GOLD TODAY, GREEN TOMORROW

By Michael Walsh

U.S. boxers launch careers with an overwhelming team victory

They call it the sweet science, but at the conclusion of the Olympic boxing competition Saturday, fight fans could be forgiven for thinking that what they saw was more like a gloved version of the dismal science instead. Economics, not fisticuffs, was on everybody's mind. "After I get that gold medal, I'm turning pro," declared Lightweight Winner Pernell Whitaker, 20, before the tournament began. Boasted Flyweight Gold Medalist Steve McCrory, 20, younger brother of World Boxing Council Welterweight Champ Milton, after the semifinals: "I'm going to make this the richest division in boxing -$10 million in two years, and that's on commercials only." As for Welterweight Mark Breland, 21, the media star of the talent-rich U.S. squad, he showed up at press conferences with his manager in tow and with the eminently reasonable expectation of making more than $100,000 the first time he laces up professionally. For many of the record-setting American boxers, who won eleven medals on the way to an overwhelming team victory, the prom ise of future green seemed to outweigh the pleasure of present gold.

It was a week marked by a combination of athletic heroics within the ring and judgmental pusillanimity without. The twelve-man U.S. team, spared by the Soviet-led boycott from facing their toughest competitors, the Cubans and the Soviets, coolly advanced through the field, mowing down Ugandans, Tongans, South Koreans, Mexicans and Italians along the way. Only three U.S. fighters lost a bout.

The lopsided results drew protests that the judges were unduly dazzled by the prospect of the Americans' impending pro careers. When Super Heavyweight Tyrell Biggs won the gold medal with a 4-1 decision, his opponent, Italy's Francesco Damiani, gestured angrily in disgust. After South Korean Light Welterweight Dong-Kil Kim lost a 4-1 decision to Jerry Page, 23, in the quarterfinals, the South Koreans briefly threatened to pull out of the tournament. And when Heavyweight Henry Tillman's 3-2 loss to Italy's Angelo Musone was overturned by the jury that reviews all such decisions, even the chauvinistic crowd at the Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena booed lustily. Tillman's earlier fight, with Tonga's Tevita Taufoou, had ended when the Japanese referee mysteriously stopped the contest late in the second round. Charged Taufoou: "The Americans are getting whatever they need to win these fights."

Make that North Americans. Seemingly, nothing could impede the march of two Canadians, Light Middleweight Shawn O'Sullivan, 22, and Heavyweight Willie deWit, 23, to the finals. The two white fighters were featured in promoter's-dream match-ups with black Americans Frank Tate, 19, and Tillman, 24. O'Sullivan's war with Tate was an Olympic highlight, a furious battle during which Tate was twice given standing eight counts before rallying to win unanimously. Earlier, O'Sullivan had been tattooed during the semifinals by a tough Frenchman named Christophe Tiozzo, and won only when the jury, an innovation supposedly designed to eliminate controversy rather than foment it, reversed the judges' decision. DeWit, a rugged Dutchman from Grande Prairie, Alta., sleepwalked his way through a couple of fights, but displayed his box-office appeal in a quarterfinal bout when he put Dodovic Owiny of Uganda down and out with a thunderous left. Even though he lost a unanimous decision to Tillman in the finals, his pro future as a white hope with a punch seems assured.

Not all the breaks went the Americans' way. Evander Holyfield, 21, an unheralded, hard-slugging light heavyweight from Atlanta who had won his first three bouts by knockouts, suffered a bizarre loss to a thoroughly outclassed Kevin Barry of New Zealand. Holyfield was disqualified for striking a blow after the Yugoslav referee had ordered a break. Never mind that the punch knocked out Barry; never mind that Barry had been fouling Holyfield and was on the verge of disqualification; never mind that Holyfield probably could not have heard the referee's command over the crowd noise. But do bring to mind the moment when Barry gallantly raised Holyfield's arm in acknowledgment of the American's triumph. A U.S. protest was ultimately disallowed, and a disappointed Holyfield had to settle for the bronze. Barry won the silver, leaving Yugoslav Anton Josipovic to win an uncontested gold.

