BoxRec

Just finished part 2 of the De La Hoya documentary. Always loved Oscar as I was growing up. And still rate him as one of the best who laced them up. The way he boxed, aggression, heart and combinations, speed... And that left hook. Amazing fighter. However I wasn't aware of a lot of the things mentioned in the doc surrounding his personal life. I knew he had issues with booze and cocaine. But I'm more disappointed in how he's treated his kids and behaved whilst living the "celeb" lifestyle. It may be unfair of me to judge but he's really gone down in my estimation, and I'm now feeling quite disappointed in him.

rob h wrote: ↑09 Sep 2023, 17:49 Just finished part 2 of the De La Hoya documentary. Always loved Oscar as I was growing up. And still rate him as one of the best who laced them up. The way he boxed, aggression, heart and combinations, speed... And that left hook. Amazing fighter. However I wasn't aware of a lot of the things mentioned in the doc surrounding his personal life. I knew he had issues with booze and cocaine. But I'm more disappointed in how he's treated his kids and behaved whilst living the "celeb" lifestyle. It may be unfair of me to judge but he's really gone down in my estimation, and I'm now feeling quite disappointed in him.

I watched that documentary last month.I agree with you.De La Hoya is not out of the woods yet. Financially, he's given back to the community, but his demon is cocaine, and until he can beat that he's still fooling himself.But he hasn't fooled his kids and his word isn't worth a damn. He tried to use the documentary as a catharsis but talk is cheap.Time will tell.



Oscar De La Hoya,the one guy so far he can't win against-himself

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑09 Sep 2023, 12:04 Joyride

I was around those guys a few times when they got to drinking and of course I went along for the ride because I liked to drink too and there was no doubt those guys did..Denny Moyer and Ronnie Wilson were as fond of drinking as anyone.The irony of it was that Sid Flaherty ,who handled both those boys, brought Moyer down from Portland to keep an eye on Ronnie because he was beginning to have struggles with his boxing career and his marriage. But I could never figure out why Flaherty thought Moyer would be the answer.

They used to advertise Wilson was being Irish,"Irish " Ronnie Wilson they called him but he was from Canada and he wasn't Irish no more than I was.It was a build up that wasn't necessary because Ronnie fought mostly in San Diego and here nobody cared what nationality you were.But Ronnie drank like an Irishman but then again his Celtic blood was familiar with drinking anyway even though he wasn't a Mick.I don't know what Moyer was but i know they didn't advertise him as being Irish. But when those two got together and started drinking they could put anyone under the table.

I hung around the gyms enough that I got to know those two well enough and though I wasn't a fighter I was like a friend against outsiders.I knew my place and knew how to act.When they were amongst fighters I'd step back. They're a different breed. You can be everything else but if you never fought in the ring you were not with them in a sense.But because they knew I wasn't trying to be like them they let me tag along.

One night after they had been working at the Goodyear tire place, that was near The Coliseum, I was to meet them so we cold go out drinking.They worked off and on there as tire busters when they needed a little extra scratch to make ends meet that usually wound up in the cash registers at the near by watering holes. This night they closed up and had already started to bend their elbows.When I got there I knew I'd be driving because they were in no condition to.We wound up going to a joint called carl's Baseball Inn that was close to The Coliseum on 16th Street.

Carl's Baseball Inn in those days was one of the last of the neighborhood hangouts which catered to a pretty standard crowd of drinkers and sports enthusiasts..When we got there everyone knew who Moyer and Wilson were and before we could belly up to the bar there were three bottles of beer waiting for us.

Now I'll be up front with you ,I'd never have a bar.Too many things to worry about-fights,underage drinkers,theft. But the one thing I couldn't deal with is drunks. People act different when they're drunk and it's never good. Some are what they call "nice drunks." They sit there all happy and dopey but most guys when they get drunk get the courage they lack when they're sober and cause trouble.They act stupid. When Moyer and Wilson got a snoot full it was bad news. Sober, those two were the nicest guys around ,you could even say they were kind of shy.,could barely hear them when thy talked and that wasn't much of the time.

Well, this night they were both pretty far gone.I needed to do some catching up and I could see they were going through that change going from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.I knew they were two sticks of dynamite ready to go off.I was just waiting for someone to light the fuse.Sure enough this idiot ,all aglow, walks up to Wilson and taps him on the shoulder
" I saw you fight last week at The Coliseum.You know you're a bleeder."
In one move Ronnie slips off the bar stool and delivers a right hand on this guy's chin.He went down like a sack of flour, out cold.No one came to this guy's aid and let him lie there.The bartender got a couple of guys to drag him to a booth till he came around.

I can't remember too much else about went on that night except that I was worried that I'd get pulled over for a DUI when I drove those two back to the Goodyear shop.There they would sleep it off.In the morning they be all right and go back to work like nothing happened.

How those two lasted as long as they did boxing was beyond me.


The old Car's Baseball Inn on the corner of 16th and Island.Now a homeless shelter.

So I'm tellin' ya',there was a time I had my problems with alcohol.My wife worried more about that than the rest of my vices that I could have made a list of and felt at home posting them with the rest of the catalogizers on the forum. But booze was the big one. I haven't had a drink going on seven years and I don't miss it. In fact I'm a compulsive teetotaler.

I said I'd never have a bar.That was always something in my mantra.I've talked about George Radovich who used to own the Arizona Cafe in Ocean Beach.Radovich used to handle Bob Murphy the light heavy when he got out of the Navy and then tried his hand at boxing.(Murphy was always fighting in back alleys so he figured he could get paid for it)Radovich managed his amateur career before he turned Murphy over to Travis Hatfield who owned a big sporting goods store in San Diego.Hatfield guided him in the pros.

From the stories I heard from the old timers and my experiences in The Arizona I can tell you that Radovich's bar could have given Miss Kitty's Long Branch a run for her money.But Radovich always kept things from unraveling. Radovich once told me that he had two rules of thumb about owning a bar.
1.Never buy anyone a drink.
2.An owner should never drink in his own place.
I think he was right on.Fronting drinks and getting drunk in your own place shows weakness that can lead to a lack of respect and problems. I figured if he could keep Bob Murphy in tow(and still kick up his heels) he must have been doing something right.


