It wouldn't surprise you to see an advertisement for him on the back of a milk carton that read, "Missing: Young heavyweight contender with great punch, fiery disposition, and shockproof chin. Last seen June 6, 1997, in Sacramento. 5-foot-10, weight varies from 250-300 lbs. between fights."

With boxing's flagship division backlogged with commitments through 2003, the push to get to the front of the line for a title shot forces contenders to risk themselves against one another. It's always a pleasant by-product of a crowded division. And Saturday night David Tua showed why he's always going to be one punch away from the heavyweight title, and why he'll likely get another shot given smart matchmaking.

It wasn't pretty, and it was once again the same incarnation of Tua that is somewhat frustrating if you're a fan of the Tuaman. Trodding along against Fres Oquendo before scoring one of his trademark late knockouts, the ninth-round knockout put an exclamation point on the end of a statement that's damning and paradoxical.

Tua has a great chin, a great punch, and can beat anybody. He can also be beaten by virtually anyone that can box and take a punch. There are a lot of good stylists out there who will look to replicate what Oquendo did, and Byrd and Lewis before him. But there are few who will survive if caught in the firestorm of the suddenly inspired barrage that ended the bout.

In another sport, one of scripted lengths and cumulative scoring determining the result, Tua would be in trouble trying to climb the mountain again. But this is boxing and the sport is ideal for determined types who will not be easily discouraged. In the bare-knuckle era, where fights went as many rounds as needed until one man expired, Tua would be champion. The problem is that, for all his late round heroics, he may simply not be the fighter he was earlier in his career. And in our civilized time of rounds, the 10-point must system and stylistic momentum determining the winner, he's fighting in the wrong era.

If you've seen his breathtaking war with Ike Ibeabuchi, it's all the more apparent what he used to be. A svelte 224 pounds, Tua traded the kind of heavy bombs for 12 rounds with Ibeabuchi that in retrospect may have taken something out of him. He didn't get knocked down, and was visibly hurt only a few times, but that's because he has the best chin the division has seen in years. That kind of once-in-generation durability allowed him to take punishment versus Ibeabuchi, the kind that adds up later when boxing's gods deliver the bill down the road. If you think Barrera-Morales was riveting, try it with two guys that are throwing as many punches and 100 pounds heavier.

Tua was also doing things versus Ibeabuchi that simply don't happen now, throwing combinations, vicious double hooks, and countering hard when hit. Nowadays, he keeps changing trainers, gurus, and trying to get his weight down, but the old Tuaman that showed such promise simply has not materialized. It's a tantalizing waiting game, hoping he will somehow realize his advantages and use them, but his chin may be too good for his own good.

Tactically, it's caused a lack of aggression on his part, which is the last thing a 5-foot-10 built-to-slug heavyweight needs to succeed. Looking at his excellent opening round, where he came out firing his lethal offerings, it seemed the classic Tua was back. Oquendo was clearly riding out the storm, doing little in return for the simple reason that Tua's firepower had him completely defensive. Then, suddenly, the initiative dissipated, and the old strains of the post-Ibeabuchi Tua crept in. The plodding chase, the na-ya-didn't-hurt me, the body language of the plump kid trotting behind the ice cream truck, out of breath, sure that he'll catch Mr. Softie in a block or two; these are the precursors to Tua's slow burn. It is said that the worst job in music is to play drums for Ray Charles, so slow the tempo goes. The equivalent in boxing is to train Tua.

It must be maddening to train this guy and watch him tear everything up in sparring, only to watch him squander rounds to guys that can't hurt him and would lose all impetus to pile up points if only he would take a chance and hit them. And so what if he misses? Ibeabuchi laid bombs on him that would've sunk ships, and Tua barely blinked. Yet he lets Oquendo, and Byrd, and Lewis, and Maskaev outbox him when a little risk taking would seemingly better his situation.

He owned everything he needed to in that first round, and squandered it in the subsequent power shift. Mentally, Tua doesn't seem to give himself credit for how much physically tougher he is than anyone else in the division (Ibeabuchi, locked away under the watchful eye of white-coated doctors in Nevada, does not count in this comparison, but try telling that to the orderlies who sedate him).

There are a precious few pugilists who can fight super-aggressive and succeed, and many of them get bounced into a sense of reality at the club fight level, but Tua is of that rare breed. When he's aggressive, and punishing the body, he's truly a force of nature. You can't hurt him and his hands are lethal. Why he's not more aggressive is one of the great mysteries of life. And yet he's back, with another late knockout of another fighter that shouldn't have been beating him in the first place.

Many have criticized Tua for his non-effort against Lewis, but in that fateful evening, rounds 2-4 looked as though Tua was definitely the next heavyweight champion. Fired up and snorting like a bull, his menacing offense pushed Lewis into a timid mode, and it's this writer's belief that if Tua had a 71-inch reach instead of the 69-inch span he's handicapped with, he'd have beaten Lewis.

