When heavyweight champion Riddick Bowe steps into the ring, he is up against two invisible enemies. One is a reputation for playfulness that has earned him the nickname "Riddick-ulous Bowe." The other is the assumption that despite a professional record of 34 wins and no losses, this boxer has yet to get much of a workout.
The latter problem could be alleviated this Saturday, when he will once again meet Evander Holyfield, the man who came close to denting him in the now legendary 10th round of their encounter last November. Bowe walked away with the title, but he left fans eagerly awaiting a rematch. It will take place at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas.
As for Bowe's tendency to shrug at life, the way he did when he failed to bring home a gold medal from the 1988 Seoul Olympics -- well, don't be fooled. Bowe is not the latest in the line of adolescents in oversized bodies who have populated boxing. In fact, what distinguishes him is an early, singularly mature decision to be, as he says, "different." In this course he relied in part on his mother Dorothy, who alone ruled an unruly household of 13 children in a New York City war zone with such edifying comments as, "If you go to jail, I'm not going to visit you or send you money," or, "You want this African soupbone?" when a spanking was in the offing.
In his determination to stay focused, Bowe also nurtured a passionate admiration for Muhammad Ali. "I knew Ali didn't drink, so I didn't drink," Bowe says. "He didn't smoke, so I didn't smoke. He finished high school, so I finished high school." Over the years, Bowe developed another habit of Ali's: he likes a good boast and a solid punch line to go with it. And as with Ali, there is even some truth in what he says. The prime for a heavyweight comes in his late 20s. Bowe, now 26, has the potential to be one of boxing's greatest. Standing 6 ft. 5 in. and weighing about 240 lbs. when he's in fighting trim, he towers over most competitors. He has a quick jab, a good hook and knockout power in each large fist. And while he can't dance the way Ali could, he moves with agility for a big man. "Many have compared me to the Greatest: Ali," he says. "But I hit like a truck. He just stung like a bee."
In Bowe's corner is master trainer Eddie Futch. Now 83, Futch once sparred with Joe Louis. Over the past 55 years, he has trained 18 champions, six of them heavyweights, including Joe Frazier and Larry Holmes. But Bowe, Futch declares, "has the potential to be the best I've ever had." Before he can take his place in the history books, however, a great champion needs a great opponent. Louis had Schmeling. LaMotta had Robinson. Ali had Frazier. "Greatness in fighting is gained by rubbing against other great boxers," says Bert Sugar, editor-publisher of Boxing Illustrated. Right now the list of contenders is short and flabby.