By David Sauvage

Who doesn’t remember George Foreman’s most astonishing comeback? What we forget is April 11, 1992, the night he eked out a split decision victory against Alex Stewart. Puffed and dripping, his face looked like a burnt marshmallow. At 43 years of age, the old preacher seemed finally to have lost God’s touch. “Face It George: It’s Over” ran the headline in Ring Magazine.

Two fights before Stewart, things looked even more hopeless. Foreman was manhandled by none other than Evander Holyfield in what was supposed to be his last chance at a title. But as everyone knows, two fights after Stewart, he dropped Michael Moorer with such a perfect shot on the noggin that to this day, Moorer is still stupid enough to insist it was lucky.

This Saturday, November 13, Evander Holyfield finds himself facing his own Alex Stewart in Larry Donald. This comes two fights after Holyfield was manhandled by Chris Byrd in what was supposed to be his last chance at a title. At 42, the columnists argue, it’s time he faced it: he’s shot, finished, kaput. Not to mention, in his last bout, against James Toney a year ago, his age started wearing after the first round. The rest of the fight, lament the columnists, was “painful to watch.”

And not just because Toney was beating Holyfield up. If that were so, Toney’s September fight with Rydell Booker, where I snuck my way into a front row seat, would have been infinitely worse. What hurt was that Holyfield looked to be gambling his life without the slightest hope of winning back his glory. Aaron Imholte put it well. “What a feat five-time champion would be, if only it were more realistic and less dangerous,” he wrote. “Holyfield, who already speaks a lot slower and sometimes slurs his words, is in danger of suffering permanent brain damage and health complications if he pursues such a comeback.”

Holyfield has two retorts, neither of which satisfies anybody except maybe Don King and his buddies at HBO. Much like Foreman, Holyfield invokes the Lord: “I do believe in Jesus. I do believe that’s my protection.” Then he goes into denial mode: “I’m not going to lose one dead brain cell... Three generations from now I’ll be doing well, and my remembers will be good.” Or as Riddick Bowe said before launching his own comeback, “I never even heard of no frontal lobe before.” Pretty funny, these guys, if only they were joking.

Still, I’d like to propose another retort for Holyfield (and Bowe, for that matter). How many fighters, he might ask, do not flirt with brain damage? And how many fighters ever stand the slimmest chance at a title? Like it or lump it, this is a sport demanding a regular infusion of dead brain cells. In fact, that’s the point: if men didn’t decide their fight for glory were worth a lifetime of mediocrity, there’d be no heroes, neither on the battlefield nor in the ring. Which is why, no matter how clear his own memories are, three generations from now, we’ll remember Evander Holyfield.

“November 13, you'll see a better Holyfield,” claims Ronnie Shield, his new trainer. “He wasn’t in shape for the Toney fight. Simple as that.” Well, probably not so simple. Holyfield might beat Larry Donald, just like George Foreman beat Alex Stewart, but I doubt he’ll look good doing it. As for myself, I am going to be there anyway, as close to the action as my writerly wages will allow. Because no matter how it looks, it could still signal the beginning of the next Second Coming.

To those who look away, claiming to be sickened like vegans at a bullfight, let me ask you one thing. Is it Holyfield you’re turning from? Or is he just the messenger, reminding us fans that, despite the posturing and the publicity, boxing is actually real? Alas, we’re all set for tragedy. If only we could a take a lesson from Holyfield and fight on, unblinking.