There were some offerings in the air that night that Lewis was very, very glad to get out of the way of, often by a scant margin. It seemed that the aggression had taken Lewis out of his game, and the body shots Tua threw were the perfect antidote to Lewis' huge advantages in range and size. Yet the same stale creep kicked in, and, according to Tua's people, an training injury to the rib hindered him after a Lewis right hand to the body, and David slipped into his bad habits. Lewis was effectively off the hook after round 4, jabbing and grabbing, and occasionally landing a mean right cross, but Tua absorbed everything with relative nonchalance.

That's how good the Tua chin is, and it makes you wonder what would've happened had he pressed the issue more with Lewis.

Putting in a tape of Ibeabuchi-Tua, it could be something else entirely. That summer night in 1997, Tua may have absorbed an irrevocable dose of punishment, taking something out of him that will become more apparent as time marches on. But in the end it's a damn shame, because this guy, at one time, could've been the heavyweight champion of the world. And given his durability and power, he probably still could be if matched with the right style. Should Tyson beat Lewis, and opt for Tua, that's the dream matchup for the Samoan slugger.

A rematch with Lewis is about as marketable as a pork outlet in Kandahar, so he will probably be crossing his fingers if Tyson and Lewis hook up in June. Until then, you just hope he dispenses with this business of coming from behind to win and looking bad in the process, because it's glaringly obvious that Tua either should be or once was something much better than what he showed Saturday night.

Short notes
With Oquendo-Tua behind us, another fascinating heavyweight collision is Rahman-Holyfield. The feeling here is that neither guy is likely to get anyone fired up enough that night to want to see them fight for a title again. Rahman has hired Bouie Fisher to retool his game, but if he can't take out an aged Holyfield he might want to consider another career.

Holyfield, meanwhile, has been agitated when people ask him why he won't retire, stating that he will only do so when someone "beats him up" and proves he's an old man. Rahman may not be the one to do it, but I can't help thinking why Wladimir Klitschko's people don't try and get Holyfield. It's a perfect fight for them, and the suddenly interesting carrot for Holyfield would be the WBO belt, as he's become obsessed with getting a belt, any belt, back in his possession. If Holyfield were to win the WBO belt and proclaim himself the champion that would definitely answer the question of whether or not he's taken one too many to the head. But given the fact that he's likely to be frozen out for another title shot even if he beats Rahman, you can't help but wonder why Klitschko's Universum people keep trying to set up a Mercer fight that never happens. Holyfield would be a far simpler assignment for Klitschko and would make the power-punching Ukranian look fantastic.

Only Riddick Bowe has stopped Holyfield, and that would be the kind of feather to propel Wladimir to the next level of credibility, aged Real Deal or not. People can wax poetic about the terrible sight of Marciano blasting out Joe Louis, but people knew who Marciano was after that, at least outside of Brockton, Massachusetts. Klitschko needs a name opponent that carries some weight, and to fight someone stateside. Holyfield would be the perfect opponent to propel him to greater exposure and a title shot.

It's funny to watch the tape of Trinidad-Hopkins, because by the late rounds of that fight suddenly HBO's usually expert commentary team of Lampley-Merchant openly brought up the question that perhaps Trinidad hadn't carried his power to 160. It's always funny when the monster is built up only to be questioned by the very forces that hyped him. Trinidad will continue to knock out a lot of people at middleweight, it's just that none of them will be Bernard Hopkins. It's amazing how people raved and ranted about Tito knocking out William Joppy, as though he'd dusted off a legitimate champion. I don't even think Joppy was Mustapha Hamsho but sometimes the HBO guys take it a little too far.

And somebody needs to invent a device where you can just mute Foreman, because him wondering where the hell Hopkins learned to box was embarrassing, considering the Foreman was ringside for the amazing sixth round of Hopkins-Echols II, where Bernard stuck and moved brilliantly with a dislocated shoulder. Maybe Foreman was eating at the time.

People forget how good Hopkins' chin is, and his slick defense reminds you of Mike McCallum, a guy who was hard to find and even harder to hurt when you could. Of course, it would be really funny if Trinidad, in the wake of "Wrapgate", came under intense scrutiny before each bout by the opposition corner, and suddenly stopped knocking anyone out. More and more I believe something was not kosher after hearing Bouie Fisher's account of Tito's left hand being wrapped before he arrived in the Trinidad locker room to inspect the job, at which point Papa Tito and Co. refused to rewrap and even tried to tell Fisher that he could wrap Hopkins' hands any way they wanted if he would let the issue drop. Fisher didn't, flat refusing to let Hopkins fight, and he did the right thing. Philly guys are like that, and it's why they don't get swindled much. Fisher's remarks that Trinidad's left hand was "As heavy as a camera" are a little spooky. What if it's true? In that case a lot of people are gonna owe Steve Kim an apology.