by Jeff Pryor

There is a man whose legend has grown in the recesses of the sport of boxing. A man who haunts the edges of the spotlight like a spectre. His face, gaunt, rigid and intense, lips curling back in fury as he pummels opponents into the mat; something he has done nineteen times in the first round of a fight. Of the other seven fighters he has faced; men who managed to survive those opening salvos and make it through to further stanzas, none have heard the final bell toll.

Twenty six opponents were gunned down by a dark messenger, whose very appearance evokes some demonic, pagan warrior; a tuft of hair on his chin, wild twists of hair, and intense eyes that seem to be both empty and leering as they witness the carnage he delivers to each felled fighter...

That was the opening to an article I began, but did not finish, prior to Edwin Valero's matchup with Antonio DeMarco earlier this year. Rereading it now, a little chill runs up my back, for I remember particularly penning the passages there and having one word running through my head over and over with which I could think of to evoke what it was to see Valero in the heat of a fight...

It was to call him a demon.

What I sensed, and what was played out and crystalized in the brutal slaying of his wife and the desperate suicide of a few days ago, was that Valero was filled with a sort of unbridled rage at moments. A ferocious animalistic aggression that he foisted on his opponents in the ring, and that ultimately went spilling into the real world, in the form of untenable violence against his hapless wife, his family and himself.

Horror writer extraordinaire, Stephen King, once proffered a thought on whether evil was something that could invade a person like a flu bug; wresting control from them for a brief time and leaving them an empty eyed husk, wondering what exactly had just happened.

King's reason for pursuing this idea was an observation of doe eyed serial killers, docile once in custody, sitting idly, unmoving, incomprehensibly calm after their outbursts of devastation. As though the evil in them blew away like a fallen leaf, drifting on the wind to land at the feet of another unlucky soul caught in the maelstrom.

As Valero told police "I went to sleep with her, and when I got up my wife was already dead."

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One gets the sense that in Valero's case, that poison was always there, buried somewhere inside and unleashed only in the confines of the ring, in the back rooms of his home and errant hotel chambers. As my opening description intoned, his eyes had a seeming emptiness even in the heat of battle; perhaps that detachment is a prerequisite for the atrocious defilement of human life that men like Valero are able to accomplish.

In a most violent sport, there is no surprise that it attracts violent men. The list of pugilists whose lives outside the ring were soaked in blood and strife is a long and accomplished one. Names like Carlos Monzon, Trevor Berbick, Ike Ibeabuchi, and more recently Arturo Gatti and Alexis Arguello, begin a list that could go on for much longer were we to comb through the dredges of boxing's dark shadows.

In a recent conversation with former junior middleweight champion Sergio Mora, I asked him what he felt about all the violent deaths surrounding the sport of boxing over the last year. A list which includes his two time opponent Vernon Forrest who was shot to death in Atlanta not long after their final bout.

"I have a theory on that" Sergio told me. "I'm very manic. It goes and it flows. I'm a very dangerous... I like to drive fast for instance. I'm always getting speeding tickets. I like skydiving.

"It's a weird thing," he went on "I like putting myself at the edge of trouble. Luckily I'm not violent. I don't get in trouble with the law. I don't beat my girlfriend. But I really feel that boxers need an outlet, outside of fighting, because it's a weird thing that goes on inside your head."

Clearly it's a certain personality that steps into the ring, goes through the brutal training, and enjoys the rush of combat that could result in you or your opponent making the ultimate sacrifice.

Mora also relayed an instance where he asked Sugar Ray Leonard about his cocaine use after retiring, and why he had done it. Leonard replied, "Man, that was as close to the adrenaline rush I could get, going into the ring."

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What makes Valero's calamitous story more alluring than most of the other woe begotten prize fighters, is that for boxing fans, seeing your first footage of Valero was like catching a glimpse of some rare beast long thought extinct, or perhaps never imagined, on a remote island; the footage was grainy, poorly shot, the clips were short and violent. Portentous of some dynamic warrior who would eventually make his mark on the sport should he finally make his way overseas.

Knowing about Valero, a cult favorite, was like knowing about the great eat spot in the corner of town. If you new about it, you were in the club; in a way, you were special.

In the years to come some will try to elevate his accomplishments in the ring to a greater level than they deserve, while others may look to brush him aside as never having proven his place among elite fighters of his time, let alone all-times.

For now we are left to wonder at the sudden implosion of a rising star. That implosion left a black hole which pulled his wife, two kids, family and friends into the heart of that darkness. Nothing escapes the pull of a black hole, not even the children he orphaned with his actions. They will be searching for a way out of the labyrinth he created for them. Searching for the rest of their lives.

Fans and foes will argue his worth in the ring, fewer will argue his worth outside of it. It's too soon to know what the future boxing fan will think of Valero, tracking his fights down then, as many of us did in the past few years across the internet.

A ferocious and courageous fighter in the ring, ended up leaving life in a cowardly and vile manner.

His legend was built on message boards and video uploads. His legacy will be built there as well.

There is a man whose legend has grown in the recesses of the sport of boxing. A man who haunts the edges of the spotlight like a spectre.

What we now know is that he was destined for the spotlight of infamy, a spotlight which only shined on him in his darkest hour to reveal the black truth of what was behind those violent knockouts and unbeaten record.

His memory is left to haunt the shadows of the sport. Haunt those that followed him. And haunt a family that was torn asunder.

The spotlight finally shone on Edwin Valero... and in it's light he was revealed to be a demon.

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