Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
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Sandstone, Minn. - He shakes your hand with the kind of grip that would make a brick cry. FCI Sandstone inmate No. 11172-030, the quiet man with the shaved head and easy smile, tells you he's a grandfather, yet he doesn't look a day over 35.
"If I never fight again in my life, I'm the happiest man in the world," Michael Nunn says. He shifts a bit in his chair, then leans forward. Slowly. "I'm a two-time world champion. You can't ever take that from me."
It was 20 years ago this month - July 1988 - that Nunn, a tough kid from inner-city Davenport, became the talk of the boxing world. Rows of jaws at Caesars Palace dropped like coins in a slot. Nunn scored a ninth-round TKO of Frank Tate, the former Olympic gold medalist, to claim the IBF middleweight title.
Iowa's first professional boxing world champion, Nunn added a WBA super middleweight crown a few years later. In all, he won 58 fights, lost four, and recorded 38 knockouts. He reportedly earned at least $6 million.
He hung out with movie stars. He captained a fleet of fancy cars. He was going to be the next Sugar Ray Leonard. The canvas was his canvas, the world his easel.
Tomorrow morning, he will be handed a paintbrush.
Michael "Second To" Nunn reports to a paint crew at 7 a.m. Jobs for inmates at the federal prison in Sandstone, Minn., typically pay between 12 cents and 41 cents per hour, depending on the assignment.
"That life, it's over with," the 45-year-old says, leaning back in the chair, eyes downcast. "It's caused me a lot of pain. You know what I'm saying?"
The local kid who talks with his fists climbs the ladder to the top of the boxing world, only to watch rung after rung snap beneath his feet. Sex. Drugs. Violence. A 24-year prison sentence for cocaine trafficking.
There's a book in Nunn's story, maybe even a movie script, buried among the pathos. He promises that the final chapter will be different, that there will be redemption, a happy ending. The kind that Hollywood producers eat for breakfast.
You don't have to forgive him. You don't have to trust him. You don't have to like him, although it will be awfully, awfully hard not to.
All Michael John Nunn asks is that you remember him. Remember the good with the bad. Remember the lessons.
"A lot of these guys (in prison)," Nunn says, "they (talk about) it. But I lived that life."
'Almost perfect'
He had all the tools. Tall. Left-handed. Six-foot-two with great reach. In his prime, he was poetry. Feet borrowed from Fred Astaire, a jab like a jackhammer.
"As a boxer, a pure boxer," boxing analyst Al Bernstein says of Nunn, "he was almost perfect."
"There were times, earlier in his career, you couldn't hit him with the backside of a buckshot," adds Bert Sugar, the longtime boxing historian and author. "He could move."
And he could charm. Young, handsome and athletically gifted, Nunn seemed tailor-made for Madison Avenue. He hobnobbed with actors Gene Hackman and Michael J. Fox. He offered boxing tips to a young Michael Jordan. He was honored at the state Capitol in 1991. He was a good talker. And an even better listener.
"Whether it was sitting with people that waited on tables or presidents of networks or casinos, he always seemed to fit in," says veteran boxing promoter Dan Goossen, who managed Nunn during his first professional ascent. "He made people feel comfortable. He had the ability to speak to kings and queens as equally as the common man.
"That's the disappointment. That's what Michael lost out on. That's what a lot of people lost out on. You hang out with rats, you're going to eat cheese."
Which was the greater tragedy: That the rats finally did Nunn in? Or that he let them? When asked about the January 2004 sentencing - 292 months in federal prison for buying cocaine from an undercover agent - Nunn says the responsibility rests squarely on his shoulders.
"I wasn't supposed to be here, but I am here," he explains. "I did wrong. I told the judge, 'I did wrong.' I made a mistake. I'm paying for my mistakes. I blame me. I hold myself accountable for the things that I've done."
There are no promises, no guarantees, but Neal Randolph Lewis, a Miami attorney, says he has at least one more appeal in the works on Nunn's behalf.
"As a professional boxer, he's got some skills that I think they were concerned about, initially," Lewis says. "But I think he's shown them that he's a really good prisoner."
FCI Sandstone is Nunn's third prison in nearly five years. A low-security facility for male offenders, it sits roughly 90 miles north of the Twin Cities. The campus is a concrete island amid an emerald ocean of birches and pines, not far from Banning State Park, nestled at the end of a two-lane road just outside town.
"This here," Nunn says, "is a kiddie camp compared to places I've been."
He rises at 6:30 a.m., assuming this is a typical day, and devotes most of the morning to work. Lunch comes around 11:30. Give or take.
If Nunn isn't running, he's reading. The Bible and motivational texts are his favorites. At last count, he had close to two dozen books within arm's reach. He spends afternoons in class, and expects to complete his GED before the end of the summer.
