BoxRec

When You Know

This guy Bolt who won all these Olympic Gold Medals in the sprints. I believe he won three Golds in the 100 meters in three straight Olympics. The last time he was going for to break his world record.He came up 1/10 of a second short.Afterwards,he was down in the dumps. He blamed "old age" for coming up short.He was dead serious. He knew that was it for being the top sprinter in the world.All the work.All the sacrifice. The pain. He knew that it would be all downhill from now on. Oh,it wouldn't be a sprint down that hill but he knew that his best was behind him.I presume he still exercises but it isn't the quality work like before. He doesn't have that quality inside anymore. When it comes to physicality the years take the quality away.

I look at old boxing film of guys like Ali,Robinson,and Louis. When did they wake up one morning and say to themselves that I can't cut the mustard like before. It's only going to get worse. When Ali lost to Joe Frazier the first time it was also the first time he didn't get his hand raised at the end. The commentators,Burt Lancaster,Don Dunphy,and Archie Moore were pondering if Ali should retire. They knew that the brilliance was beginning to flicker.Deep down inside Ali must have known.He could make excuses like the color of his trunks were wrong and the tassels on his shoes weren't him but he had to know. The sycophants still believed because Ali was a sort of faith. And Ali couldn't let go of not being that sanctified. He took terrible punishment trying to last. But his last handful of bouts were bittersweet. They were hard to watch even when he won.

Finally,even the worshippers didn't want him to go on. Now the thinking was not only could he lose the fight but maybe his life. Some like Ferdie Pacheco told him that they'd watch from the stands.Others like Dundee said they were loyal but in fact they were selfish.

I guess it's sad when the best misses breaking his 100 meter record by a tenth. But to get you brains knocked out is tragic.Ali knew by then that he was far from being the best let alone the greatest.


Muhammad Ali

Everyone Knew, Almost

When Gene Kilroy,Muhammad Ali's business manager,told The Greatest he was going to lay 50 grand on him to beat Larry Holmes,Ali told him to hold off.Ali knew it all along. When a fighter his age, trying to make a comeback after two years,and then jumping right in there to fight for the title against a no slouch Larry Holmes;well he knows after a couple of weeks in camp if he's got in him anymore.Ali told Kilroy he felt tired climbing up to the ring every afternoon to spar. He was talking about just climbing up to the ring. The sparring must have punctuated his sense of lost stamina. So Kilroy didn't put down the 50 grand on Ali.

When Ali made the first comeback ,after the government went after him,the concern was about Ali's weight. He was puffy and couldn't get the scales to tip the bar at around 210 pounds. For the Fight Of The Century he was close but he still looked a little soft.That was perceived by his lack of former movement.By the time he was to get ready for Larry Holmes,Ali's weight was becoming a problem.Ali found a quack doctor who gave him thyroid pills to lose the weight. It seems no one knew what the pills were or how many he was taking. He was losing weight but the drugs wre sapping his strength.He was getting lazy. He couldn't train rigorously ,and to tell the truth some of his prior fights were farcical. But he still possessed enough guile and the referees would let him get away with a lot of holding.The officials were also by that time in the spell of the Ali myth when it came to toting up the scores.

When they asked Angelo Dundee after the massacre was over if he saw any red flags in training camp I couldn't believe his response.It went something like this.
"Well,I was looking at my guy as a winner.I saw him through rose colored glasses.I didn't see anything wrong."he said glumly.
And this guy is supposed to be a great trainer,even legendary?
The thing that gets me is later Dundee told everyone it was his call to stop the fight. Yeah,he called it after he got the high sign from Wallace Muhammad who was at ringside.If Angelo had.t had picked up the signal Dundee would have let the too proud Ali go out there again and he probably would have died in the ring or in the ambulance.

So during training camp you had to be a real dummy if you couldn't get the drift that Ali was through as a fighter.Ferdie Pacheco wanted ho part of it. Even cornerman Wallace Youngblood knew "after the 2nd round that Ali had lost it."And Gene Kilroy still had 50 grand in his bank account.But the guy who knew it all along was Ali himself.That's why he told Kilroy to hold onto his money.Even a milk toast like Dundee who could see that Ali might die in the ring if he continued.Ali's pride was trumping Dundee's sense, or lack of it.Dundee could have faced a manslaughter rap.

And the kicker to all this?There's Bundini Brown crying and pleading to Dundee to let Ali finish.If everything wasn't on the brink of tragedy it was almost comical.


Angelo Dundee

Back Home

You see it a lot in Latin America. You can go to a slum neighborhood and it's not unusual to find a big nice house amid all the shacks. When Roberto Duran won the lightweight championship of the world he went back to the barrio where he was born and raised in Panama,El Chorrillo,and built a mansion.He didn't do it to snub his old neighbors. He just felt more comfortable there. He felt at home.

I was watching a documentary about Duran awhile back. He was in his prime demolishing every opponent who dared get in the ring with him.Now he had his sights on moving up a division. He especially wanted to get Ray Leonard in the ring. Duran was pissed off that Leonard got more money in his first pro fight than Roberto had ever made fighting up to that point. And he was a champ! Yeah,that show off would get his comeuppance.


There was a part in this documentary where Leonard is looking out over his wall in his backyard. Though his house is king size and has everything compared to the rest of the houses in the neighborhood,he had shards of broken bottles cemented into the top of the wall to keep intruders out.He also had the added practice common to the barrio of keeping a couple of pit bulls patrolling on top of the roof making sure anyone not invited would become a tasty snack.

Duran was looking out to a vacant field of kids playing soccer.They weren't being very careful not to step on any broken glass or dirty needles. The ball they were using was an old rubber basketball that was patched up with electricians tape.There was no commentary.Duran just looked at those kids in silence ,and then the crocodile tears began running down his cheeks.As Duran was watching the kids ,some barefoot and in need of a good washing and some clean clothes, were running around laughing and having the time of their lives.

You wonder what was going through Duran's mind. The time when those kids would have to do something more than beg in the streets or steal from houses to get what they wanted How many of those kids considered those streets their home.?Was their father in jail or dead?Did their mothers work in the cantinas at night? I remember going to funeral parlor in the Zona Norte in Tijuana late one night to attend a wake.There were all these noisy little kids running down the aisles.They looked like copies of those kids Duran was looking at in the barrio.I asked one of those kids in the funeral parlor what they where doing here.
"My mother works in the cantina and she told me to stay in here where it would be safe."
But how long until they figure out that they can't get a dime running around in a funeral parlor. The next step up is going to work for the narcos.It's a lot easier and the odds of making a quick buck better than being a prizefighter.
"Here kid.You want to earn a hundred dollars U.S.? Go kill this guy."
I guess that's worth the risk instead of sniffing glue to kill their appetites and living in the streets.Then one day one of those kids is never seen again.The narcos? The hit squads of undercover police who roam the slums in their 4 wheel drives and gobble them up like kindling.Those kids have no families.They're not missed. Besides they just cause problems.

