Projo Sports Blog

Your Turn: Would you pay to see Jose Canseco in a boxing match?

By Monte Poole
The Oakland Tribune, Calif.

OAKLAND, Calif. - From chasing blondes to buying fancy cars to dressing like celebrities he saw on TV and in movies, Jose Canseco spent his Oakland years determined to show he was living the so-called American dream.

All along, however, the former A's star knew his image could be undone by a single perception.
That he was stupid.

A dumb jock.

Or, worse, in his eyes, a dumb Hispanic jock.

Oh, how he despised the thought of that. It's why he was careful with his diction, why he bristled at those who dared to wonder if he was less than facile with the English language.

Jose, at age 22, was a proud young Cuban who would clench his jaw, if not his fists, at the thought of being a caricature.

Jose, five weeks from turning 44, is . . . a caricature.

Funny, eh? The man who was voted American League MVP in 1988, after posting the first 40-40 season in the big leagues, has scheduled a boxing match. Having extended invitations to anyone who dared to accept his challenge, he accepted that of Vai Sikahema, the former Philadelphia Eagle who now is a TV sports anchor.

I wish this were a publicity stunt. A way for Jose to get his name in the papers and on ESPN.
It's not. He's had so much publicity - of all kinds - in recent years that it's coming out of his ears. Many of those who didn't know of his tape-measure homers have been introduced to the retired ballplayer prostituting himself, burying any dignity he once had.

Canseco's purpose for diving into this muck is obvious. To earn some money. He needs it. Badly. He lost millions in his divorces, reportedly lost homes, and his bills now dwarf his income.

In short, this former celebrity athlete, whose career began on a Hall of Fame arc, is on skid row. Jose, who once signed the biggest contract in baseball - five years, $23.5 million - might as well dangle a sign from his neck: Will do anything for cash.

In this case, he could make about $5,000.

Sad, eh? Canseco has spent the past two decades trying, desperately so, to be relevant. He was for many years the lone voice in the forest, crying out to baseball, begging the game to pull its head from its backside and look in the mirror. Performance-enhancing drugs were rampant, Jose told us, and he had firsthand knowledge. Pay attention, please, he urged. The game is dishonest.

Which deserved applause. Canseco led, and, eventually, we all followed. Though he didn't exactly clean the game, he pointed out its dirt.

This vindication was enough, for a while, to grow a few branches of credibility for Canseco.
I was happy for him, mostly because I liked him. He was a big, friendly guy with an outsized personality and a vast sense of humor. Without a mean bone in his body.

He never kicked a photographer, as Dennis Rodman did. Never spit on an umpire, as Robbie Alomar did. Never choked his coach, as Latrell Sprewell did.

And there were domestic squabbles in each of his marriages.

Now, though, he's slugging for pennies.

Funny. And sad.

There is the visual, Canseco, a strapping 6-foot-4, 245 pounds, squaring off against Sikahema, about seven inches shorter and 50 pounds lighter. Given that these two men are well past their athletic primes, this is an absolute joke.

Remember when Dallas Cowboys star Ed "Too Tall" Jones decided he wanted to become a boxer? Even though he still was young, he soon realized the error of his ways.

Canseco-Sikahema, however, is more like that titanic battle between 7-foot-7, 240-pound Manute Bol and 6-1, 350-pound William "The Refrigerator" Perry. A tall, skinny guy flicking his gloves at a fat, sweaty guy - and both so far over the hill they couldn't see it with a telescope.
Canseco and Sikahema shouldn't bother to insult us by making any pretense of sports competition. Spare me the blather about Jose's martial-arts background. Spare me the garbage about Vai's fitness.

This is lowbrow reality TV, unfit for YouTube. It's a comedy routine being played out on July 12 in a ring at Bernie Robbins Stadium in Atlantic City. The promoter's name is Damon Feldman. The matchmaker must be Jerry Springer.

This, I don't want to see. And I hope, for your sake, you feel the same way.

If Jose isn't trading blows with Mark McGwire or Roger Clemens or Barry Bonds or some other 40-something sports figure seeking retribution, I can't watch.

Jose's rakish charm is gone. His bad-boy ways have gotten old. I was with him when he made steroids allegations. Snitching? OK, yes. But I was pleased to see him stand for something right.

But Canseco's relentless dishonor keeps trumping the honor. May he get the money he needs, every cent, but I can't ride with him. Not anymore. This is where I get off Jose's bus.

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