"Go to school. Get an education," Nunn says. "There's no money in the world that's worth being in jail. It didn't have to be like this. This is what happens when you make bad choices."
He still gets letters. Letters from friends, letters from fans. Maybe 25 to 30 a month. They ask how he's doing. They ask about life in prison. They tell him to keep his head up, to keep fighting.
He says he writes every one of them back.
"I feel it's my duty," Nunn says. "You feel good that people still think about you. Makes you feel truly blessed. Makes you want to do the right thing. I don't want people to think of me and say that 'He was a drug dealer.' I don't want to paint the wrong picture to the kids.
"I want to right my wrongs. You put that in there."
'Nunn was an original'
Alvino Pena's place, the Davenport Boxing Club, drips history. And paint chips.
The wood is creaky and rotting in places. Some of the ceiling tiles look as if they've gone 12 rounds. If the walls could talk, they'd stutter.
And yet some of the best fighters in the state have cut their teeth here, Nunn chief among them.
Michael moved to the Quad Cities from Mississippi when he was 3 months old. He was raised by his mother, Madies, and never knew his father.
He drifted. Scuffled. Stole. He might not have been a bad kid, but he certainly ran with a bad crowd.
A cousin, Marshall Jackson, suggested he channel that aggression constructively. Nunn was eventually steered toward Pena's club in downtown Davenport.
"He was a fast fighter," Pena says. "He could move around like nothing. He's jabbing with the right hand (and) because he's a lefty, you could never see it coming. Jab-jab-jab, you know?"
Nunn won three Iowa Golden Gloves titles and posted an amateur record of 168-8. The rest reads like a local fairy tale, Cinderella with a heavy bag: He was one victory away from making the U.S. Olympic team in 1984; eventually discovered by Bob Surkein, an amateur official and Olympic referee who lived in Moline; and later introduced by Surkein to Goossen and a new management team from California, known as Ten Goose Boxing.
The Goossens moved him west. They groomed him to be a star. An unpolished gem was handed a ticket out of town on the back of a golden goose.
"I don't know how the heck he could have got into trouble and everything," Pena says. "He could have been champion of the world right now, if he wouldn't have been (in prison). I know he would, if he could have stayed out of there."
Pena says he and Nunn have remained close over the years, yet there is little of the former champ to be found around the club. Michael's name was prominently painted on a sign inside the front window, but the name was mysteriously blacked out a few years ago and has never been repaired.
There used to be picture of Nunn on one of the walls, Pena says, but it's gone, now, too. A few browning newspaper clippings of the glory years are all that's left.
That and word of mouth.
"People that are good are originals," says fighter Josh 'Jungle Man' Jungjohann, a 32-year-old Rock Island native. "All the standouts in any sport, they're originals. And Nunn was an original."
In another corner of the room, Donovan Dennis, a 20-year-old heavyweight from Davenport who's one of Pena's next up-and-comers, says he's seen clips of Nunn's biggest fights on YouTube. And while he's never met him, he'd like to.
"If he was like a mentor to the kids, he'd help keep the wrong ones focused," Dennis says. "I think he should get his story out there, though, so the kids here don't go down the same road."
'He got used a lot'
The road is long. Long and winding. It curls from Las Vegas to Los Angeles to Miami and back again, yet it always swings through Davenport. And the farther down you go, the deeper the potholes become.
On May 10, 1991, Nunn was still clinging to the pinnacle, but only by a couple of pinkies. He'd split from the Goossens acrimoniously. He'd beaten Iran Barkley, Marlon Starling and Donald Curry to retain his IBF title, but few had come away impressed.
Still, he was a 20-to-1 favorite to hang on to his belt, in his hometown, against challenger James Toney, with famed trainer Angelo Dundee in his corner. The stars were aligned.
Or so everyone thought.
He'd fought crisply for the first five rounds at John O'Donnell Stadium, but was beginning to tire by the seventh. In the 11th, Nunn dropped his hands for a split second.
That was all the time it took for Toney to plant a left hook that sent him sprawling.
"My God, he was kicking the snot out of the guy," Dundee says now. "And he got hit with an inside left hook. He didn't see it."
Nunn lost the title. The big purses shrank. The downward spiral picked up speed.
Federal court records show that between April 1983 and April 2002, Nunn was cited at least 28 times by law enforcement in Iowa, Illinois or California, with charges ranging from driving under a suspended license to assault.
All but three of the incidents took place after the loss to Toney, and in nine cases, he was either found guilty or pleaded guilty.
The knockout blow came in the fall of 2002. Nunn hadn't had a title bout since losing a split decision to Graciano Rocchigiani in 1998. He was in his late 30s and had put on weight. Personal debts were mounting; he'd filed for bankruptcy in March 1995.
