Vargas' story is one of turmoil and triumph
By Kyle Jorrey kjorrey@theacorn.com

JANN HENDRY/Acorn Newspapers POWER PUNCHER- Fernando Vargas, right, of Oxnard delivers a stiff left jab to the head of Ricardo Mayorga during last Saturday's fight at Staples Center. After being floored twice, Vargas lost a majority decision in what he said would be his last professional match.

I'll never forget the first and last time I came facetoface with "Ferocious" Fernando Vargas.

It was January 2005, and I- then the Acorn's lead sports reporter- had just landed my biggest interview since coming to the paper: a one-on-one with Oxnard's original bad boy.

And I was scared as hell.

Robert Ferguson, a local gym owner and fitness expert in the Conejo Valley, had joined Vargas' camp as he prepared to rebound from a twoyear boxing hiatus following his 2002 crushing defeat to Oscar De La Hoya. As a result, Vargas was training at Ferguson's gym a few days a week and commuting back and forth from his home in Camarillo.

It was Ferguson who suggested that I stop by one afternoon to take a peek at one of Vargas' notoriously violent sparring sessions and take the opportunity to ask him a few questions about the direction of his career, which even then included nearly 20 years in the ring.

A fight fan since grade school, I got goose bumps just thinking of the opportunity to watch one of the toughest boxers of his era, a man who'd won his first 17 professional fights by way of knockout, upcloseandpersonal as he prepared for his next battle.

But the thought of interviewing Vargas facetoface- no podium, no audience, no press conference, no other press for that matter- that gave me some cause for concern.

Knowing Vargas only by reputation, my vision of him was one he had spent the previous decade creating- that of a bad boy with a quick temper who intimidated foes inside and outside of the ropes.

So, as I walked inside Ferguson's gym one day, armed only with a hand-held recorder and my knowledge and appreciation of the sweet science, a small part of me, I hate to admit, actually wondered if I'd leave there unscathed.

After speaking with Vargas' manager and trainer, I stood by and looked on in awe as the fighter I'd watched pummel opponents so many times on HBO, Showtime and ESPN sparred just a few feet in front of me, training with the intensity of a man who badly wanted to be remembered among the sport's greats.

Moments later he ceased the fight, removed his gloves, hydrated and then took a seat next to me at ringside.

There we were- me, El Feroz and a handful of guys wondering what the heck I had interrupted their training session for. Seconds passed. Pressure mounted.

I'm not sure who was sweatier, Vargas . . . or me.

Then suddenly, Vargas, still clearly winded from the workout, spoke first.

"Hey, man," the former champ said. "Thanks for coming down."

It was at that moment I realized just how ridiculous my perception of Vargas had been. He proceeded to answer all my questions in passionate detail: about his meager Ventura County upbringing, about how boxing saved him from a life of crime, about the gratitude he felt toward God for allowing him to see his kids every day.

His words were from the heart.

"I wake up and I'm blessed and humbled by everything," Vargas said. "I'm 27 years of age, and I look at this house and say to myself, 'Man, I was 10 years old, running away, sleeping in alleys, locked up in juvenile hall, going nowhere quickly, and God saved me.' I look around and see my kids, and I never had a father, and I know God saved me for a reason."

By the time the interview was over my 45-minute tape had stopped and the two of us were simply talking life and boxing- a fight fan and a fighter- a circumstance I still find hard to believe today, in the aftermath of Vargas' Nov. 23 loss to Ricardo Mayorga and his announcement that it was his last.

Sitting at Staples Center last Friday listening to the ring announcer, Jimmy Lennon Jr., declare Mayorga the winner by majority decision (I had it scored a draw, 113-113), I couldn't help but in some ways be happy for Vargas that his career inside the ring had come to a close while he still had his health.

His legacy, as I see it, remains intact. The numbers are impressive: 100-5 record as an amateur, Gold Medal winner, youngest fighter ever to capture a U.S. championship (16), tied with Roy Jones Jr. for most consecutive knockout wins to be begin a career (17), a two-time world champion.

He fought the best fighters on the world's biggest stage and built one of the largest and most intensely loyal fan bases in the history of boxing.

But more telling than all the records and accolades is what the former bad boy and one-time street thug has done with his life.

He's started a nonprofit organization, the Ferocious Foundation for Kids, to help atrisk and underprivileged kids just like him get off the streets and out of trouble. He's raising a family with a wife and two kids, and he's finding a life outside of boxing (as so many fighters fail to do) as an actor, promoter and, most recently, a fashion designer.

He's become an example to so many in Ventura County, proof that everyone gets a second chance, that no childhood is too tough to overcome.

So while socalled boxing "experts" may tag Fernando Vargas as a great amateur fighter who peaked too soon, as someone whose background and loyalties kept him from reaching his full potential, as a man who never recovered from the 12round beating he got at the hands of Felix Trinidad, Ventura County won't. After all, like Vargas, we know the meaning of loyalty.

And this reporter- I'll remember Vargas as having given me one of the best interviews of my young career- and for letting me escape alive.

- Kyle Jorrey is editor of the Simi Valley Acorn. He covered sports for the paper from 2004 to 2006.