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"I am an American, Chicago born -- Chicago, that somber city -- and go at things as I have taught myself, free-style.. ." So begins The Adventures of Augie March, Saul Bellow's heralded American novel. Augie March was a Jewish character, created by a Jewish author, but March's identity came from Chicago.
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WBC lightweight champion David Diaz is a Mexican-American character, self-created, but his identity too comes from Chicago. Despite being his Mexican parents' only American-born child, Diaz is more Chicagoan than Mexican.
He would argue that point. But that only helps make mine.
Last week Diaz came to Phoenix as part of a small reconnaissance press tour. On June 28, Diaz will defend his title against Manny Pacquiao. Top Rank fired the starter's pistol for promoting Diaz-Pacquiao last week, but Pacquiao remained in the Philippines. So ace publicist Bill Caplan was sent across the fruited plain with an unknown champion -- the last Diaz standing.
Until October, we had Juan Diaz, Julio Diaz and David Diaz; three of the four lightweight titlists had the same last name. Then Juan beat Julio and lost to Nate Campbell. Now we only have one lightweight champ named Diaz. Time to introduce him.
Whatever Diaz, Caplan or Diaz's publicist Bernie Bahrmasel expected last week's media luncheon to be, it was more. Diaz came to a once-thriving fight town, addressed a skeptical press corps and won us over. He also gave a tutorial on how to conduct a press conference.
Diaz was gracious, flippant, honest, self-deprecating, sarcastic and accessible, accessible, accessible. In about an hour, he went from the B-side keeper-of-Pacquiao's-next-belt to an engaging former U.S. Olympian and current titlist. He made you want to know him better.
The gathering spot was El Matador restaurant, downtown. There was a press table set up, lights and a Top Rank banner. There were some fans, plenty of Diaz's family and a few media folks. Introduced by Caplan, Diaz sat at the table and addressed mostly shadows. He finished by saying, "I'm not much of a talker."
Most of Arizona's boxing writers were seated behind him (in a single booth). When the questions began to come from our table, Diaz quickly turned. Then he put the lie to what he'd said about how much of a talker he is.
Among the first topics was Pacquiao's power. How much of it would Pacquiao -- who began at 106 pounds -- bring with him to the 135-pound division? Diaz was quick and witty.
"His power? I don't know about that. But I'll definitely let you know on the 29th."
So went Diaz's answers. They were crisp and playful. There was little of the bland "I feel strong" fare that is served up in press conferences round the country. Whether or not you liked Diaz afterwards -- and it would be hard not to -- you cared about his next fight. Suddenly you had more material for Diaz-Pacquiao than a new nickname for "Pacman" or a treatise on the Pinoy community of Scottsdale.
Diaz knew when to be serious about the craft. He knew when to handle questions as a Mexican prizefighter should. Told that HBO commentator Manny Steward had referred to him as a limited fighter, and asked how he saw himself, Diaz didn't kid around.
