I used to wonder why so many of the Mexican people remain such loyal fans of Julio Cesar Chavez. I used to wonder why they continue to exalt his presence despite a series of embarrassments inside and outside the ring.

	Forget about fights, Julio Cesar Chavez's face is so messy now he bleeds at weigh-ins.

But then it dawned on me: some also sing a little ditty to celebrate the cockroach.

Julio Cesar Chavez is La Cucaracha.

If it's true that cockroaches and rats would be the only creatures that would survive a nuclear holocaust, then Chavez and Bob Arum wouldn't have to worry about finding a fallout shelter in the event of a mushroom cloud.

Any sport generally is an endeavor in Darwinism. It is supposed to be a true survival-of-the-fittest test, where the most virile and prepared wipe out the feeble and the old.

Chavez, however, has defied that logic. He has survived boxing as if he owns perpetual immunity from the Tribal Council. He has yet to be voted off this "Survivor" series.

Kostya Tszyu, the WBC super lightweight champ, probably will squash Chavez on Saturday night at Veterans Memorial Coliseum in Phoenix. Chances are it will be gruesome. But then again, considering the way Chavez has staggered through the sport without getting the hint he should have retired years ago, maybe he deserves to be slobberknocked into oblivion.

Chavez will go down in history as one of the greatest fighters of any era and deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Muhammad Ali, Joe Louis and Sugar Ray Robinson for what he accomplished. Chavez won his first 90 fights and beat fighters such as Ruben Castillo, Roger Mayweather, Juan LaPorte, Edwin Rosario, Bazooka Limon, Hector Camacho and Meldrick Taylor. Chavez won five titles.

His nickname, J.C. Superstar, was borrowed from a musical about Jesus Christ. His body punches crushed rib cages like tin cans. His chin absorbed blows that could knock down a heavyweight.

Chavez was a warrior.

It must be noted that even in his prime there were questions regarding Chavez's persona, much of which stemmed from his gaudy, undefeated record. One hundred-and-oh was foreseeable, but to make that dream possible a disqualification in his 12th fight was mysteriously deleted from his record. And lest we forget his last-second knockout of Taylor, who was winning when Richard Steele questionably stopped it with literally only a few seconds remaining, or the horrendous judgment handed down in Chavez's draw with Pernell Whitaker.

The Chavez allure -- no matter how manufactured it was -- is long gone to most. His Mexican fans, who always will remember the reverence he displayed for his people and his hometown of Culiacan, seem to be the only ones who can't understand the longer they encourage him, the better the odds he will get seriously hurt.

In today's hip-hop world of "KO Nation" and 20-minute ring entrances, Chavez is ancient history. While those who saw him a decade ago view him as a God, a new generation sees him as nothing more than an embarrassing old man. Stories about Chavez's drunkenness, tax evasion and wife beating allegations have surfaced in recent years as much as his fight results.

Chavez, who turned 38 on July 12, is 11-3-1 since 1995 with wins coming against the likes of Craig Houck, Scott Walker, Larry LaCoursiere and Buck Smith. The biggest names he beat in that span were David Kamau and a washed-up Joey Gamache.

Oscar De La Hoya sliced Chavez's face open like a cherry pie in their first meeting. Chavez brawled with the youngster in the rematch, but quit on his stool after eight rounds.

But he never looked so pathetic as he did last October against a pet food salesman named Willy Wise. It was supposed to be a tune-up for an earlier-planned Tszyu fight, but Wise humiliated Chavez, making him appear slow and weak in a 10-round loss. Chavez looked like a scaled-down version of a Butterbean opponent: flabby and overwhelmed.

Chavez barely had time to get his hand wraps off after losing to Wise when he was handed a beer in his dressing room. He guzzled it like a frat boy and drank a few more while watching the main event. He always has liked his cerveza, but there comes a time when the human body won't bounce back like it used to.

Chavez, a man with more excuses than common sense lately, said after the fight that he didn't train seriously. He added that if he was facing Tszyu or fighting for any title he would have been more prepared.

"To say this fight [against Wise] wasn't worth his time to train, that's insulting to the game," a disgusted Showtime analyst Bobby Czyz said that night. "That's disrespectful to Showtime, to the fans who paid to watch this fight, to his profession and to Willy Wise.

"I feel sorry for [Chavez] as a human being. He's pathetic. ... Unless he's breaking the 11th commandment and is [expletive] himself, it's over.

Chavez insists it isn't. He has gotten down to the 140-pound limit in impressive fashion and has stayed near that weight for a few weeks. He has boldly predicted he will knock Tszyu out inside eight rounds and wants to wager $200,000 on himself.

"There has been so much controversy surrounding this fight and how I supposedly don't belong in the same ring as Kostya Tszyu," Chavez said through an interpreter Wednesday. "This is a very important fight, and I have trained very, very hard. I have remained focused.

"The things that have been written about me have made me very angry inside. I don't think I deserve the criticism that I have been getting all because of the one fight I had against Wise. No fighter should be judged by one fight. Time catches up with all boxers, but I still feel like I am young.

"This is my opportunity to prove all the detractors wrong who say I don't deserve to fight Tszyu or that I should retire. I am fighting for my pride, my dignity, and for all the people in Mexico and boxing fans who have supported me for all these years. I am very prepared, very serious, and extremely motivated. I plan to show the fans that I am still a good fighter."

Those words, however, sound hauntingly similar to the ones Chavez uttered before both De La Hoya fights.

Tszyu, a native Russian who now lives in Australia, is 23-1-1 with 19 knockouts. His only loss came in 1997, when he mistakenly overlooked a resurgent Vince Phillips and lost the IBF junior welterweight belt. Tszyu, known for his right-handed power, has since reeled off six straight knockout victories, including a 10th-round stoppage of Miguel Angel Gonzalez last year for the WBC title.

Tszyu probably won't end Chavez's career entirely. Before heading off to the Roach Motel known as retirement -- where Chavez hopefully won't ever check out -- he intends to pop up at least once more. He wants to fight in Mexico City's Estadio Azteca, where he once destroyed Greg Haugen in front of 120,000 rabid fans.

Chavez, who once deserved to be called the Lion of Culiacan, will have his share of the crowd Saturday night, but it won't turn back the hands of time. It won't beat Tszyu.

When the bright ring lights are turned on, this cockroach won't have anywhere to run.

But if he survives this fight with a pulse, there's a good possibility we'll see him again one day.

Chavez won't go on the shelf just yet -- not unless it's in a dark cupboard.

ESPN.com boxing writer Tim Graham covers the Sweet Science for The Buffalo News and The Ring Magazine, and formerly wrote for the Las Vegas Sun.