BoxRec

Randyman wrote:

kikibalt wrote:Toots Shor's New York joint: When giants walked the earth


From movie stars to athletes to mob bosses, they rubbed elbows at Toots'.
By PATRICK GOLDSTEIN

Early on in "Toots," the new documentary about legendary New York saloon keeper Toots Shor, we get to see Frank Sinatra recalling the night Toots asked him to come to dinner at his joint with some of Toots' pals. The other pals? Bing Crosby, Jack Dempsey and Babe Ruth. As the four sultans of mid-century America made their way through the restaurant to a private table, the whole saloon spontaneously erupted with applause.

If you were a celebrity in New York from 1940 through the early 1960s, the place to be was Toots Shor's, where you'd find sports icons, journalists, actors, mobsters or politicians lifting glasses in the same smoke-filled room.

Today's celebrity clubs and eateries are niche joints -- the film crowd inhabits one spot, the musicians go somewhere else, the journalists (the ones who still have a job) have a different hangout. But Toots Shor's was a watering hole where everyone rubbed elbows. You'd see Joe DiMaggio at one table, Jackie Gleason at another, the likes of Frank Gifford or Mickey Mantle or Walter Cronkite across the room. On one night, Toots could be seen having a drink with U.S. Chief Justice Earl Warren, then heading across the room to hang out with mob boss Frank Costello. As writer Pete Hamill says in the film, which opened Friday: "Toots' was a part of the imagination of people who had never even walked in there. They knew it existed the way they knew the Statue of Liberty existed."

Made by Kristi Jacobson, Toots' granddaughter, the documentary nicely captures a colorful period in American culture, a booze-fueled age when men cheerfully insulted each other, bet on the ponies and started drinking at lunch and often didn't stop till the sun came up. Toots kept everyone's glass filled to the brim. A giant of a man, he was famously gruff; he used to boast of receiving a letter from an out-of-towner who'd enjoyed the food, but advised that if he wanted to be successful "you'd better get rid of that fat slob of a headwaiter who spent most of his time insulting patrons."

Toots led by example. In the film, Jacobson's mother tells the story of when Toots breezed into church one morning, determined to be there for her confirmation (Toots was Jewish but his wife, a former showgirl affectionately known as Baby, raised the children Catholic). Toots had been out on the town all night, so he brought along his drinking buddy -- John Wayne. Toots wasn't much of a businessman, blowing most of the dough he ever made, but if he ever had problems with creditors, he'd turn to his mob pal Costello, who'd manage to set things right. One of the more interesting revelations in the movie is that when Toots needed ready cash to open a second restaurant in 1960, he went to Jimmy Hoffa, who loaned him $7 million from the Teamsters union's pension fund.

The best part of the movie is the great gallery of characters Jacobson assembled to tell the Toots anecdotes. The Teamsters tale comes courtesy of Gianni Russo. He looks so familiar, I said to Jacobson. Where have I seen him before? She laughed. "He played Carlo Rizzi in 'The Godfather.' " It made me wonder -- how mobbed up was Toots?

His granddaughter isn't really sure. "Gianni says that Frank Costello was in the saloon every day, so it's pretty obvious my grandfather and Costello were good friends -- my mother used to call him Uncle Frank. But no one knows the exact terms of the relationship. You could definitely say that being friends with Frank Costello protected Toots from a lot of problems."

Toots died when Jacobson was 6, so she had only vague memories of her grandfather. No one in the family told many stories about him. "When I first interviewed my mother, almost everything she told me was new to me," she says. "It was like opening the floodgates. I kept going, 'Wow, I'd never heard that before.' "

Some of her best interviews are with journalists, including Hamill, Mike Wallace, Dave Anderson (the New York Times sports columnist who wrote Shor's obituary), Gay Talese and Nick Pileggi, who tells of his days as a young Associated Press reporter, watching the older reporters and editors slip off in the middle of work for a quick snort at Toots', visits that were known as going on a "bombing run." "Toots had an undying passion for sports as well as tremendous respect for the guys who wrote about it," Jacobson says. "So I think he was fond of journalists, because they helped people connect with their heroes, but it was pretty savvy to treat the writers as well as you treated the sports stars."

It was clearly a different era. You can't help but notice in the film that it was very much a man's world -- women were allowed into Toots' joint only if accompanied by a man. It was also largely a white man's world, even though Jacobson says that Toots had a huge fight with the owner of the Stork Club when he refused entrance to Josephine Baker, a famous black singer of the time. Toots made sure she was welcome at his place. "What mattered to Toots was not who you were or where you were going, but if you did something," Jacobson says. "He came from nothing and liked being around people who'd had the same kind of success, having done it all on their own."

Here's one more story: One day, after Toots and Jackie Gleason had been drinking, the two burly men challenged each other to a bet over who could get around the block the quickest. Toots lurched around the block as fast as he could, sweating profusely the whole way, but when he returned, he found Gleason already at the front door, unwinded. It took Shor a while to figure out that he'd never seen Gleason pass him. Finally, Gleason merrily fessed up. He'd taken a cab. As Talese says in the movie, it was a different time. "People lived shorter lives then. But they were happier."

[email protected]


Pull up a chair: Toots Shor at his New York saloon
(Photo: Associated Press)

Toots Shor, one of Mels Favorite subjects. I was born a hundred years too late. I think I would have enjoyed the old days. When men were men. Good article! Is there any place like that today anywhere? Imagine, Toot Shor's and Jack Dempsey's Restaurant, what an era! The only thing they lacked was the "Boom Boom" club.


Randy

Randy, I can easily picture both you and Jeri living in that era.
People had more class back then.
The two of you would have fit right in.

Expug wrote:

Randyman wrote:

kikibalt wrote:Photo and caption by Dan Hanley Jr.


Our own Brian Higgins with Rodolfo 'El Gato' Gonzalez and Danny 'Little Red' Lopez

Three great fighting men!

Thats very nice of you Randy.
But Those two guys were great great champions.
Rodolfo is a little before my time, but I am a huge fan of little Red.
He was such an exciting warrior and such a humble nice guy.
He remains one of my all time favorite athletes in any sport.

Pug, not all men need a title to be a champ. Reading your words, meeting you, listening to you. I know you're a champ!

bennie wrote:

kikibalt wrote:Photo by Dan


Ed Hernandez, Jerri and Randy DeLa O

You like your Ketchup over there.

I do like ketchup but on certain things. Ketchup goes really good with scrambled eggs. I like it on potatoes, especially French Fries (Chips). I don't know how it is in England but here in the States, it is automatically served on the table and if it's not they bring it anyway. Don't ask me why.

