I thought for a moment Roy Jones Jr. was going to carry Richard Hall up the Empire State Building and they would have to call out fighter planes to shoot him down. If this was a movie they would call it "Murder One." Or "Kiss the Blood off My Hands." Roy would be cast as a sociopath on the loose who couldn’t be stopped. I thought the battle at Little Big Horn was a slaughter but this was ridiculous.

Reggie Jackson had his bat. Wyatt Earp armed himself with a pistol and shotgun. Zorro carried a whip. Someone should have warned Hall that when you take on a bull you should at least come armed with a sword and a cape.

Despite Hall’s bravura performance, the HBO fight on May 13, at Conseco Fieldhouse was as one-sided as the inauguration. The tobacco industry is off the hook. Smoking can no longer be called the crime of the century. Drinking can no longer be considered the main social disgrace. Lets face it, the Jones-Hall fight was a chapter right out of Mannix’s The History of Torture. Hall had as much chance as a naked blonde in a Charlie Sheen’s boudoir.

Although many of the 13,211 fans attending the fight wanted it stopped much sooner, nobody asked for their money back. It didn’t matter that Hall was outclassed and that punches were coming faster than wine bottles at an Italian wedding. He fought back like Riddick Bowe and Buster Douglas over the last pork chop. Arguably it was the best effort by a loser since Richard Nixon. Give the guy credit. The Red Baron didn’t go down in flames as courageously.

A funny thing happened before the fight. Hall walked to Roy’s corner and stared the light heavyweight boss down. Pushing ensued and they had to be separated. Even Michael Buffer was speechless. Think about it. Why would Hall try to intimidate the man everybody says is the greatest fighter in the world? It makes about as much sense as shortening the vacuum cleaner cord to save electricity. Or opening a sleeping pill concession in a Niagara Falls hotel.

You look at Roy Jones Jr. and you wonder who the criminal was who first put boxing gloves on him. It’s like outfitting the Mad Bomber with a hydrogen bomb. Talk about casualties of war -- a guy in the third row yelled, " to hell with Private Ryan -- someone save Richard Hall!" "Where is Richard Steele when you need him?" another man screamed.

Forget the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Bugsy Siegel’s rub-out was not this brutal. A championship fight used to pit the certifiably best in each division against one another. If Hall was the very best the promoters could scrap up, then the division is certainly in trouble. Who is Richard Hall anyway? Until this fight he went as unnoticed as a busboy.

You got a full picture of the "mismatch" from HBO’s three esteem announcers, Big George Foreman. Jim Lampley, and Larry Merchant, who all together in one voice pleaded for the fight to be stopped. If their unprofessional display of agony proved one thing, it proved that fight announcers like Don Dunphy are as rare as rubies.

For those who remember Dunphy, no explanation is needed. For those who don’t he was the undisputed "Voice of Boxing" who broadcasted over 2,000 fights, including 200 championship bouts (1941-60).

Boxing is a violent sport. "There are very few archbishops in boxing," Red Smith used to say. You don’t get fighters out of the monastery. Swollen eyes, cut eyes and bloody noses are a part of the game. If fights are going to be stopped at the sight of blood, let’s abolish it. Greener fairways are for amateur golfers.

For HBO ringside announcers who can’t stand the sight of blood, there’s always tennis. Chess tournaments. Genteel sports like golf. Where do these guys get off berating referee Wayne Kelly and calling for the boxing commission to strip him of his license and ship him off to Saudi Arabia? Evidently they never saw a man going to the electric chair. Or seen maidens pushed into snake pits.

Let me explain it this way: When you buy a ticket for a Godfather movie, you’re not there to enjoy the wedding ceremony, but James Cann getting riddled by machinegun bullets.

Okay, so the fight should have been stopped. But not before Hall ran out of miracles with 1:29 left in the 11th round. Until then, he had a puncher’s chance. He came in with a record of 23 knockouts in 25 fights. You don’t surrender to the enemy while you still have bullets left. You don’t call the fire department before the fire starts. And you don’t stop a fight when there’s still a puncher’s chance.

Commentator George Foreman, above all people, should know better. If Wayne Kelly should have his license revoked ( as HBO’s finest would have us believe), then the referee that allowed Alex Stewart to turn Foreman’s face into a bag of plums should be deballed. If you missed it, Big George was lucky to escape with his life. He never asked the referee to stop that fight. The (raw) decision had the effect of making an object of sympathy of Foreman.

