The

Arc of Boxing
The Rise and Decline of the Sweet Science

Mike Silver

with a foreword by Budd Schulberg

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers

Jefferson, North Carolina, and London
 Unless otherwise noted, all photographs are from the author’s collection.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGUING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Silver, Mike.

The arc of boxing : the rise and decline of the sweet science / Mike Silver ; with
a foreword by Budd Schulberg.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-7864-3849-5

1. Boxing—Social aspects—History.
2. Boxing—History.
I. Title.
GV1136.8.S56 2008
796.83—dc22 2008036087

British Library cataloguing data are available ©2008 Mike Silver. All rights
reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or
by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publisher.

Cover photograph: Sugar Ray Robinson (left) and Tommy Bell in the 1946
welterweight title fight (International Hall of Champions) McFarland &
Company, Inc., Publishers

Box 611, Jefferson, North Carolina 28640

[Link]
For my mother and father
of blessed memory
 Acknowledgments

The author wishes to acknowledge the many people who were so very generous
with their time and talent. I especially would like to thank my exceptional panel
of interviewees. Mike Capriano, Jr., has been my mentor in all things boxing for
the past 28 years. I am very grateful for his friendship, guidance and for keeping
me focused on what was important. Teddy Atlas is one of the most remarkable
individuals I have ever met. I believe I am a better person for knowing him. He
has that effect on people. Bill Goodman, whom I first met in Stillman’s Gym lo
these many years ago, was a constant source of knowledge and support, as was
the indispensable Tony Arnold and his son, Erik.

I did not know Emanuel Steward and Freddie Roach on a personal level until I
contacted them and explained the concept of my book. Despite their busy
schedules, both took the time to share valuable insights. Rollie Hackmer, whom
I have had the pleasure of knowing from the time he was training Doug Jones in
the 1960s, is now retired and boxing is poorer for his absence. Ted Lidsky, a
friend since high school, has been an invaluable asset throughout. His input was
hugely helpful in organizing my thoughts, not to mention fixing the occasional
computer problem.

Generous to the extreme was Steve Lott, who opened his wonderful archive of
photos to me, as did Jim Houlihan, Lew Manfra and Gary Schultz. Also
deserving of special mention are boxing historians Dan Cuoco, Chuck Hasson,
Don Majeski, Tony Fosco, Sal Rappa, Kevin Smith, J.J. Johnston, Michael
Hunnicut, Bob Sherrick, Russel Peltz, Mike Wolf, Mike Casey, Don Cogswell,
Tony Gee, and my booster and good friend Bob Carson, a talented artist who left
us much too soon. I am also grateful for my friendship with Hank Kaplan, dean
of American boxing historians for over 50 years. Hank was always accessible
and loved to share his encyclopedic knowledge and voluminous files with other
historians. His passing in 2007 leaves a tremendous void.

I had wanted to interview international ballet star Edward Villella ever since I
read that he was a former amateur boxing champion. Writing this book gave me
that opportunity. He could not have been more helpful or down to earth, a
genuine class act.
Many thanks to the late Al Thomas, professor of English literature, boxing
maven and noted weight lifting and body building authority, for introducing me
to Terry Todd, and to Sherm Drexler for introducing me to Al. Would that it had
happened years earlier.

One of the most gratifying aspects of my work was interviewing Carlos Ortiz,
Wilbert “Skeeter” McClure, “Tiger” Ted Lowry and Ray Elson. Thanks for your
pleasant company and insightful opinions. The late Patsy Giovanelli, a former
Depression-era lightweight contender, was a friend for many years who added to
my knowledge of the “sweet science.” Boxers will always remain my favorite
athletes.

During the entire lengthy process of writing this book my devoted brother
Bennett has been a bedrock of support and a brilliant creative resource. He was
there for me at the very beginning of my obsession. He was only ten years old
when he borrowed a book from the library that he thought his big brother might
like because of his newfound interest in boxing. That book—Nat Fleischer’s 50
Years at Ringside—along with Stanley Weston’s Boxing Illustrated/Wrestling
News magazine, started the ball rolling. I was hooked.

As anyone who has tried it knows, writing a book is a difficult and lonely
endeavor. Words of encouragement and support are always welcome, especially
when the work seems overwhelming. Thanks to the following people for their
heartfelt expressions of support: Don Harwood, Elizabeth Weiner, Herb Ross,
Barbara Covell, Robert Mladinich, Sallie Kraus, Stephanie Arcel, Pete
Spanakos, and Toby Weston Cone.

I am also grateful to Budd Schulberg for writing the foreword and the late Jack
Newfield for his suggestion on how to structure the book.

Gone, but not forgotten, are Ray Arcel, Mike Capriano, Sr., and Vic Zimet, three
great trainers of the old school whom I was fortunate to have befriended.

I extend my gratitude to Paul Muchinsky, Dave Cohen, Scott Silver and Greg
Zola, who critiqued drafts of the manuscript. Thanks also to Joel at Kinko’s.

I don’t believe this book would ever have been written had I not taken boxing
lessons during my teenage years from an old school trainer named Willie
Grunes. I was a 14-year-old amateur boxer being tutored in “the manly art of self
defense” by an individual who understood boxing as an art and science. He
instilled within me an appreciation of balance, leverage, footwork, combination
instilled within me an appreciation of balance, leverage, footwork, combination
punching and strategy. He taught me moves that, years later, on film, I saw great
fighters such as Barney Ross, Tony Canzoneri, and Joe Louis perform. Willie
was a perfectionist. I was admonished for a slight bend of the wrist. Standing up
too straight, exposing my chin or dropping my guard was cause for a drill
sergeant–like rebuke. It wasn’t pleasant, but it made an impression. Willie is
long gone. I like to think he would have approved of this book.
 Table of Contents

Acknowledgments
Foreword by Budd Schulberg
Preface
Panel of Experts
1. Origins
2. The Golden Age
3. The Incredible Shrinking Sport
4. Paying Their Dues
5. Cooking the Books: Boxing's Nutty Knockout Numbers
6. Where Have You Gone Charlie Goldman?
7. Boxing's Missing Links
8. The Good, the Bad, and the Inconsistent
9. Fistic Forensics: Two Fights Analyzed
10. Too Much Amateur
11. The Dominance Factor, Part One: Roy Jones, Jr., and Bernard
Hopkins
12. The Dominance Factor, Part Two: Roberto Duran, Pernell
Whitaker and Floyd Mayweather, Jr.
13. The Bigger They Are, The Harder They Fall
14. Boxing's Snake Oil Salesmen
15. Boxing's Death by Alphabet
Epilogue
Appendix: Statistics for Reigning Champions
Chapter Notes
Bibliography
Index of Terms
“There is much about jazz that relates to boxing. The improvisation, the
flow, the beauty of the notes, the tempo.” Archie Moore, Light Heavyweight
Champion 1952–1961.

“The brilliant boxer is an artist, albeit in an art not readily comprehensible,

or palatable, to most observers” Joyce Carol Oates
 Foreword

by BUDD SCHULBERG

Alas, the Manly Art of Self Defense, as the sport of boxing or fisticuffs is so
grandly called, is today more honored in the breach than in the execution
thereof. That is the theme of noted boxing historian Mike Silver’s savvy
conclusion as he compares the current boxing scene to what he justly calls the
Golden Age, meaning the 1920s to the 1950s, the glory years of Jack Dempsey,
Joe Louis, Sugar Ray Robinson, Willie Pep, and a host of other ring immortals.

This writer can bear witness to Mr. Silver’s credentials as someone truly to be
trusted as an insightful student of the contrasting fistic eras. As a boxing writer, I
find myself constantly referring to Mike to get a knowledgeable estimate as to
the attributes of current boxers. When a boxer like our current No. 1 pound-for-
pounder, the gifted egomaniac Floyd Mayweather, lets his enlarged ego proclaim
himself not just the best current fighter but the greatest of all time (a pocket-
sized Muhammad Ali), thank goodness we have the seasoned professional critic,
Mr. Silver, to put him in his place. When I was getting carried away in my
enthusiasm for Mayweather’s shut-out of our latest Cinderella Man, the
Argentine upstart Carlos Baldomir, my better judgment led me to check out my
superlatives with someone with a more balanced view of the subject than I have,
the aforementioned Mr. Silver. He is my reality check. While I tend to get
carried away with the accomplishments of today’s reigning fighters, be they
Shane Mosley, Winky Wright or De La Hoya, there is always the cautioning
voice of Mike Silver, ready to put those fistic plusses in historical context.

To reach the level of appraisal from which Mr. Silver makes his judgments, one
would have had to study the films of all the great fighters from today’s to the
dawn of the 20th century, as has he. Whether I ask him to compare the
respective merits of Harry Greb, Tiger Flowers, or Pete Latzo, Mr. Silver’s
answer is never based on an educated guess. He has seen the film, rerun it and
studied it and can figuratively play it back for you. So when he makes his
judgment call that despite today’s Mayweathers, De La Hoyas, and Pacquiaos,
our current champions come up empty against the legends of the Golden Age,
we must reluctantly go along with his appraisal.
He has not only seen and studied the evidence on film, he has weighed the
factual evidence. In boxing’s heyday, a boxer with twenty fights was just getting
ready to graduate from six-round fights to eight. A fighter with thirty fights was
graduating to semi-windup at Madison Square Garden. Today, a kid wins
eighteen in a row and he’s talking title fight. And not just talking, but winning.
Vide Jermain Taylor. At this stage in his career, some fifty years ago he’d only
be moving up to his first ten-rounders.

