He was losing.
The 12th round -- that last stand -- is how one man became a paragon for Mexican fighters.
Julio Cesar Chavez, the Sonoran, known for his punching power and grit, dropped fellow undefeated pugilist Meldrick Taylor with 16 seconds left in their IBF/WBC 140-pound title unification contest.
All Taylor had to do to win was get up. The former Olympian had thrown 400 more punches than Chavez, breaking the 1,000 mark and nearly doubling the landed total. Between two official ringside judges and HBO analyst Harold Lederman, Chavez had won five rounds combined -- not enough to win on one scorecard.
Taylor could not continue, according to referee Richard Steele, and Chavez's March 17, 1990, win (Ring Magazine's Fight of the Year and Fight of the Decade) made him more than a cherished boxer. It made him a cultural icon.
That day lives on. Mexican mixed martial artists like Roger Huerta (Pictures), Eddie Sanchez, Manny Tapia (Pictures) and Joey Villasenor (Pictures) all cite Chavez as an inspiration. Unlike Cinco de Mayo, March 17 has a clear message.
"[Mexicans] have that fighting blood," Huerta says. "I don't know what it is. We just have it in us."
The obfuscating factors of May 5 range from historical ignorance to clever marketing. Beer companies lead the masses to believe Cinco de Mayo is "Drinko de Mayo," while the misconception that the date is Mexican Independence Day dominates.
The holiday commemorates the Battle of Puebla, where 2,000 ill-equipped Mexican troops defeated 6,000 French soldiers in 1862. Mexico eventually succumbed to Napoleon's power and lost the war, but Cinco de Mayo remains a testament to the will of a people. It is about the ability to win the battle even if the war is lost.
Mexican-Americans relish the holiday. However, their counterparts in Mexico are not anywhere near as enthusiastic. Mexico's Independence Day, Sept. 16, is their holiday of choice but receives minimal attention in America.
The disagreement between Mexicans on different sides of the border does not extend to fighting, though. Mexican-American fans made Chavez a massive pay-per-view draw in the United States, and 136,000 fans set a Mexico City attendance record for his 1993 bout.
Mexicans understand fighting, and fighters understand dedication. Unable to drink cerveza or eat most dishes because of diet restrictions, fighters focus on being with family and friends on Cinco de Mayo. Close proximity to loved ones reminds the athletes where they came from and how far they have come.
"My aunt said I was too dumb to box," reflects Manny Tapia. "I don't know whether she was joking or not."
The Millennia Jiu-Jitsu representative recalls the comfort fights offer. At 8 years old, the death of his parents stunned Tapia. But a soccer-playing uncle went out of his way to show him the beauty and brutality of the sweet science despite not caring for it himself.
Tapia, thinking about growing up in a one-room project and the changing landscapes of Michoacan, Mexico, creates a parallel between his life and his fighting.
"Some people were born to fight," he says. "Some weren't."
Economic troubles are only part of it. Eddie Sanchez describes the "whole elementary thing" of being teased because he is Mexican. Huerta never experienced discrimination, but he witnessed it. Joey Villasenor laments that learning Spanish in his household was never a priority because the shame dealt to those who spoke it.
Despite the hardships, the fighters wear the eagle and serpent seal proudly. They echo the same sentiments: They represent their heritage, but nationality and race does not matter in the cage.
"I'm proud to be Mexican, but I represent myself more than anything," says Tapia, who is awaiting knee surgery after dropping out of a WEC bantamweight title fight against Miguel Torres (Pictures).
Adds Huerta, referring to the style made famous by Chavez: "I think the fans like me more for how I fight. Peleao como Mexicano [I fight like a Mexican]. You go in there and grind it out."
Wearing a flag means these fighters are reaching out to family, friends and soon-to-be fans -- a support system. There is no malice in the act; it is just a nod of recognition.
They agree their heritage can generate interest for the sport. Since fighting is an international language, there is no reason the fervent fans should keep Spanish out of the dialogue. From smaller shows to nationally televised fights, the fighters have seen an increase in their fan base, which allows them to meet more fans and generate interest in their own communities.
"They respect it a lot more because they have a family member doing it," relays Sanchez about his family's reluctance to accept MMA.
Huerta believes it is only a matter of educating viewers, which is why the fighters unanimously want to fight in Mexico. Having major MMA shows in Mexico is not a pipe dream either -- it is the next logical step.
Mexico's trudging history of indigenous conquest, European imperialism and internal corruption that quelled and outlasted the Mexican revolution is ever-present during time of celebration. With fewer Latinos sending money to their relatives in native countries, massive deportations and the smallest May Day marches seen in years, Mexican-Americans are seeing more trying times.
These elements seem counter to a joyous occasion, but celebration is always welcome. Celebration reveals that those crushing hardships are not strong enough to break the will. Mexicans live in a culture that relies on boxers, bullfighters and bandits -- on fighters, on fortitude -- to provide hope.
Chavez's indomitable spirit in his historic performance is a great source of pride for the Mexican people because it cannot be taught. It is a regalo de reyes, a gift of kings. Yet it is found in other cultural icons, too.
Emiliano Zapata survived Mexican revolutionary overthrow after overthrow. Frida Kahlo launched her celebrated painting career while suffering through spinal column, pelvis and rib injuries. Vicente Fernandez was booed off stage at an early age and vowed never to sing again, only to become an international treasure for his voice.
Even Cantinflas was a professional prizefighter.
So while Huerta's persevering victory over Clay Guida (Pictures) has already taken on a special kind of folklore, mixed martial arts is still waiting for its own El Gran Campeon Mexicano, a title bestowed on Chavez that means the Great Mexican Champion.
"Represent your heritage," concludes Villasenor, who will be visible to Mexicans across the United States when he battles Phil Baroni (Pictures) on MMA's first primetime live broadcast May 31 on CBS. "Your family and the people that love you -- it makes you a fighter."