Yeah,I always wondered what was going through Duran's head with the tears running down his cheeks as he watched those kids playing soccer.


Roberto Duran

Happy Birthday MLK

During those tumultuous 60's Martin Luther King's reputation of being the spokesperson for black society was being challenged by a more reactionary ilk. The younger blacks were opting for a more physical solution towards racism.Instead of a peaceful means to an end advocated by King there were black voices like Stokely Carmichael who said "Hit Back."Even Christianity was being questioned and blamed as part of the rational that had once enslaved blacks by whites. The Nation Of Islam headed by Elijah Muhamad and his man of rhetoric Malcolm X was swaying many King believers away from being non committal into now believing that what the new wave had to say carried more clout literally.

When Cassius Clay finally divulged that he was now a member of of The Nation Of Islam he reinforced the Muslims position and weakened King's.Besides,Elijah Muhammad needed a good poster child.But that change in positions pertained to blacks,especially the younger ones. Ali became an indentity. King was out of touch. Besides,getting sicced on by German Shepherds and having your head bashed in by nightsticks by the cops is a good reason to hit back. Turn the other cheek? That was humiliating.

But now white folks ,who thought that King was never a threat because he advocated nonviolence as the means to solve racism and inequality, were taking his side. You could spit in his face and King would cite the Bible. Spit in Eldridge Cleaver's face and he'd rip your guts out.White folks wanted a passive black man joining arms and singing songs like "Peace Will Overcome" when they walked down the street to protest. Blacks standing up for themselves and using violence as a tactic was scary,especially to you know who.

Muhammad Ali was even better than the unpeaceful Malcolm X because Ali had shown how nasty he could treat white fighters in the ring.and now he was telling blacks to to hit back.When I was watching him train (sort of )in San Diego for his fight with Ken Norton there was this old redneck in overalls standing in the back mimicking Ali and laughing at him.This guy was making the afternoon uncomfortable to say the least,and besides he was upstaging The Greatest. Finally,after Ali perused the room he thought he had enough of the "brothers' in fold to shut this guy up or maybe bust him up a little.Ali went to the ring apron and let out his voice.
"Brothers! it's time to do something about this guy. Go to it."
Well,all the blacks looked at each other waiting for one of them to make the first move and obey Ali's command. None of them budged.It kind of took some wind out of Muhamad's sails. Finally,a white security guard came over to this redneck and said something to him. They both walked out the back door quietly.I saw the look on just about everybody's faces.Both black and white let out a breath.Ali pretended nothing had happened.

But today it's a lot different. Now it's some black standing in the back doing the name calling.The whites have their hands in their pockets.If someone asked me what is the most ugly word in the world,without out blinking an eye,I'd answer the "N" word.(You see I can't even type it).Plenty of blacks call each other that. God forgive a white man who refers to a black using the "most ugly word in the world."

Today,white folk want blacks to take M.L. King's stance of peaceful resistance. But blacks don't want inaction when it comes to being slighted or thinking they're being dissed.Now blacks can call names at the white folks and they turn the other cheek. In fact there's a lot of whites that lock arms with the name callers.

Muhammad Ali ,when he was young and pugnacious, wanted his race to hit back. Near the end of his life he wanted everyone to embrace. But then you can argue that blacks will hold out their arms if you believe that the racism and inequality is still with us. It's in all of us to some degree no matter how you think about it. If I was to walk in a black neighborhood and was on the same sidewalk with ten blacks walking towards me I'd cross the street Some people would call that racist. if it was a black guy by himself and he saw the ten black guys coming towards him, he'd cross the street too.Some would call that using you head.


Martin Luther King

Ouch!

Finally got my right hip replaced today. Was in the hospital for around nine hours,Should have had this done several years ago.I'm trying to bear the pain. We'll see what happens down the road.Made me think of something-like Mike Tyson said,"You can have a game plan going into a fight.But how do you react after getting hit in the mouth?"


For weeks prior to the surgery I'd visualize how I was going to respond to the operation. You know:If this happens I'll have a game plan.All my ducks were in order. Well,now that the anesthetic is wearing off I'm getting my bloody lip.

I remember when Nino Benvenuti was putting a game plan in order for his rematch with Carlos Monzon.In the first fight Nino was the favorite. He would be fighting Monzon in Bella Roma ,and after perusing Carlos's record as a fighter there wasn't a name that would make your knees tremble.But after securing the middleweight title from Emile Griffith there appeared more red flags in Nino's subsequent fights than in a regiment of Zhukov's army. He lost a decision to Dick Tiger.Luis Rodriguez was ahead and looked like he'd be the new champ until Nino threw the best left hook in his fighting resume. Then a journeyman named Tom Bethea embarrassed Nino in Australia in a non title fight ,and to add further, the Italian was spent after 8 rounds. In the rematch ,nearer home in Yugoslavia ,Nino won in eight.But the largest" bandera rojo" was Nino's title defense against the nondescript Fraser Scott of that place fellow paisan Christopher Columbus discovered in 1492.Scott took it to the straight up Nino mauling him and beating him to the punch. The fight was in Nino's hometown of Bella Napoli.The referee pulled what his peer did as the third man in the ring in Madrid ,when Mando Ramos who was having his way at the time with hometown favorite Pedro Carrasco,was DQ'd for butting. Even if Scott had caught Nino cold the referee would have thought up a renaissance idea to send Scott to the showers early.

Now here comes this gangly fighter from Argentina where pseudo Italians had transplanted themselves there with their fascists heads on their shoulders. Well for 12 rounds Carlos traded with Nino swat for swat. In the 12th round Nino gave up and was on his hands and knees in the ring like a mangy cat.REMATCH! After watching Monzon crush Nino's will I said to myself this guy will never come back. Mentally,Monzon broke him.(It was like later with Holy and Tyson.After the first time I knew Evander had gotten inside Mike's head)But to Nino's credit he didn't try to bite off Monzon's ear. If he had tried that they may have DQ'd Monzon for 1st degree murder. He had a mean streak in him. No.After the loss Nino went into seclusion" reading." He was reading books by Mailer and Hemingway who Nino said wrote about "real life."He had the books in his hands when he got off the plane in Monaco prepping for the rematch.Well, I don't think Carlos Monzon was much into reading about "real Life" or any other kind of life. When the gong sounded for the 1st round, before it was over, that reading must have given Nino eye stress,What Monzon saw in Nino's eyes was fear. it was like a snake staring down a mouse before the kill.Monzon clubbed him one with italics and Nino's legs turned to overcooked spaghetti. Then Monzon started throwing him around the ring like a discarded used book. Nino's corner threw in the towel and Nino went back to the library.