The old Arizona Cafe.When Radovich died his son(who never set foot in the place)sold it lock stock and barrel as is. It's now one of those bars you see in that TV program Friends,Yuck

Roger: as I've said before, those stories about Wilson and Moyer are great ! Did they ever square off with each other ?

To Protect The Innocent

It isn't the Arizona Cafe anymore.When the new owners took over they put up a neon sign above the door that read AZ(A Zee).That sounds more trendy.More MTV than The Arizona Cafe that sounds too oldfashioned,and besides it was never a cafe anyways.Of course there was nothing they could do about the building that was close to a hundred years old and had a second floor where Radovich's mother lived after George's father died and that was way back in 1949.

Sometimes I drop by the Arizona(I ain't calling it the AZ).I remember my first visit. It didn't surprise me that they turned everything around. There's a horseshoe bar in the middle and flatscreen TVs on all four walls.Gone was the bar to the right as you walked through the front door and the one TV above the bar that was at a funny angle so the bartender could get a better view than the customers.There used to be the bowling alley in the back,only seven lanes. It was the last bowling alley in San Diego that used pinboys.I did that job once.You got to be on your toes to watch for flying bowling pins so you don't get conked on the head. George eventually put in automatic pinsetters because the pinboys were getting conked on the head and he had to pay the doctor bills.

Radovich was a Serb and everyone that worked his joint was a Serb and they all talked Serb and went to the same Serbian church when they got the urge and they all belonged to something called The Serbian Defenses League where they talked about going to Yugoslavia and kick Tito's ass and restore the country of Serbia again.Another thing they had in common was they all liked to drink Vodka.That's enough of a backround check for now.

The first time I dropped in there was this gal behind the bar and she looked bored because the place was empty. It was mid afternoon.It had been years since I was in there so everything was new to me.I wasn't impressed by the renovations.But there was one thing that was new, but old, and surprised me. There were all these old pictures on the wall that Radovich's son left behind after he sold the bar and didn't care what the new owners did with them.There were pictures of when Radovich when he coached football at the Catholic college, The University Of an Diego.;pictures of old time bowlers like Don Carter;"Skeets" Quinlan star running back for San Diego State College who later played for the LA Rams;but the one that I'd never seen before was a picture of "Irish" Bob Murphy in his fighting pose.

Like I was tellin' ya' yesterday Radovich handled Murphy's amateur career after he got out of the Navy.I l sat myself at the bar and the gal slowly walked over.She looked tired and her face was drawn with watery eyes and her mousy hair needed combing that hung down on her shoulders.Her skin had a pallid look and she stood in front of me stooped over.I ordered a club soda.
As she put the glass down in front of me with no napkin I began to pry.
"I used to come in here a lot when I was younger,"I started for openers.
"We get a few that come in and say they used to be regulars.They sit at the bar and look at the wall behind them where the old bar used to be."
"Things are sure different."
"My name is Barbara.Me and my husband bought the place and remodeled everything.We also own The Sunshine Company down the street."
I introduced myself and then wanted to see how I could put her at a disadvantage.
"I like the old pictures on the wall.They weren't in here was I was coming in."
"I don't know who these people are.My husband thought they were interesting so he put them up."
"That fighter over there ,I said pointing, "is Irish Bob Murphy."
Barbara straightened herself.
"Did he come in here?"
"He did and he was a handful. But I'll be honest that was before my time but the old timers would tell me stories about him."
"You should talk to my husband and tell him the history."
"There use to be hanging on the wall behind the bar a bunch of caricatures of the different people who used to sit at the bar."
"You know I have those pictures.I'll go to the backroom.They're in a box..I'll bring them out."
Barbara went to the backroom and brought out the pictures.I was amazed that they still existed.
"Would you like to sell them?"I asked getting too anxious.
Now I was at a disadvantage.
"I'd have to ask my husband.I don't know any of these people."

Well,I sure did. It brought back a lot of memories and now I had to talk to her husband who I made a date with and he never showed up.Goes to show you that old memories ain't worth a damn unless they're inside your head.


"Irish" Bob Murphy

Art Appreciation

Getting back to those caricatures that were in that box that the owner of The Arizona had stashed in the backroom and she brought them out to show me bur said that I'd have to ask her husband if he wanted to sell them to me but then when I was supposed to meet him he was a no show.Those pictures were something that I thought might have been thrown in the trash when the new owners took over.They didn't know who those fellas' were no more than they knew who those pictures of those guys were that were hanging up on the walls of their place. Those caricatures had an interesting story so told to me by George Radovich the old owner of The Arizona.Here I go.

According to George one day this guy walked in The Arizona to have a drink, the first time he was in the joint.Steve Bradaric,the day bartender, was working behind the bar.This guy that walked in and Bradaric began to conversing and after guy after a few beers in him began to loosen up.
"How would you like it if I did a painting of you?"asked the newcomer to Bradaric.
"What do you mean?"
"I work over at Belmont Park by the rollercoaster and do caricatures of people to make my living.How would you like it if I did one of you?"
Well, Bradaric thought the guy wasn't off his rocker and gave him the go ahead.The guy went out to his car and brought back with him his art supplies and. In a matter of around 15 minutes he had the bartender down on a cardboard 16 by 20 catching all of his physical attributes in delightful colors to a tee-his beefy forearms all the way to his pug face accented by a happy grin, and to polish it off a bottle of beer in his hand.Bradaric thumbtacked the work above the mirror behind the bar.He was the first subject and when George saw the result he was pleased as punch and wanted the the guy to do a whole slew of others(of course George included) of the regulars who patronized his joint.

Some of the characters on that wall behind the bar was Tony Panza who ran the bowling alley with Tony slinging a bowling ball down the lane.There was "Typewriter" Frank we called him because he owned the shop ,that repaired the broken typewriters if you had one, with him hammerin' away at a typewriter.Ross Miller ,the engineer on the tuna boat ,was dressed in a sporty outfit holding a champagne glass and smoking with a cigarette holder because like all guys that went out fishing when they came back to port dressed to the nines because out at sea they were grungy and smelly from fish.George was in the middle of the gallery decked out with a crown on his head and a football in one hand a a boxing glove on the other.

