BoxRec

Hold The Onions

I don't think I could have made as strong a bond with Rodolfo "Gato" Gonzalez if I hadn't married my wife Maria.In the last 45 years I've morphed gradually into person of two worlds.The symbiosis was never much of a transition,but we're night and day when it comes to temperaments. Essentially, I'm a worrier and a perfectionist that often manifests into flying off the handle and paranoia. Maria is calm ,steady, unselfish that expresses accepting everyone on their terms and a empathy for the tumultuous souls that wander the face of the earth. For her,life is in God's hands. For me,I can't let go of my grip.

Rodolfo is like many of the Mexican fighters that my wife has crossed paths with. When I meet a fighter from Mexico I'll open with something about Mexico-a custom,a tradition.I went to get footing on a common ground. Rodolfo was born in the state of Jalisco in Guadalajara,Mexico.When he was a boy his parents wanted him to become a bullfighter.He came from a poor family but he had kin that were boxers.Jose Becerra and Alacran Torres were uncle and cousin respectively. He credits his uncle with showing him how to throw the left hook. Cousin Alacran can take bows for teaching the skills end.

My wife is from the state of Michoacán,the state south of Jalisco.,The town where she grew up,Jiquilpan,is a typical pueblo,the kind where Rodolfo was tossed to the lions earning his rep..A 15 year old kid face to face with fighters double his age. Like many Mexican fighters he had no amateur experience..The unforgiving make it or break it struggle to establish a name for yourself so that you might get on a card at the Arena Coliseo in Mexico City,and back in those days, a fight in the bullring in Tijuana.If you won you could say you were on your way out of Dodge.But you had to win those fights.Then you'd get a ticket north to show off your stuff at the Olympic Auditorium or the Forum But for a Mexican national to fight in LA was like being in your own backyard. A really big show was the Chicano fighter(born in the USA) opposite the homegrown product from Mexico. The crowds,mostly Mexican(Chicano and Mexican national), directed their applause at the man from below the border.

So when Rodolfo was trading punches in LA with local talent like Bobby Valdez and Ruben Navarro the aficianados were yelling,"Keel heem Gato." But after it was all said and done,Rodolfo losing his title to the Japanese Guts Ishimatsu, and then again in the rematch, he decided to get out of boxing while he still had his health. But Rodolfo didn't return to Guadalajara.With his earnings he bought a house in Tijuana for his mother. When she passed he signed the property over to his brother.Today, Rodolfo and Barbara,his soulmate, live in Oceanside,California which is located in the north county of San Diego.

When it's one on one with me and Gato the talk is mostly about fighting,but when my wife steps in ,the conversation will shift to central Mexico and Tijuana.i'm kind of glad when that happens.Rodolfo competed in the stratosphere of pugilism.Big fights.Big wins. 66 opponents that couldn't last with him. The WBC lightweight championship. But like a lot of ex pugs,especially with a history like Rodolfo's,there's a yen for the past when the crowd never went away.Rodolfo remembers all his fights. He can recall punch for punch about his early fights in places like Jiquilpan,Yurecuaro,Atontonilco,and Atemajac,names that even Mexicans have a hard time pronouncing,Those fights are cherished because without those successes someone else would have been challenging Chango Carmona for the title.

A few years ago I invited Rodolfo and Barbara to our place for some of Maria's "comida familiar"-home cooking. She worked on camarones empanicados and pollo de la parrilla-breaded shrimp and grilled chicken. When I sent out the invite Rodolfo made an urgent request.
"Please no onions.No ceboya.I no like onions."
"I'll tell her Rodolfo,"I said assuredly.

There are certain gimmees in this world:Life,death,taxes,and Maria's cooking satisfying even the pickiest eater. That evening Barbara and Rodolfo ate like they had just been on bread and water for a month. The four of us chewing and talking reminisced about Mexico,old Mexico; life on the ranch;who had the better voice,Pedro Infante or Javier Solis;when Rodolfo bought a bar in the Couahuila;wearing hand me down clothes,riding the family horse into town with you brothers and sisters also sharing the horse's back;subsisting on corn tortillas wrapped around chile and salt;working in the garbanzo fields for a peso a day;going out to the pasture and milking the cow's teets into a glass and then adding a shot of cane alcohol and a spoon of Ovaltine. Stories that only the people that lived them could tell without pretense. Mexico,so near yet so far away.

I'm glad my wife remembered that night to leave out the onions or I might not have heard some good stories.



A second helping for Gato

Rahman

I can say I was sitting ringside when I saw Clay's last fight. Not the Cassius one who fought Trevor Berbick in Nassau,but his brother Rudy,. This was 1973 and by that time the brothers had traded in their birth names for Muslim monikers. Rahman Ali,better known as Rudy Clay, was in town to fight the very popular Jack O'Halloran at the San Diego Coliseum. But Rudy Clay.(Pardon me for staying with the name Rudy Clay instead of referring to him as Rahman Ali.There is more recognition if you call him Rudy Clay than Rahman Ali.If you go to the local sports bar and bring up Rudy Clay you might get a few at the bar to furrow their brows. But say the name Rahman Ali and it will go in one ear and out the other.

For starters The Greatest was not in the arena that night.I don't think anyone was expecting him to show up.They were there to see the big jovial Irishman. When Jack had fought Kenny Norton a year earlier ,the crowd was in Jack's corner from the startJack wasn't a good boxer.For a big man he didn't have a big punch. But Jack could match his heart with his frame. Accompanying his fortitude was a lantern jaw and a protruding forehead hovering over his bushy eyebrows. But the hair didn't stop there. Jack had hair all over his body:on his chest,back,legs and arms.He might have been the hairiest heavyweight around ,and also looking the scariest. But when Jack began chortling with his wry sense of humor breaking out into a big happy face people could see that he wasn't really scary,but merry.A big kid who was looking to have some fun. Rudy Clay wasn't what I'd call a Mr. Charisma. Unlike his over te top brother you could say that Rudy Clay was just a normal guy. If he walked into a room full of people he wouldn't turn any heads. He didn't resemble his brother in physique nor personality. As far as Rudy's skills were concerned they were as was as pedestrian as the next club fighter's.

The fight was going Rudy's way at the start,but Big Jack kept up a plodding attack,clubbing and mauling,and keeping Rudy on the ropes. There wasn't any floating in Rudy's feet and his bee sting was just an itch. Jack finally broke him down in the 8th round. Everyone was happy that the big ol' happy face guy had won.No one paid any attention to Rudy as his corner put his robe back on. He left the ring unnoticed. That was his last fight.

When I think of Rudy Clay I remember a guy who was quiet,well mannered,,close to his brother,and a reliable guy to have on the undercard. But having Muhammad Ali as your big brother and having to take a back seat didn't cause any animosity or jealousy on Rudy's part. Today he talks hour after hour about his legendary brother with respect and adoration.When it's all said on done you learn that there are more important things in life than fame.I think the next time I walk inside Champs I'll say in a loud voice,"Rahman Ali." See if I can get any heads to turn.




I knew I didn't have a painting of Ali's brother.But wait. His brother has the same last name. He used to be called Cassius Clay

Shaq and Oscar -An Insight To What Might Have Been?

When I saw this on YouTube I right away thought of the thread (posted by Kalan,right?)about how Wilt Chamberlain would have beaten Cassius Clay in a boxing match when both guys were in their primes.The fight never came off ,and the banter about who chickened out got pretty damned salty.But can we find anything that could act like a barometer,give us some insight on what the outcome could have been?This clip is from the exhibition bout between Shaquille O'Neal and Oscar De La Hoya. However,these two had retired from their respective sports,but you could say there were parallels. Granted, Wilt was a gifted athlete,you can make the same statement regarding Shaq. Cassius was blessed with uncanny athletic skills,Oscar also,maybe not as much.. The height,reach,and weight differences are similar. so let's go with this and imagine what the result of a Clay/Chamberlain match would have looked like.

If the Wilt/Cassius match would have went off it would have been scheduled for 15 rounds and the championship. Shaq and Oscar signed for 5 rounds:rounds 1-4 were 2 minutes,the 5th was for a minute. That discrepancy alone would fill countless pages on the forum. The fact that both boys were long in the tooth and out of shape would sustain further arguments for months on end. And of course there's a night and day distinction between exhibitions,that resemble sparring sessions,than with a real fight,especially for the title.

But watching this,I got the feeling that both fellas wanted to at least save face. It was more than just an exhibition.If I had landed in a space ship from another planet,I would have thought these two humans both wanted to win vey badly,at least not looked like two buffoons., There wasn't any clowning to elicit laughter from the audience(except for a few clumsy Ali shuffles performed by Shaq). Considering that both participants hadn't trained for years there wasn't much holding and stalling..To tell the truth it was a helluva better fight than a lot of the stuff we see today,including some of the championship fights. Both guys were gassed at the ,and when Richard Steele raised Oscar's hand when it was over,Shaq looked upset.Usually when something like this is put together there isn't anyone keeping score or they call it a draw.Maybe someone reached the judges.

So getting back to the Wilt and Cassius fantasy. Anything we can draw on looking at Shaq and Oscar to give us ammunition for taking our respective sides with the fight that never was? I've got my opinions,but I'll keep them to myself.The only thing I can say is if that fight 50 years ago would have come off,instead of Wilt demanding a rematch,he could have challenged Clay in a game of HORSE.

Like Ike, I Liked Floyd

When Rocky Marciano had had enough of fighting:getting screwed out of money by his manager Al Weill,the pressure he was getting from his wife,and knowing he had to work twice as hard in the gym as the next fighter because he was short for a heavyweight and his reach was the shortest of any past champs.I heard him say on his television show, after he had hung up his gloves, that one day he walked into the gym and smelled the old sweat that had permeated into the canvas and knew then that he didn't like fighting anymore. Never underestimate your sense of smell.It can trigger images- the good with the bad.