Yeah Mike you're right. You think you've thought it through ,and then WHAM!You get the wake up call-the punch in the mouth.Well,while I'm sitting here typing this I'm beginning to see stars from the growing pain. I might try picking up a book and start to read thinking that'll make the pain go away in my hip.But then I think about Nino and his boning up for Monzon reading about "real life" .Who's kidding who?



Evander Holyfield-The Man Who Broke Tyson

Hope your recovery goes well - you will be back doing your roadwork in a month! As always thank you for your contributions to the Board.

Rog, keep the bottle of La-La-ephrine by your side and I'm sure the next time I see you you'll be doing cart-wheels. Good luck on recovery.

Thanks fellas. Just taking it one day at a time. Feel better today than yesterday.

Make 'Em Laugh

Was watching that Abbott and Costello comedy "Africa Screams" last night. Max and Buddy Baer have some lines. Lou Costello once had aspirations to be a fighter. He fought amateur bouts in his hometown of Paterson ,New Jersey. However he didn't want his mother to know about this little escapde. They say he wasn't a bad man with the gloves but Lou's calling was not in a boxing ring but in making people laugh.. He gravitated to vaudville,then the movies,and ending his comedic talents in half hour TV shorts on television with his partner Bud Abbott.Along the way Costello became pals with the Baer boys. Max was the better fighter. Buddy took up the sport after playing football in college.Between the two they faced Joe Louis three times with all those chances coming up snake eyes,


Early in his career Max was noticed by the former champ,the Mannassa Mauler Jack Dempsey. Dempsey guided Max at the start because he reminded him of himself. They looked similar in the looks department and both packed a wallop.Dempsey had a home near the movie studios in LA to stay close to his actress wife Estelle Taylor, and the Baers were at the time very popular with the fans that frequented the local vanues..Not only could they fight but when they fought in the Southland there were plenty of Silver Screen Set in attendance.That's when the Lou Costello introduced himself to the pair.

You sure couldn't say that the Baers were timid fellows by any stretch.They loved going to film bashes and by now were landing bit parts in the pictures. They were mostly rolls that featured their best side-hamming it up and not taking life too seriously.Their IQ quotient never came across on the screen higher than a chimpanzee's and their roles were reflected that genre. However, in 1934 ,when Max was knocking on Da Preem's door for a title shot Max, landed a part where he co starred with Myrna Loy in the "Prizefighter And The Lady.He played a part that reflected himself:a young fighter with all the talent but would rather chase the dames than do his roadwork.I thought he was a knockout in that film.

After that movie Max got his shot at Carnera and had the Italian on the canvas somewhere around ten times. Max became the champ ,and then it was all downhill after that.He lost to The Cinderella Man in a huge upset.But Dempsey was still building him up and in his next fight against Joe Louis there's Baer being counted out by looking up resting on a knee at referee Art Donavan .He couldn't joke his way out of that one.

Baer wasn't going to be invited back to the Garden by Uncle Mike so Baer took his show on the road to all the tank towns and their rickety arenas far away from the glamor rings..After running up a pretty good record against some pretty bad fighters Uncle Mike invited Max back to The Apple to fight Lou Nova in Yankee Stadium.

Well,I don't know what it was(I don't think Max ever figured it out either)but Nova destroyed Baer.So now it was back on the road to Palookaville. But then there was this young kid named Pat Comiskey who was on the cusp of being a legit contender for the Brown Bomber's crown. They thought a win over an ex champ like Baer would look good on the kid's resume. But low and behold Max caught the kid with a big right hand in the 1st round and now Max was ready to step in with Joe. But they figured Max needed a fight to establish himself before stepping in with Louis They figured Nova would be the logical choice.But like the last time ,Nova beat Baer to a pull a pulp.It was his last fight. If you look at him in that last go with Nova and then compare Baer's physique with what his frame was in his early bouts it's like those before and after pictures in the health magazines but transposed. All the carousing had turned him into a premature old man. But he didn't care. He was happy go lucky and was going to stay that way.He played the champ in that movie with Humphrey Bogart when that Carnera facsimile was wanting to become the heavyweight champion. Baer looked like he'd been prepping for that part at his good buddy's joint, Jack Dempsey's Bar on Broadway.

Baer was married to his second wife Mary Ellen for 25 years. She bore him three children and a cross on her back.Baer died suddenly of a heart attack at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood. He was just 50 years old.

in that movie "Africa Screams" Max and Buddy act they were joined at the hip.They figured if your going to go through life you might as well laugh. They sure kept their promise with that.


Max Baer


Max Baer and Mary Ellen on their wedding day.I was with my parents back in 1956 when i saw Baer and his wife at the Del Mar Hotel near the racetrack.I went to the snack bar to buy a Coke and a hot dog. Baer snuck up right behind me to play a joke. When I turned around with my food I ran smack dab into him. He looked down at me and said in a stern voice,"Watch it kid."I stood there frozen. Then he busted out laughing and then went back to his table to be with his wife and son Max Jr.They threw the mold away when they made him.

The Phantom Punch

In the end the bully always gets psyched out. I'll stick with the heavyweights.Dempsey,Louis,and Marciano-three foundations of the divisions. They never tried to intimidate with any verbal rough stuff though though their opponents knew that getting into the ring with these guys they could wind up in the hospital.You see they didn't need to carry a phantom punch. What's a phantom punch? It's that artificial weapon the bully uses trying to get inside your head. Stuff to make you quit on yourself before the first bell.The intimidating verbage.The mean stare down.The coldness.Liston did it on Patterson twice. Foreman had Norton whipped before the lights were turned on in the stadium. Mike Spinks had it so bad he almost didn't come out of the dressing room to face Tyson. Three bullies who carried that phantom punch with them because deep down inside they had some doubts about themselves. Of course to be a bully you have to have the big punch. Liston,Foreman,and Tyson could sure wallop. But so could Dempsey,Louis,and Marciano put you into dreamland..

The bully's scare tactics vary but the purpose is to get you into a panic before the fight even starts. That's the bully's phantom punch. Of course it's not a physical, blow but can be more powerful and effective than the swing delivered from the shoulder.But the pitfall is when the phantom punch doesn't connect,or let's say falls on deaf ears on his opponent. When that happens all the big guns the bully carries turns into cap pistols.You see his primary power was in the psyche job. He had to have that facade in his arsenal.

