Mexican boxer Victor Burgos, who suffered a brutal loss to Australia's Vic Darchinyan on the weekend, is making positive progress in a California hospital. Burgos underwent emergency brain surgery after being carried from the ring on a stretcher and rushed to the Los Angeles County Harbor-UCLA Medical Center on Saturday night.

A spokesperson for Burgos' promoter, Don King, said the fighter awoke from a coma today.

"He woke up and is reacting to doctors," the spokesperson said.

Doctors rated him in a stable condition. Burgos, a 32-year-old veteran of 57 professional bouts, was dominated by Sydney's Darchinyan in their International Boxing Federation flyweight world-title bout at LA's Home Depot Center.

[...]

Burgos, a former IBF light flyweight champion, had a blood clot removed from his head and was placed into a medically induced coma after Saturday night's loss.

Source.




UPDATE (from a barely-decipherable dispatch on Boxeomundial.net:)

Word is that the ex-champ from Tijuana is slipping fast.

Here's hoping that journalistic integrity at BM is as sloppy as it seems.



SECOND UPDATE (March 7, 10:50am CST) from PressTelegram.com:

Burgos has come out of a post-surgery, medically-induced coma and is responding to commands given by doctors at Harbor-UCLA Medical Center in Torrance.

[...]

"Doctors have reported that Burgos successfully answered a few verbal commands, like, `If you can hear me, move your toes,' and, `If you can hear me, move your fingers,"' Hopper said.

Hopper described this news as "very positive."

A full-length novel by Jorge Luis Borges, who has, of course, already died. It is not enough to simply say that the short story was his trademark. He was opposed to writing a novel on moral and aesthetic grounds. Why write in 400 pages what can be summarized in one? Why waste the reader's time? Had he been born in 1970, Borges would have been the quintessential blogger.

But long books allow the reader to fall in love with some characters, out of love with others. Borges held a clinical relationship with the men he created. And I use the masculine in both its inclusive and exclusive forms.

The easy answer? Publish an exact duplicate of Don Quixote and sign his name to it. Easy, but uninteresting. The answer is obliged to be interesting.

Umberto Eco, the most cultured man in the world, may think that he has already written a full-length Borges novel, but he has not. The Name of the Rose is boring. Again, obligations.

Pan's Labyrinth is said to bear the old librarian's mark, and the title alone confirms this. But you take one look at this guy and the matter is finished.

The only solution is to systematically and convincingly disprove that Borges even wrote at all. Find a fictional way to credit Manuel Puig with "Emma Zunz," credit Friedrich Nietzsche with "The Circular Ruins," credit me with "Borges and I." Establish that many of his works are actually posthumous Kafka, Poe, and Chesterton publications. This would not take 400 pages, it would take several thousand. It would begin to represent "The Garden of Forking Paths." It would be pure fiction, a masterpiece, and I think the old man would approve.