Mike Silver’s logic is irrefutable. The greatest of all teachers is experience. In

the first half of the century, fighters were engaged in as many as twenty fights a
year, and sometimes more. They were exposing themselves to so many different
types: slick boxers, sluggers, southpaws, each with his own individual style.
They were learning on the job how to cope with the multi-faceted aggressions
they were facing. How can a boxer get these necessary lessons if he’s only
fighting twice and sometimes even once a year? So a boxer with natural talent
may go through an entire career without ever having the opportunity to master
his craft. It’s like an actor going from a beginner’s class to starring and all
without ever having had the chance to develop his technique.
Sugar Ray Robinson, boxing’s ultimate pugilist. He possessed the greatest
combination of speed, power and elegance the sport has ever seen (Sports
Legends Photos).

We see this lapse on television, month after month, a young fighter with some
early promise rushed to the top before he’s anywhere near ready. Fighters who
wouldn’t have qualified for a semi-windup in the old Garden are up there getting
title shots worth millions of dollars. Too often their careers are over before in the
olden days they had barely begun. Good lord, Sugar Ray Robinson, our
nonpareil, had seventy-eight fights before finally winning a fight from Tough
Tommy Bell for the vacant World Welterweight Championship. I saw that fight
in the Garden in 1946 and remember Ray getting knocked down but getting up
and outpointing Bell to win a rouser of a fight. Along with his natural ability he
had learned his craft in so many challenging tests with the likes of Fritzie Zivic,
Jake LaMotta, Henry Armstrong, and Sammy Angott, the class of those gifted
years. He learned how to cope with all the different fistic problems those
excellent practitioners represented. By the time he was ready for Bell he had
boxed for seven years; he had gone from a sterling amateur champion with
eighty-five fights to seventy-six victories and a single defeat to the uncrowned
middleweight champion Jake LaMotta, whom he licked in the rematch. He had
gone from fistic kindergarten to graduate school. By the time he fought Tough
Tommy, who had earned that sobriquet the hard way, he had learned how to
cope with every conceivable type of opposition. In all probability there will
never be a boxer touched with the genius of a Sugar Ray, but if there were, in
these days when a boxer is considered busy if he has two fights a year, he would
never have the opportunity to develop to his full potential.
Artist at work. Sugar Ray Robinson (left) jabs Tommy Bell in their 1946
welterweight title fight (International Hall of Champions).

That’s why, even with our Mayweathers, Winky Wrights and Manny Pacquiaos,
there is no depth in the weight classifications. In earlier days, there were a dozen
worthies in every weight class. It was no disgrace to have losses on your record
because the competition was so intense. A McLarnin could beat a Barney Ross.
But a Barney Ross could come back and win the rematch. Only a Sugar Ray
went undefeated, and when he finally blew one to Randy Turpin, it was really
Kid Dissipation and not the Brit Kid who did him in. Facing all comers, Sugar
Ray was an encyclopedia on opponents’ skills. With today’s fights few and far
between, there is simply no opportunity for the kind of bout-to-bout education
that empowered the early greats.

So Mike Silver provides chapter and verse for his contention that boxing is a lost
art. For those of us who still follow the sport with an enthusiasm clouded by the
negatives that continue to hound the poorly supervised activity, it’s not an easy
pill to swallow. When a Mayweather meets a De La Hoya we’ll be on our way to
Vegas with high hopes for a classic. Still, we’re ever mindful of knowledgeable
Mike Silver’s reluctant conclusion that we’re witnesses to a lost art that once
Mike Silver’s reluctant conclusion that we’re witnesses to a lost art that once
gave us the immortals. If Mr. Silver is right, and his judgment leaves little doubt,
the days of Benny Leonard and Barney Ross, Henry Armstrong and Willie Pep,
Louis and Ali, are all behind us, and we die-hards are worshipping a god who’s
failed. All of which makes for entertaining reading, if somber reflection.

Budd Schulberg is a renowned boxing journalist as well as a critically acclaimed

novelist whose work includes What Makes Sammy Run, The Disenchanted and
The Harder They Fall. He won an Academy Award for his screenplay of On the
Waterfront.
 Preface

Who are the greatest boxers of all time? Why—and how—did they become
great? Are contemporary superstars such as Roy Jones, Jr., Bernard Hopkins,
Oscar De La Hoya, Floyd Mayweather, Jr., Mike Tyson and Lennox Lewis
better, or worse, than their counterparts of decades past? Why have certain eras
produced an abundance of outstanding talent while others have not? This book
answers these questions.

Anyone who has ever debated the merits of boxers from different eras knows
there is a significant segment of the sports community who believes such
comparisons are unfair. After all, aren’t the athletes of today bigger, stronger and
faster than ever? Does it not make sense to believe that boxers are also bigger,
stronger and faster than ever?

On a superficial level the “newer is always better” attitude towards athletic

excellence appears to be valid, except for one important caveat; a boxer’s
performance, unlike that of a swimmer, track and field athlete, or weightlifter,
cannot be defined in terms of finite measurement. Boxing’s interaction of
athleticism, experience, technique and psychology is a far more complex activity
than just running, jumping, lifting or throwing.

To blithely state that today’s top professional boxers are better than their
predecessors simply because measurable athletic performance has improved in
other sports—whose winners are determined by a stopwatch, ruler or scale—is
analogous to suggesting a singer is great only because he is capable of reaching a
higher note than anyone else. Of course no reasonable person would agree with
this statement because it totally ignores the complex nuances of the singer’s
craft, such as timbre, inflection, vocal range and phrasing. Yet many people,
without even realizing it, apply this same logic to boxing, oblivious as they are
to the complex nuances of the boxer’s craft.

Even though today’s professional athletes are, on average, bigger than ever, it is
illogical to relate this fact to boxers because they compete in separate weight
divisions appropriate to their size. Except for heavyweights, the weight
differential between opposing boxers rarely exceeds ten pounds. As for
heavyweights, why should the “bigger than ever” label automatically stamp
heavyweights, why should the “bigger than ever” label automatically stamp
today’s giants as better fighters just because of their superior bulk? I challenge
anyone with a modicum of interest in this sport to take a look at the four current
heavyweight champions (whoever they are at the moment) and explain to me
how they are better than the “small” heavyweights of 30 or 40 years ago, when
fighters named Ali, Liston, Frazier, Holmes, Norton, Foreman and Quarry were
contending for that once precious title.

Are today’s fighters stronger than ever? To properly answer this question one
must first determine how strength manifests itself in a boxing match. In
competitive weightlifting, the definition of effective strength is obvious;
whoever can lift the most poundage always wins. On the other hand, a golfer’s
strength is not measured by how much he can lift, but by how far he can hit the
ball, and a tennis player’s superior strength is useful only if it translates into a
powerful serve or return. If the stronger player is slower, less skillful, or lacks
experience, strength becomes less of a factor in determining the outcome of a
match.
“He can run, but he can’t hide” was heavyweight champion Joe Louis’s
response when asked about Billy Conn’s superior speed. Trailing on points,
Louis (left) knocked Conn out in the 13th round of their 1941 title fight.

Strength is certainly useful to a boxer trying to control an opponent during

infighting, or in a clinch. But it should be understood that strength and power are
not synonymous. A fighter may be very strong but have only average hitting
power, or he can be of average strength and possess a powerful knockout punch.
Punching power is more important to a fighter than strength. Nevertheless, many
fighters have achieved greatness despite having only average strength and hitting
power. An example of this type of fighter was Depression-era champion Barney
Ross. Many of his opponents were physically stronger and more powerful, but
very few could match his consummate boxing skills, physical toughness and
fighting spirit.

Notwithstanding his ability to stand up to the type of severe punishment that

often took down much “stronger” men, Ross used strategies inherent within the
often took down much “stronger” men, Ross used strategies inherent within the
art of boxing to counteract an opponent’s superior strength or punching power.
He faced the best fighters of his time and won titles in three weight divisions
while losing only four of eighty-one professional bouts. He was never stopped.
How does one measure that type of strength?

The effective application of the art of boxing to defeat an opponent possessing

superior strength and power was apparent as far back as 1892, at the very dawn
of the modern boxing epoch, when James J. Corbett (“Gentleman” Jim) knocked
out the legendary John L. Sullivan (“The Boston Strongboy”) in the 21st round
to win the heavyweight championship of the world. This scenario would repeat
itself countless times over the next century, as it did 72 years after Corbett-
Sullivan when a fighter then known as Cassius Clay used a similar hit and move
strategy to upset the brutish heavyweight champion Sonny Liston.

Although Corbett and Clay (soon to be renamed Muhammad Ali) were younger,
faster and better conditioned than Sullivan and Liston, their intelligent use of
speed enabled them to frustrate and eventually break down two of the most
powerful fighters to ever hold the heavyweight championship.

Speed is a valuable asset for any athlete. Yet, as important as speed is to a boxer,
it cannot determine the outcome of every match. A competent professional boxer
can utilize a variety of tactics to offset an opponent’s superior speed. And—lest
we forget—all the speed in the world will come to naught if a punch lands with
enough force to stop a fast stepping opponent in his tracks. As Joe Louis so aptly
put it before his heavyweight title fight with the lightning quick, but nevertheless
doomed, Billy Conn: “He can run but he can’t hide.”

Today’s world class athletes routinely run a mile in less than four minutes and
the hundred-yard dash in almost nine seconds flat, and can lift the equivalent of
a small automobile off the ground—all of which is irrelevant to the sport of
boxing. When technique, experience, strategy and psychology are thrown into
the mix, an opponent’s superior speed, strength or power are situations that a
competent boxer must deal with and attempt to overcome.