By the way, the Marriott serves an excellent breakfast. We had just finished with breakfast when Dan Hanley jr and his party including Rodolfo Gonzalez and his wife, stopped by to say hello. Good people, all of them.

Randy

Expug wrote:

Randyman wrote:

kikibalt wrote:Toots Shor's New York joint: When giants walked the earth


From movie stars to athletes to mob bosses, they rubbed elbows at Toots'.
By PATRICK GOLDSTEIN

Early on in "Toots," the new documentary about legendary New York saloon keeper Toots Shor, we get to see Frank Sinatra recalling the night Toots asked him to come to dinner at his joint with some of Toots' pals. The other pals? Bing Crosby, Jack Dempsey and Babe Ruth. As the four sultans of mid-century America made their way through the restaurant to a private table, the whole saloon spontaneously erupted with applause.

If you were a celebrity in New York from 1940 through the early 1960s, the place to be was Toots Shor's, where you'd find sports icons, journalists, actors, mobsters or politicians lifting glasses in the same smoke-filled room.

Today's celebrity clubs and eateries are niche joints -- the film crowd inhabits one spot, the musicians go somewhere else, the journalists (the ones who still have a job) have a different hangout. But Toots Shor's was a watering hole where everyone rubbed elbows. You'd see Joe DiMaggio at one table, Jackie Gleason at another, the likes of Frank Gifford or Mickey Mantle or Walter Cronkite across the room. On one night, Toots could be seen having a drink with U.S. Chief Justice Earl Warren, then heading across the room to hang out with mob boss Frank Costello. As writer Pete Hamill says in the film, which opened Friday: "Toots' was a part of the imagination of people who had never even walked in there. They knew it existed the way they knew the Statue of Liberty existed."

Made by Kristi Jacobson, Toots' granddaughter, the documentary nicely captures a colorful period in American culture, a booze-fueled age when men cheerfully insulted each other, bet on the ponies and started drinking at lunch and often didn't stop till the sun came up. Toots kept everyone's glass filled to the brim. A giant of a man, he was famously gruff; he used to boast of receiving a letter from an out-of-towner who'd enjoyed the food, but advised that if he wanted to be successful "you'd better get rid of that fat slob of a headwaiter who spent most of his time insulting patrons."

Toots led by example. In the film, Jacobson's mother tells the story of when Toots breezed into church one morning, determined to be there for her confirmation (Toots was Jewish but his wife, a former showgirl affectionately known as Baby, raised the children Catholic). Toots had been out on the town all night, so he brought along his drinking buddy -- John Wayne. Toots wasn't much of a businessman, blowing most of the dough he ever made, but if he ever had problems with creditors, he'd turn to his mob pal Costello, who'd manage to set things right. One of the more interesting revelations in the movie is that when Toots needed ready cash to open a second restaurant in 1960, he went to Jimmy Hoffa, who loaned him $7 million from the Teamsters union's pension fund.

The best part of the movie is the great gallery of characters Jacobson assembled to tell the Toots anecdotes. The Teamsters tale comes courtesy of Gianni Russo. He looks so familiar, I said to Jacobson. Where have I seen him before? She laughed. "He played Carlo Rizzi in 'The Godfather.' " It made me wonder -- how mobbed up was Toots?

His granddaughter isn't really sure. "Gianni says that Frank Costello was in the saloon every day, so it's pretty obvious my grandfather and Costello were good friends -- my mother used to call him Uncle Frank. But no one knows the exact terms of the relationship. You could definitely say that being friends with Frank Costello protected Toots from a lot of problems."

Toots died when Jacobson was 6, so she had only vague memories of her grandfather. No one in the family told many stories about him. "When I first interviewed my mother, almost everything she told me was new to me," she says. "It was like opening the floodgates. I kept going, 'Wow, I'd never heard that before.' "

Some of her best interviews are with journalists, including Hamill, Mike Wallace, Dave Anderson (the New York Times sports columnist who wrote Shor's obituary), Gay Talese and Nick Pileggi, who tells of his days as a young Associated Press reporter, watching the older reporters and editors slip off in the middle of work for a quick snort at Toots', visits that were known as going on a "bombing run." "Toots had an undying passion for sports as well as tremendous respect for the guys who wrote about it," Jacobson says. "So I think he was fond of journalists, because they helped people connect with their heroes, but it was pretty savvy to treat the writers as well as you treated the sports stars."

It was clearly a different era. You can't help but notice in the film that it was very much a man's world -- women were allowed into Toots' joint only if accompanied by a man. It was also largely a white man's world, even though Jacobson says that Toots had a huge fight with the owner of the Stork Club when he refused entrance to Josephine Baker, a famous black singer of the time. Toots made sure she was welcome at his place. "What mattered to Toots was not who you were or where you were going, but if you did something," Jacobson says. "He came from nothing and liked being around people who'd had the same kind of success, having done it all on their own."

Here's one more story: One day, after Toots and Jackie Gleason had been drinking, the two burly men challenged each other to a bet over who could get around the block the quickest. Toots lurched around the block as fast as he could, sweating profusely the whole way, but when he returned, he found Gleason already at the front door, unwinded. It took Shor a while to figure out that he'd never seen Gleason pass him. Finally, Gleason merrily fessed up. He'd taken a cab. As Talese says in the movie, it was a different time. "People lived shorter lives then. But they were happier."

[email protected]


Pull up a chair: Toots Shor at his New York saloon
(Photo: Associated Press)

Toots Shor, one of Mels Favorite subjects. I was born a hundred years too late. I think I would have enjoyed the old days. When men were men. Good article! Is there any place like that today anywhere? Imagine, Toot Shor's and Jack Dempsey's Restaurant, what an era! The only thing they lacked was the "Boom Boom" club.


Randy

Randy, I can easily picture both you and Jeri living in that era.
People had more class back then.
The two of you would have fit right in.

Thanks!!

Randyman wrote:

Frank, the guy in the white teeshirt in the black and white photo, is that Art Frias? Hard to tell because he looks so young and his face is not 100% clear.

Randy

Yes!

I always liked Frias. He was a tough little work horse but he was limited. I remember once you and Rick said you were going to share a funny story about Art. I'm still waiting!!

Randy

Randy,

I don't remember saying I had a funny story about Art, I think it was Rick who said that, I think what he had in mind was something that happened when I was in Boston with the GG team, I'll let Rick, who is more elquent then me tell that story, thus, he'll do more justice to the story.

As a fighter Art was very limited, he, like David Diaz ,who a few months ago fought Pac. were in the right place at the right time and became champions, because other then guts, "heart" they didn't have much else going for them, that been said, I love Art as a person.