It's always interesting when there's no champ. Who's gonna' fill the vacancy? A 21 year old Floyd Patterson fought Tommy "Hurricane" Jackson winning a split decision in a fight that Jim Norris,president of the International Boxing Club described as an elimination bout for the vacant title. Floyd wasn't considered a big heavyweight He'd won the gold at the 1952 Olympics in the middleweight division.When he turned pro many of his bouts were with light heavyweights.Before he met Archie Moore for the decider of who was number one big man in November of 1956,Patterson's resume of opponents, since he started out in 1952, wasn't something that rated headlines in the sports page. Joey Maxim was the only familiar name on that list and Floyd had dropped a decision to the old veteran. It was the only bad mark on his record up to that point.

I remember the fight with Moore. Archie, being from San Diego, was who I was rooting, for. Moore was the favorite in that fight. He'd been in with everyone from the all the Black Murderers Row crew:Burley,Williams,Chase,Payne,Booker,Bivins,Morrow,Lytell,and Ezzard Charles. He had beaten Joey Maxim like he owned him to win the light heavy crown.But he wasn't finished with Joey just yet.Moore would put Maxim in the loss column two more times while Archie was also taking on guys like Harold Johnson,Jimmy Slade,and the big Cuban Nino Valdes.The all time KO artist,Moore,against glass jaw Floyd who? Get ready San Diego to give the Mongoose a ticker tape parade up Broadway when he gets home.

In my opinion it was the worst showing in Moore's Hall Of Fame career. He looked slow and sluggish. There was guile with his attack.He acted hungover.He showed nothing. Floyd knocked him flat in the 5th round and that would be Moore's last chance to become the first light heavy champ to step up and win the big one. I heard him say once about that night that the ring mat was too soft and he couldn't get proper footing. OK. I thought the fight was rigged. Between Doc Kearns ,who was handling Archie,Jim Norris the man at the head of the commission,and then Cus D'Amato ,the braintrust of Patterson,the whole thing gave off an odor worse than old sweat in the gym .

So Floyd's the guy now.Television was swinging into full gear and the public was sitting on the edge of their seats to see some really good championship fights. But instead of Patterson wading into contenders like Zora Folley,Eddie Machen ,and Sonny Liston,he(I'm talking Cus D'Amato now) makes us endure Tommy Jackson again who's starting to show signs that he should have never been granted a license,Roy Cut And Shoot,a game but outclassed Brian London,and a guy with no pro fights under his belt. But then Eddie Machen goes to Sweden to take care of a pug they call Ingo Bingo but Eddie finds out in the first round how the Swede got that moniker. Now Cus believes they can bring The Bingo across the pond and fill up Yankee Stadium. The only thing was that we,the loyal fight fans,had to go to the movie theater to watch a blurred image and shell out a tankful of gas money to boot. But wouldn't you know it,Ingemar Johansson didn't cooperate like Archie Moore. The Bingo had Floyd bouncing up and down off the mat and walking to the other guy's corner 7 times before had to hand the title belt over to the Swede.

it was the first time a foreigner had owned the belt since Da Preem had beaten Jack Sharkey to win the crown. But now us Yanks wanted to back Floyd all the way in the rematch. The heavyweight championship was synonymous with America,Ruby Robert,Carnera,and Herr Max were just borrowers.Now Johansson had to give it back,but in order to do that Floyd had to do the taking.The rematch was the high water mark in Patterson's career.He became the first ex heavyweight champ to win again and remove the "ex."The rubber match was rubber cement for Floyd to keep the title in the good ol' USA.

That's when I went over to Patterson's corner. But like Jack Johnson,who ignored the black trio of McVey,Jeanette,and Langford,he(talking Cus again)served us up Tom McNeeley. But back in those days the public outcry was heard more seriously than it is today.Floyd couldn't live with being called a "cheese champ" any longer. He couldn't duck Sonny Liston any longer. If he(now I'm talking Floyd) wanted to keep his self respect he had to face Liston..But in two fights that lasted 4 minutes and 16 seconds Floyd Patterson ,in the rematch,felt he had to bring a mask in a brown paper bag and walk out of the arena because he didn't want anyone to notice him.

But I still saw Floyd Patterson,and liked him. Sonny Liston was just too much. Patterson didn't have the toughness inside like Cassius Clay. Liston had his knees shaking too,but Cassius had that intangible he could draw up from his gut and prove to the world that he was The Greatest.I still liked Floyd even when Ali slapped him around and wanted to humiliate him,but it backfired. Patterson's name doesn't come up when they ask for a list of the top ten heavyweight champions.I guess I wouldn't include his name either.But if you've read enough of me by now you know I'm not much of a list maker.But if I had to make list of the fighters I liked,Floyd Patterson would make my top ten.


Floyd Patterson

A Double Defeat

I just finished watching a bout between two boys who were on the undercard of the Shawn Porter / Yordenis Ugas fight for the WBC welterweight championship staged at the Dignity Health Sports Park in Carson,California. The match coupled a pair of bantamweights,Damian Vasquez came into the ring with a record of 14 and 0,and the other,Juan Payano, sporting 20 wins against 2 defeats. After the fight ended I looked at both fighters records..The kid with no defeats,Vasquez, amassed his perfect record against only two fighters that had winning records. Payano earned his wins from five fighters that had undefeated records. He also held the WBO bantamweight title until he relinquished the belt in his last fight against a Japanese fighter over in Japan.I'd never seen either in the ring prior to today.Both were similar with height and reach.Both fighters were southpaws. Payano,34, had 13 years on Vasquez.

They both stepped into each other with aggressively pawing right leads and then following swinging left hands over the top.Their stances were feet wide apart planted on the mat. Everything they delivered was telegraphed.The deciding factor was that Payano's left was a wee quicker and got to Vasquez's chin first. This detail was enough to win every round for Payano.

When the microphones were aimed at Vasquez's corner I never heard his trainer tell him to maybe step to the side when Payano offered his weak right lead,or counter with your own right over the top of that lead,or slip under his left hand and come up with a counter left hook.It was the same scenario-both kids stepping in and loading up with the left after a showing the right hand. No instructions from Vasquez's team on how to adjust.Just a lot of words that exemplified putting the cart before the horse.
"Don't let him hit you with the left."
You've got to tell him how to avoid the left hand. Obviously, the kid doesn't know how to do that.Then before the final round came the urgency.
"You got to knock him out."

Half the strategy in a fight is making adjustments. Unless the fighter has a boxing IQ like Sugar Ray Robinson, the trainer has to tell his deer in the headlights charge what to do to get something going.
"Feint your right.Let him lead, then counter with your right over his lead and then hook the left to the body and maybe double up with it up top.And keep your chin tucked in and when he throws the left turn your head to the left and catch the punch on the shoulder."

Experience is a big plus with a fighter,but growth will get stunted if his trainer is lacking in boxing knowledge.I've seen fighters who've been to the post 50 times and are still lost in a fog.So what we have today are a lot fighters with little skill because they've never received the proper tutelage.Anymore, that's probably the core reason I don't watch the fights very much on TV and at the arena.. The fight I saw today modeled poor instruction from the corner. I don't think Payano possessed much more in his repertoire,but as long as he was winning every round why should he change what he was doing?

Now it will be interesting to see where Vasquez will go. if he stays with soft opposition he'll get back in the win column. He'll need a fight like that to regain his confidence. But then he'll have to return to better competition like the guy he was in there with today.. A loss has to chalked up to a learning experience. However,the trainer has to learn from his fighter's loss. The trainer has to say to himself that there were two defeats inside the ring today.



Freddie Roach

Ain't That A Punch In The Head

I took a spin downtown this afternoon. I drove the I-5 South ,veered off onto the 10th Street ramp driving three blocks down to E Street,turned left on E a few more blocks to the 1400 block.I always like to pass the old San Diego Coliseum.Triggers old memories. But as I neared the former arena,I was caught off guard. Instead of seeing the abandoned structure boarded up and marked with crude graffiti on its peeling stucco walls,the empty wine bottles and dirty papers strewn out front on the sidewalk, the homeless sitting backs against the walls with their frayed bedrolls beside them,I came upon a dream. The dead edifice had been resurrected into a fancy eatery.The Punch Bowl Social.

I parked my car and walked up to the front door. I peeked inside. It was pretty empty. I decided to investigate a little so I passed through the door and put my head on a swivel amazed by what my eyes were soaking up. The old fight arena had been transformed into a combination bar,restaurant, and arcade.There were pool tables,video games,a stage for karaoke singing,and a bowling alley.A young waitress with a wide smile and a broad chest handed me a menu and asked were I would like to sit. I said a seat at the horseshoe bar would suffice. I looked at the menu. The bill of fare was the typical trendy array of the basics added with exotic names-Sriracha Peanut Fries,A La Bama Chicken Sandwich,Roasted Poblano Baked Mac And Cheese,Frijoles Charros. They figured with the fancy names they could add on a few more bucks on each item. The bartender came over.He looked like a male model with a demeanor that was gleaned from an episode of Friends. I ordered a club soda. The kid came back with the club soda and put it on a napkin in front of me.
"When did this place open?"I asked him.
"We just opened a few months ago,"he beamed back at me.
"This used to be a boxing arena,"I said.
"That's what they say,"said this new version of Wink Martindale. "That's why they renamed the building the Coliseum Athletic Club."
"So how's business?"
"On the weekends we're packed."
"That's good. The old fight arena couldn't make ends meet anymore so Navarro opened his furniture store here."
"A furniture store?"
"His dad had the property.When he died his son,Jerry,opened up the store.But the neighborhood was getting run down so he closed the store and branched out to the beach."
"As you can see this part of town is getting a new face lift."
"Being close to the new ballpark helped and opening up the homeless shelters to get them off the street,"I added.
"Did you used to come down here a lot?"
"I saw a lot of fights here and would come down from time to time to work out with the fighters."
"Was there any MMA fights?"
"No.but they had wrestling matches."
"I've never been to a boxing match."
"Well, I'm glad you're making a go of it,"I said.
"We have to just to pay the rent."
"How much is that?"
"50,000 a month."
"You got to be kidding."
"That's just part of it.There's the lights and gas.Water.Insurance.The food and drinks.And they have to pay the employees."
I swung my head around to take in as much as could again. I saw a big sign on the wall.