Another dimension that cannot be measured with a stopwatch, ruler or scale

involves the character of the athlete. Character, or as it is known in the boxing
vernacular, “heart” (and during the English bare-knuckle period, “bottom”), is
important to any athlete aspiring to greatness. But the word takes on added
meaning when it is applied to professional boxing. “We are not speaking here of
simple courage. Any man who ties on the gloves and walks into the ring has a
degree of courage,” wrote Pete Hamill on the subject of heart. “To say that a
man had heart was a more complicated matter. The fighter with heart was
willing to endure pain in order to inflict it. The fighter with heart accepted the
cruel rules of the sport. He must not—could not—quit. He might be outclassed
and outgunned but he never looked for an exit.”1

Few heavyweights of any era could match Mike Tyson’s tremendous punching
power. Athletically, he was blessed with all the tools for boxing greatness. If his
talent was for basketball or football his character flaws would not have affected
his performance nearly as much, and he would have maintained his lofty status.
But professional boxing is different; it asks questions of its athletes that other
sports do not.
Legendary Depression era boxing rivals Barney Ross (left) and Tony
Canzoneri square off in 1933 (courtesy Stephanie Arcel; from the Archives
of Ray Arcel).

When confronted with an opponent he could not overpower, Tyson became

frustrated and his fragile confidence wavered. His vaunted “killer instinct”
appeared to fade in the later rounds. Too often he welcomed the respite of a
clinch. In extreme situations he either stopped fighting or sought the nearest exit
by fouling out. Although Mike Tyson possessed the physical attributes of a great
athlete, he did not possess the psyche of a great fighter. Evander Holyfield
defeated Tyson as much with his character as with his fists. Whoever said
“character is destiny” must have had the unforgiving sport of boxing in mind.

These are just a few of the topics to be discussed on the path to boxing
enlightenment it is my sincere wish this book will provide.

A final note: When a lawyer attempts to make the strongest argument possible
on behalf of his client, he requires the testimony of credible witnesses to bolster
his case. To enhance this book’s validity I have included the testimony of three
of the world’s most renowned teacher-trainers: Teddy Atlas, Emanuel Steward
and Freddie Roach. Over a dozen other experts—among the sharpest minds in
boxing—have also contributed their insights and opinions. Some of these experts
are old enough to have personally witnessed the best fighters of the past 70
years. This may be the last opportunity to delve into the wealth of information
and knowledge they have to offer concerning the “Old School” vs. “New
School” boxing debate.

All of the interviews were conducted independently—one on one. The reader

will undoubtedly note a similarity in many of the views expressed. A conscious
decision was made not to edit out the overlap, for it is the very consistency of
these independent opinions that lends strength to their truth.

I have spent over 40 years seeking out and meeting with top boxing experts,
documenting conversations, and gaining insights. The information contained in
these pages challenges many preconceived notions about the nature of boxing as
it exists today. Whether you agree or disagree with the book’s conclusions, of
one thing I am certain—no one who reads it will ever look at a boxing match in
the same way again.
 Panel of Experts

Teacher-Trainers

Teddy Atlas: One of boxing’s most renowned trainers. Mentored by the

legendary Cus D’Amato. First trainer of Mike Tyson for 4 years. Also guided
Michael Moorer to the heavyweight championship with victory over Evander
Holyfield. Boxing analyst for ESPN-TV.

Mike Capriano, Jr.: Son of Golden Age trainer Mike Capriano, Sr., the trainer
of Jake LaMotta, in addition to many other top professional fighters. Following
in his father’s footsteps, Mike became an amateur fighter, trainer and licensed
manager. From 1952 to 1955 was head coach for the Camp Lejeune Marine
Corps boxing team, whose boxers won a record number of service
championships under his tutelage.

Rollie Hackmer: Former Inter-service and Air Force flyweight champion. Four
time Buffalo Golden Gloves champion. Finalist in the 1952 Olympic trials.
Compiled 168–13 amateur record. Professional students included Doug Jones,
Billy Daniels and Joe Shaw.

Freddie Roach: Trained by legendary Eddie Futch during a 54 bout pro career
(1978–87). One of boxing’s finest and most prolific trainers. Students have
included James Toney, Manny Pacquiao, Oscar De La Hoya, Mike Tyson, Virgil
Hill and Wayne McCullough. Director of boxing at famed Wild Card Gym in
Los Angeles.

Emanuel Steward: World famous trainer-manager. Trained over 2 dozen world

champions, including Tommy Hearns, Oscar De La Hoya, Lennox Lewis and
Wladimir Klitschko. Won National Golden Gloves title in 1963. For over 30
years his Kronk Boxing Gym in Detroit has been a training ground for hundreds
of professional boxers. HBO-TV boxing analyst.

Fighters, Fans and Historians

Erik Arnold: Boxing writer, historian, and film archivist. Son of Tony Arnold.

Tony Arnold: Former amateur and professional boxer 1949 to 1957. Student of
Golden Age trainers Willie Grunes and Vic Zimet. Wrote for Boxing Digest
magazine and was Southern Florida correspondent for The Ring magazine,
1980s. Archivist for one of boxing’s largest film libraries.

Dan Cuoco: Director of the International Boxing Research Organization

(IBRO). Editor and publisher of its quarterly journal.

Ray J. Elson: Professional light heavyweight boxer 1972 to 1978. Trained by

Rollie Hackmer. Opponents included light heavyweight champions Victor
Galindez, Michael Spinks and Eddie Gregory.

Tony Fosco: Boxing historian and film archivist. Has reviewed and catalogued
films of over 20,000 boxing matches from 1890s to present.

Bill Goodman: Licensed corner man with the New York State Athletic
Commission, 1957–66. A student of the boxing scene for over 60 years.

Chuck Hasson: Boxing historian and co-author, with Tracy Callis and Mike
DeLisa, of Philadelphia’s Boxing Heritage 1876–1976.

Hank Kaplan: Dean of American boxing historians. Former editor of Boxing

Digest magazine. Served as boxing consultant to Sports Illustrated magazine for
23 years.

Ted Lidsky, Ph.D.: Neuroscientist. Amateur boxer 1962–1966. Mentored by

Golden Age trainer Vic Zimet.

Steve Lott: Boxing historian and film archivist. Director of the International
Hall of Champions.

“Tiger” Ted Lowry: Journeyman light heavyweight boxer, 1939 to 1955.

Fought 141 professional fights. The only fighter to go the ten round distance
twice with undefeated former heavyweight champion Rocky Marciano.

Wilbert “Skeeter” McClure, Ph.D.: One of America’s greatest amateur boxers.

Won gold medal in 1960 Rome Olympics. Fought professionally from 1961 to
1967 in the middleweight division. Former chairman, Massachusetts Boxing
Commission.

Carlos Ortiz: Former undisputed lightweight and junior welterweight champion

of the world. Fought professionally from 1955 to 1972. One of the greatest
lightweight champions of the 20th century.

Sal Rappa: Boxing historian for the New York Veteran Boxers’ Association,
Ring No. 8.

Kevin Smith: Author of Black Genesis: The History of the Black Prizefighter:
1760–1870 and The Sundowners: The History of the Black Prizefighter 1870–
1930.

Terry Todd, Ph.D: Professor of kinesthesiology, University of Texas at Austin.

One of the foremost experts on weight training for athletes. Publisher of Iron
Game History.

Edward Villella: International ballet star. Director of the world-renowned

Miami City Ballet Company and former undefeated collegiate amateur
welterweight champion.
 1
Origins

The two great objects to be attended to in sparring is to hit your

adversary often, and to prevent him from hitting you.
From The Art of Manual Defense published in England in 1759.

Modern boxing’s progenitor dates to the 18th century English bare knuckle
period. Bare–knuckle boxing evolved from fencing. At the height of fencing’s
popularity in England, from the late 1500s to the mid 1700s, the winners of
public displays of swordsmanship were rewarded with a prize. These nonfatal
fencing contests became known as “prizefights” and were exceedingly popular
with all classes.

In the early–eighteenth century bare knuckle boxing contests were added to the
fencing exhibitions. Within a few years these “knuckle fights” became so
popular they eventually replaced the fencing contests and the term “prizefight”
became synonymous with boxing.

The early bare-knuckle practitioners and instructors based their techniques on

fencing principles. As a result, boxing’s footwork, straight punching, blocking,
parrying, and feinting techniques developed from strategies used by fencers. It is
no coincidence that boxing’s most fundamental punch, the left jab, is very
similar to the fencer’s straight thrust, or lunge. “In bare knuckle days, a straight
left was the foundation of ring strategy,” wrote boxing historian Nat Fleischer.
“It was not a tap to be ignored, such as one frequently sees today, but a
punishing blow that often produced a knockdown.”1

Bare–knuckle boxing was more than just fencing with fists. It can best be
described as a hybrid sport, for in addition to allowing punches, the rules also
permitted a fighter to wrestle or throw his opponent to the ground, providing he
was grabbed above the waist. Boxer’s hands were particularly vulnerable to
injury, especially when bare fists connected with the hard skull of an opponent.
Wrestling provided a respite for bruised knuckles, as did punches to softer
targets, including the liver, kidneys and abdomen.
A round ended when a boxer was either knocked down by a punch or was
thrown to the ground. The downed boxer’s seconds then entered the ring to assist
or carry him back to his corner. A timekeeper allotted both fighters a 30 second
respite, plus an additional eight seconds to walk unaided back to the “scratch”
mark (a line approximately three feet in length drawn in the center of the ring). If
a fighter was unable, or unwilling to “come up to scratch” or “toe the mark” in
time, he was considered “knocked out of time” (or simply “knocked out”) and
declared the loser.

All bare knuckle bouts were fought to a finish, which meant a contest did not
end until one of the fighters was either knocked out or was disqualified for
fouling. Fouls included butting with the head, striking a fallen opponent,
kicking, gouging the eyes, and biting.
Cover of a boxing instruction book published in 1867. Note the swords and
face guards depicted above the fighters, acknowledging the sport’s fencing
origins.