On Aug. 6, Nunn and another individual agreed to meet at a Davenport hotel with a man who turned out to be an undercover FBI drug agent. According to affidavits filed in federal court, when presented with 2.2 pounds of cocaine from out of state, Nunn told the undercover officer that he could sell it in a couple of weeks. Nunn reportedly took the package, stuffed it down the front of his pants, and turned the corner to leave.
While in the hotel's hallway, the former champion was approached by law enforcement officers, who identified themselves and ordered him to the ground. He eventually pleaded guilty to one count of conspiracy to distribute cocaine.
It's here that things start to get a little hazy. While Nunn has denied drug use for decades, and maintains that stance to this day ("I never used drugs," he says. "To be a drug dealer, you don't have to use drugs"), a court-ordered substance abuse evaluation directly contradicts him. The report indicates that Nunn had occasionally used marijuana since the age of 17, and cocaine since the age of 21.
Personal foibles compounded bad business decisions, and vice versa. A vicious cycle, forever turning.
During one block party back home, at Cork Hill Park, Nunn supposedly turned up with handfuls of $50 and $100 bills and simply threw them up in the air for the local kids to chase. Court records in 1995 showed Nunn had accumulated debts of $4.66 million against assets of $647,575.
It became a feeding frenzy. The Internal Revenue Service claimed $81,984 in unpaid federal income taxes from 1992 and 1993. Three Davenport women claimed he owed $46,517 in child support. Another Davenport woman who allegedly lived with Nunn in California made a $200,000 claim in palimony. Don King, Nunn's former promoter, also put in a claim for $1 million.
When you ask about the money, Nunn respectfully declines to address specifics. Old wounds.
"Money's a good thing to have; you have to know how to take care of it," he says, the pain of hindsight dangling from every word. "Everybody who shakes your hand is not your friend."
Nunn admits that he did not choose his company wisely. As a young man, he had chased the good life, embraced it with two mighty arms, and watched it turn around and swallow him whole.
"I think his problem was that he didn't see what other people were possibly doing to him and what he was doing to himself," says Chicago attorney Anthony Schumann, one of Nunn's former lawyers. "And it appeared to me, over the course of representing him, that he got used a lot. By a lot of people."
What if Nunn had said no? What if he'd stayed away from Davenport, kept his nose clean? Where would he be now? Not Sandstone, surely. Television analyst? Coach? The star of some cable network reality show? Would every 21st century bachelor pad have an electric grill that bore his name instead of George Foreman's?
"If you're around bad," Nunn says, "you're going to get bad."
In retrospect, the decision to leave Ten Goossen in 1990 was the one that probably proved the most costly. Dan Goossen had offered Nunn an 80-20 split of future winnings, a fairly generous cut by industry standards.
A deal was reached with casino magnate Steve Wynn; Goossen says that he was even pitching Nunn to the powerful Creative Artists Agency, whose stable of sports stars these days includes names such as LeBron James, Peyton Manning, Derek Jeter and Jimmie Johnson.
But Nunn's friends and family in Davenport had different ideas, and urged him to walk away.
He did.
The golden goose was cooked.
"Davenport," Nunn says, "has been my nightmare in a way."
'It's like I'm gone'
You don't have to pity him. That's not why he's talking. What's passed has passed.
He doesn't want you to feel sorry for him, either, even though he misses his family like crazy, and they miss him right back.
Madies did not respond to the Sunday Register's request for an interview, but Jackson says Nunn speaks to his mother on a daily basis.
"I get a little upset talking about him," Jackson says. "That's my family. I love him, I always will love him, but that's tough. I think about him every day."
So does Goossen.
"It's not that Michael Nunn blew through double-digit millions," says the promoter, who would eventually reconcile with his old client. "It's not a tragedy because he may not go to the (Boxing) Hall of Fame.
"He just was too good of a man to put himself in that position, where he's not there to be able to touch people and touch their lives and make them feel special. That's the tragedy."
That's the lesson.
Today, Michael Nunn is out of sight and out of mind. A legend and a whisper.
A whisper that waits. A whisper that hopes.
"It's like I'm gone," Nunn says, softly. "And I'm not gone."
Sandstone, Minn. - He shakes your hand with the kind of grip that would make a brick cry. FCI Sandstone inmate No. 11172-030, the quiet man with the shaved head and easy smile, tells you he's a grandfather, yet he doesn't look a day over 35.
"If I never fight again in my life, I'm the happiest man in the world," Michael Nunn says. He shifts a bit in his chair, then leans forward. Slowly. "I'm a two-time world champion. You can't ever take that from me."
It was 20 years ago this month - July 1988 - that Nunn, a tough kid from inner-city Davenport, became the talk of the boxing world. Rows of jaws at Caesars Palace dropped like coins in a slot. Nunn scored a ninth-round TKO of Frank Tate, the former Olympic gold medalist, to claim the IBF middleweight title.