RABBIT PUNCH

A while back the City of San Diego opened The Hall of Champions Museum in Balboa Park. It was erected in honor of all the famous athletes from San Diego or played their careers in our city. Top two on the inductee list was Archie Moore and Ted Williams. Williams was born in San Diego and went to high school here. From there he went into baseball and became one the game's top all time players. However,Williams never frequented San Diego much. His father wasn't around much when Ted was a kid and his mother was deeply involved in the Salvation Army. In the off season Williams rarely came to San Diego. He spent his retirement years fishing in Florida. He tried managing ,but his temperment rubbed the players the wrong way. In a nut shell,Williams was sort of conceited and unapproachable.

Not so Archie Moore. He bounced all over the world fighting,but made San Diego his home. He felt comfortable in San Diego. He settled with his last wife and kids here. I remember his sons playing football for Mesa Junior College. Arch would be at the games and blend in with all the other parents in the bleachers.Always smiling and engaging everyone around him in Archie Moore talk. Boxing,history,jazz,cooking,and philosophy.

The night of the first inductions at the Hall was memorable for me. We had a fight announcer here named Fred Lewis. He also had a local TV show that profiled famous San Diegans. Lewis was to have the Mongoose on his show and was prepping him with some questions. Of course I nudged my way into ear shot distance pretending I didn't know what was going on.

"Archie,do you remember the first time you came to San Diego?" asked Lewis.
"I came from St. Louis. I guess you could say I was intruding,"said Moore.
"Intruding?"
"Yes,you see there was a local fighter who was very popular here named Johnny"The Bandit"Romero. The matchmaker put us together."
"They say those were real wars."
"And sometimes it got dirty as in a war."
"Explain that."
"Well I don't think Mr. Romero appreciated me coming to his town to try to beat him.He said some nasty things. There were some remarks about the color of my skin."
"You fought twice?"
"Yes. The first bout I was out boxing the man. Then he resorted to fouling me. In the clinches,he was rabbit punching me."
"Didn't he win the first fight?"
"He won a decision. The referee was letting him foul. I don't like a dirty fighter. I never fought dirty and expected similar treatment from my opponent. The rabbit punching made my blood boil. It's sneaky. You're looking at your opponent and then he sneaks a punch from behind."
"You won the second fight."
"Knocked the 'Bandit" out flat. I remembered how he hit me with those rabbit punches. I never did that and didn't need to resort to that kind of fighting to win."
"You were satisfied then?"
"Yes,he knew who was boss."
There was a silence and then Arch stepped in before Fred Lewis could comment.
"Charley Burley. There was a fellow who had my number. Knocked me down four times at the Hollywood Legoin Stadium. A gentleman he was and a clean fighter."

When the Master of Ceremonies announced the first inductees,he called Archie Moore first. I wonder if Ted Williams felt a bit slighted?

kikibalt wrote:

Randyman wrote:

Frank, the guy in the white teeshirt in the black and white photo, is that Art Frias? Hard to tell because he looks so young and his face is not 100% clear.

Randy

Yes!

I always liked Frias. He was a tough little work horse but he was limited. I remember once you and Rick said you were going to share a funny story about Art. I'm still waiting!!

Randy

Randy,

I don't remember saying I had a funny story about Art, I think it was Rick who said that, I think what he had in mind was something that happened when I was in Boston with the GG team, I'll let Rick, who is more elquent then me tell that story, thus, he'll do more justice to the story.

As a fighter Art was very limited, he, like David Diaz ,who a few months ago fought Pac. were in the right place at the right time and became champions, because other then guts, "heart" they didn't have much else going for them, that been said, I love Art as a person.

Frank, that sounded pretty eloquent to me!!

Randyman wrote:

kikibalt wrote:Toots Shor's New York joint: When giants walked the earth


From movie stars to athletes to mob bosses, they rubbed elbows at Toots'.
By PATRICK GOLDSTEIN

Early on in "Toots," the new documentary about legendary New York saloon keeper Toots Shor, we get to see Frank Sinatra recalling the night Toots asked him to come to dinner at his joint with some of Toots' pals. The other pals? Bing Crosby, Jack Dempsey and Babe Ruth. As the four sultans of mid-century America made their way through the restaurant to a private table, the whole saloon spontaneously erupted with applause.

If you were a celebrity in New York from 1940 through the early 1960s, the place to be was Toots Shor's, where you'd find sports icons, journalists, actors, mobsters or politicians lifting glasses in the same smoke-filled room.

Today's celebrity clubs and eateries are niche joints -- the film crowd inhabits one spot, the musicians go somewhere else, the journalists (the ones who still have a job) have a different hangout. But Toots Shor's was a watering hole where everyone rubbed elbows. You'd see Joe DiMaggio at one table, Jackie Gleason at another, the likes of Frank Gifford or Mickey Mantle or Walter Cronkite across the room. On one night, Toots could be seen having a drink with U.S. Chief Justice Earl Warren, then heading across the room to hang out with mob boss Frank Costello. As writer Pete Hamill says in the film, which opened Friday: "Toots' was a part of the imagination of people who had never even walked in there. They knew it existed the way they knew the Statue of Liberty existed."

Made by Kristi Jacobson, Toots' granddaughter, the documentary nicely captures a colorful period in American culture, a booze-fueled age when men cheerfully insulted each other, bet on the ponies and started drinking at lunch and often didn't stop till the sun came up. Toots kept everyone's glass filled to the brim. A giant of a man, he was famously gruff; he used to boast of receiving a letter from an out-of-towner who'd enjoyed the food, but advised that if he wanted to be successful "you'd better get rid of that fat slob of a headwaiter who spent most of his time insulting patrons."

Toots led by example. In the film, Jacobson's mother tells the story of when Toots breezed into church one morning, determined to be there for her confirmation (Toots was Jewish but his wife, a former showgirl affectionately known as Baby, raised the children Catholic). Toots had been out on the town all night, so he brought along his drinking buddy -- John Wayne. Toots wasn't much of a businessman, blowing most of the dough he ever made, but if he ever had problems with creditors, he'd turn to his mob pal Costello, who'd manage to set things right. One of the more interesting revelations in the movie is that when Toots needed ready cash to open a second restaurant in 1960, he went to Jimmy Hoffa, who loaned him $7 million from the Teamsters union's pension fund.

The best part of the movie is the great gallery of characters Jacobson assembled to tell the Toots anecdotes. The Teamsters tale comes courtesy of Gianni Russo. He looks so familiar, I said to Jacobson. Where have I seen him before? She laughed. "He played Carlo Rizzi in 'The Godfather.' " It made me wonder -- how mobbed up was Toots?

His granddaughter isn't really sure. "Gianni says that Frank Costello was in the saloon every day, so it's pretty obvious my grandfather and Costello were good friends -- my mother used to call him Uncle Frank. But no one knows the exact terms of the relationship. You could definitely say that being friends with Frank Costello protected Toots from a lot of problems."

