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Duran quits in the eighth, and Leonard regains his crown

For nearly a decade there has been no figure in boxing as fearsome as Roberto Duran, the Panamanian primitive with the famous "hands of stone." It was not merely his daunting record: 72 victories during a 13-year career (55 by knockouts), a single loss, championships in both lightweight and welterweight divisions. It was how Duran fought: with a burning-eyed fury that was atavistic, nihilistic, merciless in his rage to win. When he defeated Sugar Ray Leonard last June to strip the Olympic hero of his welterweight crown, Duran at last won recognition as not only the fiercest but perhaps also the finest fighter of his time.

So it came as a stunning surprise to the approximately 25,000 fans in New Orleans' Superdome—and especially to Leonard—when Duran simply quit fighting 2 min. 44 sec. into the eighth round of their 15-round match. Duran first waved a dismissive fist at Leonard, then turned away. Leonard, thinking the gesture a taunt from the proud Panamanian who had sneered at him in contempt throughout the early rounds, closed in with a flurry of punches. Duran turned his back to the blows. Referee Octavio Meyron separated the fighters, then waved them in to fight again. Once more, Duran turned away. "Fight!" Meyron ordered. Duran finally shook his head: "¡No más! No more! No more box." Leonard looked on in disbelief for a long moment, then vaulted across the ring and leaped up on the ropes, hands high in triumph. The World Boxing Council welterweight crown was his once again.

What made Roberto pack it in? One explanation is that he knew he was losing—he trailed on all three judges' scorecards—and he let his anger and shame get the best of him. After the fight, Duran offered another reason: he had got stomach cramps during the fifth round, and as the fight wore on the cramps spread into his upper body. "I felt I was weakening," Duran said. "My body and arms were weakening. This happens to anybody. It is an accident. Leonard also was weakening, but I could not pressure him."

Duran's burning intensity seemed to wane as the match progressed. Leonard, who had wasted his superior speed during their bout last summer by electing to slug toe-to-toe with Duran, wheeled around the ring in high gear this time, sticking the Panamanian with flicking left jabs and evading his head-on charges. By the seventh round, Leonard was so in control of the fight that he turned the tables on Duran and became the taunter. He windmilled his left arm until Duran was mesmerized, then tagged him with his right—a classic sucker punch. Leonard dropped his arms and leaned forward to stick his face out, daring the hardest slugger in the game to hit him. Duran tried, but too many of his punches fell short. Said Leonard: "I saw him slowing down. I noticed his pace change. I looked in his face and I saw the change. The sneer was gone." Still, Ray Arcel, 81, Duran's cornerman, was stunned when his man quit. "I have never seen him throw up his hands and stop," Arcel said. "I almost fainted when I saw it. I don't even have a vocabulary to express my amazement."