The three guys I mentioned at the top-Dempsey,Louis,and Rocky - stubbed their toes along the way. I know Marciano never lost a fight so we have to dig deep and say maybe La Starza might have got robbed in the first fight.But when Fireman Jim Flynn made Dempsey's corner throw in the towel in their first go Jack didn't fall to pieces after that. Him and the Doctor took it as part of the game:you win a lot and try not to lose too many.When Herr Max put Joe Louis face down on the mat Jack Blackburn gave Joe a scolding and they went back to work.

Fireman Jim was set aflame by Dempsey in the rematch. Louis biltzed Max inside a single round. With the second fight Rocky had with Roland he hit him so hard he busted the veins in his arms and shoulders.But those three guys could have been psyched out because of a loss but they weren't because they relied on what they had all to themselves and didn't need that phantom punch to use as trickery. Once that facade is revealed by the other guy not buying into it, the world comes down on top of the bully's head.The fans laugh at him.Take their cheap shots at him .This is the guy who tries to push people around like themselves and now he got his comeuppance.They wish they could stand up to the bully,and now they the see an alter ego in the other guy and accomplish what they wished they could do-kick his ass.

After Liston was exposed by Clay,the bear being tamed into a cub, he found himself walking with the prey.When Foreman twirled to the canvas in Zaire his phantom punch crashed down with him. As Mike Tyson ,on all fours ,was trying to put his mouthpiece back in his mouth in Japan after some underdog by the name of Buster had busted him up, all the air spewed out of iron Mike's balloon.Those three bullies were never the same after that,Oh,they tried to exploit with their phantom punch again but for the most part it lacked the prior affect.Sonny turned to heroin to drown his sorrows and got counted out.. Foreman turned his life around for the better. Iron Mike is still kidding himself.

I'll never get over what Evander Holyfield said when asked about facing Tyson the first time. There they stood center ring while the ref is going over instructions. There's Tyson giving Holyfield the evil eye.So what were you thinking Evander?
"I wanted to show him right then that I wasn't afraid of him. trying I wanted Tyson to know that BEFORE the bell rang"(sic)
Iron Mike had lost his phantom punch before the fight started. He got his ass kicked. He knew Holyfield wasn't afraid of him.A phantom punch that was just a mirage.A trick that didn't work.in the next fight Tyson tried to fool the world by trying to bite Holyfields' ear off .He was given a gift warning the first time by Mills Lane but Tyson knew even given a second chance he couldn't win so he chewed some more.

What I thought was priceless is when Evander said that when Mike became carnivorous he asked God "What can I learn from this?"No wonder Tyson could never bet you.Not in a hundred years.


Mike Tyson

Jack Dempsey

Joe Louis

Rocky Marciano

Going----Going---Gone

Muhammad Ali didn't know how many men took the field in a baseball game. He didn't know it was nine players and he didn't seem embarrassed by showing his ignorance about America's Pastime.If you asked him what a bullpen was he'd probably say it was a place where bulls lived. But he did know about one of the game's players.That player-Hank Aaron.

The press used the name "Hank" when describing his feats on the playing field. He liked being called "Henry" but he never butted heads if they wanted to insist calling him "Hank".I caught Henry Aaron when he was still performing at his best.This was in the early 70's when he was still with the Braves. His rookie year was in 1954 when the Braves were in the limbo land burg of Milwaukee. In 1966 the Braves moved to the deep south to Atlanta. I wouldn't say that either city was a hotbed for baseball,or any professional athletic teams. When Aaron started his career in Milwaukee when the team was beginning to build their roster with some pretty impressive young players-Henry Aaron being one,the others a slugging 3rd bagger hitting from the left side by the name of Eddie Mathews;a big strapping hunk that held down 1stJoe Adcock;and a solid guy behind the plate by the name of Del Crandall.These young ones melded with some solid veterans like pitchers Warren Spahn, Lew Burdette,and Bob Buhl.There was a slick fielding man in center, outfielder Bill Bruton and a steady shortstop Johnny Logan that could scoop up ground balls with the best..Later there would arrive more talent with the likes of Wes Covington,Red Schoendienst,and Joey Jay. The Braves were an impressive lot.It was a time also when the two National League teams from New York-the Giants of the Polo Grounds and the Dodgers of Ebbets Field were also battling for the privilege to play the perennial Yankees in the World seriousness.The Braves split a pair of championships with the Yanks winning in 57 and coming up short the following year.During that decade Aaron was playing at super star levels.

But putting on a uniform in Milwaukee was like wearing hand me down clothes compared to the star players who were getting the press playing inside the New York and Chicago ballparks.Later, when the two National League teams from The Apple moved to the Coast the media was all agog.

But everyone knew that Henry Aaron was the real article. He was the most consistent big batter in baseball.You could rely on his 40 or so homerun hits every year as well as a 300 average and RBI's in triple digits.He was a no brainer pick for the annual All Star Game and batting cleanup was his slot in the lineup.

Henry Aaron kept a low profile except at the plate.I would describe his play as efficient, translating into record book numbers. His swing wasn't like Mickey's who would unwrap his jersey when he took his cuts.Mantle could hit the ball farther than any other mortal.Mays was the energetic, arms flailing, cap flying of his head.He was a baseball comet. Then there was Clemente in the Steel City who was so eye catching. Every movement was balletic,a flair unmatched.He was baseball's beautiful.

When Aaron walked into the batter's box he looked so comfortable you thought he'd just awoken from a nap.He'd position himself in the box without scuffing up dirt or taking practice swings.His stance was for the most part upright,relaxed holding the bat straight up, his legs normal width. When he swung it was a flick of the wrists, faster than a quickdraw artist.He hardly moved.Just a half step forward and those wrists that if you blinked you'd know not to do that again the next time Aaron swung the lumber.

His homerun hits weren't of the explosive ilk of a Mantle where the ball screamed 500 feet smashing into the bleachers, Aaron's 4 baggers were like lofty moon shots. The ball ball would flick off his bat in a high arc and land gently clearing the fence dropping like a ping pong ball.When he finally cleaned out his locker he had hit 755 of those fence clearers. He had busted the immortal Ruth's total by 41.

But being a black player there was still a contingent that thought what he did was un American.The 70's.Playing on a team in the South.Being black. There were plenty of death threats.