Bare knuckle boxing emphasized punching power, strength, endurance,

aggressive rushing and brute force. There were generally three weight divisions:
under 130 pounds; 130 to 160 pounds; and over 160 pounds. Any fighter
weighing over 160 pounds was considered a heavyweight. The earliest
exponents of scientific boxing were smaller boxers who incorporated dodging,
ducking, and evasive footwork as part of their strategy.

The Queensberry Rules

Despite the popularity of bare knuckle boxing both in England and America,
government edicts often banned the brutal spectacle. In the mid 1880s
professional boxing’s image improved with the adoption of the Marquis of
Queensberry rules. The new rules replaced the old London Prize Ring rules
which had governed the conduct of bare knuckle boxing for most of the 19th
century. Rounds were limited to three minutes’ duration followed by one minute
of rest. Throwing or wrestling an opponent to the ground was outlawed. In the
event a boxer was knocked down by a punch, he was given ten seconds to stand
up under his own power or be counted out.

Most bare knuckle fights were staged outdoors on bare turf. Queensberry rules
moved fights indoors with the ring set upon an elevated stage or platform. “By
facilitating bouts on the indoor stage rather than turf,” wrote Elliot Gorn in The
Manly Art: Bare Knuckle Prizefighting In America, “the Queensberry rules
allowed promoter-entrepreneurs to charge admission thereby opening the way
for crowd control by police and private security officers. Prizefighting acquired a
gloss of gentility that legitimated the violence and freed respectable men to
enjoy previously forbidden fruits with safety and good conscience.”2 If
professional boxing was to thrive and prosper, it had to be as safe and pleasant
an experience for the paying customer as going to a baseball game or vaudeville
performance.

Boxers transitioning from bare knuckle to Queensberry boxing had to

incorporate radical changes in style and strategy. Fighting outdoors on bare turf
incorporate radical changes in style and strategy. Fighting outdoors on bare turf
had required shoes with spikes. Fighting on a canvas-covered wooden platform
was better suited to leather soled athletic shoes which enhanced the speed and
mobility of footwork. Boxers would also no longer have to worry about being
grabbed in a headlock, back heeled, or slammed to the floor with a cross buttock
maneuver—all wrestling holds common to bare knuckle boxing.

But the most revolutionary aspect of the Queensberry code was its mandated use
of boxing gloves for all contests. As Elliot Gorn notes, “Gloves protected
fighter’s hands more than their heads, added weight to each punch, and allowed
men to throw innumerable blows to such hard but vulnerable spots as the
temples and jaw. In bare-knuckle fighting, punches tended to be straight and
cutting. A man who threw many hooks or roundhouse-style shots to the side or
back of his opponent’s head risked breaking his fingers. But with gloves, boxers
could use these more dangerous punches with impunity…. Queensberry rules
emphasized quick, dramatic blows. In important respects, boxing became
simpler and faster-paced, essential qualities if it was to appeal to a wide if not
particularly knowledgeable audience.”3

Ironically, the wearing of gloves created greater potential for serious chronic
injury to the boxer. With gloves offering greater protection for their hands,
boxers could now direct a greater volume of powerful blows to an opponent’s
head, thereby increasing the likelihood of brain damage.

A welcome relief to smaller boxers was the addition of new weight

classifications. By the early 1900s there were eight separate weight classes
ranging from flyweight (limit 112 pounds) to heavyweight (over 175 pounds).
John L. Sullivan, “The Boston Strongboy,” America’s first sports superstar
and the last great bare knuckle heavyweight champion (1882–1892) (Jim
Houlihan collection).
In the 1890s heavyweight champion Gentleman Jim Corbett’s clever boxing
style influenced many of his contemporaries to take a more cerebral
approach to the sport (The International Hall of Champions).

Every time I hear a fight fan say that today’s boxers are in better shape
than the old timers, I just hand them a copy of this 1906 poster advertising
the 45 round title bout between Joe Gans and Battling Nelson.

Transition (1892–1920)

Old traditions die hard. From the 1890s to the second decade of the 20th century,
many gloved boxers continued to advance or retreat in a straight line while
attempting to land hard, singular punches. Yet despite their limited repertoire,
the early pioneers of modern boxing fully understood (as did their bare knuckle
brethren) the important basics of proper balance and punching with leverage.

Another holdover from bare knuckle days was the finish fight, which remained
Another holdover from bare knuckle days was the finish fight, which remained
in vogue in certain parts of the country until the early 1900s. The most famous of
the early Queensberry finish fights was “Gentleman” Jim Corbett’s epic struggle
with the great Australian champion Peter Jackson in 1891.

Jackson, the first notable black heavyweight of the gloved era, and Corbett, a
former San Francisco bank clerk, were anxious to secure a title bout with
heavyweight champion John L. Sullivan. Both were in their primes and evenly
matched. They fought an incredible 61 three-minute rounds (over three hours of
fighting) and were in a state of near collapse when their backers agreed to settle
on a draw. Shortly thereafter Sullivan agreed to defend his title against Corbett.

The bare knuckle era officially came to an end September 7, 1892. In the first
heavyweight championship fight conducted under Marquis of Queensberry rules,
Jim Corbett knocked out the legendary “Boston Strong Boy” Sullivan in the 21st
round of a fight to the finish. Significantly, the new champion, wearing five
ounce leather gloves, was able to hit Sullivan innumerable times without
severely damaging his hands.

Jim Corbett’s innovative style emphasized footwork, counterpunching and

strategic use of the left jab. Although a number of lighter weight boxers used a
similar style, Corbett was the first heavyweight to employ these tactics with such
stunning success. The conqueror of “The Great John L.” influenced many other
fighters to adopt a more “cerebral” approach to the game. Corbett had a
tremendous impact on refining boxing technique and can rightly be labeled the
father of modern scientific boxing.

Queensberry finish fights such as those engaged in by Corbett, Sullivan and

Peter Jackson were eventually banned, but taking their place for a time were
marathon contests scheduled for 25 or 45 rounds.

Fighters preparing for a Queensberry marathon contest had to train and fight
with the distance in mind. Pacing was extremely important. There was always
the danger of expending too much energy too soon. Marathon bouts usually
followed the same pattern. After a few moments of sparring, an attempt was
made to land one or two quick punches. The fighters then fell into a clinch and
continued close quarter infighting interspersed with a great deal of pushing,
pulling and tugging on the arms until the referee decided to separate the fighters.
The process would then begin all over again. The purpose of this strategy was to
gradually wear down an opponent over the long haul. A fighter showing signs of
fatigue would be the signal for his adversary to pick up the pace and try for a
fatigue would be the signal for his adversary to pick up the pace and try for a
knockout.

Marathon contests, although not uncommon, were the exception rather than the
rule. It could take months to recuperate from a particularly grueling marathon
bout. Most fighters preferred to travel the six to ten round distance. These
shorter contests also allowed for a more active fight schedule.

Pugilistic Pioneers

Motion pictures of the early Queensberry legends indicate that some fighters
were clearly ahead of their time, while others were of their time. Turn of the
century champions such as Jim Jeffries, Stanley Ketchel, “Battling” Nelson and
Ad Wolgast appear as crude pressure fighters. They are aggressive, tough and
extremely resilient. Not surprisingly, the flickering images reveal an emphasis
on body punching and infighting, strategies common to bare knuckle finish
fights.

The films of Joe Gans, Jack Johnson, Owen Moran and Mike Gibbons reveal
less of the aggressive “hell for leather” approach of Ketchel, Wolgast and
Nelson in deference to a more cautious defensive style. These fighters rely
heavily on strategic use of the left jab, mobile footwork and accurate counter
punches.

Joe Gans (lightweight champion 1902–1908) is the essence of the cool and
calculating stand up boxer. Advancing behind a probing left jab, he seems to
glide toward opponents. He is one of the few fighters of his era to use three and
four punch combinations. Gans, known to boxing fans as “The Old Master” in
deference to his immense talent, is still considered one of the greatest fighters of
the 20th century.
If fighting styles could be rated like IQs, Jack Johnson’s would rank in the
genius category. His defense was virtually impregnable.
Sam Langford, “The Boston Tar Baby,” was one of the most feared fighters
of his era. Champions in five different weight divisions refused to fight him.
Photograph taken about 1910 (The International Hall of Champions).

Fortunately, a few rare films exist of British lightweight champion Owen Moran
and the American middleweight Mike Gibbons, known as “The St. Paul
Phantom” because of his elusive style. Both Moran and Gibbons are textbook
counter punchers. They never appear off balance as they block, slip, feint and
counter punch. There is no wasted motion. Every move is purposeful and
calculated.

Sam Langford (“The Boston Tar Baby”) is considered by some experts to be the
greatest fighter who ever lived. One of boxing’s most prolific superstars, his
official record lists over 250 professional fights. Possessing bull-like shoulders, a
barrel chest and unusually long arms, Langford was constructed for power. He
stood 5 feet, 6½ inches tall and weighed between 155 and 180 pounds
during his prime (1907 to 1916). On film he appears to be the most dangerous of
all the pre–1920s legends.
Jack Johnson (facing camera), in his typical fencer’s stance, daring
heavyweight champion Tommy Burns to lead during their 1908 title fight.

Langford knew how to leverage the full weight of his compact body into his
punches. He was also a master boxer and an early exponent of combination
punching. It’s no wonder that champions in five different weight divisions
avoided risking their titles against this amazing athlete.

But of all the early 20th century boxing pioneers, the most intriguing is Jack
Johnson. Much has been written about the social aspects of Johnson’s
controversial reign as the first African-American heavyweight champion (1908–
1915), but very little about his boxing technique.