Iowa's first professional boxing world champion, Nunn added a WBA super middleweight crown a few years later. In all, he won 58 fights, lost four, and recorded 38 knockouts. He reportedly earned at least $6 million.
He hung out with movie stars. He captained a fleet of fancy cars. He was going to be the next Sugar Ray Leonard. The canvas was his canvas, the world his easel.
Tomorrow morning, he will be handed a paintbrush.
Michael "Second To" Nunn reports to a paint crew at 7 a.m. Jobs for inmates at the federal prison in Sandstone, Minn., typically pay between 12 cents and 41 cents per hour, depending on the assignment.
"That life, it's over with," the 45-year-old says, leaning back in the chair, eyes downcast. "It's caused me a lot of pain. You know what I'm saying?"
The local kid who talks with his fists climbs the ladder to the top of the boxing world, only to watch rung after rung snap beneath his feet. Sex. Drugs. Violence. A 24-year prison sentence for cocaine trafficking.
There's a book in Nunn's story, maybe even a movie script, buried among the pathos. He promises that the final chapter will be different, that there will be redemption, a happy ending. The kind that Hollywood producers eat for breakfast.
You don't have to forgive him. You don't have to trust him. You don't have to like him, although it will be awfully, awfully hard not to.
All Michael John Nunn asks is that you remember him. Remember the good with the bad. Remember the lessons.
"A lot of these guys (in prison)," Nunn says, "they (talk about) it. But I lived that life."
'Almost perfect'
He had all the tools. Tall. Left-handed. Six-foot-two with great reach. In his prime, he was poetry. Feet borrowed from Fred Astaire, a jab like a jackhammer.
"As a boxer, a pure boxer," boxing analyst Al Bernstein says of Nunn, "he was almost perfect."
"There were times, earlier in his career, you couldn't hit him with the backside of a buckshot," adds Bert Sugar, the longtime boxing historian and author. "He could move."
And he could charm. Young, handsome and athletically gifted, Nunn seemed tailor-made for Madison Avenue. He hobnobbed with actors Gene Hackman and Michael J. Fox. He offered boxing tips to a young Michael Jordan. He was honored at the state Capitol in 1991. He was a good talker. And an even better listener.
"Whether it was sitting with people that waited on tables or presidents of networks or casinos, he always seemed to fit in," says veteran boxing promoter Dan Goossen, who managed Nunn during his first professional ascent. "He made people feel comfortable. He had the ability to speak to kings and queens as equally as the common man.
"That's the disappointment. That's what Michael lost out on. That's what a lot of people lost out on. You hang out with rats, you're going to eat cheese."
Which was the greater tragedy: That the rats finally did Nunn in? Or that he let them? When asked about the January 2004 sentencing - 292 months in federal prison for buying cocaine from an undercover agent - Nunn says the responsibility rests squarely on his shoulders.
"I wasn't supposed to be here, but I am here," he explains. "I did wrong. I told the judge, 'I did wrong.' I made a mistake. I'm paying for my mistakes. I blame me. I hold myself accountable for the things that I've done."
There are no promises, no guarantees, but Neal Randolph Lewis, a Miami attorney, says he has at least one more appeal in the works on Nunn's behalf.
"As a professional boxer, he's got some skills that I think they were concerned about, initially," Lewis says. "But I think he's shown them that he's a really good prisoner."
FCI Sandstone is Nunn's third prison in nearly five years. A low-security facility for male offenders, it sits roughly 90 miles north of the Twin Cities. The campus is a concrete island amid an emerald ocean of birches and pines, not far from Banning State Park, nestled at the end of a two-lane road just outside town.
"This here," Nunn says, "is a kiddie camp compared to places I've been."
He rises at 6:30 a.m., assuming this is a typical day, and devotes most of the morning to work. Lunch comes around 11:30. Give or take.
If Nunn isn't running, he's reading. The Bible and motivational texts are his favorites. At last count, he had close to two dozen books within arm's reach. He spends afternoons in class, and expects to complete his GED before the end of the summer.
"Go to school. Get an education," Nunn says. "There's no money in the world that's worth being in jail. It didn't have to be like this. This is what happens when you make bad choices."
He still gets letters. Letters from friends, letters from fans. Maybe 25 to 30 a month. They ask how he's doing. They ask about life in prison. They tell him to keep his head up, to keep fighting.
He says he writes every one of them back.
"I feel it's my duty," Nunn says. "You feel good that people still think about you. Makes you feel truly blessed. Makes you want to do the right thing. I don't want people to think of me and say that 'He was a drug dealer.' I don't want to paint the wrong picture to the kids.
"I want to right my wrongs. You put that in there."