After George gave me the history of those pictures I asked him why Bob Murphy didn't have a place on art row.
"Well,he was having one done of him at the bar and when it was finished and the guy showed it to him Murphy got upset.He'd been drinking all night and when he was drunk you never knew with the guy.You know how they exaggerate a fellas' features when they do a caricature.Well, Murphy looked at the likeness and saw himself with his chin sticking way out because he had a big chin and then standing in his ring pose kind of funny( he had a unusual boxing stance) and he all of a sudden he smashed his fist through the cardboard and that was the end of that."

I guess Bob Murphy just didn't appreciate art that much,or you could say when he got drunk it was best not to ask him what the thought about Rembrandt.


Rembrandt(self portrait).With a mug like that he could have passed for a fighter



Bob Murphy striking his pose

Me(self portrait).With a mug like that I could have been on America's Most Wanted

Injury To Insult

I'm sure by now everybody who knows what an American football looks like is aware that Aaron Rodgers,the New York Jets quarterback acquired in the off season deal made with his former team that he played with for 17 years The Green Bay Packers, tore his Achilles tendon in his first game with his new team in The Big Apple in a televised game on Monday Night Football on the fourth play of the game. Aaron is done for the season.

If you want an analysis of what happened and why and what the future is in store for the Jets grab your remote control,press the "On" button, and blindly push any random knob and I'll bet you 50 to 1 there will be some joker who can't wait to give you his expert opinion in a voice that's an equal to the guy on that newsreel who described the Hindenburg. disaster.

I used to ask my high school students when i was working(I don't feel comfortable using the word "teaching") near the border on the first day of class "Who is the vice president of the United States?"Of the 150 or so kids divided among my five classes( and this went on for 20 years) I never got even one correct answer. In fact I never got any answers.No names.Just a bunch of blank looks.They didn't seem embarrassed by coming up empty.In fact if there was some kid that knew who the vice president was he kept his mouth shut because he didn't want the other kids thinking he was a smart guy.THe crabs in the bucket thing.

I'd say 80 percent of those kids were Mexican,the others black,white ,and Filipino. They didn't know who the vice president was either so it played out the same. But if I were to have asked them who was the big personality on MTV either from the Hispanic end or the Anglo and Black side they could have spewed out the names and given me a quick bio until the bell rang to end the period so then they could go to their next class and zone out. Goes to show you that the media toys are the educators,not the teachers nor the parents unless they' were brought up with Jerry Springer. If that's the case ,and it seems more and more evident,we're becoming a nation of Barbie and Ken dolls. I won't see the movie.

Now to connect this with boxing so I don't stray off which I have a habit of doing sometimes.I was down at The Coliseum one afternoon watching the fighters train.Burke Emery was in charge. There was this Mexican kid who Burke was trying to teach to throw a left hook by turning his body with the punch to get more power behind it. All this instruction was taking place using the heavy bag has a learning tool.

Well, the kid wasn't getting it.He was "slappng" at the bag instead of bending at the knee and turning with the punch.This went on for about 15 minutes and finally Burke gave up. he wasn't sore.He just went on to something else with another fighter.
"Just keep practicing,"said Burke as he walked away.
The Mexican kid kept up "slapping" anyway.

Then this black kid ,I'd say around the same age and endowed with equal non talent,walked over to the Mexican kid.
"What's wrong with you?You must be stupid."
Like lightning the Mexican kid lunges at the Black kid and starts wailing on him with both hands and drags him to the floor and starts kicking him.Everyone had to put their max effort to pull the Mexican kid off from killing the Black kid.
The Black kid got up finally with help and was totally bewildered.
"Why'd you get so bent out of shape?"he asked the Mexican kid rubbing a swollen lip.
The Mexican kid said nothing and just went back to "slapping the heavy bag.

That was the end of that but I got to thinking.I knew why.NEVER CALL A MEXICAN "STUPID" UNLESS YOU'RE LOKING FOR A FIGHT."Stupid" is more insulting than calling a Mexican a spick ,or n---er, or even a puto.

You see when a Mexican compares his country,Mexico,with the United States, that's his neighbor,Mexico comes up short.It's a economical look. The U.S. has got the better standard of living while Mexico is a distant second unless you know someone.So Mexicans deep down figure that there must be something wrong with us. Go deeper and it's a racial blame. The conclusion is we must be stupid.They won't say that to a gringo but that's what they can't shake. They don't even rationalize it.I've been that fly on the wall long enough to know.

Sounds cruel but life's not fair so you have to learn to live with it. I'm one of those who has a hard time learning..So was that Mexican kid who beat down that Black kid in the gym that day.

Damage Control

I usually take m car to Tijuana for minor repair work like banging out a dent and filling it with bondo and having the damaged spot repainted. Here in California I'd have to go through my insurance agent,go to one a repair shops that's on his list,and pay a deductible to get the work done which usually takes a week or so. Then I'll find that my insurance rate has gone up.In the end it's not worth it.

Very few people in Mexico have car insurance. They approach it as having no balls if you do want to pay for a premium. There's pros and cons. If there's an accident then the parties usually argue in the street about whose fault it was and who has to pay but most of them time after the shouting and the threats evaporate each goes his own way and deals with it however he wants.YOU NEVER WANT TO GET THE POLICE INVOLVED. Most of the time the dents are taken to the scrapyard with the demise of the car.

Before I went on vacation to my wife's hometown I took my old Hyundai to Tijuana to get a few touch ups done that have been nagging at me for a while. There's a park,a square block in area, going west on 3rd Street called Parque Guerrero.Inside the park there are the common swings and slides and monkey bars for the kids.There's an array of street vendors selling ice cream,various types of tacos,bowls of different sliced up fruit,and candy.Then there's always someone selling balloons.It's very relaxing. Sometimes I'll sit on a bench and listen to the creaking of the swings as the kids are pushed back and forth by their mothers.There's a public bathroom where you pay a quarter if you have to go. If it's number 2 then it's 50 cents and the person at the door with give you some toilet paper.

Around the outside of the park are a multitude of men with dirty hands and soiled clothes that walk around holding hammers.If they see your car approaching and notice the dents then they figure you're there to get those dents fixed. As you drive very slowly the swarm surrounds your vehicle like bees to honey.