Toots died when Jacobson was 6, so she had only vague memories of her grandfather. No one in the family told many stories about him. "When I first interviewed my mother, almost everything she told me was new to me," she says. "It was like opening the floodgates. I kept going, 'Wow, I'd never heard that before.' "

Some of her best interviews are with journalists, including Hamill, Mike Wallace, Dave Anderson (the New York Times sports columnist who wrote Shor's obituary), Gay Talese and Nick Pileggi, who tells of his days as a young Associated Press reporter, watching the older reporters and editors slip off in the middle of work for a quick snort at Toots', visits that were known as going on a "bombing run." "Toots had an undying passion for sports as well as tremendous respect for the guys who wrote about it," Jacobson says. "So I think he was fond of journalists, because they helped people connect with their heroes, but it was pretty savvy to treat the writers as well as you treated the sports stars."

It was clearly a different era. You can't help but notice in the film that it was very much a man's world -- women were allowed into Toots' joint only if accompanied by a man. It was also largely a white man's world, even though Jacobson says that Toots had a huge fight with the owner of the Stork Club when he refused entrance to Josephine Baker, a famous black singer of the time. Toots made sure she was welcome at his place. "What mattered to Toots was not who you were or where you were going, but if you did something," Jacobson says. "He came from nothing and liked being around people who'd had the same kind of success, having done it all on their own."

Here's one more story: One day, after Toots and Jackie Gleason had been drinking, the two burly men challenged each other to a bet over who could get around the block the quickest. Toots lurched around the block as fast as he could, sweating profusely the whole way, but when he returned, he found Gleason already at the front door, unwinded. It took Shor a while to figure out that he'd never seen Gleason pass him. Finally, Gleason merrily fessed up. He'd taken a cab. As Talese says in the movie, it was a different time. "People lived shorter lives then. But they were happier."

[email protected]


Pull up a chair: Toots Shor at his New York saloon
(Photo: Associated Press)

Toots Shor, one of Mels Favorite subjects. I was born a hundred years too late. I think I would have enjoyed the old days. When men were men. Good article! Is there any place like that today anywhere? Imagine, Toot Shor's and Jack Dempsey's Restaurant, what an era! The only thing they lacked was the "Boom Boom" club.


Randy

Randy . . . I bet Mel loaned you his book, Toots Shore's biography. Mel loved the guy, and he forced me to read the damn book. I found myself enjoying the hell out of it and you can imagine Mel's reaction when I told him I was surprised to find it so interesting. Epstein turned to the side and began talking to his imaginary friend about the ignorance of youth, etc.

Another Mel Epstein connection. You gotta talk with Mike Nixon, same story, but when he ordered Mike to read the book Nixon just laughed and told him to "F_ck Off!"

-Rick

Randyman wrote:

bennie wrote:

kikibalt wrote:Photo by Dan


Ed Hernandez, Jerri and Randy DeLa O

You like your Ketchup over there.

I do like ketchup but on certain things. Ketchup goes really good with scrambled eggs. I like it on potatoes, especially French Fries (Chips). I don't know how it is in England but here in the States, it is automatically served on the table and if it's not they bring it anyway. Don't ask me why.

By the way, the Marriott serves an excellent breakfast. We had just finished with breakfast when Dan Hanley jr and his party including Rodolfo Gonzalez and his wife, stopped by to say hello. Good people, all of them.

Randy

Randy, I can tell you are a man with a healthy appetite. Mine is unhealthy - I just can't stop.

How come Greg Haugen got his black eye?

Ageing American heavyweights Lamon Brewster and Bruce Seldon square up in a 12-rounder in Indianapolis on November 29.
Frankly, this is one of those 'don't who give a damn' matches but to make the pair fight over 12 rounds is pretty heartless. The 35-year-old Brewster, who hails from Indianapolis, has fought (and won) only once since a bad beating at the hands of Wladimir Klitschko last year while the 41-year-old Seldon was belted in five rounds by unbeaten Kevin "Kingpin" Johnson just two months ago, a man with a serious rep as a non-puncher, but big Bruce came back with a two-round win earlier this month in his native Atlantic City over a Wichita Lineman.
The fact that these two once held major versions of the world heavyweight title is the reason why so many sit up and take notice when a 27-year-old David Haye comes along (and the Londoner would probably lick this duo on the same night). Life with the likes of Brewster and Seldon was and is pretty grim, although Brewster at least has a go and had previously licked Klitschko in a huge upset in 2004. Seldon is best remembered for a swan dive against Mike Tyson in 1996 but he might make it interesting for a while.
Still, Brewster looks the pick.


Fearless Denver veteran Verno Phillips takes on Paul "The Punisher" Williams in a world class 12-rounder in California on November 29.
Phillips is the 38-year-old who shocked Cory Spinks - a towering southpaw like Williams - earlier this year in St Louis for the IBF light-middleweight belt and still has the belt to fall back on, win or lose, which is not on the line. He will also be picking up a nice packet, make no mistake about that. He deserves it all.
Williams needed 97 seconds to despatch full middleweight Andy Kolle just two months ago and also blew away Puerto Rico's Carlos Quintana in the first round before that, the only man ever to beat him. He holds a big win over Antonio Margarito, "The Tijuana Tornado" who seems none too keen to face him again. The 27-year-old Williams, from South Carolina, is one of the most avoided men in boxing.
It sums up the fighting spirit of the cute, iron-jawed Phillips who has all the 'moves' after 20 years as a pro and actually celebrates his 39th birthday on the night of the fight and will want to do so with a win (seriously).
The most likely result, however, is a decision for the slick, heavy handed, menacing Williams.


American boxing star Ronald Wright makes his first appearance for over a year against Mexico's Michi Munoz in a 10-rounder in Seattle on December 4.
The talented Wright dropped a tight one to Philadelphia legend Bernard Hopkins in Las Vegas in July 2007 but stepped up to light-heavyweight for the night and is now back at middleweight, where his reputation as one of the best pound for pound fighters in the world was built on wins over Shane Mosley (twice), Felix Trinidad and Ike Quartey, although he was an outstanding light-middleweight too. He also drew with Jermain Taylor at middleweight - right after Taylor had twice licked the canny Hopkins. Veteran "Winky" thought he had the fight won and played it safe in the 12th and last round, which cost him the win. Surprising. Ordinarily, the 37-year-old southpaw from Florida is shrewd and punishing, a formidable 51-4-1 (25).
His opponent, the Kansas-based Munoz, is 10 years younger and went 12 rounds with American Contender Joey Gilbert last year but was halted in three by unbeaten Armenian Vanes Martirosyan in Las Vegas earlier this year, for his only losses. At 21-2 (14), however, all of Munoz's wins have come in Kansas or Missouri where he is probably fighting gas station attendants.
The ageing Wright may take a few rounds to shed the ring rust before forcing a stoppage.