Aaron';s homerun record held up until Barry Bonds broke it some 30 years later.But then the PED stories unraveled and even our stupid Congress wanted to grill these beefed up brutes and ask them about the pills and needles.It seemed every player was trying to pad their stats through the state of the arts chemicals. Of course back in the old days there wasn't the drugs but who's to say that the boys of summer back then wouldn't have indulged.

Henry Aaron was a lead pipe cinch fist ballot Hall Of Famer. Barry Bonds is still waiting for the voters to forgive him.When Bonds tried to pull the wool over everyone's eyes Henry Aaron was non committal. He didn't cry foul. He let it run it's course.When he played early on he couldn't sleep in the same hotels with the white players.Eat in the same restaurants.Socialize with white women. Stay in your place.Bonds was a celebrity. He never felt the sting or the heard the slights.

When Aaron was winding down his career I'd go to the stadium to watch him play.In those days I'd say the hometown Padres were lucky to fill the ballpark with several thousand fans.I'd go buy a 2 dollar bleacher seat and sit by myself and watch Henry Aaron play his twilight.One night I was sitting in the stands watching the Braves and Henry Aaron. One of his at bats he lofted one over the railing.The ball plopped down in front of me about a foot or two away. There was no bum rush for the ball because there was hardly anyone around. I got up slowly ,walked to ball,picked it up, and put it in my pocket. It was surrealistic.Everything was so calm and quiet.I walked back to my car and while as I was in the parking lot I saw the Braves team going back to the bus. I got the urge to ask Aaron to sign the ball.I caught him before he got on the bus.
"Hey,Hank can you sign my ball you hit for a homerun?"
He stopped and gave me a look,grunted,and proceeded towards the bus.I walked away and said under my breath "What a prick."Then I heard him say,"Come here and I'll sign it."
Aaron signed the ball and I gave it to my sister. I believe it was his 733rd homerun.

When Muhammad Ali was asked about Henry Aaron he became very sober.
"The only man I idolize more than myself is Henry Aaron."
Aaron is no longer with us. I think if he went to the moon he'd find some of those moonshots that came off his bat. Now he's with the stars where he belongs.

Interpretation Of The Law

Rodolfo Gonzalez called me on the phone yesterday. With most people wanting to stay inside with this Covid going around I guess Gato thought he'd give me a call to touch bases and fill some time.We talked about this and that-things we'd talked about before. With everything up in the air you can't tell day by day what's going to happen next. I asked him about Rick Farris' West Coast Boxing Hall Of Fame event. As far as he knows it's still on. March,April,May? It's up in the air.

We always get around about talking about Mexico. When Gato won the championship from Chango Carmona he bought his mother a nice house in the upscale colonia in Tijuana named Hipodromo which is by the racetrack.For some reason when his mother died he turned the deed over to his brother. The brother lives in the house now along with another brother.Gato was telling me his brothers are "allergic" to work so they rent out the spare rooms to make ends meet. Gato told me he hasn't been to Tijuana in 20 years. Once in awhile the brother holding the note will pop up at Gato's place in Oceanside.

You'd be surprised about how many Mexicans who live on the U.S. side who don't cross the border anymore. The Covid,the crime,the poverty.There's no reason to go unless you've got a mother or father there. For the Mexicans who'd made the weekly weekend trip to TJ it's now become a drag. They just don't go anymore.They don't even like to talk about it.

Rodolfo brought up his uncle Jose Becerra and the non title fight he had in Guadalajara with an African/American fighter by the name of Walter Ingram.Ingram died in the hospital as the result of taking some big shots from Becerra,the bout ending in the 9th round.Gato said that tragedy left a mark on his uncle that he couldn't shake. Compounding the death with a marriage that was on the rocks Becerra finally let go of the rope in his fight,another non title go,against a journeyman, Eloy Sanchez. After being stopped by Sanchez, Becerra retired from boxing. He tried making a comeback two years later against another no name and got away with a 6 round decision.They say it was more of an exhibition bout than a real fight.

You never know how a fighter reacts after he kills a man in the ring. Some sluff it off figuring it comes with the territory. Some have a mental collapse. I guess for Jose Becerra it was something he had a hard time coping with.The coping part can cause different manifestations.When Frankie Campbell died from Baer's onslaught,Max began clowning around when it came to training. and if someone stood up to him in the ring he let himself get beat to the punch.It was all a big joke. After Davey Moore collapsed in the dressing room after losing the title to Sugar Ramos,the Cuban sought psychiatric help. This was the second time that a fighter had died trying to beat Ramos.Ray Robinson's left hook that killed Jimmy Doyle provoked Robinson to say after the fight that he knew he had Doyle in trouble "when he signed the contract."Yet Ray paid for the funeral and bought Doyle's mother a house. Jimmy was fighting that night so he could earn enough money to buy his mama a house of her own.You can go on and on with this.No fighter wants to kill his opponent even though he might say so and hype that up for the publicity.

You don't hear baseball players or football players talk about "killing" the other guy.What;s a baseball player going to do?Hit a guy with a bat? And a pigskinner? Butt the other guy with his helmet?A fighter's hands are registered weapons. If I punch a guy in the nose I could get charged with "assault.". If a fighter punches that same guy he could be facing not only the "assault" charge but you can tag on a "battery" rap.But then again if I was a fighter and wanted to hold up a liquor store I sure wouldn't threaten the cashier with my fists.I'd use a gun.But then I'd be looking at 15 years in the pen.


Jose Becerra

The Guitar Maker

It used to really get under my skin when I'd see people say things about Joe Louis-that he was slow on the uptake,talked like Stepin' Fethchit with an with an IQ to match. Joe Louis isn't like a Mike Tyson who has a chip on his shoulder waiting for someone to take a cheap shot so he could then threaten to kick the guy's ass ,or at the least call him a fag.In Louis' day it was the white scribes who printed the pap. Oh,Jack Johnson was crafty enough to dazzle the racists with his verbal footwork. Joe Louis felt there was nothing he could do about it. When you add up the pluses Joe Louis contributed more to bring blacks and whites together by ignoring the barbs. Johnson's total wouldn't get out of the single digit column. But one thing both Jack and Joe had in common was they didn't have to tell anybody who they were to explain their prowess. Louis came up with that expression, not Lil' Arthur.

During Joe louis' reign as a fighter it was just about taken for granted that there would only be one heavyweight champion of the world for a good long stretch. When Louis won the title from Braddock in 1937 you could have been a little kid playing hop scotch on the school playground and by the time he lost his crown to Ez Charles thirteen years later you could have been a veteran of the landing on Omaha Beach. No.Everyone knew who Joe Louis was.Even if you wore a white hood and robe you knew who Joe Louis was,and took it.

