T1B

Jose Canseco gets bashed in attempt to make splash in ringBy MICHAEL O'KEEFFE and CHRISTIAN RED
DAILY NEWS SPORTS WRITERS

Sunday, July 13th 2008, 4:16 PM


Referee Allan Huggins (l.) stops the fight after former NFL running back Via Sikahema pummels Jose Canseco (r.).


Canseco, who clubbed 462 homers in his MLB career, gets knocked out in the first round.


ATLANTIC CITY - The former Bash Brother got his head bashed in Saturday night.

In less time than it takes to round the bases after one of his moon-shot homers, Jose Canseco was knocked out by former NFL return man Vai Sikahema in their celebrity boxing match that was equal parts "Saturday Night Fever" meets "Road House." How's this for star power - 1993 Phillies World Series goat Mitch Williams was ringside for the main event.

Sikahema, who was an amateur Golden Gloves champ during his youth before starring in the NFL, rocked Canseco with a devastating left hook in the first 30 seconds that dropped the former slugger to the mat. After a brief recovery, Canseco withstood another flurry of punches from the "Tongan Terror" before falling like a timber and mercifully ending his night.

Asked after the fight if there were any surprises, Sikahema said, "That it didn't finish in the first 30 seconds."

"Don't even think your size is going to matter," Sikahema, who is seven inches shorter and 43 pounds lighter than Canseco, continued. "In Philadelphia we will chop you down."

The partisan Sikahema crowd - he ended his NFL career with the Eagles - of 1,300 who filed into Bernie Robbins minor-league baseball stadium saw Canseco walk in from right field with a tiny entourage including his visibly nervous girlfriend Heidi Northcutt. Canseco, dressed in a black tank top, black shorts and red head gear then sat beneath the ring and watched as Sikahema's 15 family members and friends performed a haka - or Polynesian war dance. With painted faces, and native Tongan dress, they hissed at Canseco, pounded their chests and screamed. Northcutt rubbed Canseco's shoulders.

"That was worth the $50 just to see that," one female fan ringside said of the pre-fight extravaganza.

But it was hardly worth it for Canseco, who boasted at Friday's weigh-in that he has "incredible knock-out power." All he did, however, was get knocked into next week. As he climbed out of the ring, his face sweaty and red, he was jeered with expletives and steroid taunts as he slumped toward the right field exit under the stands.

Canseco's dalliance into the "Sweet Science" lasted all of one minute, 37 seconds.

It was quite a different scene Friday, as Canseco stood toe-to-toe with Sikahema in the spotlight at the Providence nightclub at the Tropicana, his black tank top barely covering a tanned, hairless chest so massive that Clear Channel might be tempted to erect a billboard on it.

An emcee who obviously grew up watching WWE's Vince McMahon barked into a cordless microphone, pumping up the small, overwhelmingly male crowd, while two scantily-clad women stood to the side, serving no apparent purpose except to flash a lot of skin and cleavage.

Canseco's physical advantage impressed a crowd that didn't seem inclined to root for the underdog and the steroid-stained slugger's fans - mostly ripped guys in wife-beaters, gold chains and an ocean of hair gel - hooted loud and hard for the bad boy of baseball. Canseco's one-person entourage, Northcutt, waited quietly off in one corner of the club.

But Canseco - the man who gleefully turned baseball upside down with his tell-all steroid expose "Juiced" - did something he hardly ever does in public after weighing in at 248 pounds. He blinked.

"You better pack your lunch, 'cause I'm going to kick your ass," Sikahema growled. "I'm going to chop you down."

"We'll see bro," said Canseco, his eyes shifting side-to-side.

For nearly two decades, Canseco was one of baseball's most feared hitters, a superstar who earned millions of dollars whacking 462 career homers before packed stadiums from the Bay Area to the Bronx. These days, Canseco has been reduced to a circus side-show, a man with sizeable money woes who is loathed by former baseball players, coaches and executives after he put Major League Baseball on notice for its steroid sins with "Juiced."

According to a source familiar with the fight, Canseco earned a $35,000 purse - the equivalent of what he once made for several at-bats. But Canseco had to travel across the country to brawl Sikahema in what was supposed to be three, two-minute rounds. If Canseco goes any lower, his next gig may be blowing fire out of his mouth at county fairs.

The 45-year-old Sikahema, meanwhile, received $25,000, $5,000 of which he's donating to the widow of a Philadelphia police sergeant killed in the line of duty earlier this year. "(Canseco's) fighting for the money, but I'm fighting for a cause," said Sikahema, who appeared in 80 amateur bouts before his pro football career. "In boxing, that means something."

"He's a very impressive-looking guy," Sikahema added. "But the guy is a walking corpse, because he's rotted inside out. He's a pathetic figure."

Canseco, 44, refused to talk about anything other than the fight Friday, including a Daily News report that Canseco's former attorney was awarded a judgment by a Broward County (Fla.) judge for nearly $350,000 in unpaid legal bills. Robert Saunooke - who was Sikahema's football teammate at Brigham Young - represented Canseco for more than five years before the former slugger fired him in April.

"My attorney (Gregory Emerson) will deal with that. I don't deal with the legal crap," said Canseco.

Canseco still displayed his swagger - "I can knock out any man with my left hand jab," he said at the weigh-in - and sported a handsome, wrinkle-free face, a head full of lush, dark hair and a pretty blonde girlfriend. But those are the few blessings he can count.

In addition to the unpaid legal bills, Canseco lost his Encino, Calif., home this spring to foreclosure. His follow-up tome to "Juiced" - "Vindicated" which was released in April - has been a bust, selling only 20,000 of the 145,000 copies shipped to bookstores, according to publishing sources. Canseco is also a central figure in the FBI's investigation of Roger Clemens, a former teammate of Canseco's, for perjury.

If the Rocket is indicted for intentionally lying to Congress during February's steroid hearing, Canseco will most likely be called to testify. He has already met with FBI agents and former IRS special agent Jeff Novitzky in April to discuss, among other issues, the affidavit Canseco submitted to Congress, and the trip to Houston with his former baseball coach Glenn Dunn - a trip paid for by Clemens - to sign the affidavit. In that document, Canseco claims that Clemens did not attend a 1998 party at Canseco's Florida home - when both were playing for Toronto - an event that was pivotal in the February hearing where Clemens faced off with his chief steroid accuser Brian McNamee. Dunn was also at the party, according to McNamee.

Canseco told the News on March 31 that Clemens has never paid him to sign the affidavit or for any other reason. "Never. Not even close," Canseco said then. The Justice Department, too, could look into Canseco's role in spreading steroids through baseball clubhouses when he was still playing.

But if Canseco is crumbling under the weight of his legal and financial issues, he hardly showed it Friday. When he was first told the name of his opponent, he said his first remark was, "What's a Sikahema?"

"I wanted to get involved with MMA (mixed martial arts) and this is first step to it," Canseco said. "Let's see what happens, how I do, how the fans like it. I'll have to see. If I go anything further than this I'll have to train a lot more, really take this serious. I really didn't take this serious at all. Hopefully we can have some fun."

Unfortunately for Canseco, fun turned out to be an old-fashioned pasting.

Wolfman wrote:Did you ever put the gloves on and go into a ring someone who is good at it and has great hand speed ?
If you have-- 'nuff said.