A clash of New York southpaws in New York on December 4 pairs Jaffa Ballogou and Daniel Judah over 12 rounds.
Ballogou, you will remember, is the African who belted our own Dean Francis in 10 rounds all the way back in 1995 in Ipswich. He moved to New York shortly afterwards and has failed to hit the big time but the 40-year-old is still a useful fighter - anyone who stops Francis has to be useful. "Deano" is now the reigning British light-heavyweight champion (and this match is also at light-heavy).
Judah is the elder brother of brash Brooklyn southpaw Zab and probably best known for a draw he got with canny old Glen Johnson in 2003 when Johnson - not for the first time, not for the last - was clearly robbed of a win. Judah lacks the ability of Zab and probably of Ballogou, although he is nine years younger than his opponent at 31 and might have the energy to come on strong down the stretch and nick it.



Philadelphia's Steve "USS" Cunningham defends his IBF cruiserweight title against mandatory challenger Tomasz Adamek of Poland in a good-looking clash in Newark, New Jersey, on December 11.
Cunningham has lost only to Krzysztof Wlodarczyk in 22 fights - a Pole like Adamek. The former US Navy man is classy and sharp-hitting and he came back from the Wlodarczyk setback in Poland in November 2006 - a controversial split decision - to outscore him for the IBF title on a majority decision in Poland six months later, flooring Wlodarczyk in the fourth. They tried to rob him again. (Wlodarczyk and Adamek have never fought.)
Understandably, Cunningham has little intention of ever returning to Poland, although he comes off a fine 12-round stoppage of German puncher Marco Huck in defence of his title in Germany and has proved himself abroad. "I'm a true world champion," Cunningham remarked at the fight's launch. "I've fought in South Africa, Germany and in Poland, twice. I'm more popular in Europe than I am in America right now but that's about to change. I want to give the world a true cruiserweight world champion that will stay in the division and defend his titles for years to come." He was having a pop at our own David Haye there, by the way.
Adamek begs to differ and he begs to differ in a frightening way. The challenger recently moved up from light-heavyweight, where he said he felt "weak", and has lost just the once himself, in 36 outings: to the slick and unbeaten "Bad" Chad Dawson in Florida last year. Adamek had southpaw Dawson down in the 10th round with a huge right hand but was dominated otherwise and lost a unanimous decision. Defeat cost Adamek the WBC light-heavyweight title, a title he had won with a bloody and gruelling majority decision over Aussie hard man Paul Briggs in Chicago in 2005 and retained twice prior to Dawson, including a six-round knockout of Thomas Ulrich in Germany. Adamek can whack with the right - 24 of his 35 wins by stoppage - and knows how to box, too. He earned his chance when he forced heavy handed O'Neil Bell to call it a day after seven rounds in Poland earlier this year and looks strong at the new weight, dropping Bell in the first and outboxing him thereafter.
Nonetheless, Cunningham looks to be the better boxer of the two with his quick, slick, sharp-hitting, almost Dawsonesque style. He got the better of Wlodarczyk in Poland should get the better of Adamek in the States, potshotting, holding when necessary and just outmarting the dangerous Pole, although it will be tight and always on a knife-edge.

The Harder They Fall: Sunset's Boxing Journal


By Sunset Thomas

Remember the movie, Harvey? Jimmy Stewart played a nutty sort who had an imaginary friend named Harvey. The catch was, Harvey was a six-foot bunny rabbit! Well, I’ve got an imaginary friend too. Only mine is for real. That is he was a real person…

Anyways, my companion (he goes to all the fights with me) is Frankie Gambino. Frankie was a middleweight. Frankie had one fight—in 1943. He fought Norman Miller in Ocean Park, California. Miller had won three in a row—his first three—and then he faced my buddy Frankie Gambino and Frankie took him on points in four rounds!

Frankie first approached me in Reno, Nevada. He sort of snuck up while I was walking out with the birthday cake for Sam Peter—a top ranked Heavyweight.

Sam had knocked out Taurus Sykes in the second round on July 2nd, 2005, at the Reno Events Center (the Center’s first boxing match and a Showtime production).

Sam had returned to Reno to train for his title match against Wladimir Klitschko in Atlantic City for all the marbles.

So there I am at the Golden Phoenix Casino—it’s Sam’s birthday—the mayor of
Reno, Bob Cashell is going to present the Nigerian Nightmare with a plaque announcing that very day as “Samuel Peter Day”…

Me, I’m channeling Marilyn Monroe. I’ve got my blonde tresses teased and I’m wearing a Marilyn-esque dress and I’m accompanying a hotel worker who is rolling out a huge cake on a cart and I’m to sing “Happy Birthday” ala Marilyn at JFK’s birthday party in Madison Square Garden (a place more associated with major boxing events than presidential birthday parties)…

So we’re coming out of the kitchen and I feel someone pinch my ass! I look around, ready to clobber the waiterperson pushing the cart with the cake—but it couldn’t have been him—impossible. And so I shake it off.

Then I hear, “I’d rather grapple with Betty Grable.”

Now, I don’t know who Betty Grable is but I can sense a slight when I hear it and again I look at the kid with the cake but I’m pretty sure he’d know Vanessa Del Rio before he’d know this Betty Grable babe and now I’m getting confused and maybe even a little bit pissed.

“What!?”

That’s what I said. And I said it loud and the guy in the white button up says, “Que Paso?” and I repeat, “What!?” dismissing him with a side-ways glance and a crooked curl of my lip and he freezes and that’s when I hear the voice—now very clearly…

“Hey kid, I’m Frankie Gambino,” that’s what he said.

So I start a dialogue with this voice and the sweet busboy from Juarez, Mexico (he told me so afterwards) is happy to gawk (after all, my dress is very, very low cut)…

“Sunset,” the voice continues. “The boxing Gods have brought us together.”

Me, I’m hoping the boxing Gods have a budget because, hey, I’m a professional.

This Gambino fella continues, explaining to me how he once boxed professionally. How he beat the aforementioned undefeated Norman Miller in Ocean Beach way back when and how he never fought again. And he says he loves broads and boxing and that I bring out the best of both. And he says that for whatever cockamamie reason, he was sent to me—to be in my corner. And how we’d make a great team…

That’s right about when I heard Mayor Cashell saying how it was an honor to have Samuel Peter in town on his birthday and how the city loved him and so on and so forth (which was my cue) and so Miguel (that was the cake curriers name) said, “Pronto. Pronto,” and I started singing and I’m pretty sure that dang Frankie Gambino pinched my booty for a second time!