The judging controversies were largely rooted in the idiosyncrasies of Olympic scoring, which rewards boxing, not brawling. Under the rules, a cleanly landed jab counts as much as a knockdown blow; in three 3-min. rounds, the objective is to be effectively aggressive, not lethal. Despite a strong third round, U.S. Middleweight Virgil Hill, 20, lost a split decision in the finals to Joon-Sup Shin because the South Korean had outpointed him in earlier rounds. On the judge's part, it takes surgical concentration to count the blows and apportion their weight. Spectators conditioned by the blood sport of the pros often forgot that.

But losses or judging reversals were the rare exceptions as the U.S. juggernaut rolled on. Even ABC'S Howard Cosell, the unofficial cheerleader of the team, seemed taken aback at the one-sidedness of the competition. Said Cosell, just before Holyfield's disqualification: "The overwhelming succession of American victories has become almost embarrassing." Nearly every weight-class competition yielded a U.S. champion with a distinctive style and something to prove.

There was Light Flyweight Paul Gonzales, 20, for example, 106 Ibs. of controlled barrio macho with an elegant command of the ring. Favoring an injured right arm, Gonzales disposed of his Venezuelan opponent in the semifinals by scoring repeatedly with a classic left jab. He won his final in a walkover when his opponent, Salvatore Todisco of Italy, turned out to have broken a thumb in a previous bout. Ten years ago, Gonzales was running with the violent gangs of predominantly Hispanic East Los Angeles. Taken in hand by Sympathetic Cop Al Stankie, Gonzales emerged as a home-town hero who had gone for the gold, and won.

There was Meldrick Taylor, 17, who missed his high school graduation to make the team. Raised in Philadelphia, a city with impeccable boxing bloodlines (Smokin' Joe Frazier, et al.), Taylor is a good-looking fighter who can slip a punch, hit hard with both hands and move well. In his semifinal bout with Venezuelan Omar Catari Peraza, Taylor floored him in Round 2 with a straight right and went on to win unanimously. Nigerian Peter Konyegwachie gave Taylor all he could handle in a hotly contested final, but Taylor, surprisingly, won a unanimous verdict. His flamboyant teammate Whitaker, who sometimes mocked opponents, fought stylishly for his gold, easily defeating Luis Ortiz of Puerto Rico.

And of course there was Breland, who went into the tournament with the biggest reputation (a record five New York Golden Gloves titles, a major role in the 1983 film The Lords of Discipline). A lanky, 6-ft. 3-in. 147-pounder from Brooklyn's Bedford-Stuyvesant ghetto, Breland is blessed with an exceptionally long reach and a strong right hand. But he was lackadaisical and distracted in his opening fight against a brawling Canadian, and suffered the ignominy of a standing eight count before winning the decision. Breland flashed his old form hi stopping Mexico's Genaro Leon in the first round of the quarterfinals, and handily whipped Italy's Luciano Bruno to reach the gold-medal round. His 5-0 victory over South Korea's Young-Su An for the gold was something of a formality.

Breland's early distraction may have been caused by yet another controversy. During the competition, Breland, McCrory and Tate left the team's training site, supervised by U.S. Coach Pat Nappi, to work with Emanuel Steward, their private tutor from Detroit's Kronk Gym, home to pros like Thomas Hearns. Indeed, the aura of proto-professionalism hung over the ring throughout the week. Fighters met the press in postfight interviews attended by their agents. Instead of boasting of their knockout prowess, they projected their income for 1987; rather than discussing Olympic strategy, they talked about how soon a pro title bout could be arranged. And hovering at ringside were boxing promoters from across America, eager to capitalize on the fighters' rise to prominence.

It was left to Gonzales to sound a loftier note. Anticipating a medal-whining performance, East Los Angeles' favorite son was talking accomplishment, not three-fight contracts. "I'm going to wear that gold medal with pride, and then I'm going to put it around my mother's neck," he said. "She deserves it more than me." In a tournament in which it seemed that the amateur ideal of pure sport had taken more than a few shots to the head, this was refreshing indeed. --By Michael Walsh. Reported by BJ. Phillips/Los Angeles

With reporting by BJ. Phillips