averting danger while always well-balanced enough to detonate his bombs. The unyielding stream of KOs – beginning after the curiosity of a six-round draw in his debut against Jacinto Fuentes in November 1974 – was no reason to consider Gomez a brawling slugger. Sure, he could do that if required and certainly needed to later on when his footwork slowed. But there was a wonderful rhythm to his work, based around an educated jab and a one-two you could set your watch by. His left hooks to the head and body were venomous and, if you gave him a split second to turn his weight and momentum into that sledgehammer right, it was lights out. San Juan’s Coliseo Roberto Clemente became Gomez’s sporting home and he boxed at the venue 18 times. It was the scene of his maiden world title contest, a challenge for the WBC junior featherweight belt that belonged to experienced Korean champion Yum Dong-kyun on May 21, 1977. The heavily favored Gomez found himself on the seat of his shorts as Yum caught him with a short left hand coming in within 30 seconds of the first bell. A collective gasp surged through the audience, but their man dusted off his gloves and got to work. Gomez performed spectacularly from that point, eventually leaving an exhausted and battered Yum flat on his back in the 12th of a scheduled 15. Gomez’s second defense was a special moment. He traveled to Japan, home of childhood idol Fighting Harada, to take on Royal Kobayashi, who’d previously lost a majority decision to Yum. The home fighter was knocked out in the third, landing face-first in the sort of stoppage that only makes visual sense when you acknowledge the victor has otherworldly power. The first truly legend-making fight of Gomez’s career came on October 28, 1978. The visitor at Roberto Clemente was Mexican superstar Carlos Zarate. Set against Gomez’s 21 wins and 21 knockouts going into the contest, Zarate was 52-0 with 51 KOs. Even though he was coming up from bantamweight, Zarate had the size and reach advantage. They didn’t do much good, as Gomez’s blurring jab never gave him a chance to settle in the opener. By the end of the third, Gomez had the upper hand and was unloading heavy shots from both wings. Things escalated rapidly from there. Zarate took flush left hooks to the chin and went down. He needed another count before the
Wilfredo Gomez: 1956 - 2026
By Dom Farrell O fight … Ah, but they fought them at the right time. The Monday morning quarterback, that embodiment of Captain Hindsight, definitely took their name from the wrong sport. But some records are inarguable. It’s impossible for them to fade through time. Wilfredo Gomez, the great former three- division world champion who died following respiratory complications on October 10, had one of those careers. Knockout streaks are meat and drink to the revisionists. What sort of tomato cans was a guy knocking over? Well, Gomez knocked everyone over, including everyone who challenged for his WBC junior featherweight title between July 1977 and December 1982. Seventeen defenses, 17 KOs in the thick of a golden era in the lower weight classes. nly a select few boxers are immune to the plague of revisionist history. Even the greatest champions suffer the indignity of half-baked reassessment. Sure, he beat those guys, but look who he didn’t No one argues with what “Bazooka” did during those days of plenty. There were also crushing defeats and punishing lows for a relentless, skillful and deadly accurate combination puncher who was adored in his homeland. Puerto Rico’s proud fighting tradition trips off the tongue: Carlos Ortiz, Miguel Cotto, Tito Trinidad, Wilfred Benitez, up to and including Amanda Serrano. Gomez has a very strong claim to be considered the greatest of them all. Like so many treasured figures of our sport, Gomez grew up in extreme poverty in the Puerto Rican capital of San Juan. His father, Jacobo, was a boxing nut who, as Wilfredo told it, arranged matches between the neighborhood kids. Those were his first experiences of trading punches in front of a crowd, soon taking his burgeoning skills to the gymnasium. Young Wilfredo knew boxing was his route to a better life. Word spread of a prodigious kid, and Gomez began traveling with the Puerto Rico national squad at 14. As a 15-year-old, he represented his country at the 1972 Olympic Games in Munich. He lost in the second round of the flyweight competition to Egypt’s Mohamed Selim Soheim. Glory was not far away, though. At the inaugural World Championships in 1974 in Havana, Gomez stormed to glory at bantamweight, claiming all four of his victories en route to gold via stoppage. Cuba’s Luis Jorge Romero was his victim in the final, and so impressed were the hosts by Wilfredo’s potential that a government official made him a scholarship offer to attend a college on the communist island. Nevertheless, Gomez’s mind was already made up. He would
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