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Your browser is out of date. Some of the content on this site will not work properly as a result. Upgrade your browser for a faster, better, and safer web experience. Laurence Blair With production, photography and additional reporting by Santi Carneri. Skirt the canopy of blue canvas that rings the Mercado Cuatro and head past the bus terminal, where indigenous Ayoreo women sell woven bracelets and wood carvings. But Dario is also the holder of multiple titles as champion of South America, Latin America and the Hispanic world, and was in his glory days — according to the World Boxing Organisation — the best in his weight division on the planet. In a year career, he won 89 bouts out of , including an impressive 72 knockouts, 15 of which were in the first round. The other side of the earth. But injury, mismanagement and prejudice robbed him of the chance to fight for greatness. Gradually his form deteriorated and the defeats began to pile up. He hung up the feathered headdress he wore during his entrances, alongside the belt he won as champion of the Hispanic world. Then, disappointment was joined by a numbing, all-consuming grief. One is San Cayetano, the patron saint of workers and gamblers. For the affable locksmith is not out for the count just yet. He has taken up his gloves once more and aims to finally fight for that elusive world title. If he wins, it will be one of the more remarkable comeback stories in modern boxing. And it will be cheered across Paraguay as another sign that this underdog nation — long victim to corruption, dictatorship and bullying by its neighbours — is able to stand up for itself once more. By the early s, what was once a patch of jungle had been smothered by towering shopping malls manned by Lebanese, Indian, Korean and Taiwanese traders. Local commentators insist that international boxing authorities reinstated the minimosca division — light flyweight, or under 49kg — in the late s with Pastor specifically in mind. But a quarrel between Pastor and the national boxing grandees led them to send an inferior fighter to the world championships. Pastor wanted his son to be a priest, or, failing that, a journalist. Aged eight or nine, he was among the shoeshine boys who slugged it out in underground street-fighting championships. Local taxi drivers organised the fights and bet money on the results. Worse still, they shaved off his trademark mullet. So what am I going to do? So I got involved in boxing. And it turns out I was pretty good. Have you ever heard of a son of a millionaire becoming a boxer? We coast the metres downhill, along cobbled backroads fringed with pink lapacho and jacaranda trees, to the bungalow he shares with Angela, his wife of over 20 years. The quality is grainy, but you can still see why he was once classed among the best pugilists to come out of the southern hemisphere. And then he breaks out with an explosive right hook, pressing his advantage with a flurry of blows. In the sixth round, Cardoso totters and slumps to the floor twice, almost unprompted, before the referee declares a technical knockout. And then, in the second round, he spies an opening, and leaps upwards with an upper hook that unbalances the Colombian. The home crowd screams. A round later, the same trick — feint, duck and hammer-blow — lays Ferrer out. Here, out of nowhere, was a Paraguayan champion who defeated all comers, his every appearance turning into gold for the boxing impresarios who ran his fights. Everyone around him was making money, except the Indio de Oro. He went into the crucial fight, number 49, visibly suffering from a recently dislocated shoulder, the famous right hook a fraction of its normal power, and lost to a mediocre opponent. Those he faced had more money and expertise behind them, and the fights tended to be in heavier weight divisions than he was used to. He opened the locksmith shop to make ends meet; his fitness suffered. Life was okay. I think I have 15 or 20 knockouts in a row. I splashed back and forth across the street, looking for a boxing gym hidden above an Indian fabric shop. Upstairs, lithe young men and women were sparring in the combative stances of mixed martial arts MMA and Muay Thai kickboxing. Andres Ayala — a slight, weathered man in his sixties with kindly eyes — took me into his office. In an extremely Catholic and conservative culture, most either laughed at or railed against the idea of women in boxing gloves. But Andres persevered, and there was one girl in particular who promised greatness. Boxing ran in her blood. She was dubbed La Indiecita, the Little Indian. But those dreams were cut short. But soon after taking off his gloves, he got a telephone call from Angela. The emergency services had yet to arrive, so they flagged down a patrol car in the street and rushed her to the hospital. Because afterwards it felt like I was dreaming. There are rumours of a wealthy, possessive boyfriend, an argument while they were at home alone, an attempt to pass her killing off as a suicide, a bribe to the police. I have to wake up here. The thing is, you get used to carrying this pain, this cross. But believing in God makes the cross lighter. In September , Dario returned to his hometown to fight for the South American title of the World Pugilism Commission WPC , a relative upstart in the fragmented organisational structure of international boxing. For the first few rounds, the Indio de Oro struggled to summon the old fighting spirit. He was slow on his feet, taking hits, clinching with his burly opponent, an Argentine southpaw. At the edge of the ring, Andres fidgeted nervously with a towel. The crowd grew restless. But by the fourth round, the old form was back. The stifling night air came alive with shouts; his rival cowered behind his gloves. Two rounds later, it was over. It was after dark, and it was easy to imagine the splash of smugglers pushing their boats off across the river. Its former site is now covered by a concrete basketball court: drug addicts and furtive couples perched in the darkness opposite. Him and his dad, Pastor. Others remembered how he returned to the neighbourhood a few years back, spending hours surrounded by his old friends. All were certain that he can win the world title that has long eluded him. As the final step before that, though, he had to fight to defend his recently won WPC South American belt. Pickups and jeeps were parked a few feet away from the ring, which was illuminated by blinding floodlights. The Indio de Oro waited inside, in a classroom, with Angela and Andres. A fan knocked at the door and came in to take a selfie with the Indio, bare-chested, sitting in the corner in his jeans and flip-flops. The mood was relaxed but the fight would be far from a pushover: Maciel is ten years younger, and far taller, with a longer reach. Angela looked patiently, affectionately, on. The fight started hours behind schedule. Many of the chairs were now empty, but the home crowd was vocal enough. Two TV cameras tracked the contenders around the ring. Maciel came in swinging as soon as the bell sounded, hitting hard and close. He was fast, ducking the punches like a fighter 20 years younger. In the fourth, the Panther fell, got up, then fell again. The referee declared a technical knockout. Angela was the first in the ring to embrace her husband. But whatever happens, he feels vindicated. My father, me and my daughter. I think forgetting us will be difficult. We hope you enjoyed this sample feature from issue 28 of Delayed Gratification. Buy issue Subscribe. Slow Journalism in your inbox , plus infographics, offers and more: sign up for the free DG newsletter. Sign me up. Jam-packed with information A very cool magazine Perhaps we could all get used to this Delayed idea Check out our new infographics book. Please enable Javascript - You will need to enable Javascript in your browser settings to use this website! Delayed Gratification The Slow Journalism magazine. Manage my subscription DG Digital. Laurence Blair With production, photography and additional reporting by Santi Carneri 30th September Taken from: Tweet Share. Boxer Dario Azuaga, aka the Golden Indian. We hope you enjoyed this sample feature from issue 28 of Delayed Gratification Buy issue Subscribe. Sign me up Thanks for signing up. More stories A wolf at the door. Slow Journalism in your inbox , plus infographics, offers and more: sign up for the DG newsletter Sign up. Manage my Subscription DG Digital. The Slow Journalism Company.