'Nunn was an original'
Alvino Pena's place, the Davenport Boxing Club, drips history. And paint chips.
The wood is creaky and rotting in places. Some of the ceiling tiles look as if they've gone 12 rounds. If the walls could talk, they'd stutter.
And yet some of the best fighters in the state have cut their teeth here, Nunn chief among them.
Michael moved to the Quad Cities from Mississippi when he was 3 months old. He was raised by his mother, Madies, and never knew his father.
He drifted. Scuffled. Stole. He might not have been a bad kid, but he certainly ran with a bad crowd.
A cousin, Marshall Jackson, suggested he channel that aggression constructively. Nunn was eventually steered toward Pena's club in downtown Davenport.
"He was a fast fighter," Pena says. "He could move around like nothing. He's jabbing with the right hand (and) because he's a lefty, you could never see it coming. Jab-jab-jab, you know?"
Nunn won three Iowa Golden Gloves titles and posted an amateur record of 168-8. The rest reads like a local fairy tale, Cinderella with a heavy bag: He was one victory away from making the U.S. Olympic team in 1984; eventually discovered by Bob Surkein, an amateur official and Olympic referee who lived in Moline; and later introduced by Surkein to Goossen and a new management team from California, known as Ten Goose Boxing.
The Goossens moved him west. They groomed him to be a star. An unpolished gem was handed a ticket out of town on the back of a golden goose.
"I don't know how the heck he could have got into trouble and everything," Pena says. "He could have been champion of the world right now, if he wouldn't have been (in prison). I know he would, if he could have stayed out of there."
Pena says he and Nunn have remained close over the years, yet there is little of the former champ to be found around the club. Michael's name was prominently painted on a sign inside the front window, but the name was mysteriously blacked out a few years ago and has never been repaired.
There used to be picture of Nunn on one of the walls, Pena says, but it's gone, now, too. A few browning newspaper clippings of the glory years are all that's left.
That and word of mouth.
"People that are good are originals," says fighter Josh 'Jungle Man' Jungjohann, a 32-year-old Rock Island native. "All the standouts in any sport, they're originals. And Nunn was an original."
In another corner of the room, Donovan Dennis, a 20-year-old heavyweight from Davenport who's one of Pena's next up-and-comers, says he's seen clips of Nunn's biggest fights on YouTube. And while he's never met him, he'd like to.
"If he was like a mentor to the kids, he'd help keep the wrong ones focused," Dennis says. "I think he should get his story out there, though, so the kids here don't go down the same road."
'He got used a lot'
The road is long. Long and winding. It curls from Las Vegas to Los Angeles to Miami and back again, yet it always swings through Davenport. And the farther down you go, the deeper the potholes become.
On May 10, 1991, Nunn was still clinging to the pinnacle, but only by a couple of pinkies. He'd split from the Goossens acrimoniously. He'd beaten Iran Barkley, Marlon Starling and Donald Curry to retain his IBF title, but few had come away impressed.
Still, he was a 20-to-1 favorite to hang on to his belt, in his hometown, against challenger James Toney, with famed trainer Angelo Dundee in his corner. The stars were aligned.
Or so everyone thought.
He'd fought crisply for the first five rounds at John O'Donnell Stadium, but was beginning to tire by the seventh. In the 11th, Nunn dropped his hands for a split second.
That was all the time it took for Toney to plant a left hook that sent him sprawling.
"My God, he was kicking the snot out of the guy," Dundee says now. "And he got hit with an inside left hook. He didn't see it."
Nunn lost the title. The big purses shrank. The downward spiral picked up speed.
Federal court records show that between April 1983 and April 2002, Nunn was cited at least 28 times by law enforcement in Iowa, Illinois or California, with charges ranging from driving under a suspended license to assault.
All but three of the incidents took place after the loss to Toney, and in nine cases, he was either found guilty or pleaded guilty.
The knockout blow came in the fall of 2002. Nunn hadn't had a title bout since losing a split decision to Graciano Rocchigiani in 1998. He was in his late 30s and had put on weight. Personal debts were mounting; he'd filed for bankruptcy in March 1995.
On Aug. 6, Nunn and another individual agreed to meet at a Davenport hotel with a man who turned out to be an undercover FBI drug agent. According to affidavits filed in federal court, when presented with 2.2 pounds of cocaine from out of state, Nunn told the undercover officer that he could sell it in a couple of weeks. Nunn reportedly took the package, stuffed it down the front of his pants, and turned the corner to leave.
While in the hotel's hallway, the former champion was approached by law enforcement officers, who identified themselves and ordered him to the ground. He eventually pleaded guilty to one count of conspiracy to distribute cocaine.