"Inside the Coliseum Athletic Club.This famous boxing marquis has the spotlight on people vs. food;people vs. shots;people vs. games in true Cali style.Our ring is 24,000 square feet and features scratch to craft dishes the infamous 360 bar and games like bowling,shuffleboard,karaoke,and bocce ball.Now you're more likely to leave a winner instead of winding up with a shiner.Come on in and go a few rounds with us. You'll probably leave with a good story."

"Want a refill?,"asked Tab Hunter.
"No thanks.but it was interesting."
"Hope to see you back at the Punch Bowl. Be sure to tell everybody."

I walked outside to the cleaned up sidewalk.The afternoon sunlight hit my eyes and blinded me for a second. I don't think I'll be back.But I got to thinking of that sign on the wall and what they had to say about leaving with hearing good story. Man,could I give them an earful.



The final bell of the old Coliseum



The Punch Bowl Social.It leaves me speechless

The Taste Of Defeat

Remember several years ago when ESPN showed that documentary on their series 30 on 30 about the second Leonard/Duran fight? Eric Drath who produced the documentary named his project"No Mas." Drath wanted o bring Sugar Ray Leonard down to Panama to ask Roberto Duran why he did what he did that night in the New Orleans Superdome. Of course Roberto had to agree to be a "friendly" testifier. Leonard and Duran were to meet in a gym in Panama,step into the ring in street garb,and then face to face Ray was going to ask the 64 dollar question.
"What happened that night to make you say 'No Mas?' "
Roberto gave the same excuse he offered after fight at the press conference and when they could corner him in subsequent years.
"I had a stomach ache."

There was drama leading up to this fateful encounter. The two great champions had little contact with each other after their careers had ended.Leonard said that they bumped into each other at a few award ceremonies and that was about it. Hold up their fists standing between a fan,smile,and take a souvenir picture.They never sat down one on one and got things off their chests. Leonard felt a little slighted by Duran's excuse about how indigestion caused hm to stop on a dime in the 8th round,throw up his glove ,then turn his back uttering "No Mas."

Both were toiling with the aftermath of that fight.Their third encounter resolved nothing.That fight held about as much drama as watching Kathryn and Arthur Murray give a dance lesson.Ray wanted to be givin complete credit for the second win.He hoped Roberto would man up and tell the truth.In Ray's mind that veracity entailed that Roberto was getting frustrated and about to get a thumping so instead of having his machismo held up to ridicule by Ray's antics, he quit. But Roberto had hightailed it back to Panama, back to his wife, family and friends,and the womb sticking to his guns. Hands of Stones had a stomach of paper mache and got a tummy ache. Of course no one was buying that.Even his countrymen didn't digest that story..Swallow that excuse and you have to reach for the bicarb.

So Ray and the film crew flew all the way down to Panama to get Roberto into the ring for the 4th time. Ray thought if he popped the question that Roberto might go loco and get himself charged with assault and battery. The tension was intense. So Ray sucked it up and asked.Roberto gave him the pregnant pause, then looking him in the eyes like a man said."I ate a big steak and drank some orange juice..."I stopped listening.Ray exhaled,wrapped his arms around Roberto,nothing had changed. All that time and work to have Roberto talk about what he had for breakfast.

But I have to admit I'd never seen a fighter quit in that fashion. Most fighters just don't want come out for the next round. Some get hit by an "anchor punch" , flop to the canvas and roll around. I saw one fighter try to bite the other guy's ear off, but the ref only gave him a warning. So he went for seconds.That finally got him DQ'd. But to stand in front of your opponent in the middle of the round, then suddenly walk away and say "No Mas" is a hard one to alibi for

When you build your reputation as being a killer,a fighter who could take two guys on at the same time,haven't built a wall strong enough to keep him from going through it even if Trump got the funding...well,if you're a Big Bear or an Iron Mike ,or a Hands of Stone the fall is tragedy on a Shakespearian par.

But here's the thing about all that. There are some that believe that Liston really got tagged with a lethal blow in Lewistown,Maine.. That Tyson just got carried away and became a raging beast. And that Roberto Duran ate too much the day of the fight and forgot to bring the Tums in his medicine kit. Makes one reach for the bicarb.


Roberto Duran

You Know As Much As I Do

After writing about some of the peculiar ways fighters have "quit" during a match,,focusing primarily on Roberto Duran's "No Mas" fight with Sugar Ray Leonard,I grabbed hold of Ron Fried's book,Cornermen. Published in 1991,Fried laboriously interviewed some of the great trainers of the bygone era and got them to spill their guts. This is the best kind of stuff to read whether it's about boxing,politics,war,or just teaching a bunch of kids in school like I did to eke out a living. Fried went to the horse's mouth -the trainers who spent hours with their charges,some good, some average,and some who were so futile that the name escapes memory. If you can go straight to the source you might as well. It's better than going to the library and sorting out old newspapers and biographies, and then drawing your own conclusions. By talking with a guy who worked with the fighters,teaching them the skills and directing the strategies,your getting it from the hands that were on.. That along with the personal anecdotes that humanize the brutal sport of prizefighting. Oh,you always make room for a little truth stretching,but those little white lies just add some decoration. I've often wondered why anyone would attempt a biography on someone like Alexander the Great. How do you bring Alex to life?We don't even know what he looked like.

Fried's book comprises 58 pages devoted to talking with Ray Arcel. I wanted to see if Arcel knew what was ticking inside Roberto's brain in that 8th round in the Superdome. Was there a hint prior to the fight that something was amiss? Was Duran injured?Was something on his mind? Did he say anything? Fried saved Arcel's comments about that night for the end of the chapter. Arcel was asked a million times about that fight. The scribes looking for a scoop wouldn't get off his back. I'll let Ray tell it.

"Some of my friends in the newspaper field wouldn't leave me alone They thought I knew something. I said to them what you saw, I saw.I know as much about it as you do."

Arcel said that Duran looked very sharp the last few weeks of training.When Duran quit in the 8th it was a shock that Arcel never got over.Arcel again.

"No one can explain that 'No Mas' fight.No one really knows what goes inside a fighter's head.But I was terribly upset when Roberto quit the fight,and it took me a long time to get over it-if I ever have.'

But Ray Arcel also was quoted about the worth of a trainer. Ray one more time.

"Let me tell you something about trainers,and that includes me.You're only as good as the fighter you work with. I don't care about how much you know.If your fighter can't fight you're another bum in the park."

But I've read scores of explanations from pundits ranging from the psychiatric world through to all the blog site posters that have their personal conspiracy theories. They have put it together,but their logic starts with puzzling premises.:a deep seeded inferiority complex,brain damage,child abuse,he had a case of the clap,latent homosexuality.-all foundations standing on feet of clay. Then there are the more saner alibis:he had to take off too much weight to get to his fighting weight at the weigh in,he should have had a tune up fight,he fought too soon after the first fight.Maybe not clay feet,but at least shaky legs.

But getting back to what Ray Arcel said about not knowing what is going on inside a fighter's head. How do you train that? What tics and phobias lurk inside a fighter's mind? I can't put Ray Arcel with the bums in the park that night in New Orleans. But everyone is afraid of something Examine our own fears and maybe we'll get closer to understanding why Duran decided to say "No Mas", and then we can all sleep on the park bench.



Boggles the mind.

Rog, I remember after the No Mas debacle all the articles and quotes about machismo or lack of. But there was one story about the fighters mind I always remember. Again, what goes through a fighter's mind. And it was a story from Ray Arcel. It was when he was training Bob Olin to defend his light heavyweight title against John Henry Lewis. Perhaps Olin was reading up on Lewis because he probably suffered a panic attack. Anyways, Arcel took him to the doctor and didn't want them to know it was Bob Olin, so he said the name of the patient was Ray Arcel (back then the general public knew their sports stars. Can you imagine Kovalev trying to walk in incognito to a doctors office today. He could walk in with a brass band and they would still say, 'Who's Kovalev?). Anyways, the doctor checked out 'Arcel', found nothing wrong and said, looking at Olin, "Mr. Arcel, if I had your physique I would become a fighter."

Olin did lose to his outstanding challenger, but gave a good account of himself. The fragility of the fighter's mind.

scartissue wrote: ↑13 Mar 2019, 09:23 Rog, I remember after the No Mas debacle all the articles and quotes about machismo or lack of. But there was one story about the fighters mind I always remember. Again, what goes through a fighter's mind. And it was a story from Ray Arcel. It was when he was training Bob Olin to defend his light heavyweight title against John Henry Lewis. Perhaps Olin was reading up on Lewis because he probably suffered a panic attack. Anyways, Arcel took him to the doctor and didn't want them to know it was Bob Olin, so he said the name of the patient was Ray Arcel (back then the general public knew their sports stars. Can you imagine Kovalev trying to walk in incognito to a doctors office today. He could walk in with a brass band and they would still say, 'Who's Kovalev?). Anyways, the doctor checked out 'Arcel', found nothing wrong and said, looking at Olin, "Mr. Arcel, if I had your physique I would become a fighter."

Olin did lose to his outstanding challenger, but gave a good account of himself. The fragility of the fighter's mind.