Johnson’s stance was similar to the “on guard” position of a fencer. It allowed
him to quickly shift his weight to either leg for offense or defense. Combined
with his cat-like reflexes, the stance caused opponents to misjudge their distance
when they tried to reach him. The effort would invariably throw them off
balance, at which point Johnson would step in and counter with a jab, right cross
balance, at which point Johnson would step in and counter with a jab, right cross
or uppercut. He was always on balance when he moved his feet or shifted his
weight.

Johnson’s hands were constantly in motion, ready to feint, lead or counterpunch.

He was also very adept at blocking or parrying punches with an open glove. He
was effective at both long and short range and his defense was virtually
impregnable. Although he possessed knockout power, Johnson preferred to show
off his exquisite boxing skills. On occasion he would expose his chin or mid-
section and dare opponents to try and hit him. Very few succeeded.

Between 1910 and 1920 the majority of bouts were limited to ten rounds or less.
The marathon mentality disappeared and the tempo of fights speeded up. It was
no longer necessary to “coast” for several rounds in order to conserve energy, as
was often the case in bouts exceeding 20 rounds. Mobile footwork took on added
significance as fighters realized that constant movement presented more
opportunities to set up a variety of different combination punches.

At the same time the modern style of boxing was beginning to emerge, the sport
was also gaining greater public acceptance. During World War I boxing was
used to entertain and condition new recruits preparing to go overseas. Reformers
calling for the abolition of boxing were finding it increasingly difficult to mount
an effective attack.

All of the pieces were now in place for boxing to realize its full potential as a
mainstream spectator sport. Enter George Lewis “Tex” Rickard.

A Perfect Match: Rickard and Dempsey

“Tex” Rickard had once operated a famous gambling establishment in the

Alaskan Klondike during the 1890s gold rush. His colorful background also
included stints as a Texas cowhand and sheriff. Rickard’s first entry into big
time boxing was his promotion of the famous Joe Gans vs. “Battling” Nelson
lightweight title fight at Goldfield, Nevada, in 1906. Four years later, in Reno,
Nevada, he promoted the “Fight of the Century” heavyweight championship
match between Jim Jeffries and Jack Johnson.

In 1920 Rickard shifted his base of operations to boxing’s epicenter, New York
City, where he joined forces with newly crowned heavyweight champion Jack
City, where he joined forces with newly crowned heavyweight champion Jack
Dempsey. The ruggedly handsome Dempsey, an ex-hobo and mining camp
brawler, was a 6 foot 1 inch, 187 pound hunk of barely containable nervous
energy. He was also one of the most destructive forces ever seen in a boxing
ring. Dempsey was not sent out to do battle—he was unleashed.

Sensing the opportunity to stage another “Fight of the Century,” Rickard

promoted a bout between Dempsey and light heavyweight champion Georges
Carpentier, a dashing French prizefighter and World War hero with movie star
looks. Using the press and movie newsreels to great advantage, Rickard fanned
the flame of public interest into a roaring fire.

On the afternoon of July 4, 1921, over 90,000 fans—the largest crowd to ever
attend a sporting event—crowded their way into a huge monolithic wooden
stadium located on the New Jersey side of the Hudson river. Ringside seats went
for $50 dollars apiece. Telegraph operators sitting at ringside transmitted the
result of the fight around the world. And for the first time, the new medium of
radio was used to broadcast a championship boxing match.
Jack Dempsey, heavyweight champion 1919–1926. “The Manassa Mauler”
was the most electrifying fighter of the 20th century (Lew Manfra
collection).
Roaring Twenties promoter Tex Rickard and his star attraction, Jack
Dempsey (Gary Schultz collection).
Jack Dempsey stands over fallen challenger Georges Carpentier, July 4,
1921. Over 90,000 fans paid to watch the fight (International Hall of
Champions).

The result of the Dempsey vs. Carpentier extravaganza (Demspey flattened the
overmatched Frenchman in four rounds) was less important than the significance
of the event. For the first time in history, a sporting event had drawn over one
million dollars in paid admissions. Jack Dempsey was paid $300,000 for less
than 12 minutes of work. Tex Rickard had successfully transformed professional
boxing into popular entertainment for a mass audience. The business of sports
entertainment would never be the same.

The financial success of the Dempsey vs. Carpentier bout convinced other states
to reconsider their anti-boxing laws. The realization that substantial tax revenues
and other ancillary income could be generated by professional boxing pushed
them into the fold. Whereas in 1917 only twenty-three states had legalized the
sport, by 1925 the number was up to forty-three. Boxing had finally established
itself as a legitimate growth industry. There was so much activity, especially in
major population centers, even a lowly bucket carrier could earn a modest living
working corners up to six nights a week.
working corners up to six nights a week.

The Dempsey vs. Carpentier title fight occupied eight columns on the front
page of the New York Times, July 5, 1921. The mega event jump started the
Golden Age of sports in America (New York Times).

Prizefighters became the highest paid athletes in the world. They fought an
average of once or twice a month, and they could earn several hundred to several
thousand dollars for a featured bout. It was not unusual for a popular boxer to
earn $10,000 for a single bout, while at the same time the average pro baseball
player was earning $8,000 per year. The $80,000 annual salary of baseball great
Babe Ruth paled in comparison to the earnings of boxing superstars such as Jack
Dempsey, Benny Leonard and Mickey Walker. In 1927 heavyweight champion
Gene Tunney was paid the astounding sum of $1,000,000 (pre-income tax)
dollars for his second title fight with Jack Dempsey.
In cities all across America countless young men, with dreams of riches and
glory to spur them on, took up boxing. Arenas seemed to pop up everywhere.
Inner city gyms were filled to capacity with aspiring amateur and professional
fighters.

Madison Square Garden, circa 1940. The third incarnation of the most
famous boxing arena in the world took up an entire block on New York’s
Eighth Avenue. It was the only arena constructed specifically for boxing
(Sports Legends Photos).

The Melting Pot Sport

Fuel for boxing’s growth in America was provided by the massive influx of
immigrants, most of whom settled in large industrialized cities. The vast
majority of professional boxers came from the impoverished minority
populations of the urban ghetto environment.

During the 19th century, Irish immigrants and their sons had dominated the bare
During the 19th century, Irish immigrants and their sons had dominated the bare
knuckle scene in America. Beginning in 1881, and continuing for the next 40
years, a new wave of immigration, totaling 20 million strong, arrived. The
majority of these new immigrants came from eastern and southern Europe. It
would be the children of these immigrants, especially those of Jewish and Italian
heritage, who would provide a plentiful new source of raw material for the prize
ring. They would be joined by other minorities, most significantly African-
Americans migrating from the rural South to the industrial North in ever greater
numbers.

Taking full advantage of America’s extensive rail system, champions and

contenders crisscrossed the country, much like traveling vaudevillians, fighting
in one city after another. Most kept to a busy schedule by fighting every two or
three weeks. They left their imprint on other fighters and trainers, all of whom
were eager to watch, question, listen and learn.

New York City cemented its reputation as the boxing capital of the world.
During the 1920s over two dozen arenas operated on a weekly or bi-monthly
basis within a 10 mile radius of Times Square. The energy, ambition and
creativity of the world’s greatest city found its way into every aspect of the
sport. New York had more fighters, gyms and neighborhood arenas than any
other metropolis. It was also home to boxing’s holiest shrine—Madison Square
Garden.

Tex Rickard’s successful promotions had resulted in the construction, in 1924,

of a new and larger Madison Square Garden. The sight lines and seating were
expressly designed for boxing. This third incarnation of the famous arena took
up an entire block on Eighth Avenue between 49th and 50th street. At full
capacity it could hold twenty thousand fight fans. Until it was demolished in
1968—the same year a new Madison Square Garden opened 17 blocks south
—“the Garden” was boxing’s premier venue. Short of winning a world
championship, it was the dream of every fighter to one day appear in “The
House that Tex Built.”

The feverish fight scene in New York merely reflected the robust health of the
sport throughout the rest of the country. From Portland, Maine, to San Diego,
California, from Seattle, Washington, to Miami, Florida, professional boxing
thrived as it never has before or since. Decades before the National Basketball
Association and Monday Night Football appeared on the scene, professional
boxing, in the first half of the 20th century, rivaled baseball as America’s most
popular spectator sport. Boxing was also flourishing in Europe, Central and
South America, the Philippines, and Australia. But the busiest and most lucrative
market remained the urban centers of the United States.
 2
The Golden Age

Once, the fight game had been a sport of backrooms and lowlifes,
gamblers and thugs. But in the Jazz Age it had become legal,
respectable, glamorous, omnipresent. Its male working class
constituency expanded to the wealthy, to intellectuals, to women—and
in particular society women. Epic contests attracted tens of thousands
of people and, in two instances, more than one hundred thousand. To
many citizens, heavyweight champions mattered more than
presidents.1
David Margolick

The distinguishing feature of every Golden Age is a compelling and

unprecedented burst of genius and creativity. Examples include the Golden Age
of Italian Renaissance artists in the 15th and 16th centuries that included
DaVinci, Michelangelo, Raphael, Botticelli, Caravaggio, Bernini, Titian, and
hundreds of other outstanding artists of the period. In the 18th and 19th centuries
the world experienced the Golden Age of great classical composers, most
famous of whom were Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, Lizt, Handel and
Tschaikovsky. America’s industrial revolution from the mid 19th to early 20th
centuries coincided with the Golden Age of Inventors. In less than a hundred
years Whitney’s cotton gin, Fulton’s steam engine, and the timely inventions of
Edison, Stienmetz, Marconi, Ford, B. T. Washington and the Wright brothers
altered the American way of life forever.

American Jazz, like boxing, was in the midst of its own Golden Age from the
1920s to the 1940s. The era gave rise to the prodigious talents of Louis
Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Fats Waller, Count Basie, Paul Whiteman, Sidney
Bechet, Ethel Waters, Billie Holliday, Bessie Smith, Irving Berlin, George
Gershwin and Benny Goodman—all remarkable in their own distinct way.
Boxing’s Golden Age was no less remarkable for the rich depth of talent it
represented and the amazing variety of fighting styles that emerged from it.