It's here that things start to get a little hazy. While Nunn has denied drug use for decades, and maintains that stance to this day ("I never used drugs," he says. "To be a drug dealer, you don't have to use drugs"), a court-ordered substance abuse evaluation directly contradicts him. The report indicates that Nunn had occasionally used marijuana since the age of 17, and cocaine since the age of 21.
Personal foibles compounded bad business decisions, and vice versa. A vicious cycle, forever turning.
During one block party back home, at Cork Hill Park, Nunn supposedly turned up with handfuls of $50 and $100 bills and simply threw them up in the air for the local kids to chase. Court records in 1995 showed Nunn had accumulated debts of $4.66 million against assets of $647,575.
It became a feeding frenzy. The Internal Revenue Service claimed $81,984 in unpaid federal income taxes from 1992 and 1993. Three Davenport women claimed he owed $46,517 in child support. Another Davenport woman who allegedly lived with Nunn in California made a $200,000 claim in palimony. Don King, Nunn's former promoter, also put in a claim for $1 million.
When you ask about the money, Nunn respectfully declines to address specifics. Old wounds.
"Money's a good thing to have; you have to know how to take care of it," he says, the pain of hindsight dangling from every word. "Everybody who shakes your hand is not your friend."
Nunn admits that he did not choose his company wisely. As a young man, he had chased the good life, embraced it with two mighty arms, and watched it turn around and swallow him whole.
"I think his problem was that he didn't see what other people were possibly doing to him and what he was doing to himself," says Chicago attorney Anthony Schumann, one of Nunn's former lawyers. "And it appeared to me, over the course of representing him, that he got used a lot. By a lot of people."
What if Nunn had said no? What if he'd stayed away from Davenport, kept his nose clean? Where would he be now? Not Sandstone, surely. Television analyst? Coach? The star of some cable network reality show? Would every 21st century bachelor pad have an electric grill that bore his name instead of George Foreman's?
"If you're around bad," Nunn says, "you're going to get bad."
In retrospect, the decision to leave Ten Goossen in 1990 was the one that probably proved the most costly. Dan Goossen had offered Nunn an 80-20 split of future winnings, a fairly generous cut by industry standards.
A deal was reached with casino magnate Steve Wynn; Goossen says that he was even pitching Nunn to the powerful Creative Artists Agency, whose stable of sports stars these days includes names such as LeBron James, Peyton Manning, Derek Jeter and Jimmie Johnson.
But Nunn's friends and family in Davenport had different ideas, and urged him to walk away.
He did.
The golden goose was cooked.
"Davenport," Nunn says, "has been my nightmare in a way."
'It's like I'm gone'
You don't have to pity him. That's not why he's talking. What's passed has passed.
He doesn't want you to feel sorry for him, either, even though he misses his family like crazy, and they miss him right back.
Madies did not respond to the Sunday Register's request for an interview, but Jackson says Nunn speaks to his mother on a daily basis.
"I get a little upset talking about him," Jackson says. "That's my family. I love him, I always will love him, but that's tough. I think about him every day."
So does Goossen.
"It's not that Michael Nunn blew through double-digit millions," says the promoter, who would eventually reconcile with his old client. "It's not a tragedy because he may not go to the (Boxing) Hall of Fame.
"He just was too good of a man to put himself in that position, where he's not there to be able to touch people and touch their lives and make them feel special. That's the tragedy."
That's the lesson.
Today, Michael Nunn is out of sight and out of mind. A legend and a whisper.
A whisper that waits. A whisper that hopes.
"It's like I'm gone," Nunn says, softly. "And I'm not gone."
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E
- Heavyweight

Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
24 years is a disgracefully log sentence for drug dealing / trafficking. It's not as if he was Pablo Escobar or a murderer. The US penal system is far too harsh.
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
KOTV are doing a short piece on Nunn in tonights show.
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Captain Hook
- Heavyweight

- Posts: 4730
- Joined: 07 May 2007, 09:40
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
Cheers for that Butch, I'm a big fan of Nunn (his boxing)
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
Harsh sentances are typical in the US and 24 years means 24 years and life means life.E wrote:24 years is a disgracefully log sentence for drug dealing / trafficking. It's not as if he was Pablo Escobar or a murderer. The US penal system is far too harsh.
Their system is far more about locking folk up and throwing away the key rather than rehabilition.
Our system often seems too soft, however their system does not serve as a deterrent as they have about the highest lock up rate in the Western world.
Saying that the Yanks don't have to worry about the proper scum walking the streets again
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
Plus, wasn't it his third strike? I mean, the dude had chances to stay on the straight and narrow.
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
And he was caught with a kilo of the shit too
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
"Erm, it's for personal use, Officer".
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
On top of this the report said he was in court 28 times over the years, not to mention how many times he was nicked.