I just snuck in a boxing intro regarding Joe Louis' thoughts on not having to explain yourself if the whole world knows who you are, and that I presume gives me the right to run past you a story about this little old guy I bumped into in Seville, Spain in the old Macarena section of the city.My granddaughter Amanda was taking her daily courses of Flamenco lessons at the Teatro Merced and her little brother Adam was in the same building learning how to play the guitar ala Paco De La Luchia.The instructors had isolated the students inside the music rooms so they wouldn't be distracted so I decided to get up and leave the theater and take a walk.While I was strolling through the ancient city I heard someone playing a guitar inside this quaint antique storefront. What always fascinates me about a city like Seville is that normal everyday living takes place inside structures four hundred years old or more,I stopped when I heard the strumming .it was the delicate echoes from an acoustic guitar. The lilt was Andalucian in motif. The gentle slow waves on notes floating out to the street.

I stopped in front of the open door and looked inside. There was this old man, silver flecked haired and thin, delicate looking with a kind face and deep set green eyes, working with an awl on a guitar that was in the works. Behind him on the wall were all the handmade wooden tools that were apropos for creating a guitar by hand. His workroom felt cozy and comfortable. I don't guess he ever rearranged anything.Sitting on some chairs near where the old man was working were a couple of old guys that I imagined spent their afternoons watching the old man make his guitars. They were probably there everyday talking about the same things and though having repeated themselves time and again the conversation was never stale.I walked by them seeing how they took to a total stranger entering their aura. I got was a friendly look ,There was no anxiety or resentment.They just continued talking to one another like the world was always normal.

I saw some old black nd white photographs pinned on a poster board on a far wall.My curiosity drew me towards the pictures.There were a lot of them.They weren't straightened out very well .I could see a slight film of dust on the faded images.Then I began recognizing some of the people in the pictures. I became a little startled.I turned to the old man carving on the guitar.
"You know these guys?"I asked.
The old man stopped working at looked at me pointing at the pictures.
"I've made guitars for all of them,"he said passively with a sweep of his hand.
"You made a guitar for Paco De Lucia?"
"Several,"said the old man.
"And Trio De Los Panchos?"
"Oh yes. They played a concert in Madrid and then came here and wanted me to make guitars for them.It took almost six months to finish."
"And I see this picture of Segovia.Him too?"
"Andres always liked my guitars.I made two guitars for him."
The other two old men continued conversing each other while me and the old man were talking.
"You must be pretty well known."
"I don't have to worry about finding someone who wants one of my guitars."
"I didn't see a sign on the window when I walked in.What is your name?"
"Alberto Pantoja.There's a little plaque besides the entrance with my name on it.The city reqiures it. Everyone knows where to find me. I've been here for fifty years."

The old man put down his awl and brought up from under the table a goat flask.
"Would you like to drink some Andalucian wine with me and my friends?"he asked.
"I'd love to," I answered.
"Here.You take the first drink,"said the old man handing me the flask. "Tip your head back and take a big swallow. I've got plenty of wine."
I took a big drink and handed the flask back to the old man.
"it's getting late anyway. I'd rather drink wine now,'he said passing the goat flask to one of his friends.
Just then a young fellow briskily entered the workshop. He was handsome,bright,talkative.
"Uncle.That student in London called and wanted to order a guitar.What should I tell him?"
"Tell him that won't be a problem. it will take several months. But I want you to make it for him.'
"Should I tell him that?"
"Whatever you wish. What I've passed on to you he won't know the difference.As time passes I'll drink more wine and leave the making of guitars to you."



Later I brought my grandchildren and my wife to meet Alberto Pantoja.We all knew him by then.

Good Or The Bad

When Red Grange began tearing up the 'ol gridiron at the University of illinoise Babe Ruth gave the young man some advice.
"Kid,no matter what they write about you don't believe it,good or bad."
During the age of the Roaring 20's Grange was to football as Ruth was to baseball and Dempsey was to boxing. Say their names today and you'll get the blank looks ,and if you're lucky, a response that's as nebulous as "When am I gonna get my BoxRec T shirt I ordered in November?"

When you're going strong the scribes write you up like you're a god.When the time comes and you hit the wall they put you in the obituary column.There isn't an in between. But it's like the pundits are waiting for the greats to get struck in their Achilles heels.The fighter's demise is a very bittersweet swan song. You can go down to skid row and listen to some old black guy sitting on a curb with a half empty bottle of port cradled in his lap playing his guitar that looks like something out of a Storyville museum.He's improvising a song he invented called "Blues For (you fill in the name)" The old guy's voice resembles the sound coming out of a rusted tailpipe on some junkyard heap.His gnarly hands are wrapped around the guitar neck like he's choking the life out of it. His hat is on the curb next to him but there's only some loose change and a bottle cap that's taking up space.

I'll use this Lomachenko for example as going from the moutain top to the nadir of Death Valley. This guy had 10 fights under his belt(including a loss) and they experts are calling him the best P4P fighter on the boxing scene.if you look at those ten fights I didn't see anybody who reminded me of Sugar Ray Robinson or Robert Duran.Most of the opposition offered little in the opposing department and when the heat got too hot in the kitchen they opened up the freezer door and ducked their heads inside.Then along comes this tough kid from Brooklyn,Lopez, and I don't think he was reading the papers about Lomachenko,or if he did, he must have thought all that press was in the fiction section of the library.Loma went from the best of the P4P's, and after 12 frames he was in the obituary column. I'm thinking he might just be dead because I haven't heard anything from anyone about him. Maybe he went back to the Ukraine where he's from and they put him in a boxcar to Siberia. When they build you up like that and then you lose you might want to lay low in Siberia for awhile.I don't think there're a lot of sportswriters in those neck of the woods anyway.

Lomachenko's first mistake was having a psychologist in his entourage.You gonna' tell me that the shrink was responsible for Lomachenko being called the best fighter in the world? If so we need this guy in the president's cabinet. What's the secret? But this Teo Lopez knew that there was no secret and that Lomachenko was in need of crutch.

But Babe Ruth was right when he told The Galloping Ghost not to believe what the have to say about you-the good or the bad. If I don't know who I am I ain't gonna get the straight scoop from a sportswriter or a head shrinker.Even if my mother was alive I wouldn't want to get her slant on what was going on with me.

I just heard the doorbell ring. My son came in and told me I got some package from England. I'm guessing it's my BoxRec T shirt but I won't believe it until I open the box and see it for myself.


