Pernell "Sweetpea" Whitaker

[Old bones Ian]

Found this piece on Whitaker, sounds as if he's trying to sort his life out.

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The taxi comes every afternoon. It'll take him wherever he wants to go.

But Pernell "Sweetpea" Whitaker, once the best boxer on the planet, is not interested in straying far.

Most days, the taxi takes him just five minutes from home, to Kelly's Tavern, where he drinks a Coors Light and dines on Buffalo chicken salad. It returns a couple of hours later and brings him back.

It's a simple life, and it suits him. The taxi is his limo, he jokes, the cabbie his chauffeur. A small patch of suburbia is his world.

He lives alone. He watches a little television. He's become a news junkie, a fan of Chris Matthews and Don Imus.

"By 11 o'clock, click, everything's off," Whitaker says.

Better to watch news than to make it, he figures. And Whitaker, 41, made more than his share.

You could make a case that no greater defensive fighter ever laced up a pair of gloves. Whitaker captured gold at the 1984 Olympics at age 20, then dominated professional opponents with a mastery so complete that some described it as boring.

Dangerous men couldn't lay a glove on him. He'd taunt them from point-blank range, showboating, slipping their punches with a shrug of his shoulders, a tilt of his head. He'd counter their misses with spitfire shots of his own, before vanishing, like vapor.

"We would walk away from big, big fights and we would say, 'It looks like you got hit twice,'" recalled Kathy Duva, CEO of Main Events, the firm that promoted Whitaker in his prime. "He would say, 'Nah, three times.'"

He punched from crazy angles, defying all convention. He pitched shutouts. He was beaten convincingly just once in his career. For a decade he was Norfolk's own major league franchise, the best pound-for-pound boxer in the world. At the height of his career, he earned seven-figure purses. In 1995, he made $7 million. For his fight against Felix Trinidad in 1999, he earned $3 million.

Whitaker would like you to stop right there for a moment. Stop and consider what he achieved in boxing: Olympic gold, six world titles, and a 10-year run as the meal ticket for HBO sports.

Now, take a marker and draw a line. Place his professional achievements on one side. On the other, a record of Whitaker's personal life.

"Let's don't get them confused," Whitaker says.

On this point Whitaker is adamant. His boxing career was the stuff of legend.

His personal life?

"There were choices that I made," he said. "Whether they were right or wrong, they were my choices.

"Don't get it confused."

Whitaker chose to isolate himself from friends and family. To place his trust in no one. To allow his world to grow smaller as his fame grew larger. Those are the some of the reasons he slipped into cocaine addiction, he says.

Whitaker's cocaine habit resulted in a 27-month jail sentence for possession, served at Chesapeake's Indian Creek Correctional Center. He was released in January, then spent three months in a halfway house near Harrisonburg before returning to Hampton Roads.

He paid his debt. Kicked his habit, too, he says.

"I picked up a new friend and this friend damn near killed me," he said. "Now he's not my friend anymore."

Whitaker is trying to rebuild his personal life the way he built his boxing skills: with discipline, routine and repetition. Each day as he goes about his business, he repeats five phrases that have become his mantra.

"Get it down. Get it done. Stay focused. Be patient. And appreciate."

"For 24 hours, I'm going to appreciate every minute of every day."

Pernell Whitaker looks good. The man who answers the door at the Chesapeake town home bears little resemblance to the puffy, overweight ex-fighter who stood in front of a judge in a baggy suit in March 2003, awaiting his sentence.

"When I came out, I wanted to look like the regular Pernell Whitaker. I wanted people to look at me and say, 'OK, that's Pernell Whitaker.'

"I worked on myself in there."

Whitaker sits down in a living room that is, like his life these days, purposely uncluttered. There's a sofa, a glass-topped coffee table, a chair, and not much else. He has a house full of furniture in storage, but is in no hurry to retrieve it.

"I want to leave it like this because there's space," he says.

Space is what he didn't have at Indian Creek, a place he described as a "warehouse." He lived in a barracks-style setting where privacy was virtually nonexistent.

Whitaker received no special treatment, he said. You could be a former world champion or a petty street hustler. It didn't matter. The lights burst on at 5:30 a.m. for everyone.

Whitaker spent his mornings doing calisthenics. Running. Shadowboxing. He had ballooned to 220 pounds. He weighs a hard 165 pounds now.

He passed his days sitting up "in the cut" between his bunk and his locker, watching the craziness around him.

"They had plenty of drugs. Yes, God. They called it therapeutic. That's something somebody made up," he said. "I saw some crazy things in there."

Whitaker says he mainly kept to himself, and, for the most part, inmates left him alone. Guys looked out for him, he said.

Inevitably, a few inmates tested him verbally. Things never got physical, Whitaker said. He laughed when they told him what they were going to do to him. As if he had not heard that before.

"I heard that my whole life," he said. "Every time I stepped in the ring."

After his release, Whitaker said he landed in Chesapeake with the help of his longtime attorney, Lionel Hancock. He lives in a middle-class neighborhood near Great Bridge, on a quiet circle.

His home has two floors and three bedrooms. One bedroom is devoted entirely to shoes, dozens of pairs. A Jaguar sits in his driveway, unregistered. He recently put his Mercedes up for sale. He has no driver's license — it remains suspended after traffic violations in Virginia Beach — and no urge to get one.