I presume there are a certain percentage of folk from ghetto conditions who claim they are a product of their enviroment, and it is true that choices are limited for these people.
However Nunn had god given talent, he had every opportunity to have everything, and essentially he did have it all.
For people like him to throw all this away is unforgivable, and they can't compare themselves to the usual ghetto folk because the Nunn's of this world had real choices.
Perhaps the truth lies in the old saying 'You can take the man out of the ghetto, but you can't take the ghetto out of the man"
I presume there are a certain percentage of folk from ghetto conditions who claim they are a product of their enviroment, and it is true that choices are limited for these people.
However Nunn had god given talent, he had every opportunity to have everything, and essentially he did have it all.
For people like him to throw all this away is unforgivable, and they can't compare themselves to the usual ghetto folk because the Nunn's of this world had real choices.
Perhaps the truth lies in the old saying 'You can take the man out of the ghetto, but you can't take the ghetto out of the man"
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hitman_hatton1
- Heavyweight

- Posts: 6150
- Joined: 26 Nov 2003, 20:57
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
try and get hold of the frank tate fight if you've never seen it.
nunn was brilliant in that fight.
only got himself to blame for where he is now though.
nunn was brilliant in that fight.
only got himself to blame for where he is now though.
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Old bones Ian
- Heavyweight

- Posts: 11806
- Joined: 13 Jul 2004, 07:33
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
Nunn was one of those guys where boxing came easy, maybe that was one of his problems so much natural talent he didn't think he had to work so hard as others.
Against Frank Tate he was untouchable, completly dominated the unbeaten Tate. Looking back that was probably his best complete performance. He did chin the excellent Kalambay in a round, but for me the Tate one was Nunn at his best.
Then he never seemed to quite hit those heights again, under performed against Starling and Barkley, then dominated Toney before getting caught, I don't think he trained hard enough for those fights, just thought he could coast and not worry.
He won the supermiddle title, but never really looked the same fighter again, and lost it to Steve Little, which has to be one of the biggest upsets ever in this country.
Another case of a boxer spending all his money and looking for a quick way back to some cash.
Against Frank Tate he was untouchable, completly dominated the unbeaten Tate. Looking back that was probably his best complete performance. He did chin the excellent Kalambay in a round, but for me the Tate one was Nunn at his best.
Then he never seemed to quite hit those heights again, under performed against Starling and Barkley, then dominated Toney before getting caught, I don't think he trained hard enough for those fights, just thought he could coast and not worry.
He won the supermiddle title, but never really looked the same fighter again, and lost it to Steve Little, which has to be one of the biggest upsets ever in this country.
Another case of a boxer spending all his money and looking for a quick way back to some cash.
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MightyWarrior
- Heavyweight

- Posts: 13284
- Joined: 23 Jan 2003, 14:01
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
Well the undercover narc didn't help much either! ho hohitman_hatton1 wrote:
only got himself to blame for where he is now though.
A way too harsh sentence, half that might have been fairer. Wouldn't he be out in 12 with good behaviour? Not a bad man by most accounts, and those 28 "offences" were probably pretty minor, with him just pissing off the local sheriff dept more likely - driving his flash car too fast etc
You don't hear exactly what they were, so can assume they weren't violent, as that would 100% make the news.
Good writer who penned that article, should have been longer.
You just knew James Toney must be the real deal, when he flattened a talent like Michael Nunn.
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Old bones Ian
- Heavyweight

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Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
I noticed in the report it said Nunn was offered cocaine from 'out of state', so would this have a bearing on his sentence?
Also this is the appeal hearing for one of the accused with Nunn, doesn't show Nunn in a good light.
http://bulk.resource.org/courts.gov/c/F ... -3175.html
Also this is the appeal hearing for one of the accused with Nunn, doesn't show Nunn in a good light.
http://bulk.resource.org/courts.gov/c/F ... -3175.html
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
They might have been able to argue he was trafficking across state lines.Old bones Ian wrote:I noticed in the report it said Nunn was offered cocaine from 'out of state', so would this have a bearing on his sentence?
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
The judge must have seen a few of his fights.
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jamesmcdonnell
- Heavyweight

- Posts: 45233
- Joined: 12 Nov 2003, 06:11
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
]Coco wrote:On top of this the report said he was in court 28 times over the years, not to mention how many times he was nicked.
I presume there are a certain percentage of folk from ghetto conditions who claim they are a product of their enviroment, and it is true that choices are limited for these people.
However Nunn had god given talent, he had every opportunity to have everything, and essentially he did have it all.
For people like him to throw all this away is unforgivable, and they can't compare themselves to the usual ghetto folk because the Nunn's of this world had real choices.
Perhaps the truth lies in the old saying 'You can take the man out of the ghetto, but you can't take the ghetto out of the man"
Cocaine addiction is a mighy powerful thing, and makes people make very bad choices.