I've been going to Parque Guerrero for years to get body work done and have established a rapport with a certain group of brothers who have satisfied my needs. They have a little shed across the street where if you give them the OK they'll tell you to drive your car in and then negotiations follow. In the 40 years or so there's never been much haggling.

There were three dents that I wanted fixed. Like I said,in San Diego it would be replace the whole fender with a factory one.With these brothers there's no factory.Bondo,a file,some wire to pull out the dent,and a spray gun of paint,and you can't tell the difference when it's done.Also important it' doesn't go down on rccord that your vehicle has been damaged.

Before I pointed to where I wanted the work to be done I struck up personal conversation.It's the custom and the way I like to get things rolling.Of course they appreciate it too.
"So how's your father feeling?"I asked.
"The diabetes is giving him problems," answered one of the brothers.
"Is he taking anything for it?"
" He goes to the doctor and he takes the pills when he remembers but he still wants to live life like he always has."
"Does he still like to go to the fights?"
"He does but there are no more fights in Tijuana."
"Remember when we all went to the fights in the bullring and I took my father and your father went?"
"We saw El Puas."
"That was a great night."
"I still have that picture of Olivares in the living room with his signature that you gave us."
"My father must look down from heaven and remember that time and smile,"I said.
I showed them what I wanted done on my car.One of the brothers felt the damaged areas and then stopped to think.
"120 dollars."
"That's with clear coat?"
"Of course."
We shook hands.
" In two hours and it will be done."
"Good.I think I'll go over to the park and have a torta and a Coke and watch the kids play."
"When it's finished one of us will come over."


Parque Guerrero

Waiting For Something

While i was sitting on a bench in Parque Guerrero waiting for my car that was being worked on across the street, chomping down on a torta with everything on it and drinking a bottle of Coke the Mexican kind with the cane sugar,watching the kids scramble up and down on the monkey bars,as usual on such occasions my mind began to drift into a warm little corner of the world removed from the paced life of trying to keep in step with what everyone else is doing whatever that is. Time seemed to stand still,at least slowed down enough where I could think clearly of what was right and what was wrong with anything that popped into my mind.

I saw one of those common vendors pushing an ice cream cart slowly along the cement path headed in my direction. I didn't have enough room left in my stomach for an ice cream.My taste buds wouldn't argue against it but I was full. As the little old guy pushed measured step by step and came into focus I saw a familiar face,a face that I thought I'd never see doing what he was doing at this time and place in this little park. I came to my senses quickly.
"Vargas!" I half shouted as he came to pass me.
The old guy stopped like I had awakened him and took notice..When he saw who I was he stopped and let go of the cart.
"Rogelio,"he said half smiling.
I got up and we embraced like old friends.
"What are you doing here?"I asked awkwardly."What happened to the gym?",again fumbling too quickly.
"Can't you see?,"he said with a cat that swallowed the canary grin."I'm an ice cream vendor."
Vargas sat down on the bench and pulled out a soiled hand towel from his shirt pocket,removed his battered sombrero, and wiped his brow. He looked older than the last time I saw him at his gym up the hill in Colonia Hidalgo. Hs face was more lined.He had lost weight.His eyes had no luster.He was tired.
"I closed the gym a year ago.The last time I saw you I mentioned that things weren't going well."
" I remember that."
"People don't have money to join gyms,at least boxing gyms.There aren't many left. I didn't have anyone the promoters were interested in."
"But I remember there was a time..."
"But that was a long time ago,"Vargas interrupted.
I didn't want to ask him how things are. I wasn't going to ask him if he liked selling ice cream from a pushcart.I didn't want to talk about what was ahead.
"My house is paid for.My wife can't get around much anymore due to the stroke so our daughter comes over from San Diego twice a week to look in..It could be worse."
I didn't feel like saying "Yeah,you're right it could be worse."
"So what are you doing down here in the park?,"he asked.
"I'm having some body work done on my car across the street.I'm waiting for them to finish."
"That sounds good,"said Vargas."Well, I think I'll be going."
"Hey,wait.I have a taste for a paleta."
Vargas got up and opened the little door on top of the cart.
"What flavor would you like?"
"Have you got vanilla?"
"I'm out of vanilla."
"How about chocolate then?"
"I have plenty of chocolate.I don't dell much of it."
"Then chocolate it will be."

Nothing To shout About

Tonight is when Mexico begins to celebrate its independence day,the 15th of September.By the time the 16th rolls in its official. They call it Fiestas Patrias.It' easier to say than Dieciseis de Septiembre.A lot of Americans think Cinco de Mayo is Mexican Independence Day. Mexicans let them believe that.It's no sweat of their noses.It's also easier to say than Dieciseis de Septiembre.

Independence Day is also referred to as El Grito de Dolores- "grito" meaning "shout" when Padre Hidalgo "shouted" for the revolution to begin to kick the Spanish out.I won't elaborate on that. I don't think many Mexicans delve into the specifics either. Hell, it's a good day to get drunk.

Champion Mexican fighters like Julio Cesar Chavez and more recently Canelo Alvarez like to defend their titles on their independence day.At least the promoters see a profit in it. But these defenses don't take place in Mexico.The profit margin is thinner in the homeland. Bigger bucks instead of smaller pesos in the USA.Besides ,most of those in attendance are some sort of Mexican high roller anyway.

Canelo is going to put his belt on the line against Jermell Charlo at the end of September in the Canelo's home away from home, Las Vegas. But he got the date wrong.It should be tomorrow night to not upset the natural order of things

Canelo has fought his arch rival Triple G(that's easier to say than Gennadly Golovkin)three times in Sin City during Fiesta Patrias.On the surface it might seem traitorous,at least disrespectful,but when you're counting the receipts at the end of the night you can forget the flag waving.

I go to Tijuana, like I've said before, to watch a big fight. I'm too old and unmotivated to shell out a C Note to pay to watch a fight on Pay Per View here.I can go to TJ and watch it for free,In fact anyone that's got cable in Mexico(and that's about everybody) can watch it for free..