"I want to stay right in this little vicinity," he said.

Sometimes, the trip to Kelly's is his only social interaction of the day.

That makes it an important part of his routine, he says, since his tendency to isolate himself contributed to his addiction.

Whitaker sat at the bar, watching ESPN, drinking a Coors Light and a shot of Hennessy, and smoking a cigarette. He can have a couple of drinks without going overboard, he says.

He no longer sees the woman he was living with before going to jail. He says he has no interest in meeting anyone new.

"I don't have to worry about where anybody's at. Nobody's looking over my shoulder. I don't have to worry about how another person's doing. All I've got to do now is worry about Pernell. Focus on Pete. It's all about Pete now."

Before he was released from jail, Whitaker called Kathy Duva. She had not heard from him in years.

"What a surprise," she said. "I've got a picture of him hanging in my den. I've only got two fighters hanging in my den, him and Evander Holyfield."

The careers of Whitaker and Holyfield, a former heavyweight champ, are the reasons Duva has a den, and a house to put one in, she laughs. Main Events was founded by her late husband, Dan. The fighters and the firm prospered together, reaching the pinnacle of the sport.

Duva and Whitaker talked off and on for a year before she agreed to hire him. Eventually, Whitaker says he would like to train fighters for Main Events.

"I'm ready to give away some of these secrets," he said. "I can't keep them all to myself."

Asked about his finances, he says they are "stable." His former home, in Virginia Beach's Church Point neighborhood, was sold in a divorce settlement, he said.

"I ain't hurting," he says. "I've got some money coming in. I don't have to dip into my resources."

No matter his financial situation, you'll never catch him back in the ring, he said. He's critical of fighters, Holyfield among them, who he says hang on too long. Or others, such as Tommy Hearns, who attempt comebacks in middle age.

They are tarnishing their legacy, he said.

Whitaker's working to polish his.

He doesn't want to mess that up. So for now, he's sticking to his plan, repeating his mantra.

"I don't want to leave Chesapeake," he says. "I don't want to leave this little vicinity.

"I don't want to depend on nobody. I'm going to jump in the cab."

It'll take him where he wants to go.

[jamesmcdonnell]

Pernell Whittaker is a real all time great, him and McCallum are two fighters who were seriously underrated in their own time.

I've got Whittakers fight against Azumah Nelson on tape, and he made Nelson look like a damned clubfighter which is some achievement.

Robbed against Chavez and Ramirez, held his own against DLH way past his best weight and age and went the distance with Trinidad at age 36 when trinidad was absolutely murdering people.

The only guy I would have picked to beat him would have been Duran from our era at lightweight, and it would have been a close fight.

[DavidPayne]

Duran would have been made for Whittaker in his prime.

Terrific fight but I would have backed Whittaker.

[Old bones Ian]

I don't think that Whittaker was that under-rated , everyone knew that he was a great boxer, but he didn't capture the peoples imagination because of his style, he made very good boxers look ordinary but lacked the finishing punch to add the excitment.

As for Duran v Whittaker, i'd side with Duran to win a narrow decision.
One other modern fighter that could have stood a chance with Whittaker IMO would have been Shane Moseley, he had tremendous speed and power as a lightweight.

[jamesmcdonnell]

Good call, but then Trinidad had great speed and power at Welterweight and he couldn't stop an old overweight Pernell. Mosley was the better fighter technically of course, but still, a good fight that.

Mosley v Tszyu is another one I'd have liked to have seen.

[steve689]

Your right about McCallum he is criminally underrated, in Las Vegas he wanders around on big fight week without anyone recognising him.

[jamesmcdonnell]

Duran would have been made for Whittaker in his prime.

Terrific fight but I would have backed Whittaker.

Hmm, right, so you think a guy who moved up to beat Sugar Ray Leonard at Welterweight couldn't have beaten Whittaker at lightweight? I'm not saying it would have been cut and dried, but I fail to see how Duran, who was excellent at pressuring slick fighters, and fighting intelligently on the inside, would have been out of his depth against Whittaker.

Great fight either way of course, but no way was Duran tailor made. The only guy Duran was ever tailor made for was Tommy Hearns, Duran's lack of height and reach played into the Taller fighters hands and earned him an uppercut which nearly decapitated him.

[J]

right cross mate right cross.

other than that i agree fully, duran was hardly made for anyone.

[jamesmcdonnell]

Oh right, where did I get uppercut from, maybe I'm thinking of Curry v McCrory.

[J]

dunno mate i watched it the other day and im sure its laser guided right cross.

it was 2 am mind. Bit of boxing late at night when youve been onthe piss all day always goes down well with the lads, watched benn logan, benn mcellelan and gatti ward as well.

[Phenomenal-Nutrition]

dunno mate i watched it the other day and im sure its laser guided right cross.

it was 2 am mind. Bit of boxing late at night when youve been onthe piss all day always goes down well with the lads, watched benn logan, benn mcellelan and gatti ward as well.

Only watched it twice, but to my memory Hearns lunges into the Right hand straight down, Durans head looks like its at the perfect height for Hearns to lunge down into. A pure textbook beautiful right. I was shocked the first time I saw it. I need to dig that video out.

[nickd]

Someone should definitely hire him as a trainer he certainly knows all the moves!!

Glad he's back on track.