I don't know what is particularly sweet or scientific about it.

Nonetheless, boxing has often been referred to as the "sweet science".  Despite the nickname, the object of the sport remains the same: one fighter is to physically punish another fighter until that fighter is either knocked to the ground for at least 10 seconds, rendered unable to protect himself or judged not have dealt as much punishment as received by bout's end.

It is a swirling world of strategy, brute force, and violence. And in such a world, anger, sweat, and a basic sense of survival tend to rule the day.  Boxing is one of the purest, most visceral forms of physical individual competition, and the individuals who have populated such competition over the years have varied nearly as much in character (or lack thereof) as actual ability in the ring.

So when someone like Floyd Patterson puts on a pair of boxing gloves and displays his level of personal dignity, in and out of the ring, and pairs that with his exceptional skills as a fighter, people, justifiably, will take notice.  So, too, will they mourn when he is no longer here.

Last week, Floyd Patterson, dubbed "The Gentleman of Boxing", passed away at 71.

Floyd Patterson was a Brooklyn kid.  Although he was born in Waco, NC, Patterson grew up in one of the more celebrated of the Five Boroughs, and spent most of his life somehow connected to the Big Apple.  However, in his youth, Patterson was headed for trouble, but boxing (learned in a juvenile detention facility) changed his life (and legacy) forever.

Under the tutelage of legendary trainer Cus D'Amato, Floyd Patterson achieved success in boxing quickly and dramatically.  At just 17 years old, Patterson won a Gold Medal at the 1952 Helsinki Olympics as a middleweight.  By 21, he was the youngest professional heavyweight champion in history (albeit, he won the title by beating a man twice his age, 42-year-old Archie Moore).  He defended the title four times before losing unexpectedly to Swedish heavyweight Ingemar Johansson in 1959.

In the rematch with Johansson the following year, Patterson displayed fully his athletic compassion and cemented his reputation for true sportsmanship.  In the 5th round of the rematch, Patterson leveled the heavyweight champ with what many would later call the greatest single punch in boxing history.  With the heavyweight crown on the line, Floyd Patterson landed as solid a left hook as may have ever been thrown in a boxing ring and caught Johansson flush.

The big Swede crumbled, and Patterson shot his arms up in victory. However, Johansson had been knocked unconscious and began convulsing.  When the challenger realized how badly his opponent was hurt, Patterson rushed to Johansson and held him until medical help arrived.  In his grand moment of triumph, Patterson dismissed it when he realized the human cost, and that, in large part, is what fueled his legacy.

Though Patterson carried the heavyweight title for a couple more years, devastating one-sided losses to Sonny Liston, who was the antithesis in demeanor to Patterson, and Muhammad Ali pushed him out of the ring as a fighter.  However in his reign as heavyweight champ, Patterson understood that superior athletic accomplishment must be coupled with equally superior personal conduct in order for the championship to mean anything.  While champion, Patterson regularly reached out to young people living in urban poverty.  He remembered his own difficult childhood and fully understood the importance of simply giving young people opportunities when their lives had provided precious few of them until then.

After he left the ring, he continued his involvement in boxing and twice served as the Chairman of the New York State Athletic Commission.  He also continued to reach out to young people.  The pinnacle of that effort occurred when he adopted a young man named Tracy Harris, who would later win the WBC Super Bantamweight title with his adopted father's mentoring.

However, his selfless concern for a fallen opponent in 1960 remained his most recognizable action in his sport.  And in this day and age where ears are bitten off in boxing rings and wild-haired publicity mongers trade on others' physical well being for market position, Floyd Patterson's instinctive compassion should be valued.  And with his passing, his enduring legacy of valuing people over the games they play should truly be taken to heart.

In that way, I suppose I can understand how any measure of validity can be attributed the sport dubbed the "sweet science."  And in the frenetic, violent world that takes place in a boxing ring, Floyd Patterson was proof that sportsmanship and decency have a place there as well.