The son-of-a-gun has been with me ever since…

DATE LINE: MGM GRAND/LAS VEGAS/NOVEMBER 22ND 2008

So I make the mistake of telling myself what a great spread the MGM lays out in the Media Center on fight night. And that’s when I hear Frankie boy, “Talk about great spreads!”

“If you call me finger food one more time,” I bark and I’m pretty sure Al Bernstein looks over at me—I just nod and smile…

I’m kind of leaning towards the Italian kid from Brooklyn, Paulie Malignaggi, and it has nothing to do with that guinea ghost of mine—it’s just that I hated when Hatton was given an unwarranted decision in his last fight against Juan Lazcano. Lazcano beat him—the problem was the whopping took place in Hatton’s home town and there is no sport that sports the homecourt advantage like boxing—and that’s because, short of a knockout, the court (i.e. the judges) decide the outcome of a fight…

So I guess I’m still smarting over the shell game they pulled on Lazcano in Manchester. I guess I’m kind of secretly pulling for Paulie Maggs—but then the fight starts!

Oh my God! I carry handbags higher than Malignaggi carries his left…

I don’t care if Hatton trained at the Guinness tap for this fight. He’s not going to lose to a guy with only five KO’s to his name, who might inadvertently hit himself below the belt…

Frankie Gambino wasn’t pleased. He argued that Italian fighters were known less for finesse and more for mixing it up.

Frankly (Frankie hates when I say that), the only excitement of the evening was the fight that preceded the main event—when James Kirkland took on highly regarded Brian Vera.

Wow!!!

Kirkland hit Vera with everything. Hurt him too. Put him down 3 times. But Vera wouldn’t wipe that “is that all you got?” grin off his increasingly bloodied mouth (Frankie Gambino liked Vera’s ‘balls of steel’).

Finally (and mercifully, in my opinion) Vic Drakulich (the third man in the ring) halted the fight 1:45 into the 8th Round. Vera had had enough. He’s a tough son-of-a-gun and he’ll be fun to watch moving forward (although Frankie says he telegraphs all of his big punches).

Kirkland on the other hand is a monster. Watch out for this tiger. He hits with both hands. He’s a southpaw. He’s got Ann Wolfe in his corner. And he is gunning for greatness!

Anyways, Frankie got kind of pissy when Hatton’s British fans booed the much smaller Yank contingent when they attempted to start a “USA. USA.” chant. Frankie Gambino was quick to point out that we saved the ‘limey’s homeland in WWII.’ I tried to explain they meant no disrespect—Frankie wasn’t buyin’ it—he’s so old school…

Anyways, Paulie’s corner stopped the fight with a white towel—better than getting stopped by the canvas I guess. So maybe this means Hatton is in line for another big payday against somebody—but I’m not biting. I think the Hitman has hit the wall. Nothing spectacular about him anymore, even with old man Mayweather in his corner. But I reckon we’ll just have to wait and see…

Photo and caption by Diego


My friend ,"Pelon" Padilla, is a local artist in TJ. He paints on Onyx. Here's Mickey Mantle ,Babe Ruth,and Lou Gehrig. Buen Hecho!!

bennie wrote:How come Greg Haugen got his black eye?

Bennie, apparently a few days before the induction, Haugen was in some bar up in Washington state when some chick approached him, opened her shirt and says, "Would you sign my chest?" Of course Greg says, "Well sure!" He then proceeds to sign her chief assets, much to the chagrin of her boyfriend, who waits outside the bar with his buddies for Greg. Even though he was worked over, I understand he was pleased that it took three of them to do it. Some character.

Scartissue

Margarito should heed Wright’s lesson
By Kevin Iole, Yahoo! Sports

In 2006, Winky Wright made one of the most ill-fated decisions in boxing history. The one-time undisputed super welterweight champion declined a $5 million offer that year to fight a rematch with Jermain Taylor.

The decision was incomprehensible on so many levels, not the least of which was that there was no way Wright was going to make $5 million anywhere else for doing anything else.

He’d beaten Taylor resoundingly on June 17, 2006, in the eyes of everyone who saw the bout but the judges. Somehow, the fight was scored a draw and Wright did not leave Memphis, Tenn., that night with the WBC and WBO middleweight title belts he so richly deserved and had so obviously earned.

He was angry and rightfully so. But Wright let his anger influence his decision-making, and it has all but cost him his career. He insisted on making more than Taylor in a rematch and wasn’t satisfied with an abnormally high $5 million offer.

He’s only fought two bouts since and has all but faded into oblivion. He’s fighting on Versus on Dec. 4, his first bout in 18 months, and he’s going to be largely ignored as the boxing world focuses on the Oscar De La Hoya-Manny Pacquiao bout two days later.

Antonio Margarito isn’t in danger of slipping into Wright-style obscurity, but the crowd-pleasing welterweight champion ought to keep Wright’s faux pas in mind when he chooses his next fight.

Margarito turned down a $2 million offer to fight Shane Mosley on Jan. 24, reputedly because he was unhappy with having to accept a 50-50 purse split with Mosley.

The fight may yet occur, but Margarito’s talking as if it won’t unless the percentages change greatly.

Margarito attended Mosley’s fight at the Home Depot Center in Carson, Calif., on Sept. 27, and saw the vast expanses of empty seats. The attendance was announced as a little over 5,000, but there were fewer than half that many in the arena.

And when Margarito walked in, the crowd stirred for one of the few times that night. It didn’t escape Margarito’s notice, particularly since he spent much of his career fighting in the shadow of boxers like Mosley.

He believes he’s now surpassed Mosley – a point that is hard to argue – and believes he’s worth more than having to accept a 50-50 split.

“I understand the economy,” Margarito told BS.com’s Rick Reeno. “Golden Boy and Team Mosley should understand that I’m the one who is pulling in the people. Mosley has never pulled in people. We saw him in the Home Depot Center and that place was empty. Two years ago when I was a world champion, I wasn’t getting my respect and my due.

“I beat the guy that the majority of the people didn’t think I was going to beat. I beat Cotto and took the purse that was offered to show HBO, the promoters and the people what I was made of and to show that I can do it. I knocked out Cotto and it’s still the same for me.”

HBO put itself into a corner by giving the Jan. 24 date to Mosley and Golden Boy and then looking to find a suitable opponent for him. It’s never made much sense why a date is given to a promoter or a fighter without a firm bout signed. HBO’s incentive would be, theoretically, at least, to give its subscribers the best possible bouts.

You can’t do that consistently when you give dates away without knowing for certain what fight you’ll wind up with. Despite the poor economic conditions, HBO hasn’t cut its boxing budget for 2009, which is a good thing. But it should use its money wisely and only make the best bouts, and by flat giving a date away, that isn’t happening.