Babe Ruth

...And Archie Moore Was Waiting

As the years pass I spend more time thinking what was going through Archie Moore's head when I was lending him a hand at his boys club,Any Boy Can.He was so wrapped up into what he was doing for those kids that I never wanted to interrupt him by asking him questions about his career as a fighter.It just wasn't the time nor the place. I think if I had he would have asked me to move on. I never saw anyone there that was sticking his nose in anything but what Archie required to keep his place running smoothly.

After bouncing around the forum off and on (more on than off)for 14 years I've come to the conclusion that all those great black fighters of the 40's,often referred to as The Black Murderers Row,should have been admitted into the Hall Of Fame automatically(I guess the IBHOF) like what baseball is doing now for the former black ball players that showed their stuff in the Negro Leagues. Their stats are now being integrated into the numbers of the white ball players of that era or any other.I know there was the line drawn in the sand with letting black baseball players perform alongside the white major leaguers. it wasn't like that with boxing,but c'mon man,go down that list that included names like Burley,Bivins,,BookerWilliams,Charles,Marshall,Chase,Lytell, "Cocoa" Kid,and Archie Moore. When it came to getting title shots they sat in the dugout warming the bench. I know.I know, the war put a freeze on the titles,but after Nagasaki there weren't any promoters sounding off on a bully pulpit wanting those BMR fellas'challenging Cerdan,Zale,Graziano,or La Motta for a championship. Louis and Robinson were defending against white hopes but to let anymore black fighters rub elbows with those two was pushing the racial barrier,and besides it was bad for the gate.So the Black Murderers Row had to kill off each other and wait for their time to come.It was like what Joey La Motta said to his brother Jake,"They gotta' let you fight for the championship cause there's no one left to fight."

So while they were fighting each other in just about every state in the Union they sat around and waited for one of those white champions to come a knockin' at the door. Charles got his chance against Joe Louis but let's face it ,he qualified for Joey La Motta's prophecy-there was no white heavyweight waiting in the wings that could have been a match for Louis.Walcott you could include also but he certainly wasn't a vanilla face.When it finally came down to Jersey Joe and Ezzard fighting each other four times to determine who was the dominant heavyweight, the division began forming a lot of rust around its hull and you could small the mothballs in the cash drawers.Then from the mountain top came down Marciano.

The other BMR pug who caught a break was Archie Moore. With the help of Doc Kearns and Jim Norris and his gang of hooligans Moore swept aside Joey Maxim to win the light heavyweight championship.But being king of the light heavies is like being the vice president.In one of the most enigmatic fights in history Moore and Floyd Patterson fought in Chicago for the vacant heavyweight title after Marciano said arrivederci. Moore,the favorite and with a ton of bouts with name fighters stunk up the Chicago Stadium by flopping around the ring like a fish out of water.( Norris,Carbo,Palermo,Chicago,The Outfit.I refuse to testify because I might incinerate myself)

So Archie had to live kissing his sister.But at least he was a bonified world champion.

You have to take what you can get in boxing. You got to make the money by any means necessary.Watching Archie Moore work with those kids in his club made me realize that at that time that was all that mattered for Archie Moore. The past was in the past.Can't go back and change anything.But if you got a shot of taking a kid off the street and make something of him then that's all that's important . No need to ask a bunch of stale questions.

The Letter Writer

If I had to pick out a face,a frame of what the prototype fighter should look like my imagination would take me to the former heavyweight champion Jack Dempsey. You might as throw in his name too. Of course that wasn't his birth name.It was something his mother called him,William Harrison for the first and middle parts. But that was changed to just Jack for short. "Jack" referring to the old time Irish fighter Nonpareil Jack Dempsey.Even Dempsey's nicknames were pure pugilistic-Kid Blackie in the beginning ,later it was the Manassa Mauler.Maybe you got half the battle won with monikers like that. in the end Gene Tunney took him to task by backing away from Dempsey and poking punches into his growling mug.,But Gene Tunney is no name for a fighter.

My father was friends with the Manassa Mauler. I think it went back to Dempsey's association with Al Capone when Dempsey was preparing for the rematch with that fighter with the girly boxing name.Capone was big fan of Dempsey's and was in the mood to lay 50 grand on the ex champ. Capone tried to fix things with the referee Davey Miller before things got going but they made a switch to another Dave-Barry-to be the third man in the ring. But Jack told Al that this would be his last fight. His wife,the long in the tooth actress Estelle Taylor,had had enough of fighting and wanted her husband to give it up.Many of these discussions were held over a plate of spaghetti in my grandfather's,Diamond Joe's, bistro the Bella Napoli. That's when Diamond Joe's first son,my father,got the Manassa Mauler's autograph and an earful.

As the years passed my father and Jack Dempsey stayed in touch. When my father traveled to New York he'd always drop in at Dempsey's joint on Broadway. Dempsey would have my father sit with him at his table and they would talk about those days when the gangsters ran the Windy City and Jack Dempsey was a making tons of dough fighting with his manager Doc Kerns skimming off the weight of his purses. By the time Dempsey and Tunney got together The Doc had to pay for a ticket to get in Soldiers Field..When Dempsey was in Chicago he always phoned my father and my dad would comp him to a seven course dinner at some posh place like the Palmer house. Nothing but the best for Jack.

I guess if you're connected to a crew like the Outfit and you're the heavyweight champ of the world you become acquainted.Sports heros,Hollywood stars,gangsters. There's something they have in common. it's somewhere between mom and apple pie and the devil and the deep blue sea.

When I think of that poster child for boxing the face of Jack Dempsey first comes to mind. I know blacks would nominate someone of their color but that adds up. But for me it's Kid Blackie,The Manassa Mauler,Jack Dempsey. The fighters nose, The low crouch and the trademark snarl,the bronze tanned shoulder muscles when he stepped into the ring in Toledo when him and Doc pulled the whammy on Big Jess.Even some of his quotes reeked of rosin and leather.Like what he told Estelle Taylor after losing to Tunney in the rain in Philly.
"I guess I forget to duck."
Or like he said to her when the marriage was on the ropes.
"If I wasn't married to you I'd have nothing to do with you."
But here's my favorite. While Dempsey was losing to another Jack with another solid fighting name ,Sharkey,Dempsey threw one low and Sharkey turned to the ref to protest dropping his guard. in the meantime Dempsey clipped a left onto Sharkey's exposed chin and that qualified The Manassa Mauler back into the ring to fight the guy who liked Shakespeare more than fighting.When they asked Dempsey about his dubious punch he landed on Sharkey's chin he came back with a classic.
What did you want me to do?Write him a letter?"