I'll run by you the last time I saw Canelo and Triple G square off when I went down to watch the fight on the screen at The Hotel Nelson in Tijuana on the day of "El Grito."Don't need to go over the fight. It panned out as expected so I'll get to the frills and trim. The Hotel Nelson is sitting on the corner of 1st Street and Revolution.It's getting to be a landmark by now.Probably a hundred years old so it seems.. The original owner was a Mexican named something Mexican but he married a gal with the last name of "Nelson". I don't know if she was Mexican but the family thought "Nelson' gave the place more class being Anglo. I used to go there to bar when I was of Mexican drinking age,18, and drink up the House Specials that they still have to offer today-rum,pineapple juice,Coke,Seven Up,and salt around the rim.60 cents back then. My liver could tell you about it and the hangovers I could write a tome.

Well, the night of the fight it was Fiestas Patrias and that was 2022 when people were getting tired of being afraid of Covid and said f--k it. If I get it I get and want to start living my life again instead of staying in my house all day.I parked my car in the Soriana parking lot a block away from The Nelson.I was expecting a big crown of people in the outside patio next o the hotel but to my surprise there were only a handful sitting at the tables and they didn't seem interested in watching the TV.Oh ,there were a slew of people out in the street walking together moving like a slow tide but they weren't going inside any of the bars or the restaurants much.Some had a can of soda in their hands(no drinking in the street down there),maybe munching on a taco.a candy bsr or ice cream.The streets were crowded all right but the money wasn't flowing bccause the people didn't have money to spend like there was no tomorrow. So they got out of the house and walked around and celebrated frugally.

I sat in the patio by myself.I ordered three tacos and a Coke. The waitress looked bored.The Tv was on and when the fight began no one from the street stopped to watch it.They could have stood outside and watched it for nothing but they kept up that slow walk .It all seemed so casual.The few people inside the patio weren't watching .The waitress was talking to the bartender.While I was waiting to hear the decision this girl who I could see was strung out came over from across the street, where the red light district is, and asked me if I wanted to have a good time.She must have really been hurting because there's a line where those girls can go and not go. She crossed that line.She was where she wasn't permitted to work.She was lucky a cop didn't shake her down.I told her I was fine and she moved on.

The fight was over.My night was over. In the end I didn't feel like shouting.


The Hotel Nelson

Window Shopping

I sometimes think of Gaspar Ortega making his pro debut fighting in that scorched little pueblo of San Luis Colorado in the middle of the Mojave desert San Luis Rio Colorado when he was 17 years old and plying his trade in similar hot spots in northern Baja California,After piling up a record of 23 and 1,according to BoxRec, he found himself squaring off in boxing's most significant venue,Madiaon Square Garden in New York. The culture shock must have registered on the Richter Scale.

However, Ortega got a footing beginning on he undercards in The Garden and other arenas back East,and before long he was a regular on the Friday Night Fights on the tube,as often as Kid Gavilan,Carmen Basilio,and Sugar Ray Robinson.He was a main eventer.Sometimes he won and sometimes he was on the short end but the fans back liked what they saw in him and wouldn't let him go.

Between his bouts back East he'd return to the rickety arenas in the desert and build on his record.It was like he was staying in shape fighting from pueblo to pueblo.Eventuallywhen it was al said and done Ortega moved his family from Tijuana and settled in Connecticut.

Gaspar ,who had the nickname "Indio" talked about the transition to me at a World Boxing Hall Of Fame bash one afternoon in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel where the festivities were taking place.He told me if it wasn't for the veteran trainer Freddie Brown, who was showing him the finer points of the art, he wouldn't have lasted in New York.Brown not only worked on Ortega's boxing skills but took him under his wing. Brown would spend time establishing a social rapport. They'd play cards,stroll through the city taking in the sights,frequent the eateries,go to the movies.Ortega went on to say that some of his fondest memories was when they went "window shopping." Brown refined Ortega's English speaking. Ortega told me that when he was with Brown he made him feel special. He made all the room in the world for the desert transplant.

From a burg like San Luis Rio Colorado to New York in a blink of an eye. You need a guy like Freddie Brown in your corner if you're going to make it work.


Freddie Brown.


San Luis Rio Colorado

To...



The Apple

Gaspar Ortega and my wife Maria at The World Boxing Hall Of Fame

The Point Of No return

Dan Hanley was telling me about the time he asked Tony Zale about his fight with Marcel Cerdan. Zale said he felt normal in the dressing room warming up shadow boxing but then he when the fight began he knew something was wrong. He couldn't get his punches off.The reflexes were gone. He couldn't see the punches coming.He' had lost it, and he'd never get it back again.Father TIme would make sure of that. So would any young charge of a fighter.

I think of the times I saw it. Everybody did. Ray Robinson against a pedestrian middleweight called Ralph "Tiger" Jones, who was on a five fight losing streak hammering away on Robby against the ropes.
"I've never seen Robinson take so many punches,"remarked Ted Husing the TV announcer.
Nor had we.

How about Dempsey on heavy legs following Tunney around the ring in Philadelphia losing every round,The rematch would validate what happened in Philly.

Henry Armstrong getting caught and clobbered inside from the crafty Zivic.The second fight wax a replica. Armstrong would never wear a championship belt again.

A balding Joe Louis getting dropped twice by a guy older than him ,a warhorse calledJersey Joe,but escaping with a gift decision. Louis wasn't used to hearing the boos. He called it a career after the next go, but then he owed Uncle Sam and tried the comeback and Ezzard Charles roughed him up. It was hard to imagine that Louis was the favorite going into that fight.

Before Ali fought that Fight Of The Century that big lug Bonavena was clubbing him around.There was little floating on Ali's part.His legs which propelled him before had been clipped. (The self righteous Howard suggested that Ali was "ill.")He'd never fly with such grace again.

When Hands Of Stone waved his hand and walked away from Leonard with "No Mas." he said good by to his glory days in the process.

Danny Lopex getting out socked by Salvador Sanchez.The rematch proved it was no fluke.

You could say the same thing about Arguello failing twice versus Pryor.

Antonio Tarver stretched Roy Jones Jr. to the max in the first fight,then stretched him out on the canvas in the second.

Oh,I could go on and on with this list but then I've always said I'm not into making lists. Maybe I've reached that point of no return.