Dan
Thanks for sharing that. Very interesting.Arcel was noted for not only training the body,but the spirit.There was the time Ronnie Wilson was fighting Andy Heilman in Woodland hills. Heilman suddenly wouldn't get off his stool for the start of the 8th round. He said that at that moment he didn't want to fight anymore.It was his last fight. When I saw him getting inducted at Don Fraser's event,Heilman said he was thankful that he still had his health. I think he meant mental as well as physical.

The fragility of a fighter's mind?Think of the soldiers that go to war and are in combat. Walking through a mine field. Getting shelled. Fighting,like in the Civil War,in hand to hand combat. Being captured and trying to survive in a prison camp.The PTSD is real. So are the suicides.But fighting in a war and fighting in a boxing ring are super human tests. How about the people who crack up because day to day life overwhelms them?I can understand why people get hooked on drugs and alcohol .Some find salvation in religion. Hemingway said that religion isn't the opiate of the people. Bread is . Thanks pal.

Give Me An Old Time Slum

In 1959 when Lou Stillman faced the press in response to why he had closed his gym after 40 years in the business,he fired back a typical Lou Stillmam rough and ready counter punch.
"There's no more tough guys around.Not enough slums.That's why I'm getting out of the business.The racket's dead.The fighters today are all sissies."

I think of the neighborhood where I live in San Diego. There are a handful of gyms-mostly offering courses of Mixed Martial Arts,Jiu Jitsu,Judo,Kick Boxing Muay Thai,Wrestling,and Boxing The only pure boxing gym that I know of ,The Community Youth Athletic Center, is located in National City All these facilities allow females to participate. I think that's the law. At least their money is as good as the men's. Without the women's memberships I don't see how a gym today can keep their doors open

I didn't have the experience of visiting Stillman's gym in midtown Manhattan. My rubbing shoulders with fighters were at the San Diego Coliseum,the 32nd Street Naval Gym in National City,Burke Emery's Gym in North Park,and the CREA in Tijuana.The Coliseum and Burke's old haunts are distant memories,but I know that the fairer sex puts on the gloves at the Naval Gym and the CREA in TJ.

With the Womens Rights activists in full swing nowadays I can just imagine a crusty old timer like Lou Stillman standing at the door of his gym telling Ronda Rousey that she should go back to her house and try to find the kitchen. I know when I was working out with the fighters there was never any thought given to tempting the ladies to swap their aprons for a pair of boxing gloves. I think that thought was also in line with what the girls had in mind.

I don't frequent gyms much anymore. They're packed with women and kids,businessmen who take a Boxing 101 class sharing the mat with the mommies with their kiddies. I don't see any hungry fighters struggling to rid themselves from their miserable existences. The trainers are just acting a role they gleaned from a Rocky movie.At least this is the scenario in the my neighborhood.

The few fights that pop up from time to time are also wanting. The fighters look like guys they dragged in from the street. Those kind of exhibitions wouldn't even rate as exercises.What can a fighter learn from engaging stumbling around in a fog?What can his make believe trainer offer as advice? Boxing's elite has dwindled down to a handful. That goes for trainers and fighters. That's why boxing forums can never run out of the hypothetical matchups between the best of today going up against the best of Lou Stillman's era.

Lou Stillman also said after he locked up his gym for good in 1959.
"Kids today have dough in their pockets and they don't know how to laugh."
Remember ,that was him saying that in 1959.

In 1967 ,two years before Stillman's death he said to trainer Al Braverman.
"It's pitiful.It was the worst decision(selling the gym)that I ever made in my life.I'm lost I ain't got nobody."

Hey Lou,if you can hear me.You should see what it's like now.Imagine having your gym and have to order sanitary napkins for the john?


Rocky Graziano.No stranger at Stillmans

Fried's book is great but it makes a big mistake in the chapter about Freddie Brown. The book claims that Brown left boxing after the NoMas bout in November 1980 but Brown was in Vito Antuofermo's corner for the June 1981 Hagler bout. Also, Duran claims in his book that Brown trained him for the Hagler bout in 1983 even though Brown didn't work the corner.

Phantom Punch

"I hear you dropped Ken Norton",said Frank.
"Who told you that?" I asked.
"Knocked him right on his ass."
That was the first time I had heard that comment,but it wouldn't be the last.
"Well whoever told you that is a liar."
Frank was one of the guys,a teammate, on the rec center softball team. This was around late 1968. He grew up at the beach with the rest of us,went to school together.Everybody at the beach saw each other every day.We knew each other for a long time since kids in school.When I refuted his statement about me flattening Ken Norton,he just smiled and looked past me. He didn't want to hear the truth because the fiction was more glamourous.It wasn't just ME that knocked Norton of his feet. I was a conduit for the whole gang. I left it at that.I didn't want to get into a long explanation of what really happened. I told him he heard it wrong and left it at that.

I used to spar from time to time with a pretty good amateur heavyweight named Gary Olds. He was undefeated and I'd see him fight on the under cards at the Coliseum.Ken Norton had recently turned pro after getting out of the Marine Corps. He took up boxing in the Corps and built a pretty good record winning some AAU tournaments. In 1967 .He began his pro career using San Diego as his base of operations.I would say at first the fans were more curious with Ken than jumping on his bandwagon. There weren't a lot of quality heavyweights on the coast. He was fed a lot of soft opponents by his trainer Eddie Futch at the start. Realizing that the heavyweight picture in San Diego was practically non existent,the list of good sparring partners couldn't fill a postage stamp Norton did most of his training in LA.There were better heavies up there ,and besides,Joe Frazier was on the rise and Eddie Futch figured Norton would learn more getting his baptism of fire from Joltin' Joe.

Norton was on the docket to fight a ten rounder in LA,but for some reason he was finishing his gym work in San Diego. My friend Gary Olds called me and asked if I'd like to see him spar with Norton at the Coliseum. That sounded real good to me.I'd go along. Gary also told me to bring my boxing gear.When we arrived at the Coliseum Gary asked me if I'd warm him up sparring a couple of rounds before he worked with Norton. Me and Gary had sparred before a few times. I knew almost nothing and Gary was undefeated as an amateur. Most of the time when we sparred he'd back off,but then he'd sometimes lose his head and give me a thrashing.All I knew was that it was better being in there with a friend of mine , the amateur, than having to face Ken Norton. He wasn't the Norton that would eventually fight Larry Holmes and Muhammad Ali. To tell the truth,early in his career,Norton didn't impress that much. He was beating soft opponents,but what was really worrying his team was that he'd suddenly run out of gas in the mid rounds. Some of those early wins he just eked by..

Everything was all prepared when me and Gary arrived. Norton was shadow boxing in front of the mirror while I warmed up Gary in the ring.i wasn't too concerned. I figured Gary had more on his mind. When the session started I circled Gary waiting for him to jab and then throw his right hand off it like he was accustomed doing.. He had had his way with me before,but this is what I figured he'd try to hit me with. I was thinking of maybe countering with something,but mostly I held my gloves high.to protect myself. Gary lead the left like I thought he would.I saw the punch and was ready to parry it with my left glove when all of a sudden he let out a scream.His left never reached me. Gary was grimacing like he'd been shot. He almost dropped to his knees.
"Are you all right?"I asked.
"It's my left arm. It's been giving me trouble. I think it's a pinched nerve."
"Do you want to go on?"
"I'm Ok,"he said as he caught his breath."Let's continue."
We restarted ,but when Gary threw the jab,he winced and dropped his gloves to his sides.
"I can't do it today,"he said."I can't go on."

At this point in time I wasn't thinking nothing when Norton came over to the ring.
"Which one of you is going to get in the ring?"
He didn't seem to happy.Before I could think of an excuse Gary chimed in with the solution.
"My friend will workout with you."
By this time Eddie Futch was leaning on the top strand of the ring ropes looking me up and down. Norton was sweating and ready to go.I didn't wait to be asked.
"Yeah.Sure.If it's OK with you guys."

Well,it was Ok .Just fine with Norton. I could see that he was frothing at the mouth.He climbed through the ropes like a world class hurdler. He couldn't wait to get at me.When Futch called time,I could see the Norton smirking.I stood in front of him with my deer in the headlights expression,and then from somewhere from below Norton's belt a glove smashed into my face. I heard a pop.The next thing I saw was something that looked like the Milky Way. Then I moistened my lips and tasted blood. Since I hadn't even thought of throwing a punch,I knew it was my Type A that I was sampling. I staggered forward a bit and saw Norton's eyes looking like two glaring saucers. But all of a sudden I got mad. That SOB wanted to kill lil' ol' me,a big dumb white boy. I'd made up my mind that I'd die with my gloves on. But before I became a martyr,Eddie Futch jumped into the ring.
"That's it.It's over."
He pulled my head back and pressed a towel on my broken snout.
"Go to the locker and get some ice on that and keep the pressure on.You'll be all right," said nurse Futch.

I walked back to the locker room with Gary as he kept applying the pressure on my nose. Once inside he got some ice out of the freezer and put it inside the blood soaked towel.In a short time the bleeding stopped.Gary told me I had a lot of guts.All I was thinking was I had a souvenir,a battle scar,like a patch over the eye. Something I got in combat.That was all true,but then I began hearing these stories about how Norton's pan looked worse off than my mug.And knocking him to the canvas! I was praying that these tales wouldn't get back to him or he might set out looking for me. I still liked to frequent the gyms,but I didn't want to run into a pissed off Kenny Norton.

That all happened over 50 years ago.When I think about it,the tall stories that my friends wanted to enshrine me in,I get a chuckle.They must have thought a lot of me. I was a hero to them. Every time I heard that tale,I denied that that wasn't the way it went that afternoon with Norton,but all they'd do is smile and look past me.


