Arum Finds a New Talent

It was the kind of phone call Bob Arum has grown accustomed to receiving in 35 years as a promoter.

One of his fighters was dropping out of an upcoming show.

Injury problem? Weight problem? Drug problem? Domestic abuse problem?

Would you believe a Tisha B’Av problem?

The fighter was super-lightweight Dmitriy Salita, an orthodox Jew born in Ukraine and now living in Brooklyn. Because he strictly follows Jewish law, Salita will not fight on as many as 70 days of the year, depending on the Jewish calendar, including Tisha B’Av, a day that marks the destruction of the Jewish temples in ancient times. Salita observes Jewish dietary laws and, when training, insists on staying within walking distance of a synagogue for Friday and Saturday services, because he is not permitted to drive on the Sabbath.

Arum, who is also Jewish, has no problem with any of that because--bottom line--the kid can fight. A Golden Gloves champion at 139 pounds, Salita has won both of his professional fights by knockout. He’ll be back in the ring Sunday, taking on Miguel Mares (1-2) at the Soboba Casino in San Jacinto.

“If he’s as good as it appears he is,” Arum said, “and he can be held up as an example of religious devotion to both Jews and gentiles, he’ll be a great attraction.”

Arum wasn’t always so enthusiastic about Salita. When Arum first got a call from a friend, Rabbi Shea Harlig, asking him to check out Salita, Arum rolled his eyes and acted polite. But he was thinking, orthodox Jew and bruising slugger are not descriptive terms one normally finds in the same sentence.

So Arum was pleasantly surprised when his matchmaker, Bruce Trampler, came back filled with enthusiasm after watching Salita in the ring.

Salita has been surprising people ever since he first laced on gloves. Coming to this country from Odessa at age 9, Salita quickly gravitated toward fighting. He started with karate, moved to kick boxing and, at 13, started boxing at the Starrett City Boxing Club.

His mother, Lyudmiala, didn’t think it was such a good idea.

“I’m going to be a world champion,” Dmitriy told her.

“No, that is not the thing to do,” she said. “Are you doing this because your father and I are not giving you enough attention? You should become a doctor or a lawyer.”

Dmitriy wouldn’t be swayed.

“This is what I love to do,” he said. “Why wouldn’t God let me do what I love to do?”

Salita also wasn’t swayed by Jose.

Jose’s last name had faded into memory, as has Jose. But back when Salita was a young novice in the gym, Jose, like so many of his counterparts, rubbed his gloves in anticipation of getting a shot at the skinny, white Jewish kid.

“When those guys would spar,” Salita said, “they would just tap each other. But when they fought me, they went to war. Everybody wanted to spar with me.”

Jose certainly did, pounding Salita as if they were fighting for a title. When the bruised Salita came back to his corner, his trainer, Jimmy O’Pharrow, asked if he’d had enough.

No way, Salita said.

Instead, he kept training, kept taking the punishment and, six months later, he got a rematch with Jose.

This time, Salita did the damage, so much damage that Jose walked out of the gym and hasn’t been seen there since.

Salita’s devotion to boxing is exceeded only by his devotion to religion. It’s not a devotion he was born into. He was raised in Ukraine before the collapse of the Soviet Union, a time when Jews were not allowed to openly practice their faith.

“A lot of Jews avoided their religion,” Salita said. “Some went to church just to fit in.”

Salita first felt the sting of religious prejudice when he was 7. His father, Alexander, told him some people were anti-Semitic.

Salita found the concept hard to grasp.

“You mean they don’t like us just because we are Jews?” he asked his father.

“I was in the third grade at the time,” Salita recalled, “and what he told me hit me real good.”

A year later, Salita learned Jews are not permitted to eat pork, so he stopping doing so. But he didn’t become an observant Jew until he came to this country and was exposed to orthodox Judaism.

“My parents came to this country for freedom, including religious freedom,” he said. “Why not take advantage of it?”

Several months ago, he demonstrated how serious he is about his faith.

Competing in the under-19 U.S. Amateur Boxing Championships in Gulfport, Miss., he won a decision over Keith Mason to advance to the final in the 139-pound division.

Only Ray Sanchez stood between Salita and the title. Sanchez and the Sabbath.

The finals were scheduled for Saturday in the daytime, but Salita would not fight until after sundown, when the Sabbath ends.

Tournament director Fran Jones agreed to delay the bout until after the sun had set and Salita beat Sanchez to win the tournament.

Salita had a chance to go on to the world championships in Budapest, Hungary, but declined upon learning there would be no exceptions made on Saturday fights.

“I enjoy being different,” Salita said. “People are surprised at how good the white, Jewish kid is, surprised that I can fight. I take that as a compliment.”

Arum hopes Salita keeps surprising people. He is confident his unique discovery will eventually get a title shot.

And when he does, Arum will know better. He won’t schedule it on Tisha B’Av.

How Low Can He Go?

Nobody seems to have noticed, but former two-time heavyweight champion Mike Tyson (48-3, two no-contests, 42 knockouts) returns to the ring tonight, taking on Brian Nielsen (62-1, 43) at Parken Stadium in Copenhagen, Denmark.

The fight will been shown tape-delayed on Showtime beginning at 7 p.m. Pay-per-view seems out of the question at this point in Tyson’s career.

The only conversation he has been able to stir about this fight is how much he weighs (239 pounds) and how many trips he has made to Denmark’s red-light district (undetermined).