The stupendous Jack Dempsey vs. Georges Carpentier heavyweight

The stupendous Jack Dempsey vs. Georges Carpentier heavyweight
championship fight of 1921 signaled the beginning of boxing’s great Golden
Age of talent, activity and popularity.

Boxing’s Greatest Generation: 1925–1955

Heavyweight champion Jack Dempsey and lightweight champion Benny

Leonard were the two most revered boxers of the 1920s, yet their fighting styles
were polar opposites. Fighting out of a semi-crouch, Dempsey perfected an
aggressive bob and weave style that enabled him to quickly maneuver inside an
opponent’s guard. He would then land short rapid fire combinations to the body
and head. Dempsey had speed, knockout power and a solid chin. His bob and
weave method was effective for both offense and defense and was geared to take
advantage of his tremendous punch. Dempsey’s goal was to end every bout as
quickly as possible; 37 of his 50 knockout victims did not make it past the third
round.

Benny Leonard used the same stand-up fencer’s stance as Jack Johnson, but
employed a great deal more footwork and speed (after all, he was 70 pounds
lighter than Johnson). Leonard took the science of pugilism to another level
entirely. He fought as if playing a physical game of chess in which the object
was always to be mentally and physically one step ahead of an opponent.
Fighting on his toes, he jabbed, circled and sidestepped. He ducked, rolled, slid
in, slid out and feinted—all the while looking to create openings for a variety of
punches.

A skilled infighter, Leonard was just as formidable at close quarters as he was at

long range. He was also famous for the accuracy and timing of his punches.
Leonard’s proud boast was that no fighter could muss his hair in a fight. When
Leo Johnson, a top challenger, attempted to unnerve him by mussing his “patent
leather locks” during a clinch, Leonard responded by knocking Leo out in the
first round.2

“The coordination of mind and muscle was just outstanding,” recalled Ray
Arcel, who saw Leonard in his prime and trained the ex-champ during his
comeback phase after his fortune had been wiped out in the Depression.
“Leonard would feint you into knots. If you were a rough tough fellow he would
back you up. If you were a very clever fellow and laid back waiting to
counterpunch, he would draw you in, make you lead, and then have you fall
short with your punches and counter. Leonard was a student of the human body.
He was a place puncher who knew just where to hit you. A left hook to the liver
was his favorite punch. He moved with terrific speed, in and out, in and out, side
to side and if you weren’t in perfect condition you’d be pretty tired after that first
round and he would be just starting in.”3

Even at his peak Benny Leonard strove for perfection. When asked by Arcel
why he studied four round preliminary fighters in the gym, Leonard replied,
“You can never tell when one of those kids might do something by accident that
I can use.”

Benny Leonard was not alone in emphasizing science over brute force. The most
noteworthy scientific boxers of the 1920s included Gene Tunney, Tommy
Loughran, Jack Delaney, Johnny Dundee, Tommy Gibbons, Benny Valgar,
Frankie Genaro, Jock Malone, Jimmy Slattery, Fidel LaBarba, Sammy Mandell,
Sid Terris, Frankie Schoell, Pal Moore, Jack Sharkey, Solly Seeman, Jack
Bernstein, Harry Wills and Jeff Smith.

There was an amazing array of talent and myriads of fighting styles in every
weight division. Leading the parade of great fighters (in addition to those
mentioned above) were Harry Greb, Mickey Walker, Louis “Kid” Kaplan,
Maxie Rosenbloom, Billy Petrolle, Kid Norfolk, Lew Tendler, Benny Bass,
Dave Shade, Midget Wolgast, Panama Joe Gans, Jack McVey, Harry Smith,
Tiger Flowers, Bud Taylor, Pancho Villa, Pete Herman and Joe Lynch.
Boxing rivaled baseball in popularity during the first half of the 20th
century. Benny Leonard and number one challenger Lew Tendler drew
over 63,000 fans for their 1923 title fight in Yankee Stadium. Left to right:
“Scootles” Reinfeld (Tendler’s trainer), Joe Tiplitz (cornerman), Tendler,
Joe Humphries (announcer), Andy Griffin (referee), and Leonard.
Benny Leonard in 1922. The brilliant Leonard took the science of boxing to
another level entirely. He fought as if playing a physical game of chess.
When Leonard shadow boxed or sparred, every fighter in the gym stopped
to watch him (Paul Thompson).

Harry Greb, the only fighter to defeat Gene Tunney, may have been the greatest
of all the 1920s Golden Oldies. The “Pittsburgh Windmill” was middleweight
champion from 1923 to 1926. His non-stop style would have driven today’s
punch count statisticians crazy. It is doubtful they could have kept up with the
incredible volume of punches Harry threw per round. This almost super human
athlete fought an unbelievable 328 professional bouts in 14 years (1912–1926).
In 1919 he fought 44 main events, including several 15 round bouts—more than
most fighters today have in their entire careers. A true boxing phenomenon,
Harry Greb is representative of that rare breed of great fighter who simply defies
categorization.

During the 1920s there were, at most, ten weight divisions and—how refreshing
—only one champion per division. To be taken seriously a fighter had to defeat
other quality fighters. In this extremely competitive environment only the cream
of each weight class was capable of achieving contender status.

The Way It Was: The World Lightweight Championship Tournament of

1925

The depth of boxing talent in the 1920s—and the intense level of competition—
is best exemplified by the world lightweight championship tournament of 1925.
On January 15, lightweight champion Benny Leonard announced his retirement.
Leonard had been a pro for 14 years and had engaged in 181 professional fights.
He reigned as champion for nearly eight years. But with his sudden retirement,
the normal order of succession, whereby a champion loses his title in the ring,
was disrupted.

Within days of Leonard’s retirement the New York State Athletic Commission
announced it would sponsor an open tournament to determine a new champion.
The commission sent invitations to 20 leading contenders. Other top
lightweights were also invited to participate, including the champions of
England, Canada, Mexico, Cuba and Chile. In all, over 50 highly regarded
lightweight boxers took part in the tournament. By early February independent
promoters had already begun lining up the first bouts in a series of round robin
eliminators. The final championship match was scheduled for July 13 in
Madison Square Garden, only five months after the tournament had begun.
Madison Square Garden, only five months after the tournament had begun.

Fighters kept to a busy schedule during the Golden Age but few could
match the amazing Harry Greb. “The Pittsburgh Windmill” fought an
incredible 328 professional fights from 1912 to 1926 (The International Hall
of Champions).

The most experienced fighter in the tournament was the aging veteran George
“KO” Chaney with 191 fights. The stellar field also included Sammy Mandell
(77 fights), Jimmy Goodrich (122 fights), Eddie “Kid” Wagner (63 fights),
Tommy O’Brien (75 fights), Joe Benjamin (101fights), Benny Valgar (126
fights), Jack Bernstein (80 fights), Ace Hudkins (40 fights) and Solly Seeman
(44 fights).
(44 fights).

Inevitably there were the usual controversies and disappointments. They

included two unpopular decisions, a number of pullouts due to injuries, and the
absence of two top contenders, Sid Terris and Johnny Dundee, who declined to
enter. Nevertheless, the world lightweight championship tournament of 1925
was as close to perfection as the professional boxing establishment has ever
come to organizing a fair and open competition on such a massive a scale.

On July 13, 1925, at Madison Square Garden, Buffalo, New York’s Jimmy
Goodrich stopped Chile’s Stanislaus Loayza in the second round to win
undisputed possession of the lightweight crown. Goodrich and Loayza had
fought a total of 11 bouts in five months to get to the finals. With proper pomp
and dignity the royal line was restored. A successor to the great Benny Leonard
had been anointed. Boxing had a new world lightweight champion—not two, or
three, or four—just one. Boxing fans never had it so good.

The Golden Age of talent and activity that began in earnest during the 1920s set
the tone for what followed. Over the next 30 years boxing’s greatest generation
would produce a dazzling cornucopia of extraordinary fighters. The names alone
tell the story: Joe Louis, Sugar Ray Robinson, Henry Armstrong, Willie Pep,
Ezzard Charles, Tony Canzoneri, Barney Ross, John Henry Lewis, Panama Al
Brown, Charley Burley, Jimmy McLarnin, Rocky Marciano, Archie Moore,
Sandy Saddler, Kid Chocolate, Billy Conn, Lloyd Marshall, Jimmy Bivins,
Marcel Cerdan, Holman Williams, Freddie Steele, Jake LaMotta, Lew Ambers,
Ike Williams, Willie Joyce, Benny Lynch, Tippy Larkin, Kid Gavilan, Tiger
Jack Fox, Pascual Perez, Harold Johnson, Carlos Ortiz, Eder Jofre, Jose Napoles
—and dozens upon dozens of other outstanding fighters who were either great or
bordering on greatness.

Post-Depression

Boxing suffered economically along with the rest of the country during the Great
Depression. Revenues and attendance figures declined. Promoters struggled to
stay in business. Fortunately, the spectacular rise of Joe Louis in the mid–1930s
gave the sport a tremendous boost. Louis’s contribution to boxing cannot be
overemphasized. Aside from establishing himself as one of the greatest fighters
of all time, his success inspired and motivated thousands of other African-
Americans to take up the sport.
Americans to take up the sport.