Eddie Futch

For The Lack Of A Punch

Chuck Haynes was a heavyweight from Detroit who found his way to the West Coast mid way through his career and wound up fighting some ten round main events. My friend Gary Olds ,the amateur heavyweight I talked about yesterday, used to spar once in awhile with Haynes at the 32nd Street Gym in National City. Gary stood 6 foot 1 and could get on the scales weighing a solid 215 pounds. I would guess that Haynes was around 6 foot 2 and fought somewhere in the mid 190's. Back then he qualified as a legit heavyweight,but looking at him he resembled a light heavyweight. Hedgemon Lewis was also from Detroit and was fighting on the coast.Lewis was trained by Eddie Futch who was also working with Joe Frazier and Ken Norton. I can't recall who was instructing Chuck Haynes. Lewis and Haynes knew each other though.

Hedge Lewis was a slick welterweight and Haynes's style was a lot like Lewis's. Haynes could box on the balls of his feet and move around the ring pretty good. He was a pure boxer. A stand up fighter who moved his head,he could work off his jab,feint,slip punches,liked to fight in the middle of the ring.I never sparred with Haynes,but I watched Gary give him a workout.Gary was big and strong,but didn't possess the boxing skills that Haynes had refined. The sparring sessions were 4 rounders and Gary would follow Haynes around the ring trying to cut him off and pin him on ropes.But Haynes would spin away when he neared the ropes and bring Gary back out to center ring and box him:jab,maybe doubling up with it,and then a right over the top.He wasn't a body puncher because then he'd have to get inside and Haynes didn't hold up well with stronger fighters who had a little knowledge of how to box.Gary wasn't near to being a pro contender but Haynes sparred with him like all the rest of his opposition. He didn't want to slug it out with anyone. he was a beautiful boxer,but was frail for a heavyweight. He'd pitter pat his punches and though he could land more than he missed,I don't think any of the guys he faced in the ring were wary of what he could deliver in his gloves.

I liked to watch him because technically he was there,but he didn't have KO power. Not having a lot of sock you can get away with in the lighter divisions,but when fighting against heavyweights you need have at least one big punch in your right or your left if you're behind and need to turn things around in a hurry.But Haynes didn't have that in his arsenal and everyone knew it.

Chuck Haynes earned his first main event,a ten round fight,with the very popular Joey Orbillo at the Valley Music Center in Woodland Hills. Orbillo was under contract with Aileen Eaton.Orbillo came into the fight with a 15 and 3 record.Haynes had lost once in 10 fights.Orbillo,after losing to top contenders,Eddie Machen and Jerry Quarry, wanted to get well against Chuck Haynes. Haynes's list of victories were against club fighters.Orbillo was the favorite in the betting and with the fans that night,but I thought that Haynes could outbox Joey to beat him.And Haynes was doing just that.For seven rounds Joey couldn't find him,but then you could see Haynes beginning to flatten out in the middle rounds. Haynes couldn't reach back with anything to jolt Orbillo with to stop him in his tracks.In the 10th and last round with Haynes ahead (I think)Orbillo finally got him up against the ropes and ended. Haynes was more tired than anything else.

But Haynes had put up a good showing against Orbillo. He got a chance to fix things in his next fight with Henry Clark.He had wins over Eddie Machen and Leotis Martin,went the distance with Zora Folley, and had tasted Sonny Liston's leather. Clark was not going to be gun shy against Haynes. The fight was tabbed for the Coliseum here in San Diego. I went down to see it .Clark was more of a boxer than he was a slugger so I was set to watch a good course of Boxing 101.Clark had 15 pounds on Haynes,but it looked like he was bigger than that.Clark's plan of attack was just that-attack. He didn't want to move around and trade jabs all night so he used his strength to his advantage and got Haynes out of there in the 2nd round.

Haynes next fight ,and his last, was against Ken Norton.For seven rounds Haynes boxed him pretty good,but Norton could get away blocking Haynes's shots with his face.Again,the war of attrition felled Haynes.It was over in 7 rounds.

Like I said before,I liked the way Chuck Haynes could box,but he reminded me of his fellow Detroitan Hedgemon Lewis,who was a welterweight,and not that strong of one either. I didn't keep track of Chuck Haynes after he retired from the ring,but if he's still around I bet he stays up at night sometimes wondering how his career would have turned out if he had a big punch.


Joey Orbillo

Trying To Make Chicken Salad

When you go down the lists of famous boxing trainers and see the names of their charges,it's like reading the honor roll of all the great Hall Of Famers.Sometimes you think of a guy like Ray Arcel just handling Benny Leonard and Roberto Duran all his life. Or Angelo Dundee with greats like Muhammad Ali and Sugar Ray Leonard day in and day out. But when Rocky Marciano was getting his instructions from Charley Goldman,Goldman had to wring his hands with fighters who either couldn't pick it up,lacked the discipline,or just flat out had no ability. The ones that were unmotivated made a fast exit so that didn't put too many gray hairs on a trainer's head. Trainers,like fighters,pay their dues watching and comprehending from the experienced teachers of the sport. You start off holding the spit bucket and learn to tape hands and pay close attention ,and then one day after showing up at the gym every day laboring and learning,you're asked by a veteran trainer if you'd like to assist him in the corner.

I was too young and on the opposite coast to see what was going on in a place like Stillman's gym. The Main street Gym in LA was going great guns in my hay day,but I was residing in San Diego.The Main Street Gym was too far out of reach. But I did spend hours at the San Diego Coliseum where Sid Flaherty and his soulmate Danny Rodriguez were still in charge of Denny Moyer. Burke Emery had Art Hafey under his wing. I spent some time at the CREA Gym in Tijuana and saw Romulo Rodarte put his son in law Jibaro Perez to work everyday. When Julio Cesar Chavez was in TJ to tune up for a defense against Danilo Cabrera,Rodarte was showing him some of the finer points at the CREA. Before Jose Napoles got his visa to fight stateside I saw his trainer Kid Rapidez keeping an eye on him at the old gym next to the Tijuana jail. When Luis Rodriguez was in town to fight Raphael Gutierrez ,Angelo Dundee came in the last two weeks of Luis's training to tune things up for the Cuban. Then when Ali was here to take on Ken Norton,Angelo showed up again at the end.

Dundee was associated with a lot of great fighters,but it was more for publicity. He'd arrive two weeks prior to the fight and people would think he was the guy who had been with the fighter from the beginning. In Ali's case he practically was,but I don't think he showed Ali anything as far as how to box. Dundee was great in front of the press and the cameras.He was a good public relations man. He was also a celebrity like Howard Cosell or even Muhammad Ali. But Dundee was no stranger to the gyms. He rubbed shoulders with all the greats:fighters and trainers.He once held the spit bucket at Stillmans

But getting back to what I was saying earlier.Just because they were Ray Arcel or Charley Goldman,they didn't possess a Midas Touch. When I was hanging around the Coliseum in San Diego and watched Denny Moyer or Art Hafey working with their sparring partners I was mesmerized. Julio Cesar Chavez and Jose Napoles-well they could have put those two in an art galley and it would have been apropos instead of a smelly old gym when getting ready for a fight.

I don't know how many boxing gyms are around anymore. Today,it's a mix of everything including boxing. Sure, back in the day if you walked into Stillmans or the Main Street Gym you'd see some of the legendary fighters and trainers. But you couldn't find Angelo Dundee or Sugar Ray Leonard in your typical neighborhood gym back then.Here's the difference. Before the war(WW II) there was no little league or Pop Warner football. Boys went to the gym.There were always plenty of gyms around with trainers and kids that wanted to put on the gloves. It was even taught in schools.Gil Clancy was a phys ed. teacher when he was asked to train Emile Griffith. You don't see that today. Good trainers are a handful,thus the fighters aren't very good. You can't have one without the other, like the song says. You can't make chicken salad if the cook has never fried an egg.


Charley Goldman

The Greatest Letdown

When Muhammad Ali was winding down his training at the Town And Country Hotel in San Diego to fight Ken Norton, his workouts were open free to the public. Every afternoon there was a huge crowd to see the former champion go through his routine. A presumed victory over the nondescript Norton would then set up a reckoning with the second coming of Sonny Liston,the present champion,George Foreman.

Ali would make his entrance into the banquet room, converted for the time being into a boxing gym, with his usual entourage of purposeful associates:Angelo Dundee,trainer;Ferdie Pacheco,doctor;George Youngblood,masseur;Bundini Brown,cheerleader;Gene Kilroy,business manager;and Howard Bingham,photographer. Behind this group were sparring partners - ex Ali opponents Billy Daniels,Alonzo Johnson .Tony Doyle was also included with the sparmates.He was slated to fight Manual Ramos on the undercard. After those identifiables were the acolytes and hero worshippers that Ali wanted to feed his famished ego.They needed Ali also ,but for different reasons. With Ali they lived their lives vicariously.Bundini Brown fit that mold too. If The Greatest won,well,they felt great.If he lost a fight it equaled a Shakespearean tragedy.

But the throng that came to see Muhammad wanted to go back to the bar and tell their friends that they saw Ali spar floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee But those onlookers never got to tell that story. What they got from Ali from a sparring session was about as much agility as watching Boris Karloff walk around like the Frankenstein monster.

After making sure that he had grabbed the microphone(what's a fighter doing with a microphone in the gym?) and walked around the ring doing his standup routine for 20 minutes,Ali would shadow box to break a sweat.Then he'd introduce each sparring partner to the audience before he worked out with them.(He had to let everyone know that "Irish" Tony Doyle got his nickname because he was Irish,so Irish that everything he wore was green including his "jockey strap").I'd look at Doyle,Daniels,and Johnsion while Ali would run off his daily bag of one liners.They gave me the impression that Ali's script was getting a bit stale.

