Two weeks ago, 38-year-old Roy Jones Jr. stepped into a boxing ring for a fight that counted for the first time in almost a year. He is a boxer again.

"It ain't no comeback," he insists. "I never went nowhere."

Nowhere must be relative then. Between Sept. 25, 2004, and this past July 14 Jones was hired as a boxing analyst on HBO, and then fired. He put out his second rap CD. He appeared in the ring just three times, losing twice. During one stretch he took a full year off, and 11 months during another. It seemed like a reasonable assumption that his boxing career was finished. But you know what assuming does

"There was never a moment when I thought it was done," says Jones, proving once again the age-old truism--no one knows you better than yourself

Now, everyone knows it--especially Anthony Hanshaw. Just two weeks ago, Jones met a previously unbeaten and favored Hanshaw to reclaim the vacant IBC Light Heavyweight title. It wasn't the vintage, two-round knockout version of Jones, but it was a win. Jones won three judges' scorecards and reaffirmed to the world that he is back, or rather that he is still here.

Thirty-eight isn't old for a lot of things. Sure, Jones' window of opportunity to be a teenage tennis phenom has closed, and he just fought a guy who was 11-years-old when he won his first professional fight, but he beat him.

"Age is just a number," Jones says. "My body feels as good today as it did 10 years ago."

Look around boxing today and there is Bernard Hopkins, still fighting and winning at age 42, exactly four years and a day older than Jones. Hopkins is an astounding 12-2 since his 35th birthday.

Historically speaking, though, old age and winning tend to be mutually exclusive. Muhammad Ali leveled out at 3-3, while Joe Frazier fought just once after turning 35. The ageless Sugar Ray Robinson fought an incredible 56 times between the ages of 35 and 44, but with 15 losses. George Foreman is the oldest heavyweight champ at 44, but the grillmaster is the exception, not the rule.

Jones, meanwhile, is 2-3 since crossing the halfway point to septuagenarian-hood, but he's on a two-fight winning streak.

Age may be losing the battle of keeping Jones out of the ring, but it certainly seems capable of foiling his grand plans for the rest of his career. Talking to Jones about his future is like talking to Dick Cheney about Iraq; he may be a bit optimistic.

First he wants Tito Trinidad, and "I'll stop him," he says. Then he wants Glen Johnson and "I'll stop him," he says. The trifecta would be Antonio Tarver. "I'll stop him," says Jones with the same invariability as Lovie Smith discussing his starting quarterback.

But even beating a middleweight and two light heavyweights doesn't qualify as perfect.

"Then I'd go to the heavyweights and fight (Evander) Holyfield or (Wladimir) Klitchsko," he continues. "And I'd regain the heavyweight title."

Also part of the reason he hasn't hung up the gloves is he lost three straight fights not too long ago. In 2004 and 2005, he coincidentally sandwiched losses to Tarver around a knockout at the hands of Johnson, two of the guys he'd love to get another chance at. Asked if he would still be fighting if he hadn't lost those three fights, Jones admits that he might not.

But he contends it's not about a legacy. Jones already has one of the most impressive trophy cases in boxing history. He has titles in four weight classes, and is the first boxer in a hundred years to be a middleweight and heavyweight champion. He is regularly referred to as the best pound-for-pound fighter of all time. In other words, he already has a legacy, and not even he can tarnish it.

"It's like trying to take back all the best times Carl Lewis ran in the 100-meter dash," he says. "You can't do it."

Jones wants to ride off into the sunset, not limp away through the shadows. It's a battle of inner mettle, which brings Jones back to boxing simply because he still can. Why leave the ring when he knows--and just proved--he can still fight? Why stop being himself?

"You saw me in the ring against Hanshaw smiling," he says. "I was more myself then than in a long time."

Who Jones is right now is a boxer. It's who he's been for as long as he can remember. The more difficult question is who is Roy Jones if he's not a boxer?

"I don't know," he answers.

Perhaps that, more than anything, is why he boxes; and only when he no longer wants to fight can he truly answer. Only then can he walk away, no doubts lingering. Until that day, he isn't going anywhere. Although, as he'll tell you, it's not like he ever has.