"Sugar Ray and talked about doing some articles together or writing a book together but dealing with Sugar Ray was a lot like fighting him. He would fake you in and then he'd drop you"
About this Quote
Dick Schaap compresses a world of experience into a fighter's metaphor. Sitting across from Sugar Ray, he felt the same craft that confounded opponents in the ring: the feint that draws you forward, the sudden blow that leaves you on the canvas. The promise of collaboration on articles or a book functions like a nod from a great boxer, an invitation into range. Then comes the pivot, the withdrawal, the refusal or vanishing act that ends the round before it begins.
Sugar Ray Robinson built his legend on deception married to precision. He showed opponents something, watched them bite, and punished the mistake. Schaap suggests that the tools of ringcraft did not stay between the ropes. Charm, timing, and control of distance translated into negotiation and self-presentation. A star of Robinsons magnitude could choose when to engage and when to disappear, guarding his story as carefully as he guarded his chin. For a journalist hungry for access, that meant chasing a moving target, constantly reacting to a virtuoso of misdirection.
The line also speaks to the asymmetry of power between athlete and writer. Reporters like Schaap chase, persuade, and wait; the subject decides. When the subject is a master of reading cues and exploiting overreach, the chase becomes perilous. The feint is the promise of openness, the drop is the reminder that the subject owns the narrative. Even the grammar of fame enacts a bout, with footwork, angles, and the occasional flurry.
There is admiration embedded in the sting. Schaap acknowledges Robinsons brilliance: to make a professional observer of people lunge is its own artistry. But there is a rueful lesson too about the limits of proximity. Some figures remain elusive by design. The very qualities that made Sugar Ray dazzling between bells made him elusive on the page, and dealing with him meant accepting that access, like victory, could be dangled, invited, and then withheld in a flash.
Sugar Ray Robinson built his legend on deception married to precision. He showed opponents something, watched them bite, and punished the mistake. Schaap suggests that the tools of ringcraft did not stay between the ropes. Charm, timing, and control of distance translated into negotiation and self-presentation. A star of Robinsons magnitude could choose when to engage and when to disappear, guarding his story as carefully as he guarded his chin. For a journalist hungry for access, that meant chasing a moving target, constantly reacting to a virtuoso of misdirection.
The line also speaks to the asymmetry of power between athlete and writer. Reporters like Schaap chase, persuade, and wait; the subject decides. When the subject is a master of reading cues and exploiting overreach, the chase becomes perilous. The feint is the promise of openness, the drop is the reminder that the subject owns the narrative. Even the grammar of fame enacts a bout, with footwork, angles, and the occasional flurry.
There is admiration embedded in the sting. Schaap acknowledges Robinsons brilliance: to make a professional observer of people lunge is its own artistry. But there is a rueful lesson too about the limits of proximity. Some figures remain elusive by design. The very qualities that made Sugar Ray dazzling between bells made him elusive on the page, and dealing with him meant accepting that access, like victory, could be dangled, invited, and then withheld in a flash.
Quote Details
| Topic | Fake Friends |
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