by Paul Zanon w/ Teresa Tapia
PUBLISHED BY: Hamilcar Publications
RELEASE DATE: 2019
GENRE: Sports, Biography, True Crime
PAGE COUNT: 57
This thing kicks off at a vengeful pace akin to Hagler v Hearns circa '85. The Fight that became The War. Like that famed bout, it keeps to that gear. Sammy Hagar, the Red Rocker of all people, sets the tone in its forward from the highs of the Marco Antonio Barrera fight build-up if not execution, to the lows of a coma that came close to being a plug-puller.
The unrelenting pulsating tale then immediately introduces Mrs. Teresa Tapia on those heels as a victim yet to become a further victim and also an accomplice as well as occasional keeper; a lifer after a mere two weeks of dating. Her own Prelude here involves the ups of new love and the downs of DOA. Is it really ups and downs or does sheer insanity better cover it?
I understand a bit more now, 'Expect the unexpected.' Wows then turn into sounds about rights. Still, a helluva tale. A war. War is hell. This is no heavenly read. While constructed well and equally well-presented, it remains trainwreck (or more apropos bus-wreck) entertainment. Hagar had to be coached up to use a stool between rounds; Tapia wanted his voice while Freddie Roach wanted Tapia's ear.
It's a tragedy, really, and an out-of-the-gate, down-the-stretch feces storm in repeated microcosm. You choose wrong enough times, it becomes a habit like drugs and alcohol, both of which fuel the said tragedy. Sounds about right, I know. "Was Johnny Tapia boxing's most tortured soul? Arguably." Asks then states the book. What if no right choices exist? Literal blood baptisms have some effect as well. As would abandonment via unspeakable violence.
It's shocking to read that celebrities the likes of Mr. T and Mickey Rourke joined in with Tapia at his height of popularity. Oh, wait... Sounds about right. I don't mean to sound jaded, but am well-aware that I do. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. This begins to quickly read as a mystery book printed backward. But again told crisply and coherently via quick. Pulp-like. Bursts. Perhaps written a bit as how pablum is fed, digested.
If there's one failure, it's in positing Tapia as a sympathetic figure. Although perhaps that isn't the goal. The only clear goal, and one may be arrived on accidentally but achieved oh so deliberately, was the use of Tapia himself as a sort of euphoric drug. Teresa spent many years high as a kite, riding that dragon. "The temptation for greatness is the biggest drug in the world." Mike Tyson, atop Chapter Four, Ressurection Boulevard.
Ultimately, this book does justice to its topic in a quite apt manner. Quickly. Meteorically. It's a mood. Gets in and then out with suddenness. While in, gets points across, drops some nice in and out-of-ring info while sharing snapshots of each. It's an easy read to recommend again because it won't eat your time and you'll feel as though you're maybe left with more than you put in. An offering with a decent ROI. It won't haunt you, although maybe it should. Brisk.
A spicy cigar with a short, clean finish.
A note on Teresa, she is the hero of this saga. A woman capable of great adaptation and what can only be called true grit survival of the fittest. As Johnny's keeper, as his manager, she not only survived but thrived in that harsh as heck world. After four more DOAs and a pair or so suicide attempts, Johnny Tapia died on May 27, 2012. "We're talking about Johnny. He always comes back." Not always. He thought it was time. He was 45 years old.
A famous Sherlockian poem, 221B by Vincent Starrett, ends with a line that runs, "And it is always eighteen ninety-five." This book lives on the day of Tapia's death, as did he. I need a damn drink. Make it a soda.
3.5 of 5 stars.
::: very ::