Oscar Bonavena

Searching For The Fountain Of Youth

I was at the 99 Cent Store where everything costs more than 99 cents that's next to Champs Bar when I ran into Jeff the bartender in one of the aisles.
"What are you doing here?"I asked.
"I'm trying to find some vitamins,"he answered.
"You know in a place like this the vitamins' expiration dates are all expired and they don't have a big variety."
"Hell, I don't care.They still have to have a little something left in them.What are you doing here?"
"I'm looking for reading glasses."
Jeff was searching through the shelves picking out a few bottles of something I wasn't paying attention.
"I've been reading your stuff on BoxRec lately.You sure write a lot about Mexico."
"it's something I know."
"How's that?,"he said as he continued plucking bottles off the shelves.
"Because I'm down there all the time."
"Did you read that stuff about Pacquiao wanting to get on the Flip national boxing team and go to Paris in the next Olympics?"
"I saw that."
"What's he thinking?"
"Says that's always been a dream for him."
"He's 45 years old.He wants to fight kids that could be his sons."
"Maybe he'll get his ass kicked.I know a lot of 18 year old kids that can kick their old mans' asses'"
"He's going to lose either way.If he wins they'll call him a bully.If he loses they'll say he's a washed up bum."
"I don't understand how all of a sudden they let these pros compete."
"I couldn't tell you who wins the gold medals in boxing anyway."
"That's because there hasn't been any Americans winning,"I said.
Jeff stopped picking and choosing.
"Well, I got all that I that they had,"he said.
"What did you wind up with?"
"Let's see,"he said looking at the labels."I"ve got some alfalfa pills,some niacin.Here's one that says bilberry extract, a bottle of dandelion flowers,and a bottle of castor oil."
"Sounds like you'll live to be a hundred."
"Did you see the new sign they put above the entrance of the bar?"
"I hadn't noticed."
"Well, the new sign has different sports logos."
"Still have the one of the boxer?"
"No. Baseball, football, basketball,and tennis."
"Burke must be stirring in his grave."


Manny Pacquiao

Killing Time

My nephew Chelis told me that there was to be some amateur boxing matches at the palenque in Jiquilpan where they have the cockfights and if I'd like to go with him. I had nothing going on except to go with my wife to visit her sister in law who does nothing but talk in circles trying to give a favorable appearance of her boring life so I told my nephew I'd go.

The palenque is inside the soccer stadium and is more attractive than the stadium with its dirt field and all the little rocks and bits of broken glass.I parked my car in the street and we got to the ticket booth.
"I hear you got some fights tonight?"I said glibly to the guy at the window who was reading a newspaper."Is the card any good?"
The guy put down the paper and gave me a smug look.
"What do you want me to tell you that they stink?"
I gave him 40 pesos for me and my nephew and we walked inside.The palenque wasn't very full. There were actually more kids waiting around to get their chance to get into the ring to fight as there were spectators. My nephew told me that it was a competition between kids from the neighboring town of Sayuaho and the kids from Jiquilpan. And they were kids.Looked like a grammar school play yard during recess.

Each side had one headgear and when one kid finished he'd give the headgear to the next kid. The last kid was lucky if he didn't get scabies from all the other previous wearers. The kids all fit a pattern. -not very large but big in enthusiasm. Their skill levels were minimal but they made up for it with plenty of wild swinging though few of their pinches landed. It was a three round two minute a frame affair.There were no knockouts not to mention there were no knockdowns. Just a bunch of tired waifs waiting to hear the decision center ring hoping to get his hand raised by the referee.The winner got a little medal that he wore proudly around his neck and would then go into the stands and show it off to his friends ,especially wanting to catch the attention of a little girl of s heartbreaker.

IT seemed like the bouts were going to go on forever.My nephew found some of his compadres and went to sit with them. The novelty began to wear off and I got up and walked over to my nephew joking around with pals.
"Chelis,I'm going to go."
"Tio,"he said."We're thinking of going to a movie.Do you want to go with us?"
"Movies don't interest me,"I said half heartedly.
I walked back to the car.I still had time to kill but there was no way I was going to go my wife's sister in law's place and listen to her talkin circles.


The palenque in Jiquilpan

For Better Or Worse

It's not a question so much if fighters are fitter or stronger than what?-20,30,40 years ago, and I'll draw the line at the 1950's.It's are fighters better now?I can remember going to the various boxing gyms in San Diego and Tijuana,a few in Los Angeles including the Main Street Gym.Those places were full of reputable fighters, and then there were some that weren't very good,and some that were very good-contenders and champions.

From what I've seen today, visiting boxing gyms in the Southland, is for starters there aren't many professional fighters period.The number of boxing gyms is almost nil.Boxing has been homogenized into the mixed martial arts bag, and quite frankly boxing instruction and participation is minimal. You see groups of "beginning boxers" that include females. That's got to be a recreational venture.

The promotional end is in the hands of an elite few.The quality of trainers is not even basic and that manifests into lousy skill levels. So what's the point of being in shape when you don't know how to throw a jab,counter a punch,feint,or pace yourself?And that's only a handful of factors.What good is it to be able to run a marathon or buck hay all day on the farm if you can't see the punches coming?

Like I say I can give you my two cents on what I've seen around my neck of the woods.I'll guess things are similar across the U.S. Few gyms,trainers,and thus not many fighters.Kids today don't want to be fighters.Football,baseketball, baseball,and now soccer are the substitutes.

Outside the U.S. there seems to be more participation and better fighters. Look at the champions and top contenders in the divisions and they are names I have a hard time pronouncing.But they have those skills that will keep them in the black..Just is, boxing isn't very deep with quality fighters anymore,at least not in the United States.But then again who said that the USA has the right to have it all or should be a barometer?

As far as this fitter and stronger stuff it has nothing to do with with being better or worse, if that's what's implied.



A group of fighters at Junior Robles' old gym down in National City south of San Diego.

Chasing The Wind

I read this stuff on the forum about how somebody,especially another athlete,with a little practice could have gotten in the ring with Muhammad Ali(they like to use Ali as the example)and give him a going over in a boxing match.These so called pundits obviously don't know much about what it takes to become a fighter.Muhammad Ali in his prime was unbeatable and to think that a specimen like Wilt Chamberlain(Chamberlain is an often used example about turning the trick)could wup Muhammad Ali would be a fantasy unfulfilled.Not only would Wilt The Stilt lose it would be a public humiliation.

