I have no fucking idea about boxing. And not for ethical reasons: it has never interested me. I recognize it. I don’t know if I should. Maybe. And yet, I enjoyed reading this book like a dwarf. It weaves intersecting stories, supplies itself with exceptional testimonies and achieves literary stature. I am aware that this sport – like others – can be a magnificent metaphor for life: Morrissey or Doctor Divago, to mention just two of the musicians whom I regularly follow, have used it in some of his songs. Also Bunbury, one of those interviewed by the author throughout these 286 pages, which unravel the life and miracles of Paulino Uzcudun, José Legrá, Poli Díaz, Pedro Carrasco, Perico Fernández or Míriam Gutiérrez, because even the role of women is represented. There are 16 profiles. Myths from the 20th century, some from the 21st, whose stories (many times first-hand) are completed by people like José María García, José Luis Garci, Ray Loriga or Silvia Cruz Lapeña, among many others.
Sometimes the classic story of the broken toy prevails: the boy from humble backgrounds who does not know how to manage his fame or his earnings. But the opposite profile also stands out, because if there is something that boxing and its industry are aware of – as reflected in the book – it is the need to banish stereotypes and the demand for fair treatment by media that They almost always turned their backs on him if they could not link his story to the sordid, the rugged or the unfortunate. There is another interesting vein there, that of the role of the media: let us remember that TVE and PRISA eliminated it from their schedules while maintaining the bulls, a controversial debate whose echo reaches this day. One more reason to recommend this dedicated and meticulous tribute to an art (with all the quotes and qualifications that one wants or can put on it) that has already seen its best days.
