MAD about the boy. Out there in Athens, they’re all mad about the boy. Amir Khan, of Great Britain, unleashed his talents again last night and in 97 seconds of terrible precision, he ensured himself a bronze medal at the very least after dismantling Baik Jong-Sub, of South Korea. In much less time than it takes to boil an egg, Khan had racked up a score of ten points to two and been dragged off a bewildered, demoralised and utterly defeated opponent.
“I am thrilled,” Khan said. “I came here wanting a medal of some description and now I have got that medal and no one can take it away from me.”
Khan, from Bolton, is only 17 and still surrounded by an aura of humility. There is an air of innocence about him, although it is the innocence of a young panther. He knocked down Baik in the first minute and by the time that Khan got serious with his combination punches, the Korean was bordering on panic. It was the outrageous confidence of the whole thing that was so impressive, the boy’s certainty that he had what it takes to destroy — not to defeat, but to destroy — an older, ringtoughened opponent.
It was swift and distinctly dreadful. Khan has a wonderful eye for the smallest loophole in defence and the hand-speed to reach it before it closes. A successfully landed punch opens another loophole like a chain of logic; ergo, Baik, 24, was dismantled before our eyes.
It was all about speed — the astonishing reaction time that puts those punches together in combination, the stunning speed with which Khan assesses his opponent’s vulnerability and the wicked swiftness with which he finished the job.
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It was as if the man knew nothing about boxing and this slightly unearthly boy knew the lot. By the end, the Korean was no longer seeing where the punches were coming from; they were arriving too hard and too often. It was an absolutely devastating exhibition and it will bring him up against Serik Yeleuov, of Kazakhstan, in the next round.
On last night’s display, that should bring him to the gold medal bout without great difficulty. There he should meet Mario Kindelan, the tournament favourite from Cuba. Kindelan marmelised him in a bout last year, but Khan says that it was one of the great learning experiences of a lifetime. Kindelan should still be too much for him, but who knows? Right now, Khan has the look of someone whose time has come.
Potential is the most thrilling thing in sport. You don’t know what is around the next corner, but it just might be the most wonderful thing that has happened to anyone. As Charlie Whittingham, the great American trainer, once told me: “No one with a young horse ever committed suicide.”
Potential is always beautiful, always perfect, because reality has yet to sully it. The greatest racehorse to touch the turf, tracing a direct line from Pegasus — why, we meet him two or three times a year and we know that only racing can spoil him. That, and time.
And Khan has all the boxing people in this city purring like cats. Boxing writers pretend to be tough as Greek steak, but — don’t let them know I said so — they’re a deeply sentimental bunch. And they are all besotted with Khan.
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Prince Naseem without the ghastliness, they say. A boy with balance, perspective, sanity and a sound and solid family. A boy who is deeply likeable, apart from anything else. And he has oceans of the purest talent. Hand-speed, mobility and, above all, the uncoachable bit; that knowledge of how to box, how to deal with changing circumstances in an appropriately painful fashion.
The boy’s got it all, they say. He could go all the way. All the way to where? All the way to wherever he wants. Gold at the Beijing Games in four years and after that — but hush. Let us enjoy the moment. Let us enjoy the potential, this gorgeous talent rising up in the unlovely sport of boxing. And let us not wish the vileness of the professional game upon him quite yet. Innocence ought not to endure overlong, but it is not a thing to wish away.
The decency and humility go with a talent that has a shocking purity about it. There was something impersonal in the way he administered last night’s beating. It is as if there is no help for it; the overwhelming talent in the boy must express itself and the only way it can do so is in the administering of pain. Nothing personal, he might have said to Baik. But you personally. Now the next.