It was Benítez’s 12th professional fight, and the third time he fought on the same card as his older, harder-hitting brother Frankie.

“They are both so young now,” their trainer, manager and father Gregorio Benítez said at the time. “They have plenty of time.”

That was 1974. Five years later, Gregorio penned a piece for The Ring titled, “Why Benitez will lose his title” in the lead-up to his son’s showdown with “Sugar” Ray Leonard.

Five years is an eternity in boxing, and for a fighter like Benítez, who burned his time away as if he were a pyromaniac, it ended up being nearly a lifetime.

Benítez’s father threw him into a ring when he was only five, and from that point on, that’s all Gregorio wanted him to know. He had around 100 amateur fights before turning pro at 15, though Gregorio fudged his son’s age for years.

In most cases, the idea of putting a fighter of around 15 or 16-year-old into a boxing ring with grown men is a huge mistake. Most fighters haven’t filled out completely by that age and most haven’t gained the awareness necessary to overcome the physical disparity. But most fighters weren’t Wilfred Benítez.

When Benítez was still 15, he sparred with former champion Emile Griffith, who was a faded version of himself but still a contender at middleweight.

“[Both Benítez and his brother] are very aggressive for their age,” Griffith told reporters. “They move like they’ve been fighting professionally for four or five years.”

The young Benítez fought about once a month over the next year, setting himself up for a crack at “Kid Pambelé” Antonio Cervantes, the WBA junior welterweight champion and the first ever world champ from Colombia. Benítez would have the incredible advantage of fighting at home, at the Estadio Hiram Bithron in San Juan.

At 30, Cervantes had a serious edge in experience and looked to make Benítez his 11th straight defense of the title. The Colombian boxer-puncher was made a clear favorite over a high school-aged kid, and Cervantes even held a victory over quirky Argentine Nicolino Locche, who slipped and slithered around on defense similar to how Benítez did.

Cervantes was indeed one of junior welterweight’s greatest fighters, which he proved before and after this. He was the first of a unique group of world champions from San Basilio de Palenque, Colombia, a village of cimmarónes, or escaped slaves. Cervantes simply encountered one of the sport’s greatest anomalies: a fighter who peaked far earlier than most and was mature enough to make history.

"I've always fought boxers older than me,” Benítez said to a Puerto Rican newspaper before the fight. “I'm convinced I can beat Pambelé. And I'm going to do it. No matter what anyone says."

Another Puerto Rican newspaper drew up sketches of both fighters before the fight, with Benítez looking comically smaller and younger. The paper questioned Gregorio’s judgment for sending his young teenage son out to meet a skilled and gritty fighter like Cervantes, but, the newspaper said, “Gregory could never want anything bad for his beloved son.”

Father-son relationships in boxing are usually complex as is. Boxing means damage, which is what parents are supposed to shield their children from. But Gregorio slapped gloves on all of his sons at a young age and literally shamed them into fighting when they wanted to stop. It shortened all of their careers, and perhaps their lives. In this case, at least Gregorio believed in Wilfred enough to accept a mere $7,500 to face Cervantes, who was getting $100,000. With Gregorio, sometimes a small bit of belief was the best you could get.

The matchup arrived at a crucial moment for a sport whose brass was quickly realizing how much support it got from members of Spanish-speaking communities. The Ring boasted five-figure sales of their English magazine in Spanish-speaking countries, and at the start of 1976, translators and publishers in Venezuela began working on a Spanish version of The Ring to be unveiled later in the year.

Right on cue, Benítez and Cervantes delivered in terms of skill and know-how. Both were sharp, fast and capable, but the 18,000 fans in attendance watched Benítez rise to the occasion as he consistently out-fought the veteran.

Cervantes’ jab raised a welt under Benítez’s eye early in the fight, then he fell behind and found himself eating fast counters the rest of the way. The judges’ official cards had Benítez ahead nearly all night, as did most unofficial cards among fight media, though Cervantes hurt Benítez in round 11 and briefly appeared as if he might take over. It wasn’t to be, however.

“It was at this point I realized I had him,” Benítez later said.

Suddenly the older fighter looked like the older fighter as the late rounds brought out the old man in Cervantes. Benítez stayed busy to leave no doubt about his claim to the title, and a split decision win made Benítez the third Puerto Rican world champion in less than a year, alongside Ángel Espada and Alfredo Escalera.

Benitez, who was often emotional after his fights, cried with his head on Gregorio’s shoulder when the decision was announced. At 17 years old and a senior in high school, Benítez became somebody.

Between sobs, Benítez told reporters, “I want to dedicate this victory to my wonderful mother and dad.”