Fantasies of De La Hoya pit columnist vs. Trinidad

  Dylan Hernandez Those wanting to join
Hernandez, Zokaei and other losers at the Spearmint Rhino’s
Gentleman’s Club in Downtown can e-mail Hernandez at [email protected].

My colleague Mayar Zokaei wrote a column Monday about people who
take sports too seriously (“UCLA’s defeat evokes
intense spirit typical of modern sports,” Nov. 27). He
complained that he was bombarded with hate mail in response to a
playful piece he wrote on the men’s basketball team.

I guess Mayar was a victim of some sorts, but then again, all of
this is part of sportswriting. What I want to tell Mayar is that he
isn’t the real victim ““ these fans are. They’re
victims of life. Just imagine what losers they are. I mean, what
would drive a person to waste a couple hours of their day and write
a six-page e-mail to a complete stranger?

I can explain this quite easily because I too am one of these
need-a-lifers (although I’m far too lazy to ever write long
letters to the editors of substandard news publications).

In general, I’m pretty laid back. Some people say
I’m too apathetic. I’m not a vengeful person either. So
much so, I believe, that I’m three-quarters on my way to
Nirvana.

I’ve forgiven my parents, who brought me into this world
by mistake. I’ve forgiven God, who gave me the brain of a
camel. And I’ve forgiven the sports editor, who will no
longer let me use profanity in my columns.

But I can’t forgive Felix Trinidad. When Trinidad takes on
Fernando Vargas on Saturday in a 154-pound boxing title bout, I
want him to get killed. After what he did to me last September, I
figure he deserves to die.

It wasn’t Trinidad’s fault that myopic judges gave
him a split-decision nod over Oscar De La Hoya, but I need to
channel my hate somewhere, so I’ll misdirect it at him.

Up until the point that the judges’ scores were announced
in the “Fight of the Millennium” between De La Hoya and
Trinidad, my stars were all in line. De La Hoya had boxed
Trinidad’s nose off for nine rounds, and while he ran in the
last three, I couldn’t ask for much more. He had dominated
the fight.

My alter ego, which had been projected onto the television
screen in the form of De La Hoya, had done quite well.

Because I can’t fight at all, I had been living through De
La Hoya for the last couple of years. At 5-foot-8 and 142 pounds,
I’m not a physically imposing figure. My fists are made of
cotton. I haven’t been in a fight since the seventh grade
““ when I was already at my present height ““ and
nowadays, my little brother beats me like a piñata every time
we throw on our gloves.

Naturally, I go through occasional periods during which I am
left with a substantial amount of pent-up aggression. Watching De
La Hoya batter his opponents was my release.

And why not?

If I stretched my imagination enough, I could convince myself
that I was a lot like De La Hoya. He’s good-looking
(I’m not that ugly), rich (I earn $85 a week working at the
Daily Bruin, and I make burritos as a side job) and Latino
(I’m half).

We both moved out of rough areas into the suburbs (me, when I
was 5; De La Hoya at 20) and are both big-time underachievers (I
have made nothing of myself; he never became as good as Sugar Ray
Robinson).

Such flawless logic led me to see myself in the ring knocking
people out with left hooks whenever De La Hoya fought. When
I’d see De La Hoya whack some poor schmuck into submission, I
felt as if I had just drilled my editor in the face and I’d
be happy for the next couple of weeks.

Then ring announcer Michael Buffer ruined my illusion. As De La
Hoya and Trinidad stood in the ring after the 12 rounds were
completed, he announced Trinidad as the winner. I couldn’t
believe it.

That night, my best friend and I walked through Old Town
Pasadena and I was feeling awful. He’d seen me in down times
before, but even he said, “Jesus, are you really that
depressed?”

My alter-ego was no longer perfect. Going into the fight, De La
Hoya was unbeaten. I went to elementary schools in the 1980s, when
everyone was concerned about kids’ self-esteem. From the age
of 5, teachers filled my head with propaganda telling me that I
could be perfect. De La Hoya’s clean slate was a symbol of
the perfection I sought.

Even worse, his record had been smeared by a fight he won in
almost everyone’s eyes.

It’s been a while since that fight took place, but
I’m still bitter. That bout started De La Hoya on a downward
spiral. He got slapped around silly by Shane Mosley in December and
today, he isn’t even fighting. Instead, he’s putting
out cheesy music records.

It’s ironic that I’d turn to Vargas, who hates De La
Hoya, to avenge the loss, but at this point, I don’t care.
Someone has to knock out Trinidad. I wouldn’t mind if it were
Albert Carnesale.

I think Vargas is an excellent boxer and am picking him to
flatten Trinidad inside of five rounds, but I admit it’s a
prediction based a lot on what I want to see happen.

I’ve already planned my post-fight celebration. My buddies
and I will be heading out to the strip clubs.

Mayar, of course, is invited. It’d be a good opportunity
for him to get to sympathize with the kind of people who have been
bothering him.