If Foreman thinks the Jones-Hall fight should have been stopped earlier, what about his fight with Joe Frazier? Foreman virtually demolished Joltin’ Joe, knocking him down three times in the first round, and three more times in the second, before referee Arthur Mercante stopped the fight to save Frazier from a one-way trip to palookaville. Did Foreman call for Macante’s banishment? I think not.

If you're not on my side yet then lets take a look at a puncher’s chance in Boxicana’s longevity list. The first Marciano-Charles fight in 1954 was one of history’s most savage battles. With blood streaming out of a gash above his right eye, Rocky staged a magnificent finish to edge out a close decision. Three months later Charles opened a gash to the bone on Marciano’s nose and there was more blood in the ring than was spilled at the Battle of Leipzig. With a puncher’s chance, Rocky knocked him out in the eighth round.

The list is long: Muhammad Ali suffered a broken jaw during his 12-round loss to Ken Norton in 1973 and the fight wasn’t stopped; in 1958, with a puncher’s chance, Arichie Moore finally knocked out Yvon Durelle after being floored three times in the first round; his left eye sliced and bleeding, Sugar Ray Robinson knocked out Randy Turpin in the tenth while Referee Ruby Goldstein contemplated stopping the fight. Goldstein later said he let the fight continue because Robinson had a puncher’s chance.

The record books are full of brutal bouts that were left to continue on a puncher’s chance. What these ringside scholars are doing in a sport where brutality is a shutout is something for someone else to answer. They should be judges at Miss America contests or home with the wife and kiddies watching remakes of "Camille."

These guys are paid to commentate, not second guess the referee. We don’t need the sidekicks to save the fort. Sport fans pay good money to see desperado hockey, home run hitters, punchers and bomb throwers. Why do millions of fans watch wrestling? They think all that brutality is real!

In the spirit of Evel Knievel, indestructible Roy Jones (42-1-34 knockouts) is considering moving up to the heavyweights to fight Lennox Lewis. Why not? Light-heavyweights who have failed to move up have drifted out of the big time -- and big money. Those who have became demigods, even in losing.

After winning the light heavy title from Battling Levinsky in 1922, Gene Tunney beat Jack Dempsey to become heavyweight champion in 1926. Jack Delaney, a masterful boxing and hitter, was kayoed by Jack Sharkey after entering the heavyweight ranks in 1928. After winning the light heavy crown from McTigue in 1927, Tommy Loughran was knocked out by Jack Sharkey in his first heavyweight try. In 1929 John Henry Lewis gave up his light heavy crown for a crack at Joe Louis’s heavyweight crown and was stopped in one round.

One of the ring’s classiest boxers, Billy Conn followed the trend of the division. After taking Gus Lesnevich’s light heavy crown away from him he vacated his throne to challenge Joe Louis for the heavyweight title. He was stopped by the Brown Bomber twice, once in 1941 and again in 1945.

Archie Moore lifted Joey Maxim’s light heavy title from him in 1952 and although he was virtually unbeatable in this division he never had any luck with heavyweights. In a furious battle with Rocky Marciano in 1955, referee Harry Kessler counted Moore out in the 9th round. On November 30, 1956, Floyd Patterson kayoed Moore in the fifth to win Marciano’s vacated heavyweight title.

My point is, legends are spawned in the heavyweight division, nurtures there, flourish there. You would have never heard of Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle or Joe DiMaggio if they had lingered in the minor leagues. A long line of cotton choppers and wheat farmers proved their skill on the football field. Maybe in a fight with Lennex Lewis, Jones could razzle and dazzle his way to a decision. If he clinched his claim by defeating Lewis he would become the mother lode of boxing. If he was unsuccessful in his quest for heavyweight honors, he would not lose his clout as banner bearer in the lighter division. Besides, he would be several millions dollars richer.

If he doesn’t try, he will be as forgotten as Whistler’s father. For you see, no one cares about the light heavy division. Light heavyweights spend their lives in no-man’s land. It’s the Bermuda Triangle of Fistiana. The Lost Battalion of the sport or the French Foreign Legion. Unless Jones abandons this division and moves up, he will disappear in history books along with the catchers of baseball or the center who took a stance on the football line of scrimmage.

Of course, the heavyweights of today are much bigger than the heavyweights of yesterday. In comparison, Stanley Ketchel was a middleweight when he fought Jack Johnson and was outweighed by 70 pounds. Lennix Lewis outweighs Roy Jones Jr. by 70 pounds.

From a distance, the fight appears unlikely. ******

A Bit About Bill Kelly