Boxing remained an integral part of American popular culture into the early
post–World War II period, but its days as a major spectator sport were
numbered. Demographic, economic and societal changes were about to have a
profound impact on virtually every aspect of the sport.
 3
The Incredible Shrinking Sport

Prior to World War II the difficulty in ranking fighters lay in selecting

ten from an outstanding field of possibly fifteen or more prominent
performers. Today’s headache comes from trying to find a sufficient
number of worthies in any division after the first three or four have
been listed.1
Nat Fleischer, editor and publisher, The Ring magazine, 1958

In 1925 the New York State Athletic Commission’s annual report stated that
1,890 licensed professional boxers resided in the state—up from 1,654 the year
before. Two years later, in 1927, the number had climbed to 2,000 licensed
professionals, with over 900 boxing shows promoted throughout state. The
juxtaposition of those figures compared to today is nothing short of astonishing.
New York, once the center of world boxing, licensed a paltry 50 pro boxers and
staged just 38 shows in 2006.

During the 1920s and 1930s approximately 8,000 to 10,000 professional boxers
were licensed annually in the United States. In the 1950s the numbers averaged
between 5,000 and 6,000 every year. The latest figures available from
[Link]—a Web site that tracks the activity of pro fighters throughout the
world—indicated that in 2006 approximately 2,850 active boxers (at least one
fight for the year) were licensed in the United States. The number of shows for
the U.S., Canada and Puerto Rico was 906. This amounts to the total for just one
state (New York) in 1927.

In England, second only to the U.S. in boxing activity during the Golden Age,
the number of annual shows reached a postwar peak of 1,115 during the 1948–
49 season. That was the last time the number exceeded the 1,000 mark. In 1960–
61 the number of shows dipped below the 200 mark for the first time. Over the
past 45 years (1961–2006) they have averaged between 150 and 230 per season.2

Boxing historian Bill Goodman points to the outbreak of World War II as

affecting both the output of boxers and fan appreciation for the art of boxing:
affecting both the output of boxers and fan appreciation for the art of boxing:

“Over 4,000 active pros, including at least five world champions and a good
number of trainers, managers and seconds either enlisted or were drafted into the
U.S. armed forces. Many talented prospects were no longer available to
promoters. The ones left were lesser caliber fighters who didn’t have the talent—
or if they did have the talent they weren’t being nurtured and taught as they had
been prior to the War. As a result many unschooled club fighters advanced to
main bout status.

“Despite the shortage of talent the promoters tried to keep the game going. They
had to use what was available. The fans got used to seeing a less sophisticated
style of boxing—crude but with plenty of slam bang action. It was no longer
necessary to be the stylist that it was prior to that period. You didn’t have to be
as skillful, whereas before they wanted more educated fighters.

“Fans wanted to see the Rocky Graziano and Beau Jack style of fighter, the
action guys that kept going, kept punching, and looked for that knockout. Posters
were advertising fighters with phrases like “he never stops punching from bell to
bell.”

“I’m not knocking Beau Jack. He was an interesting, colorful fighter and a hell
of a campaigner, always trying, but nevertheless, he wasn’t the classic boxer we
saw in the pre War years. As good a fighter as Beau was he wasn’t on the level
of a Barney Ross, Tony Canzoneri, Sammy Mandell or Kid Chocolate. Of
course not everyone could measure up to these great fighters but you had an
endless number of outstanding fighters in the 1920s and 1930s.

“Very few outstanding boxers were developed during or after the War. A list of
the best fighters from the late 1940s and early ’50s reveals that most were
developed prior to the War. There were some exceptions. Fighters such as
Harold Johnson, Joey Giardello, Joey Giambra, Carlos Oritz and other fighters
were throwbacks to the old school but they were in the minority.”

Winding Down

The immediate postwar years would turn out to be the last hurrah for the great
Golden Age of talent and activity. The reasons were not hard to fathom; no other
professional sport is as sensitive to the changing demographic and economic
professional sport is as sensitive to the changing demographic and economic
conditions that surround it.

With America’s postwar economy continuing to improve, jobs and career

opportunities became plentiful. Young men who might have chosen a career in
the ring now had other alternatives. In addition, 2.3 million World War II
veterans took advantage of the G.I. Bill of Rights and enrolled in college.
Another 5.5 million veterans used the bill for job training. The overall effect
transformed American life and jump-started the modern middle class.3

The subsequent exodus of the middle class from the city to the suburbs took with
it many of boxing’s (mostly white) core customers, thereby hurting the network
of small urban arenas that relied on their patronage to stay in business. Fight
clubs which in previous years had been accustomed to drawing four thousand to
five thousand dollar gates on a regular basis found that in 1949 receipts began to
drop to one thousand or less. And for the first year since the prewar era, Madison
Square Garden’s annual total receipts for boxing failed to hit $1,000,000.4 At the
same time, the growing popularity of other professional sports, notably
basketball and football, had begun to chip away at boxing’s mainstream status.
Writing for the New York Times, John R. Tunis described the diminishing
postwar boxing scene: “No longer is there a stream of young fighters flowing
into the ring. The lifeblood of boxing is thinning out, perhaps temporarily, but it
is thinning out, nevertheless. In my own state, Connecticut, … fighting is poorer
in quality and quantity today than before the war.”5

Connecticut had been an active boxing venue throughout the twenties and
thirties, producing many contenders and world champions, including great
fighters such as Willie Pep, Louis (Kid) Kaplan and Lou Brouillard. Tunis
pointed to his own hometown of Norwalk (population 50,000) as an example of
the state’s moribund boxing environment. Prior to the war there was usually a
show every week in Norwalk. In 1949 the city had just one boxing show—and it
lost money.

All across New England, once a hotbed of boxing activity, the number of
fighters and boxing shows continued to recede. Prior to World War II there were
nearly 500 professional boxers licensed in Massachusetts. In 1955 the number
had dwindled to 238. One year later it was 195.6 In 2007 there were only 42
professional boxers licensed in Massachusetts.7
The number of boxing shows has correspondingly declined. In the 1920s
between 600 and 900 shows were staged annually throughout New England.
Over the past 25 years the average is 30 to 45 shows annually.8

Boxing was also declining at the grass roots amateur level. In the 1950s many
boys’ clubs, neighborhood settlement houses and YMCAs dropped boxing from
their amateur athletic programs. In 1960, the National Collegiate Athletic
Association, reacting to the death of University of Wisconsin boxer Charles
Mohr in an inter-collegiate bout, ended its decades long involvement with the
sport.

The ethnic complexion of boxing was also changing. Irish, Jewish and Italian
youths, once so prominent as boxers prior to World War II, no longer needed the
sport to move up the economic ladder. A small number of holdouts remained,
but their numbers were significantly diminished when compared to previous
decades. African-American and Latino boxers were now taking their place at the
forefront of the boxing pantheon. Yet, despite the infusion of new blood, the
number of active boxers continued to free-fall. In 1952 it was reported that ranks
of professional boxers had been depleted by 50 percent.9

The One-Eyed Monster Arrives

Coming to the rescue—albeit temporarily—was the powerful new medium of

television. Boxing and television were made for each other. The shows were
relatively easy and inexpensive to produce. The camera only had to focus on the
small space occupied by the ring and commercials could conveniently be
inserted during the one-minute break between rounds.

Televised boxing was an instant success, creating millions of new fight fans
almost overnight. By 1952 boxing programming was reaching five million
homes representing 31 percent of the available audience. In 1955 the figure had
climbed to 8.5 million homes. Fans got to see—for free—the established stars of
the day, including Sugar Ray Robinson, Kid Gavilan, Rocky Marciano, Archie
Moore, Willie Pep, Sandy Saddler and Rocky Graziano. Ralph “Tiger” Jones,
Chuck Davey, “Hurricane” Jackson, “Bobo” Olson, Gene Fullmer and Carmen
Basilio became household names.
“In less scientific terms,” wrote Jeffrey Sammons in Beyond the Ring: The Role
of Boxing in American Society, “boxing in the 1950s reportedly sold as many
television sets as Milton Berle, and it rivaled ‘I Love Lucy’ in the ratings. Fans
could watch prizefights nearly every night of the week.”10

But there was a downside to televised boxing. The sport’s greedy and
shortsighted moguls (some things never change) were exploiting and
undermining the sport’s unprecedented popularity at the expense of its fading
infrastructure. From 1949 to 1957 the airwaves became saturated with televised
boxing. Up to six nationally televised shows per week (Dumont, ABC, NBC and
CBS) were broadcast, in addition to local programming.

The new medium could have been a panacea for the sport if handled
intelligently; instead the overexposure was accelerating the closure of many
small arenas. Fans chose to stay home, preferring to watch boxing from the
comfort of their homes. They were not interested in paying admission to
neighborhood arenas featuring lesser-known fighters in non-televised bouts.
Scores of small arenas, including many that had been operating continuously
since the 1920s, were being forced out of business. The only arenas showing any
consistent profits were those subsidized with television money.

