Roger Esty and Mando Muniz

I'm happy to say that my friend, San Diego artist Roger Esty will be showcasing his paintings at the World Boxing Hall of Fame this year. His art work will also be gracing the cover of the WBHF's 2009 program cover. Congratulations Rog! Kudos to Rick Farris for his hard work in making it happen.

Photo by Rick Farris

"Roger Esty and Armando Muniz review photos of Roger's paintings at WBHOF Director's meeting today." Rick Farris

"El Pintor De Los Campeones"

The World Boxing Hall of Fame is very lucky to have Roger on it's team.
When you think of all the postive energy that flows thru a person when they experience the gratification of artistic recognition, well, it's a gift.

Lot's of people have receieved that gift thru Roger.
Now, the special fighters we respect will experience that feeling.
It may not be unique to them, but something they hadn't felt in ages.
It will rub off on fans, that energy. I've seen it happen.

All this from one man's hands & eyes.

We are all imperfect, but most of us have something that is perfect, if only the world could see it.
Something that defines our spirit.
You can see it in all of Roger's paintings. The fighters spirit, and the artists spirit.
Together they are a powerful force, that's what I see and feel.

Personally, I can't wait to see the cover of this year's World Boxing Hall of Fame banquet program.
That publication will be permanently kept at:

The United States Capitol Historical Society
200 Maryland Ave. Washington D.C. 20505

Los angeles County Museum of Natural History
900 Exposition Bvd. Los Angeles, Calif. 90007

Bancroft Library, University of California
Berkley, Calif. 94720

This is going to be the first historically correct program with regard to our "honor roll" in years.
If it's not, look in my direction because I'm responsible.
The first thing that people will notice is the cover. It has to be special.
We can rest easy on that one. This year we have Roger.


-Rick Farris

The Roger Esty Gallery

QUE BARBARO

By Roger Esty

The first time he lost. The crowd knew it. The referee Berumen knew it. So did Sulieman. He gave the order to end it the way it did. And Mantequilla knew it. He was out of shape, but he was in there with a hungry kid by the name of Armando Muniz. 

Jose by that time did as little training as possible to get by. You'd see his genius. He'd win,but he wasn't pushin' it. Between the race track,his night club,his trumpet,and drinking late at night with Jose Alfredo,Jose Napoles had discarded the Spartan way of training. 

However that night in Acapulco, that Muniz kid was kicking the shit out of him. He couldn't keep him off him. It was getting late and the Butter Man was melting. So Jose started swinging low. Figure Muniz would retaliate hitting below the border too, but Mando kept his cool. Do that and you lose on a DQ. So Sulieman sees his meal ticket waning and tells the ref to award Jose the winner on a foul anyway. It stunk. Even the aficanados knew it stunk.

They have to fight again. It's only fair. Right? This time the old master trains. He'll be in shape to catch him with hooks and uppercuts. His skill will determine victory. He'll train for this one. And the kid? He knows only one way. Put pressure on those old legs. But Mantequilla was his old self. It was the last time we'd see it.

I saw the rematch on the big screen in Tijuana at the auditorium. Jose looked fit. The definition showed. Mando pressed. Mantequilla used his craft expertly. Yes ,he was against the ropes,but he countered everything. After a few rounds began the blood.

Muniz knew the old man had him figured out this time around. He pressed like before hoping Jose would tire. They both fought for their lives. Napoles's eyes started to tear apart worse than ever, but so did Mando's. No DQ's tonight. Both guys were crimson. They were wearing their red badges of courage. It was all over the ring,the ringsiders,and we were bleeding with them. They were rocking each other. The announcer, the crowd, everyone watching the big screen was enthralled.
"Que barbaro!"
That was every other word from the mouths of the witnesses to this carnage.
"Que barbaro!" we were gasping.
Incredible. You want it to stop because you think one of them might get hurt seriously. Maybe die. But let it act out. Don't stop it. The conclusion must be seen. Painfull,but it must be seen to its conclusion.

The final bell. Both men standing impassively in the ring. Eyes shredded. Purple lumps on their faces. Lips torn apart. Blood matted on their chests. Sweat and blood everywhere. To watch them after 15 rounds of attrition stand silently. The blood trickling down their faces. They seemed at peace. At peace after all they had given to each other.
"Que barbaro!"*

"que barbaro" means "wow" in Spaniosh.