HBO has reportedly sweetened its offer and Margarito is likely to accept. However, Margarito and other boxers like him ought to remember that the world is changing. No one has money to fling around these days like they did as recently as two years ago. Top Rank president Todd duBoef said the issue came down to the fact that Golden Boy views Mosley on a substantially higher level than Margarito does.

Golden Boy views the situation that Mosley has two wins over De La Hoya and Margarito desperately wants a fight with De La Hoya. So, its thinking goes, Margarito should fight Mosley and prove himself worthy of a fight with De La Hoya.

Margarito, though, sees it from the opposite end. Cotto defeated Mosley and he stopped Cotto. Plus, Mosley struggled with an obviously over-the-hill Ricardo Mayorga before stopping him in September. Thus, Margarito doesn’t see why he should even be asked about a 50-50 split, let alone being presented a take it or leave it offer.

He may be the 2008 Fighter of the Year, after one-sided wins over then-champions Kermit Cintron and Cotto. His 11th round stoppage of Cotto in their July 26 battle in Las Vegas may be named Fight of the Year.

And there are few fighters more in demand for 2009 than Margarito. Mosley would like to fight him. So would Paul Williams, who defeated him in a 2007 bout and has been unsuccessful landing a rematch.

Cotto is itching for a rematch of their bout, which did a surprisingly strong 450,000 sales on pay-per-view. That is likely to come in the summer.

So Margarito doesn’t figure to vaporize the way Wright did after the short-sighted decision to say no to the $5 million offer for a Taylor rematch.

But he’d better be careful not to overplay his hands. Promoters are losing a lot of money these days, as fans aren’t buying tickets or pay-per-views to much of anything.

Even the so-called sellout between De La Hoya and Pacquiao is a myth. The bout supposedly sold out in a day and generated nearly $17 million in ticket sales. But if you go to TicketMaster.com now, you can buy tickets for the fight.

You can get a package that includes a hotel room, a couple of great seats and some gambling money for less than the face value of the tickets.

Some sellout.

It’s just a sign of the way the economy is troubling boxing.

Fighters and their managers need to be more astute than ever. It doesn’t make sense to turn down a serious offer on principle, because the money may not be there forever. And once you lose a big offer, it’s a bout and money you can never get back.

If Margarito doesn’t believe that, all he has to do is to give Winky Wright a call.

You can’t pay the bills standing on principle.

scartissue wrote:

bennie wrote:How come Greg Haugen got his black eye?

Bennie, apparently a few days before the induction, Haugen was in some bar up in Washington state when some chick approached him, opened her shirt and says, "Would you sign my chest?" Of course Greg says, "Well sure!" He then proceeds to sign her chief assets, much to the chagrin of her boyfriend, who waits outside the bar with his buddies for Greg. Even though he was worked over, I understand he was pleased that it took three of them to do it. Some character.

Scartissue

Life with Haugen is never dull.

This is for all the Italians out (ESPECIALLY DIEGO).... there, and those who are lucky enough to be married to an Italian, and even to all the friends of Italians.

An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up the stairs.

Gathering his remaining strength, he lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands he crawled down stairs.

With labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Were if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven. For there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled cookies.

Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life. The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife............

"Get out of here!" she shouted, "They're for the funeral."

kikibalt wrote:This is for all the Italians out (ESPECIALLY DIEGO).... there, and those who are lucky enough to be married to an Italian, and even to all the friends of Italians.

An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up the stairs.

Gathering his remaining strength, he lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands he crawled down stairs.

With labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Were if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven. For there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled cookies.

Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life. The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife............

"Get out of here!" she shouted, "They're for the funeral."

I'm sure when my time comes there'll be plenty of pasta ,bread,and wine to go around. Too bad I won't be there to enjoy it. I don't see anyone losing their appetites because of my leaving this earth. Bon Appetite

dagosd2000 wrote:

kikibalt wrote:This is for all the Italians out (ESPECIALLY DIEGO).... there, and those who are lucky enough to be married to an Italian, and even to all the friends of Italians.

An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up the stairs.

Gathering his remaining strength, he lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands he crawled down stairs.

With labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Were if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven. For there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled cookies.

Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life. The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife............

"Get out of here!" she shouted, "They're for the funeral."

I'm sure when my time comes there'll be plenty of pasta ,bread,and wine to go around. Too bad I won't be there to enjoy it. I don't see anyone losing their appetites because of my leaving this earth. Bon Appetite

Hey dude, you have to have menudo con pata, tamales, and also, don't forget the mariachi's for your chicano friends...

Randyman wrote:Okay, I just got it up and running at Youtube. Go to http://www.youtube.com/user/Randyman0508

Randy DD

Randy, this is the Mando Ramos tribute, can you post the WBHOF montage?.

kikibalt wrote:

dagosd2000 wrote:

kikibalt wrote:This is for all the Italians out (ESPECIALLY DIEGO).... there, and those who are lucky enough to be married to an Italian, and even to all the friends of Italians.

An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up the stairs.

Gathering his remaining strength, he lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands he crawled down stairs.

With labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Were if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven. For there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled cookies.

Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life. The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife............

"Get out of here!" she shouted, "They're for the funeral."

I'm sure when my time comes there'll be plenty of pasta ,bread,and wine to go around. Too bad I won't be there to enjoy it. I don't see anyone losing their appetites because of my leaving this earth. Bon Appetite

Hey dude, you have to have menudo con pata, tamales, and also, don't forget the mariachi's for your chicano friends...

I'll split the difference. One can be at my sisters with all the Dago food and the Goombas. The second one can be all the Mexicans with the tamales,pozole,frijoles,etc. Only stipulation. It has to be at the Boom Boom Club.

Agree! The Boom Boom Club it'll be....

kikibalt wrote:

Randyman wrote:Okay, I just got it up and running at Youtube. Go to http://www.youtube.com/user/Randyman0508

Randy DD

Randy, this is the Mando Ramos tribute, can you post the WBHOF montage?.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Av6c8sVK6no
Here it is Frank. The newest video always replaces the old one, which moves down the page.
It's also on my website. [url]htpp://boxing-ring.blogspot.com[/url]

Randy

kikibalt wrote:The Harder They Fall: Sunset's Boxing Journal


By Sunset Thomas

Remember the movie, Harvey? Jimmy Stewart played a nutty sort who had an imaginary friend named Harvey. The catch was, Harvey was a six-foot bunny rabbit! Well, I’ve got an imaginary friend too. Only mine is for real. That is he was a real person…

Anyways, my companion (he goes to all the fights with me) is Frankie Gambino. Frankie was a middleweight. Frankie had one fight—in 1943. He fought Norman Miller in Ocean Park, California. Miller had won three in a row—his first three—and then he faced my buddy Frankie Gambino and Frankie took him on points in four rounds!