24 years is still a very very long time in my opinion, too long for drug offences, christ, you would get less for rape or murder.
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
I don't disagree with the harshness of the sentance, but then Nunn would know what the usual penalties in his areas are. In the US rape and murder would be life or the chair.
It is only in Britain where life meaans 14 years
It is only in Britain where life meaans 14 years
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forcefraser
- Heavyweight

- Posts: 5447
- Joined: 17 Jun 2008, 06:15
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
The length of the sentence does not seem to stop the murders or rapes though. That is one messed up society over there.
24 years for being entrapped into buying 2lbs of coke from an undercover cop is bullshit in my book.
It`s supply and demand. If people did not take coke, no one would sell it. It`s is a drug of choice used for recreation, not like heroin.
You should get 5 years max for what he did. Why ruin his life over it?
24 years for being entrapped into buying 2lbs of coke from an undercover cop is bullshit in my book.
It`s supply and demand. If people did not take coke, no one would sell it. It`s is a drug of choice used for recreation, not like heroin.
You should get 5 years max for what he did. Why ruin his life over it?
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
It doesn't stop it, their system is far more about throwing away the key rather than rehabilitation.forcefraser wrote:The length of the sentence does not seem to stop the murders or rapes though. That is one messed up society over there.
24 years for being entrapped into buying 2lbs of coke from an undercover cop is bullshit in my book.
It`s supply and demand. If people did not take coke, no one would sell it. It`s is a drug of choice used for recreation, not like heroin.
You should get 5 years max for what he did. Why ruin his life over it?
Saying that Nunn had plenty of chances as his extensive arrest record shows. It seems the only way to stop him was to bang him up
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black panther
- Heavyweight

- Posts: 4097
- Joined: 11 Dec 2003, 07:06
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
Thanks for the article - really sad to see such a great boxer end up this way. But I agree the sentence he recieved was far too long when there are so many rapists and murders about. Also wasn't Nunn using himself? If yes then its downright wrong that he should get such a long sentence based on his taking of the 2lbs of coke from the cop. Any addict would take that amount off someones hands in a heartbeat - does that mean they should all get 25 years?
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
Well.... that is the question he should have asked himself before he did what he did.forcefraser wrote:Why ruin his life over it?
If you don't want 24 years in jail in the US, then don't deal in Class A illegal drugs.
It's not hard is it........
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
I know you shouldn't judge a man on his appaerance, but I was very surprised to here of his fall. He seemed well spoken, articulate and intelligent in his interviews.
Although having said that, I did think he sounded a bit doped up when he came over to watch Benn vs Eubank II.
Although having said that, I did think he sounded a bit doped up when he came over to watch Benn vs Eubank II.
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Old bones Ian
- Heavyweight

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- Joined: 13 Jul 2004, 07:33
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
I know what your saying Terry, when re watching the fight Toney definatly had a plan, but it was still a shock to see Nunn get KO'd by that shot.
Nunn was leading 97-93, 99-91 and 98-92 at the time of the stoppage.
Nunn was leading 97-93, 99-91 and 98-92 at the time of the stoppage.
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
Toney won the fight fair and square but Nunn was handing Toney a sound whipping until he got tagged.
Yeah, Nunn's win over Tate was class. Even Mills Lane's outrageous :x long count couldn't stop Nunn that night.
Yeah, Nunn's win over Tate was class. Even Mills Lane's outrageous :x long count couldn't stop Nunn that night.
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jamesmcdonnell
- Heavyweight

- Posts: 45233
- Joined: 12 Nov 2003, 06:11
Re: Rise and fall of boxing champion Michael Nunn
My thoughts precisely.forcefraser wrote:The length of the sentence does not seem to stop the murders or rapes though. That is one messed up society over there.
24 years for being entrapped into buying 2lbs of coke from an undercover cop is bullshit in my book.
It`s supply and demand. If people did not take coke, no one would sell it. It`s is a drug of choice used for recreation, not like heroin.
You should get 5 years max for what he did. Why ruin his life over it?
I do coke, not because people push it onto me, but because I choose to do it. I seek people out who can supply me with it.
Legalise drugs, take the middle men out of the equation, and then governments can use the tax money they make off the top, and invest it in health services.
Suddenly there are no drug criminals to pursue, no money to waste on pointless prosecutions, and more money in the coffers to treat the ill effects of drug consumption.
All the evidence so far gathered shows a direct correlation between criminalisation of drugs, and increased consumption, so what is the point in pursuing that?
You do not get life for rape in the states, in fact, every state has its own legislature, so how could this be true. Murderers do not automatically get life either, that is not correct.
In the US, they will sling your arse in jail for smoking reefer if they catch you 3 times, completely ridiculous!