10 Count

I've always had favorites in every sport I watched. And out of all the favorites, I assumed my favorite of all favorites was the New York Yankees. I'd bask in the glory when the Pinstripes would snatch another pennant and have my Braves fan buddies waiting for the next year. People would roll their eyes and claim I was merely rooting for the team that would win and provide me flase vicarious glory, and then I'd show the cap I got from Yankee Stadium when I was a kid, or my framed card collection of the 1958 World Series champs. I thought the Yankees were my favorite of favorites.

I figured out a few weeks ago that I was wrong. I realized that in fact, the Florida Gators were my favorite of favorites. Rooting for them in a Seminole-dominated city, then attending the university and watching over 15 games in the greatest college football stadium in the world. From the pre-parties to the "It's great... to be... a Florida Gator!" chants, I discovered that the Florida Gators were my favorite of favorites.

But tonight I see that I've been wrong. I've overlooked my true favorite of favorites all along. I knew I was as big a fan as there could be, but we think of football, basketball, baseball when compiling lists in the world of sports. Sometimes it takes a devastating loss, the worst and most painful of defeats, to test your loyalty and fondness. And tonight I figured it out.

When it comes to sports, I can't imagine anyone I've followed and admired more than Roy Jones, Jr.

Roy was the hometown boy, the kid wonder who showed a talent in boxing like no other. You could drive down Quintette Road and catch Roy jogging down the street like a real life Balboa. He had a genuine smile, an awesomely approachable presence that allowed you to easily walk up to him and go, "Hey, Champ!" He'd say hey back, maybe chat for a bit. I saw him fight at the local Fairgrounds 10 years before he was filling Madison Square Garden. There's a signed glove hanging in my bedroom. My dad and I have played him in games of basketball. I've seen the myth, and I've seen the man.

For every Roy fight my family and friends would gather in a room to watch him display an unexplainable greatness. The uncomparable speed of his fists, the "swoosh" as his glove swirled through his opponent's jawline, the cocky flexing he would incorporate into actual boxing strategy. And after he'd throw the final hook that compelled the referee to spare his opponent from further punishment, we'd hoot and holler and then get quiet, because we knew it was coming. Before Roy would answer questions, he always paid 2 tributes. First to God, and then to the city of Pensacola. And then we'd shout in jubilation.

I honestly thought Roy would never lose a fight. I couldn't fathom someone being able to overcome his skill, speed, and elusiveness. But there is a reason I have been telling tales of Roy in the past tense (I didn't realize I was doing so). Not even Roy could escape the grip of Father Time. He creeps on all of us eventually, but it's never so obivious as in the case of an athlete who just can't reach to the heights he had once climbed.

I no longer have HBO and was unable to watch his fight tonight. It was the first Roy fight I can think of that I've missed since he moved beyond fighting at the Fairgrounds. But I feverishly refreshed boxing sites until I could read about the outcome. When I read who had won and who had lost, I thought I read a typo. But as I continued to read the words got worse and worse. Descriptions of my fighter looking suddenly stripped of his speed, struggling to fend off an opponent he would have been dancing around in his hey day, and finally receiving a punch to the head that sent his 35-year-old body down to the ground. He didn't get up. He couldn't get up.

I don't have children, but I honestly felt as though I had just heard that my child had been knocked out. I've rambled here now for over an hour because I just can't fathom that this incredible ride has reached a setting point. Roy has been an entity that united all of Pensacola. I feel a personal connection to his accomplishments. I sincerely care about the man. This is the second time he's been knocked out this year (and second time ever), and tonight will be the second night that I wake up in the middle of the night with an inescable vision of my hero, Pensacola's hero, crippled on the ground, his invincibility gone.

It took a horrible defeat like this to confirm how Roy is, and will most likely always be, my favorite of favorites in sports. I personally care about him, and that's why I can only hope Roy's career and legacy have reached their final count of 10.