Frankie first approached me in Reno, Nevada. He sort of snuck up while I was walking out with the birthday cake for Sam Peter—a top ranked Heavyweight.

Sam had knocked out Taurus Sykes in the second round on July 2nd, 2005, at the Reno Events Center (the Center’s first boxing match and a Showtime production).

Sam had returned to Reno to train for his title match against Wladimir Klitschko in Atlantic City for all the marbles.

So there I am at the Golden Phoenix Casino—it’s Sam’s birthday—the mayor of
Reno, Bob Cashell is going to present the Nigerian Nightmare with a plaque announcing that very day as “Samuel Peter Day”…

Me, I’m channeling Marilyn Monroe. I’ve got my blonde tresses teased and I’m wearing a Marilyn-esque dress and I’m accompanying a hotel worker who is rolling out a huge cake on a cart and I’m to sing “Happy Birthday” ala Marilyn at JFK’s birthday party in Madison Square Garden (a place more associated with major boxing events than presidential birthday parties)…

So we’re coming out of the kitchen and I feel someone pinch my ass! I look around, ready to clobber the waiterperson pushing the cart with the cake—but it couldn’t have been him—impossible. And so I shake it off.

Then I hear, “I’d rather grapple with Betty Grable.”

Now, I don’t know who Betty Grable is but I can sense a slight when I hear it and again I look at the kid with the cake but I’m pretty sure he’d know Vanessa Del Rio before he’d know this Betty Grable babe and now I’m getting confused and maybe even a little bit pissed.

“What!?”

That’s what I said. And I said it loud and the guy in the white button up says, “Que Paso?” and I repeat, “What!?” dismissing him with a side-ways glance and a crooked curl of my lip and he freezes and that’s when I hear the voice—now very clearly…

“Hey kid, I’m Frankie Gambino,” that’s what he said.

So I start a dialogue with this voice and the sweet busboy from Juarez, Mexico (he told me so afterwards) is happy to gawk (after all, my dress is very, very low cut)…

“Sunset,” the voice continues. “The boxing Gods have brought us together.”

Me, I’m hoping the boxing Gods have a budget because, hey, I’m a professional.

This Gambino fella continues, explaining to me how he once boxed professionally. How he beat the aforementioned undefeated Norman Miller in Ocean Beach way back when and how he never fought again. And he says he loves broads and boxing and that I bring out the best of both. And he says that for whatever cockamamie reason, he was sent to me—to be in my corner. And how we’d make a great team…

That’s right about when I heard Mayor Cashell saying how it was an honor to have Samuel Peter in town on his birthday and how the city loved him and so on and so forth (which was my cue) and so Miguel (that was the cake curriers name) said, “Pronto. Pronto,” and I started singing and I’m pretty sure that dang Frankie Gambino pinched my booty for a second time!

The son-of-a-gun has been with me ever since…

DATE LINE: MGM GRAND/LAS VEGAS/NOVEMBER 22ND 2008

So I make the mistake of telling myself what a great spread the MGM lays out in the Media Center on fight night. And that’s when I hear Frankie boy, “Talk about great spreads!”

“If you call me finger food one more time,” I bark and I’m pretty sure Al Bernstein looks over at me—I just nod and smile…

I’m kind of leaning towards the Italian kid from Brooklyn, Paulie Malignaggi, and it has nothing to do with that guinea ghost of mine—it’s just that I hated when Hatton was given an unwarranted decision in his last fight against Juan Lazcano. Lazcano beat him—the problem was the whopping took place in Hatton’s home town and there is no sport that sports the homecourt advantage like boxing—and that’s because, short of a knockout, the court (i.e. the judges) decide the outcome of a fight…

So I guess I’m still smarting over the shell game they pulled on Lazcano in Manchester. I guess I’m kind of secretly pulling for Paulie Maggs—but then the fight starts!

Oh my God! I carry handbags higher than Malignaggi carries his left…

I don’t care if Hatton trained at the Guinness tap for this fight. He’s not going to lose to a guy with only five KO’s to his name, who might inadvertently hit himself below the belt…

Frankie Gambino wasn’t pleased. He argued that Italian fighters were known less for finesse and more for mixing it up.

Frankly (Frankie hates when I say that), the only excitement of the evening was the fight that preceded the main event—when James Kirkland took on highly regarded Brian Vera.

Wow!!!

Kirkland hit Vera with everything. Hurt him too. Put him down 3 times. But Vera wouldn’t wipe that “is that all you got?” grin off his increasingly bloodied mouth (Frankie Gambino liked Vera’s ‘balls of steel’).

Finally (and mercifully, in my opinion) Vic Drakulich (the third man in the ring) halted the fight 1:45 into the 8th Round. Vera had had enough. He’s a tough son-of-a-gun and he’ll be fun to watch moving forward (although Frankie says he telegraphs all of his big punches).

Kirkland on the other hand is a monster. Watch out for this tiger. He hits with both hands. He’s a southpaw. He’s got Ann Wolfe in his corner. And he is gunning for greatness!

Anyways, Frankie got kind of pissy when Hatton’s British fans booed the much smaller Yank contingent when they attempted to start a “USA. USA.” chant. Frankie Gambino was quick to point out that we saved the ‘limey’s homeland in WWII.’ I tried to explain they meant no disrespect—Frankie wasn’t buyin’ it—he’s so old school…

Anyways, Paulie’s corner stopped the fight with a white towel—better than getting stopped by the canvas I guess. So maybe this means Hatton is in line for another big payday against somebody—but I’m not biting. I think the Hitman has hit the wall. Nothing spectacular about him anymore, even with old man Mayweather in his corner. But I reckon we’ll just have to wait and see…

Shows you how out of touch I've been. Just read this. This dago kid Paulie what's his name is from Brooklyn. I thought he was English. So he's from Brooklyn. The way he fights,he gave the neighborhood a black eye. And being Italian,he doesn't remind me of Marciano.

kikibalt wrote:

dagosd2000 wrote:

kikibalt wrote:Hey dude, you have to have menudo con pata, tamales, and also, don't forget the mariachi's for your chicano friends...

Frank, during our various discussions over a bottle of suds over the HOF weekend the topic came up of menudo con pata and the photo you guys posted of what it looks like. As a couple of out of town potato-pickers from the midwest, Brian and I just sort of looked at each other and you could hear our stomachs rolling. To the uneducated palate, all we thought was, "whoooa!" Rick, however, did tell us it was pretty good dealing with the effects of the bottles of suds, but I'll take his word for it.

Scartissue