Like any sport,the best at it make it look easy.The armchair fan with a beer in one hand and a bowl of nachos in his lap get's to thinking that HE couldn't rise from the ashes and kick someone like Muhammad Ali's ass(not to mention just being a tomato can) so he substitutes for himself with the likes of another athlete who's great at what he's doing.Summon Wilt The Stilt-all 7 foot 2 of him who can high jump close to seven feet,put the shot put over 50 feet,run the hundred yard dash in 10 under seconds,and pile up all the weights in the gym and load it on the bar and then lift it over his head. Why with a little practice he'd kill Ali.

I've heard it said that Chamberlain could have been an all pro football receiver,an Olympic Decathelon Gold Medalist,and leaped tall buildings in a single bound.The thing was ne was never any of that because he didn't try to do it because he knew what it would have taken to succeed in that including giving Ali a wupping.He didn't just walk onto a basketball court,pick up a ball,and with a little practice wind up averaging 50 points a game. He worked real hard, gifted and talented as he was.

When I was hanging around the boxing gyms in San Diego, once in a while there was need of a sparring partner and I was called on to be that guy.Sparring is nothing like a real fight.The fighter wants a workout,practice something,refine a technique. He doesn't pull out all the stops.One day Ronnie Wilson asked if I was interested going three rounds.Sure.I knew Ronnie.Me and him were friends.

Wilson was a light heavy,not much of a puncher but a slick boxer. I had never sparred with him before.Well, for three rounds I never landed a pertinent punch on Ronnie. Msybe a glance on the shoulder once or twice. I couldn't find the guy. When I'd get ready to load up I was too far away from him.He was two steps ahead of me. .In short my feet were not in sync with my hands. I was big and strong and in shape but my boxing skills...well I had none. When he felt like it he'd jump the left into my face and when he felt like it cross the right hand. He could have cut me to ribbons.I had 40 pounds on him so I figured maybe I could force him to the ropes I could rough him up a little. So I tried to cut the ring off. But he saw that too and when I moved in he was gone. I just didn't have the skill to cut the ring off.If I could have only got him inside a phone booth.

So these guys that are always trying to dig up someone who could have beaten the greatest heavyweight of all time better take stock and think about what it takes to be a fighter. But then it's hard to think when you got your head up your ass.


First living inductees into The International Boxing Hall Of Fame.Think of all the time and work they put into it.Don't demean it with thinking Wilt Chamberlain could have stood with these guys with a little practice.

Good Company

"So you think you're a fighter?" said Art Aragon to this guy who was bending his ear about how he used to box and wasn't that bad and could have gone a long way if he wanted. This took place at a "Father And Son Banquet"at a blue collar restaurant in the City Of Industry south of LA called Steven's Steakhouse.
I was sitting at the next table by myself. Aragon was with his son Audie and was OK until this fan pressed himself on Aragon and started to open up about his fistic experiences. He wouldn't let The Golden Boy up for air. Finally he cut him off. I guess the guy got the hint and moved around the room searching for another known pug from the past that he could try to impress.

You see guys like that at these boxing events.They like to touch fighters,bask in their presence,imagine there's a symbiosis with men who had the nerve to test their manhood fighting another man.Some fighters go along with it.Some even encourage it maybe feeling that the adoration will keep their egos afloat.Art Aragon didn't fit that pattern.

I looked at Aragon from where I was and thinking of going up to him and initiate a conversation ,but when I saw that tete-a-tete between him and that overanxious fan I let it go.

I brought to the festivities a portrait I did of Art Aragon that I had promised they could raffle off.I didn't know that he was going to be there. Maybe that could have been my cue to make an approach and give him the painting.At the finish of the ceremonies they raffled off the painting. The referee Dick Young's son won.At the podium, when he came up to get the painting, I looked across the room to where Art Aragon was sitting to see if he was taking notice and that I could catch something in his demeanor that would signify satisfaction. But his table was empty. He had left with his son.

I went back to where I was sitting.Sometimes being alone is being in good company.


My painting of Art Aragon that I brought to The Father And Son Banquet

The Testimonial

After Mando Ramos passed away they had a testimonial for him at the stevedores' union hall in Wilmington,the little town next to San Pedro, where Mango Ramos was born and grew up as a kid. I had seen him the year before at that Father And Son Banquet with his father Ray at Steven's Steakhouse in The City Of Industry that I wrote about yesterday. I brought to the testimonial a painting I did of Mando. The hall was packed to the doors.They showed a film of Mando's fight highlights.I was sitting with Frank Baltazar, his son Frankie Jr.,Randy De La O,and Ed Hernandez.Frankie Jr. was a staple at the Olympic Auditorium fighting in a lot of main events..While watching the film Frankie would remark shaking his head about what a cutie Mando was in the ring.
"See how he gives a few quick shots to the ribs when he breaks away from his opponent."
Jackie McCoy,Mando's trainer, said that he was the most talented fighter he ever dealt with. Rodolfo Gonzalez told me that sparring with Mando in the gym taught him more about the little tricks of the trade than any fighter he ever worked with.I gave my painting of Mando to his son.He told me that he would hang it in a place of honor over the fireplace.

The annals are filled with the "ifs and buts" about Mando Ramos. This time I don't want to be Captain Obvious so I'll let it be. It was a wonderful afternoon in Wilmington. It was a perfect fit. I'd would love to see his painting over the fireplace.



Mando's painting

Fear Of Success

The best fight I ever saw in person was when Mando Ramos decisioned Sugar Ramos at the Olympic Auditorium. It was a non stop boxing clinic. Everything Sugar could do Mando did just a little bit better.At the start I was pulling for Sugar but when I saw Mando answer Sugar's offerings with such deft and intelligence I couldn't help to admire the kid from Pedro.

A little later Mando got his shot at the vacant lightweight title against Pedro Carrasco over in Spain. Carrasco had something like only one loss in over a hundred fights.He did most of his fighting in Spain and that loss was against some wop when Carrasco went to Spaghettiland and tried to do the impossible-beat a dago in Italy.He had fought all these dudes whose names all ended in vowels in these 8 round main events.I thought Mando would give this guy a boxing lesson. Well,he did just that and had floored him four times in the process and was on the brink of putting him to sleep for the night but the referee whose name also ended in a vowel DQ'd the American in the 11th frame saying he pushed Petey Boy down to the canvas. I loved Jackie McCoy's comment on the injustice.
"If Mando pushed him why didn't he get up?"