But when it came to the sparring sessions the crowd, by this time had morphed into rabble,wanted to see some vintage Cassius Clay pre banishment days, floating and stinging and making the hired help look tired and inept. But instead of a young Cassius they saw an Ali who had lost his old zip.Boris Karloff at least moved forward,Muhammad,after flicking a few jabs,would back up against the ropes holding his gloves high and arms to his side and let ol' Jockey Strap wail away on him. I think his sparring partners weren't in a state of fear. I'm looking at Angelo Dundee while this methodology is being delivered and he's taking a nap hanging on the ring ropes with the towel around his neck.He ain't saying nothing,the rabble has retreated into a cote of pigeons,ol' Jackey Strap is hoping he doesn't hurt his hands,and Ali still believes he's going to kick Ken Norton's ass.

Those sparring sessions didn't do no good for nobody. I'm sure Angelo Dundee never suggested that strategy.All it did for Ali was to wear out his kidneys even more. The people who came to watch were glad they didn't pay to get in the door. The usual entourage was saddled seeing with another rerun. The idolaters were the only ones who left the building unwavered.

When Ali had the microphone he told everyone that his wife and kids were brought along.(bringing your family to a training camp.I bet Ken Norton was glad to hear that news)
"I hear you got a pretty nice zoo here,"blared Ali from inside the ring."That's where my wife and kids are today."
At least they didn't have to endure all the monkey business watching their daddy spar in the ring.

Slow Dance

After Muhammad Ali finished his schtick in the banquet room converted gym at the Town And Country Hotel,it was Ken Norton's turn to workout. Same place,different time. The big crowds that came to see Ali train every day left wanting to believe that they witnessed something special. What they saw was a tired, out of shape Ali who was taking Ken Norton very lightly.He did more talking than exercising. Angelo Dundee never pressed him to push harder.I don't think Dundee ever held his feet to the fire.Ali was all wind and smoke.Besides,Ali wasn't going to fight George Foreman. Ken Norton's biggest win at that point in time was a TKO over Henry Clark. Ali had fought the whole world with the exception of Big George. So the fans who came to see their hero left, I'm sure, telling themselves that the Ali they saw in the banquet room was still U.S. Prime. In truth,and especially after what he showed against Norton, you could say he looked like an old rump roast. It was like watching Fred Astaire dance in those movies with Ginger Rogers in the 30's compared to how he moved around with Cyd Charisse in 1957 in the movie Silk Stockings.They should have brought Astaire in to fight Ali instead of Norton.They could have renamed it an Old Timers Game.

So after an hour or so,Norton arrives at the dining room with a full plate.Eddie Bossman Jones is the only guy he's working out with.I'm interested to see what Norton has so I ain't going nowhere.I didn't want Norton to win. After he went off on me sparring at the Coliseum that day,I wanted Muhammad to punch him around like an old bean bag. But I could tell from the get go that Norton had the eye of the tiger. Didn't necessarily translate into a win,but he was definitely training more seriously. At least he never picked up a microphone.(One afternoon Ali stepped into the ring all toweled up wearing his robe and plopped down on the ring canvas and told everyone,with his trusty microphone in hand, he wasn't going to train that day.He had a cold.But his mouth was hale and hearty and he went on blabbing for an hour about how he was going to whip"Ken Fartin'")

But Norton wasn't fartin' around once he stormed in with the Bossman and Eddie Futch. Before I go any further,one day when I watched Norton,it was Norton,Bossman,Futch, the janitor,and me were the only bodies that took up space in that banquet room. Go figure. Norton is the local guy and no one wants to stick around to watch him train.Every time anyone said anything or when Norton hit the heavy bag ,you could hear the echoes..When Ali sparred with Bossman Jones, both guys were loading up.Looking back, those two did more fighting sparring with each other than what transpired in the main event. Later, someone told me that Norton's girlfriend was two timing him with The Bossman.I guess they didn't like each other very much.

However, Norton didn't like Ali very much either. When he struck the heavy bag I think he was looking at what he wanted to do to Muhammad face, inside or outside the ring. The fight was a bad fight,but Norton certainly won even if judge Fred Hayes saw it in Ali's favor.By this time the Ali aura was blinding a lot of officials when they had to make decisions. (Carlos Padilla I guess didn't know that clasping the nape of the neck with your glove was against the rules.)

After Ali left The San Diego Sports Arena with the robe Elvis had given him that said "The Peoples Champ" wearing it turned inside out and a broken jaw,the scribes wanted to know how Ken Fartin' got Muhammad Ali to crap in his trunks.Eddie Futch was more than happy to do the explaining. I mean he was the only trainer to have two of his guys beat Ali.The other,Joe Frazier.
"I told Norton to jab when Ali jabbed.That way Ali couldn't work anything off his jab.He'd have to restart. Then when Norton had Ali on the ropes to attack with both hands to the body,get him to drop his hands,then go up top."
It worked.In fact it worked for the next two fights. I never saw Ali adjust to Norton. He didn't show much of anything when he fought Norton. Never had him hurt. All decisions. It looked like Fred Astaire dancing with Cyd Charisse.


Ken Norton



Fred and Ginger

House Paint

When Sugar Ray Leonard made up his mind to move up in weight and test the water in the middleweight division he thought he'd get his feet wet with the veteran Mexican,Marcos Geraldo. Leonard won the decision,but really had to work to get his hand raised at the end. Leonard said that Geraldo was stronger than he thought and if this was a sample of what subsequent battles would be like with 160 pounders,he better not let go of the rope.

Marcos Geraldo would exchange punches in the ring for 25 years compiling more than 100 fights. His list of battles is impressive:Angel Robinson Garcia,Armando Muniz,Willie Warren,George Cooper,Caveman Lee,Michael Nunn,Virgil Hill,and three of the big names in the game at that time,Marvin Hagler,Tommy Hearns,and Ray Leonard.The BoxRec archives show that Geraldo lost 28 times and with those losses were 21 stoppages. You could argue that he was a "stepping stone" or to give him credit as an "acid test."

I saw him fight in the Tijuana Auditorium in 1982 against the conspicuous Maceton Cabrera for the Mexican light heavyweight title.Cabrera walked with a pronounced limp(caused by an auto accident),had a gray haired crewcut,and looked like he was old enough to have fought alongside Pancho Villa during the revolution.The Auditorio was its usual madhouse,packed to the doors with aficianados who had had too much to drink.i was there with my Tijuana taxi cab driver friend Bonifacio,and although he had never fought Julio Cesar Chavez,he always brought ,somewhere on his body, his nickel plated 45 in case of an emergency.Bonifacio was what they called in the trade an "aspirina"(aspirin).He was connected with the sordid element down there and sometimes he would have to what I called, "paint a house"(whack someone)who wouldn't get in line.In other words the guy was causing the wrong people to get headaches. That's when Bonifacio would administer an "aspirin" in the form of a slug to get rid of the source of the pain. Bonifacio was" juiced" so I didn't worry that much unless he had to confront someone else who either didn't know or was just stupid and crazy. That was always a possibility. But I was feeling no pain that night. Before the fights me and Bonifacio had gone up and down Revolution Street swaggering inside all the bars drinking shots and singing all the typical Mexican songs that either expressed how I'd have to kill myself if she didn't love me or I'd have to do him in if he tried to take her away from me.

I'd seen both Cabrera and Geraldo fight. In my mind it was a lead pipe cinch that Geraldo had to much class to get beat by El Maceton. But boxing reeks with behind the scenes shenanigans.Mexico carries a notorious reputation.Deals are made.Pre fight instructions might be briefed to a fighter by one of Bonifacio's pals,"You're not supposed to win tonight."That night the unknown message was,"Geraldo you're going carry him."Nothing like betting on a sure thing.

When the opening gong sounded Maceton limped forward without Geraldo trying to thwart his advance. No jab.No punches.All Geraldo was content to do was back against the ropes and have Cabrera maul him even though his punches were bouncing mostly off Geraldo's gloves and arms. They weren't hard shots anyway. Geraldo looked drugged and I was drunk. Even the crowd caught on that something was scripted. But If Geraldo didn't respond in time the crowd was going to react.I was hoping that Bonifacio had put enough bullitts in his gun.

Me and Bonifacio are sitting close to Geraldo's corner and I'm screaming at him to wake up and get the lead out of your ass,but he's content to rest his posterior against the ring post in his corner and let Cabrera have at him. Finally,I had had enough. At the end of the eighth round I got up, pushed my way down the aisle, and staggered up the steps. I suddenly was the 4th man in Geraldo's corner. I'm blowing my booze breath in his face and with my border Spanish I'm urging him to kick this old man's ass. His cornermen stopped what they were doing for an second to see what this idiot was doing in their corner. They gave me a look like I was a fly on the wall. Well,I got back to my seat thinking I had gotten the message through to Geraldo.

The bell rang for the start of the 9th round.Cabrera does his slow walk toward Geraldo but now he's got an answer-a left hook to the liver. Cabrera groaned and sank to the mat.The referee didn't even stand over him to begin a count. I nudged Bonifacio in the ribs.
"I guess what I told him worked,"I said with 86 proof confidence.
Bonifacio gave me a funny look.
"I should have told you that Geraldo was to carry him."
"Why you son of a bitch. I could have laid down a bet,"I came at back at him a little heated .
"Sometimes what you don't know is good for you..I was worried that something might go wrong."
"That would have been bad,"I said simmering down some.
"Then,like you say,we'd have to paint a house."