Double Bogey

"I'm sorry about your brother,"I said to Danny Lopez at the charity golf tournament that was way off in Indio.
"He took a lot of shots,"Danny said speaking plainly.
"It was good they found him at the end,"I said.
"I got to spend some time with him,"said Danny.
"Where did they finally find him?"
"He was in a homeless shelter in Texas."
Just then Danny's wife Bonnie walked up to him.
"Danny they want you to get in a cart.They are going to start the tournament."
"Will you go with me?"he asked.
"I will but you know I don't play golf."
"Neither do I,"he said.

The golf course was out in the middle of nowhere and it was hot.The night did nothing to cool the air.The grounds weren't kept up and the grass had died out a long time ago. Except for the fighters and their families there wasn't anyone around except a skeleton crew of workmen.
"Are you going to play?"Danny asked me.
"I've never played golf in my life,"I answered.
"Danny,they want you to get into one of the carts,"said his wife.
"Tell them I'm not up for it right now.Maybe a little later."
"I'm going to stay here and watch over my paintings,"I said.
"Have you sold any?"
"No.I don't think anyone came here to buy a painting."
"You mind if I stay with you then ?"
"Sure.Keep me company."
Danny's wife Bonnie then spoke to one of the drivers of one of the golf carts.He drove out by himself.She walked back to where me and Danny were standing.
"I told the man that we'd catch up with them later,"she said.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee?"I asked her.
"Not with this heat,"she said.
"Well I asked them if they had any thing cold to drink and they said the electricity was out."
"Well, we can just wait and see if anyone wants to buy one of your paintings,"said Bonnie.
"Well ,all we can do is wait,"I said.
"That's about all we can do,"said Bonnie.
"Just wait,"said Danny.
"That's what I just said,"she said to her husband.

When Sugar Went West

Nearing the end of his career,after failing for the last time to wrest the middleweight championship frim Gene Fullmer,Ray Robinson moved to California.He had met a girl when he was in California ,and for reasons not explained, she got his hooks into him. Robinson was remembered as one of the hardest individuals to control,take advice(call it what you want) but his new wife was in the drivers seat.Her name was Minnie Bruce,a frustrated career driven actress who had some bit parts in a few television shows,however if she hadn't had lassoed Sugar Ray she would have dissolved into the milieu of all those girls sitting at the window of Schwabs Drugstore waiting for some big Hollywood mucky muck to discover the next Marilyn Monroe.

My father knew Robinson because when he was at the top of his game, Meadowmoor Dairy in Chicago,a Capone operation,wanted Ray's name on their brand of chocolate milk,My father at the time was somehow doing something at that dairy and it wasn't milking cows.One day after Robinson made such a steep demand to the gangsters' cow juice CEO's a funny thing happened.(They finally told Ray that the money he wanted to put his face on the carton could have bought a trail herd they then approached Joe Louis but that deal never left the corral).Robby was standing outside the dairy and a car came cruising by full of gangsters and their gats. Their Tommy guns began a poppin' and Ray thought their aim was directed at him. But the slugs wound up in some shylock lawyer standing at the corner who had borrowed money from the Outfit and forgot to pay it back.Well ,everyone inside the dairy rushed outside ,including my father, seeing this dead guy on the sidewalk and Robinson wetting his pants.What a way to get to get acquainted. Of course Robinson asked my dad if he thought he had double crossed anyone in the mob and my father told him to relax and get a change of clothes.

With that unusual bond my father and Robinson stayed in touch. When my father got in a beef in The Windy City forcing him to move out West,Robby was not far behind him. Robinson had been away from fighting for couple of years when I was with my dad and we bumped into him at the Ambassador Hotel in LA. There was some sort of convention going on involving organizations for the neighborhood youths. My father was running a program putting together athletic teams for kids in South East San Diego. This was before Archie Moore started his Any Boy Can club.There was a big luncheon inside the Ambassador in the Coconut Grove lounge. Everybody was having a good time and there were a lot of speeches at the dais that no one was listening to.That's when my father pointed out Sugar Ray Robinson. He was there with a group that was representing poor kids in the Watts area and he was there to put his face on the milk carton. Sitting beside him was his wife,Millie. The group Ray was with were black kids and the person in charge,a black gal,got up to he mic and spoke about what a wonderful job everyone was doing and without Sugar Ray's backing nothing could get off the ground. The group's name even had Robby's name on the letterhead. Found out later the only reason they wanted Robinson around was for his name.Anyway, my father told me he wanted to introduce me to the ex champ so we walked to where his entourage was enjoying the baked chicken and mashed potatoes. When we got near I could see that his wife was giving us the onceover.Robinson seemed kind of lost. Finally,when we got his attention he saw my father and warmed up a good smile and was getting out of his chair.
Joe.How's it going?"was all he could get out of his mouth when his wife butted in and said that her husband wasn't going to sign any autographs for free.
Well, my father wasn't going to take any guff from this bitch.Robinson sat there kind of dumbfounded. I could see that he was a little lost. So did my dad.
"Let's go,"said my father.
When we got back to our table I asked my father what he made of what just happened.
"All those punches he took have caught up with him,"he said.


Ray Robinson

As Robinson is my favorite fighter, I love to read anything about him. That was a great story, Roger ! There is an out of print book by Robinson's ex-business manager that focuses on Ray's post boxing life- how I wish I could read it.

goose 5 wrote: ↑30 Jan 2021, 15:16 As Robinson is my favorite fighter, I love to read anything about him. That was a great story, Roger ! There is an out of print book by Robinson's ex-business manager that focuses on Ray's post boxing life- how I wish I could read it.

Thanks Goose.Here's one you'll get a kick out of.





Rick Farris getting one in on Sugar Ray Robinson.Main Street Gym in LA.!969

Thanks, Roger- great photo. Ray's post boxing years working out at the Main Street Gym are very interesting-I believe he trained regularly until early 1977 and he sparred with some really good fighters.

goose 5 wrote: ↑30 Jan 2021, 17:06 Thanks, Roger- great photo. Ray's post boxing years working out at the Main Street Gym are very interesting-I believe he trained regularly until early 1977 and he sparred with some really good fighters.

After one of Rick's WCBHOF events we(Rick,his wife Monica,Dan Hanley,my wife Maria and I ) went to the dining room at the Garland Hotel in North Hollywood to enjoy some dinner and have a few drinks.We got to talking about Ruben Olivares.Rick said that a lot of people thought Olivares didn't have much of a defense. Rick said that he was one Olivares' sparring partners for his fight against Jesus Pimentel.Rick said he couldn't lay a glove on him. The point he was making that Olivares', being the champion,was so experienced at that time that Rick,being a prelim fighter,didn't have the skills to match him.


RIck Farris,Armando Muniz,and Bobby Chacon