Well, it was an embarrassing situation to say the least.Even the Spanish people were nonplussed(how's that for a big word?)
There was the rematch in LA with this time Mando getting the benefit of the doubt.It wasn't as blatant as what happened in Spain but I thought Mando lost that rematch. It went down as a SD in the books. There was a rubber match back in Spain and Mando had enough left in the tank to get another split win but he looked gassed.

Three months later there was the match with Chango Carmona in the Memorial Coliseum that was hyped up to be the traditional Chicano/Mex-Nat square off.Carmona was a battler but he led with his face and I thought Mando would have no problem with this guy. Well, it was the other way around. Mando showed nothing.He was out of there in eight rounds.He looked like a he had got in a hatchet fight and forgot his hatchet. It was revealed later that the night prior to the fight Mando was sleeping it off in jail. Jackie McCoy had to come to bail him out.After that fiasco Mando was done as a fighter.He threw in the towel when he was 24.

So why did it end like that?I call it a fear of success. I mean Mando was successful to the point of winning the title, but then it's just as hard keeping on to it. I know that's a quick assessment. But I can get away with it because I 've had a fear of success.Maybe I still do but I'm so old now that I can't put it to the test.

I sometimes think if Mando could have done it all over again. If ifs and buts were candy and nuts we'd all have a Merry Christmas.

Years ago I was thinking of getting into the bail bond business and Mando gave me Aragon's phone number and said to let him know who I got it from and Art would fill me in on the business. Well, I never could reach Art-he had no answering machine and I never went into the business.

goose 5 wrote: ↑24 Sep 2023, 19:46 Years ago I was thinking of getting into the bail bond business and Mando gave me Aragon's phone number and said to let him know who I got it from and Art would fill me in on the business. Well, I never could reach Art-he had no answering machine and I never went into the business.

Art Aragon was probably the most popular athlete in Los Angeles in the early 50's.You could make case for Bob Waterfield and some of the other players for the football Rams like Crazy Legs Hirsch,Tom Fears,and Norm Van Brocklin but
The Rams were in the fledgling American Football League not the NFL.There were no Dodgers then still The Brooklyn Dodgers. The Lakers were still in Minneapolis.An Aragon fight was a big draw.

I saw Aragon on the tube on Jim Healy's local sports show.This was in the mid 70's.. Healy was trying to impress on the audience that Aragon was THEE MAN back in the early 50's like people didn't know who he was. Aragon talked about how a lot of ex fighters were broke and down on their luck and needed medical attention; that they shouldn't be forgotten. Aragon began to break down and couldn't finish talking.Healy took up where he left off and reiterated that Art Aragon was The Golden Boy who commanded the Southland's attention like no other athlete at the time. Aragon couldn't get himself together. I wondered what people, who had never heard of him, were thinking when the show was over.

Manana Is Good Enough For Me

This fight coming up this weekend with Canelo and Jermell Charlo isn't stirring up much interest across the border.Here in the U.S, sports get churned up and the back and forth and all opinions on all the stations blur together with all the pundits trying to out do each other. it gets to a point that it's too much and no one is listening anymore. They switch to the oldies channel and watch a Gunsmoke rerun.

In Mexico it's different.No one would take the time to listen all day to a Steven A. or a Bayless preach from the media mountaintop..In fact no one would listen even for a little while.When someone is trying that hard to impress,persuade, and convince, a Mexican won't give him the time of day.A bored look will suffice. No sense wasting any breath.YOu might be smart but that's al you can muster.

When things start getting rough here in the U.S. I always think that it's worse in Mexico. Call it the trickle down effect.Call it when the s--t hits the fan Mexico doesn't smell like any rose.

Sure, Canelo is still the biggest sports star in Mexico but his glow is beginning to dim. Mexicans see it.They're a fatalistic lot anyway. That's why they like to give the middle finger to The Grim Reaper as he passes by.Life can't be taken that seriously even if Canelo Alvarez is the champion of the world. He ain't paying anyone's rent and sure enough his poop smells like yours and mine.

So with The New World Order being unorderly and in free fall this fight with Canelo and Charlo is something to pass the time south of the border.If Canelo wins he wins,if he loses no one will be interested with what anyone on the television has to say about it.Tomorrow is good enough for me.



This song was banned in Mexico

Into The Whirlwind

It would be hard to imagine a major league baseball player having no prior experience playing baseball-no little league,high school ball, no stints in the minors or on a college team. It would be impossible to have never played baseball in one's youth to make the roster of the New York Yankees.That's a no brainer. You can make the same case for a pigskinner in the NFL and ditto for a round baller in the NBA.You don't learn your trade cold turkey. You could have won the decatholon Gold at the Olympics but you ain't gonna' step into the ring without a fight under your belt and beat Canelo Alvarez in a boxing match. Take it a step further-that goes for a tomato can too.

I talk about the lack of quality trainers in the pro ranks.How about the lack of guys who know the ropes in the amateurs? A lack of amateur experience,or none;few if any savvy trainers; that translates to driving a Hyundai instead of a Ferrari.But it's hard to tell because everyone's driving on the same oval.

When Terence Crawford overwhelmed Errol Spence it was the age old question:Was Bud that good or Errol that bad?But Spence was supposed to be the number one contender. He didn't look like one.


In Mexico it's a country, that's to put it nicely, is comprised of mostly poor people. Sometimes a kid goes to school but when him and his family don't have enough pesos t to just survive,the kid puts school on the back burner and goes out into the cruel world and works by any means necessary.If the kid thinks he can make it as a fighter he wants to get paid right away.Forget this amateur stuff fighting for free. That's dumb.

That's why you see a lot of Mexican fighters who start out fighting pro with no amateur resume and if they taste success they continue upward.Hell, they're fighting guys like themselves anyway.

But often it gets kind of dicey. For example I saw Baby Vasquez,with more than a hundred fights behind him ,get into the ring with some fella' who had never had one pro fight. Gaspar Ortega fought a lot of guys like that towards the end.

Sure it's a mismatch but everybody knows the score going in.When you don't have enough money to put food on the table it's no big deal to take a beating so everyone in the family can have some meat with their meal to go alongside the beans.


Gaspar Ortega