Leonard Quits Too Late -- Proud Boxer Entered Ring Once Too Often

CUTLINE: AP: GOING, GOING, GONE: IT JUST WASN'T MEANT TO BE FOR SUGAR RAY LEONARD, WHO WAS BATTERED REPEATEDLY BY TERRY NORRIS. AT RIGHT, LEONARD STRUGGLES TO STAND UP AFTER A SECOND-ROUND KNOCKDOWN DURING THEIR TITLE FIGHT. (PHOTO RAN IN 1ST EDITION)

He cut a tragic figure inside the Madison Square Garden ring. A lonely warrior on one last misguided mission.

He was a ghost swinging wildly at the past. A specter from the 1980s, missing those trademark left hooks that once connected on some of the game's most famous chins.

This wasn't supposed to happen to Sugar Ray Leonard. Not to the clear-eyed, eloquent kid who won an Olympic gold medal in 1976. Not to this entrepreneurial genius with a mind as quick as his fists.

No, Sugar Ray Leonard was different Saturday night. He was a gentle man surviving in a dangerous world. Royalty among rogues. He was the class in a crass sport.

He wasn't troubled by the demons who stalked most great fighters. He wasn't infected by alcohol or drugs. He managed his money well.

He wouldn't have to suffer this sweet science after his prime. He wouldn't linger for one fight too many. He wouldn't be fighting when he was 34. He would choose health over more wealth. He would leave with his wits and his reputation intact.

He was different. He was perfection. He smiled at all the right times. Said all of the right things. Sold all of the right products.

``There ain't been nobody like this since Muhammad Ali,'' said Angelo Dundee before Leonard's first important victory over Wilfredo Benitez.

But something happened to Sugar Ray Leonard. Like so many great fighters, he became paranoid. He thought all of the world was after a piece of him. He thought every crowd, every writer was against him.

``People root against me,'' he said after beating Thomas Hearns in 1981. ``I'm a diamond in the mud.''

Leonard changed. He became obsessed with making money. He even charged admission to his first retirement party. He pushed away those closest to him - his wife Juanita, trainer Dundee.

He had more retirements than Frank Sinatra. More encores than Bruce Springsteen. He fought Hearns a second time. He should have lost, but generous judging gave him a draw. He duped the world into a third Leonard-Duran fight, then played matador to the raging fool Duran had become.

Fans, friends, writers begged him to retire gracefully. But there he was Saturday night, looking pathetic, in his first and only fight at Madison Square Garden. He lost a unanimous decision to Terry Norris, a decent enough fighter, but a guy Leonard in his prime would have had for breakfast.

It was billed as the World Boxing Council super welterweight championship, one of the myriad of made-up titles. But it was a sham and a shame.

Sugar Ray retired one fight too late. He took a beating. He lost a fight he never should have fought. Maybe he needed this fight to tell him he was finished. The message was as clear as the opening bell.

He was knocked down twice, once on a counterpunch. A few short years ago, the idea of Leonard getting knocked down by a counterpunch seemed as improbable as Michael Jordan missing a dunk.

After the decision was announced, he took the ring microphone and announced to the sparse crowd that was retiring. We've heard that before from Sugar Ray Leonard. Let's hope this time he keeps his word. Let's hope no boxing council in the world issues him another license to fight.

``I had to prove to myself that I don't have it any more,'' Leonard said. ``I don't want anybody to feel sorry for me.''

He shouldn't have left like this, losing to a lesser fighter in an empty Garden.

Leonard should have retired after his first, classic Hearns fight. Or he should have retired after his eye surgery. Or he should have retired after he beat Marvin Hagler.

But Leonard, like Joe Louis and Sugar Ray Robinson, like Muhammad Ali, Alexis Arguello, Roberto Duran and Larry Holmes, lingered too long.

Hagler is one of the few who knew when it was time to go. Hagler lost to Leonard, but today a contented, secure Hagler looks like a winner.

What is it about these sweet scientists that keeps them returning to their deadly laboratories? Why do they become punch-drunk parodies of themselves? What muse drives them past their primes?

Ali finished his career in a ramshackle ring, in a drab old baseball park in the Bahamas, with a cowbell clanging off the rounds. A 40-year-old shell of his former self, he lost to Trevor Berbick, then bragged that he had survived 10 rounds.

Duran lost that dreary waltz-of-a-fight to Leonard that belonged on some seniors' tour. Holmes was cannon fodder for the fiery Mike Tyson.

It is too cynical, too easy to say that money is the sole motivation driving fighters. Leonard didn't need the money. Neither did Ali nor Holmes.

Perhaps the motivation is something sadder. Most of the great fighters live for the spotlight. The press conferences, the entourages, the anticipation that builds for every big fight, are more intoxicating than all of the drugs and dollars in the world.

The spotlight keeps calling Leonard. He has been too weak to ignore it.

Now, finally, Norris has knocked some sense into him. Now Leonard's story has ended.

He was one in a million. The fighter of the 1980s. He was perfection.

But now, if you listen carefully, you can detect a slur in his speech. The eyes are colder. They have lost their luster.

Sugar Ray Leonard lingered too long.

Steve Kelley's column usually is published Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday in the Sports section of The Times.