A memory from the past – Aaron Pryor in Sin City

It’s been ten years since former world champion Aaron Pryor passed away.

I watched many of his fights and couldn’t decide how I felt. He was good, but his act occasionally left me cold.

Pryor had captured the super lightweight title three years before by knocking out Antonio Cervantes. His reign had been explosive and controversial. But the guy could fight. I grew to appreciate the talent, energy, and grit he displayed in the ring.

I thought the great Alexis Arguello could take him.

They first fought in 1982. I remember it like it was yesterday.

The fight was a pugilistic rollercoaster.

The heavily favored Arguello had pockets of success in the early rounds. He jabbed and tagged Pryor many times. His powerful right connected semi-consistently. Pryor felt the shots but retaliated with missiles of his own.

Arguello landed his money punch in the 13th round. The blow snapped Pryor’s head like a tree branch. I expected him to fall.

He did not.

My dad said, “That’s it. Arguello is done. He hit Pryor with his best punch and nothing happened.”

Dad was right. A few minutes later, Pryor hurt Arguello.

Staggering to the ropes, Arguello waited for Pryor to reset his guns. He seemed resigned.

Multiple combinations—punctuated by three violent lead rights—left Arguello twisting in the wind. He finally collapsed to the canvas as Pryor rejoiced in the opposite corner.

Controversy raged after the bout. Where had Pryor’s energy come from?

Before the fourteenth round, Pryor’s trainer, Panama Lewis, ordered his assistant to hand him a black bottle.

“The one I mixed,” he said.

A rematch had to happen. It did 10 months after the original in Las Vegas, NV.

I was in Vegas a week before the sequel. Not to see the fight, but I was there, so why not watch them train?

They both trained at Caesars Palace. I joined other boxing fans waiting for the fighters.

The crowd had swelled to about 50 by the time Arguello, the former grand champion from Nicaragua, went through his paces. I was a few feet away from him. He looked grim, like a man counting down the days to his execution.

His workout lacked fire. He was going through the motions. I groaned inwardly.

No way he beats Pryor.

Arguello worked out for an hour. He left as quietly as he entered. The ballroom was now loaded to the rafters.

We were all waiting for “The Hawk” to show.

As the noise grew for Pryor’s arrival, Donna Summer’s beat-driven “She Works Hard for the Money” blasted from the room’s speakers, with Pryor and his entourage heading for the ring. Pryor danced into the ring and led the crowd in a chorus. He was smiling and pointing.

It felt more like a revival than a training session.

The contrast with Arguello was stunning. Pryor had sent 24 opponents to sleep, and everyone, including Arguello, knew it.

A week later, he defeated Arguello again, this time by stoppage in eight.

Beating Arguello was the apex of Pryor’s career. He fought six more times, finishing with a record of 39 wins in forty fights.

I was sad when I heard about his death, but smiled at the memory of Pryor dancing and singing his way into the ring.

Pryor was a true original..

And he could really fight.