Tijuana Municipal Auditorium

Lost In The Sunlight

A few years ago when I went visit my favorite fighter,Jose Napoles in Ciudad Juarez, it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.El Paso,Texas,the city across the Rio Grande River from Juarez has a population of around 700,000. Ciudad Juarez is the home of around a million and a half residents. It was the first time I'd ever been to either city


The San Diego/Tijuana international border is the most crossed international border in the world. 60,000 vehicles cross daily into San Diego. 20,000 pedestrians stand in line to walk across. Both sides have opened more lanes for the walkers in order to alleviate the long lines and wait time. At the San Ysidro crossing at the west end of the city the U.S. has constructed 26 vehicular lanes. At this time an additional ten more are under construction. At the east end of Tijuana at the Otay crossing there are ten lanes for cars. These two checkpoints don't include the inspection stations for commercial trucks.There are two bridges for vehicles at the El Paso/Juarez border. On only one of the bridges are cars allowed to enter the Mexican side.The return lane from Juarez to El Paso has six lanes.San Diego's population is a million and a half.Tijuana's population is larger than San Diego's,over 2,000,000.And growing faster each day. South of the border stretching all the way down to Tierra Del Fuego there are hordes of people who want to journey north to eventually, and with hope and the grace of God,get to the United States.Tijuana is the most economically sound city in Mexico. Ciudad Juarez is like a ghost town. with a million and a half shadows moving about.The reason for this discrepancy is that El Paso ,Texas can't offer employment opportunities to Mexicans in Ciudad,Juarez like San Diego can to the people in Tijuana. San Diego has shipyards,more construction with housing and shopping centers, a multitude of tourist venues like hotels,restaurants,and amusement parks.El Paso's growth is at a walk. The employment advantages are limited. San Diego's expansion gives life to Tijuana. If San Diego were to fall into the ocean Tijuana's only salvation would be to take a lifeguard course.

I have what they call a Sentri Card that I applied for through the Naturalization and Immigration Department of the United States. After passing a back round check with the FBI,I was issued the card. My wife also has a Sentri.With the Sentri I'm able to cross back to San Diego in the Sentri line from the Tijuana side. The wait time is a fraction of what it would be without the card crossing in the regular lines. The cost of a Sentri card is somewhere arind 140 dollars and is valid for six years.I can also use the card to walk back across in the special Sentri line.


I felt providence was with me the day I looked for Mantequilla,but it turned out to be a false signal. I parked my car on the El Paso side and walked across the bridge that only went into Juarez.No vehilcle traffic nor foot traffic was permitted to enter the U.S. A lady with her child and I were the only foot walkers on the bridge. Two cars passed us as we trudged up the ramp. At the Mexican checkpoint on the other side of the bridge was a female customs agent. I was carrying my painting of Jose Napoles that I wanted to bestow to him..I showed it to her.I asked if she had heard of Jose Napoles. She smiled and said she didn't. When I got to the street there was one taxi cab parked under the shade of a tree. The driver was sittng inside the cab reading a newspaper.I told him I was looking for Jose Napoles the fighter and if he could take me to him. He gave me a puzzled look and said he didn't know where Napoles lived. Then he pointed me to a cab that was parked on the corner down the street.
"Maybe he knows,"said the driver pointing at the corner."I think he plays pool with him sometimes."
I walked with the painting in my hand to the corner where the other cab was parked. Lying on the hood of the cab was the driver.He had taken off his shirt basking in the sun.He shielded his hands over his eyes staring at me.I told him that I was looking for Jose Napoles.He slowly arose gathering himself putting back on his shirt.
"I can take you to his gym,but he's moved.I don't know where he lives."
I got inside his cab with the my painting. The driver started the engine and whirled his cab around and up the street. There was a hole in the floorboard and the upholstery was frayed to the springs. Exhaust fumes were coming up through the hole in the floorboard.
"Why do you want to see Jose Napoles?"the taxista asked me.
He was a younger guy, average build and height.He had short hair,a goatee,thin mustache. He was very relaxed with a soft face and spoke in an easy voice.
"I want to give him this painting."
"Do you know him?"
"N,but.I was a big fan of his."
"Where are you from?"
"San Diego ,California.Ever been there?"
"No,"he said lookng straight ahead."I've never been to the United States.'

As we drove along I noticed that there was little traffic on the streets. Many of the houses and shops looked abandoned.There was a lot of trash piled up on the sidewalks. He pulled the cab over next to a dilapidated building. A hand painted sign on the top of building read "Club Roma."
"This is where his gym is,"said the cabdriver.
I could smell the heavy odor of PinSol wafting from inside the building. When I entered with the cabdriver I saw a young gal sitting at an old scratched up wooden desk.She was dressed very modestly wearing a gray skirt and a brown sweater. She wore her hair straight down her back parted in the middle and had dark skin. Her black eyes exuded an alertness when she looked up at me. There was an old metal typewriter in front of her on the desk. I asked her if Jose Napoles was around.
"We put a lock on the gym. He's not here.The gym is only one of the facilities. There are steam baths and a salon also,but he has nothing to do with that.I haven't seen him in a month.,"she said in a straight forward tone of voice.
I then looked at the cabdriver.He held out his hands.
"There's a boy who comes in here tomorrow to clean up,"said the girl." He knows where he lives,why don't you come back tomorrow."
I walked back to the cab.When I got inside I put the painting on the back seat.
"The first cabdriver I saw earlier said that you used to shoot pool with Jose Napoles."
"He used to have a bar back then. I used to go inside and play pool with him sometimes. But he lost the bar.But that was sometime ago,"he said.
"Did you ever see him fight?"I asked.
"No,"he answered as he started the engine.
"He was one of the best."
"Could he have beaten Chavez?"
"I think so."
"Well,you can try again tomorrow.I'll be at the corner."
The cabdriver drove me to the bridge going back to El Paso.
"What do I owe you?"I asked.
"How much did you think it was worth?"
"20 dollars?"
I held out two tens.
"Then I'll see you tomorrow then,"he said.
As I walked across the bridge going back to El Paso I saw very few cars in line. There were a few people walking back.Mostly there were vendors standing beside the path.When I got to the U.S. Customs checkpoint I just went to the regular line. Me and two others were waiting to cross.,A customs official looked at my painting.
"Who's that?"he asked.
"Mantequilla Napoles the welterweight champion.Ever hear of him?"
"No.I can't say that I have."



Providence decided to be with me the next day.The cab driver and my favorite fighter.

No Sense Crying Over Spilt Beer

Before I get away from Irish Bob Murphy here's another Arizona story about a night with Murphy at the bar. Behind the bar inside the Arizona and hanging along the wall was a long row of caricatures of the "regulars' who made their home away from home at the Arizona.After work and on the weekends these guys were like part of the furniture. Since they considered themselves special they gathered on the stools near the back next to the rear entrance.God have mercy on any stranger who happened to meander in and plop his butt on one of the stools near that rear entrance. The bartender would usually take his good 'ol time before he made his way to the lonely customer sitting there staring while everyone else was being waited on.You just didn't sit back there if you were a rookie,or not old enough,or if you were a stranger off the street.I never saw or heard of any beefs someone had with the establishment if he was ignored.He just would never come back again.

Anyway, the way the old timers tell the tale is one morning Tony Panza is behind the bar and this guy comes walking in holding a sketchbook. He asks Tony if he could draw a caricature of him. First he asked Tony what his responsibilities were in the Arizona. Tony said that he was the day man behind the bar and ran the bowling alley in the evening.So this guy does a caricature of Tony rolling a bowling ball down the lane.A little later George Radovich,the owner,dropped in and saw the likeness of Tony on the pool table.Radovich was impressed so he asked the walk in Picasso if he'd like to return later that night and do his schtick with all the daily elbow benders. The guy obliged. Of course George paid him .George was next up on the sketch book. Rembrandt took out his colored pencils and drew George wearing a crown and throwing a football. At the time George was coaching the line at the local Catholic university. By the end of the week that whole back wall behind the bar was filling up with likenesses of the old gang.

I'm not sure when Bob Murphy decided to quench his thirst that night at the Arizona. I guess he had never seen the new art gallery before and was asking George,who was tending bar,if he had enough clout to merit having his mug up on the wall with the rest of the tipplers. George was more than happy to commission DaVinci to try his hand with the Irishman. So Radovich tells Murphy to come back tomorrow same place,same time and to be sure to brush his teeth and wearing a smile.

The next night Murphy shows up as scheduled,but the artist ain't there.Well,Murphy begins to order double shots waiting for the artist,but after an hour or so still no one has come in the door wearing a smock and a beret. I guess Murphy thought he was getting slighted and now wanted to be sure that his whiskey glass was filled to the brim at all times. Finally ,the artist comes in beaming, throwing out his chest and holding his sketchbook. Murphy spots him so he gets off his stool and puts his light heavyweight frame in front of him blocking his path .
"You the guy that's gonna' draw me?"snapped Murphy,his Irish starting to heat up.
"Are you Bob Murphy?"stammered the artist almost dropping his sketchbook.
"You made me wait for over an hour,"grumbled Murphy.
"I'm sorry,"said the artist."Please have a seat where you want and I'll get started."
Murphy didn't want to leave the bar so he told the guy sitting next to him to get lost so the guy with the colored pencils could draw his face.

So Murphy is sitting there with the shot glass in hand as the street artist is swirling away with his colored pencils. The guy was let in on that Murphy was a fighter so the guy puts him in a pair of boxing trunks and fitted with gloves. The artist finished in around twenty minutes.He's looking at what he had drawn holding it up to the light still not showing the drawing to Murphy.
"I think you'll like this,"said the smug old master.
He's about to hand his effort to Murphy when he stops him.
"Hold it right there."
Before the artist can hand over his creation Murphy unloads a straight right hand that crashes through the caricature with his fist landing on the poor guy's chin. Down he went from the barstool to the floor,his sketchbook and pencils scattered all over the place. The guy was out cold.
"Murphy!,"yelled George."Get out of here and never come back!"
Irish Bob gave George a sheepish look. George was like a father to him. George had had Murphy in the amateurs when he just got out of the Navy
."i'm sorry George.I didn't mean it,"whimpered Murphy.
Murphy walked out the door as George came around from the back of the bar ,and along with some of the other customers,helped the artist back to his feet.
"I'm Ok ,"said the bewildered artist."I wasn't expecting that to happen."
Just then the beer delivery man came bolting through the door.
"Some crazy guy just came running out of here and jumped into my truck."
Then was heard a terrible crashing sound from the alley outside the back door. Everyone ran outside. There on its side was the beer truck that had slammed against a light pole all four wheels spinning in the air and Murphy inside the cab unconscious. The side door of the truck had jarred open from the impact and there was beer all over the alley spilling out to the street.
"What the hell did Murphy do that for?"asked a bewildered customer to George who was standing there open mouthed.
"I guess he's not into art appreciation,"said George.


The Arizona

Their Better Halves

I saw an interview once on TV with three fighters' wives. I forget who was doing the interviewing,but the wives were Vicky LaMotta ex wife of Jake LaMotta,Edna Mae Robinson ex wife of Sugar Ray Robinson,and newly married Reba Smith the wife of the current heavyweight contender James "Bonecrusher" Smith. Vicky and Edna Mae were sharing their experiences with Reba Smith about what it was like to be married to a fighter.Of course what Vicky and Edna Mae passed along to Reba Smith was their personal familiarities. At one time I remember during Robinson's and LaMotta's careers their wives received an award naming them something like "Sports Wife Of The Year " I don't know the name of the publication that thought they deserved the honor nor the criteria for the distinction.There's the interview Ed Murrow did with Ray and Edna Robinson on Murrow's Person To Person television show in the 50's. Murrow asked her the question about what is it like to be the wife of Ray Robinson. She was fawning all over her husband while he had this Chesire cat smile on his face. It was something like"He's my sugar daddy and I'll do anything for him because he's the sweetest guy on earth." I don't know who got the Oscar for best actress that year,but Edna Mae Robinson should have at least been considered for the award She would have merited the Academy Award more than being Wife Of The Year to Ray Robinson unless they took in account of all the abuse Sugar Ray laid on her.

During that TV interview with the fighters' wives Vicky LaMotta was just as compelling as Edna Mae describing Jake as a real man who you knew was the boss of the house. Then they both focused on Reba Smith.
"Yes,if don't be surprised if your husband gets upset and let's you have it,"beamed Edna Mae Robinson.
"That's right ,"concurred Vicky LaMotta smiling."They have a temper. I should know."
All this time the young newly married Reba Smith ,I thought, was going to breakdown and cry.She had an awful look on her face like" what did I get myself into?"

I thought Vicky and Edna went too far.They wanted to scare Reba Smith and they had an easy time doing just that. If they had such great husbands why were they not married to them anymore? What wife wants to get slugged on the jaw by their husband,especially if he's a pro fighter who's been trained to knock grown men into la la land?

Redd Foxx had a line he'd say to someone he didn't like.
"I hope your daughter marries a jazz musician."
Here's a better one.
"I hope your daughter marries a fighter."

I don't know the statistics on how many fighters' marriages hold up. It's probably below the national average,but when I attend these boxing conventions I see a lot of the former fighters with their better halves. Those women have stuck with them through the good and the bad. But forget the times when a fighter wants to get in some exercise taking a poke at his wife.or his hormonal urges have him staying out all night and then coming home with lipstick on his collar.Let's say he's a Disney character.That still doesn't exclude him from the physical dangers of fighting in the ring nor the potential post ring health concerns.

A few years ago I was at the last World Boxing Hall Of Fame ceremony. Marvin Johnson had been up on the dais to receive his award. When he spoke,the topic was about his wife and how she stuck with him even when he wasn't on his best behavior and when times got tough at the end. Larry Holmes will gratefully say similar things about his wife. He owes it all to her. He wouldn't have made it otherwise.

When I see a gal like Yolanda Muniz,the wife of the uncrowned champ,Armando Muniz,I say to myself maybe she sould have worn a crown also. I'm sure Armando would agree..



Me and the guy who should have been champ

Whenever I see dismal marriage statistics, I think of my own family. I have one brother who is married to his fifth wife. That skews the marriage statistics in my family to a great degree. My parents, grandparents and other siblings never were divorced after being married. I myself have never been married.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck1052 wrote: ↑23 Mar 2019, 21:18 Whenever I see dismal marriage statistics, I think of my own family. I have one brother who is married to his fifth wife. That skews the marriage statistics in my family to a great degree. My parents, grandparents and other siblings never were divorced after being married. I myself have never been married.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck
When I got married I really didn't know what I was getting myself into.My wife was definitely more grounded..I think of a guy like Ali who was married four times. I think he realized at the end looks and sex with a woman doesn't translate necessarily into an everlasting relationship. I think the culture of the United States gets it wrong when it comes to sex. People put too much stock in it. Everybody does it one way or another. I see a lot of guys up here that are either divorced,never married,fall in and out of relationships like changing their shirt. I tell them they ought to find a nice Mexican woman. But then they come back with"I don't speak Spanish" or "I don't want to go to Mexico."

I was brought up in an "Italian" house.When I was going to school just about all the girls were Anglo. I couldn't connect. It wasn't their fault.When I met my wife(I'll tell that story one of these days) there was for me no drastic transition.i was a jerk,but she figured I'd get it out of my system.I'm still a work in progress. Mexican women look at men as little boys still. The secret is that they look at their husband's mother and learn from her what he likes and doesn't. My wife and my mother were very close. My wife never tried to drive a wedge between my mother and myself.

OK Freud here we go. When my mother died,my wife was their to sustain my emotions. These guys who put looks before substance buy into the biggest fraud in life.

Take care pal. Let me know if you ever are interested in finding a Mexican woman who isn't judgemental and can see into one's heart instead of what's on the outside of it.

Artful Articulation

My father was a Moose. He belonged to Moose Lodge number 3 in Chicago. When I submitted my application to join the Moose Lodge in my neighborhood here in San Diego and the board found out that my father had belonged to Moose Lodge number 3 in Chicago, I was a lead pipe cinch to get approved. I remember when I was a kid in Chicago when my father took me to te Moose Lodge. Rocky Marciano was invited to speak on the dais. Rocky had just retired and next to the Pope was the most famous Italian on the planet.I couldn't help know about Rocky Marciano growing up in Little Italy.Every male on Taylor Street would re enact how Marciano had disposed of Joe Louis for good;or how Marciano, with his nose split open with Freddy Brown's wad of gauze wedged in the gash trying to ebb the flow of blood,pulled out all the stops to pummel Ezzard Charles to the canvas ;and how he picked himself off the deck from a "lucky punch" thrown by Archie Moore to deliver a beating to the Ol' Mongoose. Didn't have to ask me twice.I'll go.

I can't remember where that Moose Lodge was located. It's not important to the story only that there wasn't an empty seat inside the hall.However, I do remember that it took a long time before Marciano got to the microphone to speak. Later ,my father told me that they had to pass the hat before Marciano was satisfied .No checks please.. If the audience couldn't reach a particular financial figure Rocky wouldn't talk. It seemed to me that night it was pulling teeth. Eventually,,he walked to the rostrum holding up a fist and smiling ear to ear. On the wall in back of him was that iconic picture of Marciano connecting with his Suzy Q" on Jersey Joe Walcott's jaw that won him the championship.

As Rocky stood behind the microphone everyone rose and gave him an ovation equaling to when General MacArthur came back from the Philippines. I sat on the edge of my seat listening as hard as I could to what he had to say. I was very young and I can't remember too much of what he said. He spoke about how he started late with boxing. He said that Charley Goldman took what he had going for him, a big punch and a strong chin,and molded him into a fighter. Marciano emphasized that he listened to what Goldman had to say and that he was very enthusiastic about training strenuously. Most of his time on the podium was Rocky fielding questions from the herd of Mooses.
"Describe the fight with Walcott when you won the title."
"Who was your toughest opponent?"
"Who hit you the hardest?"
"Are you going to make a comeback?"

I've forgotten the answers to those queries except that Roland LaStarza was his toughest opponent.Leave it Rocky to say another dago gave him his hardest fight. Rocky had that TV program for a short spell where he'd have a guest, either a fighter or someone from the entertainment world,and then they'd watch a replay of a fight. Rocky would talk like the fight they were watching was live. He had some bit parts in some movies.He refereed a few fights. One in Mexicali,Mexico. He did some boxing commentary. His biggest post fighting moment was his mythical computerized "fight" with the inactive Muhammad Ali. I guess the computer's hard drive was wired with linguini because now we all know that The Greatest wasn't the greatest after all.There were two "endings" with one having Rocky standing over Ali,another version having Rocky counted out.I saw the Marciano "victory". I guess the other version with Ali getting his hand raised was shown in Europe.Rocky died before the film's proceeds could be released because of court litigations.

I heard Rocky's kid brother, Peter ,say that after Rocky retired he was" kind of lost."He didn't spend a lot of time at home with his wife and kids. The mob guys treated him good,but it was a gratitude that wasn't condusive to any kind of worthwhile future career nor home life.

But Rocky was like his rival Joe Louis. They never settled down after boxing.Everyone wanted to be photographed with Rocky.He never paid for a drink or a meal. His autograph was a top priority with boxing fans. He spoke on the banquet circuit.But it was like he was going through the motions. The same old questions with the stock answers. Rocky was all wrapped up with himself.He didn't want to give,just receive.

I don't remember anything earth shattering about what Rocky had to say that night at the Moose Lodge. Nothing inspiring or motivational.I once heard someone say something that I've never forgotten.
"A person that doesn't necessarily have his facts together if he can speak with conviction has more affect than someone that is knowledgeable but is unsure with his delivery."
I guess that was Marciano's aura. He was such a great fighter that it wasn't important about what came out of his mouth.But that seems to be the way the world spins.



Rocky Marciano