For over half a century boxing’s extensive network of neighborhood arenas had
performed a vital function, serving as the sport’s farm system for developing
new talent. These “fight clubs,” as they are known in the boxing vernacular,
provided ample opportunity for young boxers to learn and grow at their own
pace. Now, not only was boxing’s farm system being decimated, but the pool of
available talent was drying up as well. “It seems utterly ironical,” wrote Arthur
Daley in the New York Times, “that there should be more fans and more interest
in boxing than ever before in history while there is a shrinkage in sites,
competitors and caliber of performances.”11

In spite of flagging live attendance figures, television continued to keep the sport
in the public eye throughout the 1950s. But the demand for new talent created by
the ravenous TV schedule soon outran the supply. Many young fighters were
being rushed into televised main events before they had a chance to properly
develop. In the worst case scenario an undefeated but untested beginner would
be matched with a seasoned veteran and suffer a beating that not only
undermined his confidence but ended his career prematurely. “The insatiable
requirements for talent built up by the constant scheduling of televised fights
have caused many a promising youngster to be fed into the destructive hopper,”
wrote Nat Loubet in the June 1955 issue of The Ring. Boxing was eating itself
alive and spitting out the pieces. Television, which started out helping the sport,
had now become a major force in its destabilization.12

Goodbye Stillman’s, So Long St. Nick’s

Stillman’s Gym, in New York, was the sport’s busiest and most famous training
facility. It was located just a few blocks north of Madison Square Garden, on
Eighth Avenue between 54th and 55th streets. To boxing fans throughout the
world “Stillman’s” was as important a New York City landmark as the Statue of
Liberty or Radio City Music Hall. It had opened in 1921. During the Golden Age
of talent and activity, the annual membership rolls of Stillman’s had swelled to
almost 400 fighters. During the gym’s 40 year run it is estimated some 30,000
fighters had passed through its grimy but hallowed environs. In 1953 Stillman’s
had to extend its hours into the evening to accommodate boxers who worked at
regular jobs during the day. In previous years, with so many local arenas
providing steady work, prizefighting had been a full time occupation.
Opened in 1921, Stillman’s Gym, located a few blocks from Madison
Square Garden, was boxing’s most famous training site for 40 years.
Photograph taken in 1950. (The Stanley Weston Collection).
Bill Goodman had been a Stillman’s Gym habitué ever since his father first took
the wide-eyed 11 year old to the fabled sweat parlor in 1947. Goodman, a dyed-
in-the-wool boxing fan, was drafted into the Army in 1955. Upon his discharge
in 1957 he immediately headed back to Stillman’s. He recalled the experience:

“When I left to go into the Army in 1955 the area from the end of the rows of
chairs to the back wall, where the phone booths and lunch counter was located,
used to be loaded with promoters, managers, trainers, seconds, matchmakers and
fight guys in from out of town. It was always jam packed with all forms of
people from the boxing industry. But when I returned to Stillman’s two years
later I noticed the crowd had thinned out.

“The talk around the gym was that television was putting a lot of the guys to
work. In other words, they had to get a legitimate job because they couldn’t
make a living in boxing anymore. So you heard that matchmaker Nat Rogers
went to work as a checker on the docks, fight managers Chickie Bogard and
Frankie Jay had opened the ‘Neutral Corner’ bar, Moe Fleischer went to work at
the post office.

“A lot of the guys found different ways to make a living because they couldn’t
make a living in boxing anymore. What are they going to hang around Stillman’s
for? Other than an occasional visit they stopped coming to the gym. And that
happened with the trainers and seconds too. They just stopped coming around,
except for those people who stuck with it. When the clubs folded, the industry
folded.

“But the public wasn’t only staying away from the local clubs to watch free
fights on television. There were other diversions and forms of entertainment that
had not existed before the war, such as night baseball and night harness racing.

“Another problem was that fewer people wanted to be fighters. Consequently

trainers and managers were less busy. They weren’t coming around to the gyms
as often because they didn’t have the fighters to train and manage. That was part
of the reason the gyms were emptying out. So it wasn’t only Stillman’s. All the
gyms were thinning out.

“After the war boxing began to lose its mainstream status. The public’s tastes
were changing. And boxing had a stigma to it, what with all the newspaper guys
writing about fixed fights and investigations. It wasn’t something a guy wanted
to be part of anymore. And the people in the neighborhoods didn’t make fighters
to be part of anymore. And the people in the neighborhoods didn’t make fighters
heroes like they had with the Jewish and Italian fighters who came from the
Lower East Side, Brooklyn, or the Bronx.”

By 1960 less than 100 active professionals were utilizing Stillman’s facilities.
The landmark-boxing edifice finally closed its doors in October 1961. Bill
Goodman was the last fan to walk out of the gym on the day it closed. “Boxing
has deteriorated to the point that it cannot hold onto the most famous training
site in sports history,” wrote Murray Rose in an obituary for the gym that
appeared in Boxing Illustrated magazine.13

Seven months after Stillman’s disappeared, New York’s legendary St. Nicholas
Arena, the nation’s most famous fight club, also went out of business. The arena,
built as a roller rink, had seating for about 3000 fans at full capacity. It had
showcased boxing continuously since 1906. Virtually every great fighter had
fought in St. Nick’s.

“It comes as no news to anybody that the day of the small fight club is past,”
wrote syndicated sports columnist Red Smith in the May 29, 1962, edition of the
New York Herald Tribune. “The closing of St. Nick’s merely dramatizes this
well known fact. This was the last pocket of resistance, and its capitulation
measures the extent of change that has come about in our time.”

Gamblers and Gangsters

Compounding boxing’s problems at this critical time in its history was the
omnipresent influence of gamblers and mobsters. With the end of Prohibition in
1933 mob interest in big time boxing had accelerated. In the late 1940s several
organized crime figures had infiltrated the sport’s most powerful promotional
organization—the International Boxing Club (IBC).

The IBC was the exclusive promoter of boxing at Madison Square Garden, the
Chicago Stadium, Detroit Olympia and the St. Louis Arena—all major boxing
venues. It also had exclusive contracts with both the NBC and CBS television
networks. Television was paying the International Boxing Club $90,000 per
week for the rights to televise their boxing shows.14 The criminals pulling the
strings of the IBC operation used their leverage to fix fights and buy into or take
over the management of top contenders and world champions.
One of the most blatant examples of mob influence in boxing occurred on
November 14, 1947, in Madison Square Garden. Despite being the number one
middleweight contender for four straight years, Jake LaMotta had been frozen
out of a championship match because of his desire to remain independent of mob
control. Finally, desperate for a title bout, LaMotta reluctantly agreed to the
mob’s request that he throw his fight with Billy Fox in exchange for a shot at the
title. Fox was managed by Philadelphia hoodlum Frank “Blinky” Palermo.
LaMotta was “stopped” in the fourth round. But his out-of-character passivity
had many fans convinced he deliberately lost. It wasn’t until thirteen years later
that LaMotta, testifying before a U.S. Senate Committee investigating corruption
in boxing, admitted to throwing the fight.

Changing of the Guard

As the downsizing of boxing’s farm system continued, independent managers

were experiencing difficulty finding work for their fighters. They had to decide
whether to approach someone with “connections” to the lucrative TV market or
risk being frozen out. A good number of managers saw the handwriting on the
wall and chose to leave the business.

A new type of manager was now gaining entrée to the sport. Many were cronies
and associates of the lowlifes involved with the IBC. Crowding out legitimate
managers, who had come up through the ranks and knew the game inside out,
were garment center entrepreneurs, restaurant owners, bookmakers, and assorted
small time mobsters. What they all had in common, aside from a desire to be
part of the glamour and excitement of the sport, was a complete lack of
knowledge as to how to properly manage a professional fighter. Most of these
part-time managers simply acted as fronts for the crooks who were their silent
partners in the ownership of professional boxers. Said Goodman:

“In New York City all of the prominent old school managers had offices on
Broadway or 8th Avenue between 42nd and 59th streets. It had been that way for
years.

Connie McCarthy, Joe Woodman and Tex Sullivan had offices at 2 Columbus
Circle. Al Weill and Irving Cohen were in the Strand building. Chris Dundee
had an office in the Capitol Hotel. Charley Rose worked out of the President
Hotel. Others had offices in the Putnam building and the Roseland building. It
Hotel. Others had offices in the Putnam building and the Roseland building. It
was a legitimate business. All the managers had offices. But in the 1950s
everything started to crumble. By the end of the decade there were no full time
boxing managers operating out of their own offices.

“The new people coming into boxing didn’t have the same background of the
old time managers and trainers. They didn’t know how to break a fighter in.
They wanted to turn him pro right away, not like years before, where if he was a
conscientious manager or trainer, they took their time and painstakingly worked
with him, and did not look to rush him. But now they weren’t doing that. They
didn’t have the knowledge to do it. The business was being invaded by fools
who didn’t know anything.”

Tony Arnold, a young lightweight boxer at the time, recalled the changing of the
old guard: “A different type of manager was starting to come into the business in
the early 1950s. There were always blood hungry managers but these new guys
were ‘kill the goose that laid the golden egg’ types. They’d sacrifice a guy for a
quick buck in one fight. Even if their fighter had talent they were incapable of
seeing it.”

The old school professional managers who decided to stay with the game
understood the landscape. Refusal to sell “a piece” of a desirable fighter’s
contract to a “connected” manager would result in their fighter being blacklisted.
The whole sordid mess eventually came to a head in 1957 when the Justice
Department ordered the dissolution of the IBC for operating a monopoly in
restraint of trade. Two years later Frankie Carbo, the underworld “Czar” of
boxing and the real power behind the IBC, along with his chief lieutenant, Frank
“Blinky” Palermo, were convicted of extortion and menacing. Both received
lengthy prison terms.

The break up of the IBC and the jailing of its mobster overseers was welcome
news to everyone who had boxing’s best interests at heart. But tremendous
damage had already been done to the sport. The overexposure of televised bouts
and the lack of new and exciting stars of equivalent stature to replace the old
ones continued to take a heavy toll on the sport. The ongoing criminal
investigations had further weakened boxing’s hold on the American public.
Many fans were turning away from the sport.
 Television Pulls the Plug

In 1962 boxing was down to one nationally televised bout per week. That same
year welterweight champion Benny “Kid” Paret was beaten unconscious in the
12th round by former champion Emile Griffith in front of a nationwide TV
audience. Paret died ten days later. The following year featherweight champion
Davey Moore lost his life after being knocked out in a non-televised defense of
his title. Newspaper editorials called for the abolition of professional boxing.
Even the Pope condemned the sport. There hadn’t been this much criticism of
boxing since the pre-commission days in the early 1900s. In 1964 the ABC-TV
network cancelled its “Fight of the Week” series. Boxing was off network
television for the first time in 20 years.

While all of this was happening, other major sports were moving inexorably
forward. Professional basketball, which wasn’t even on the radar screen until the
creation of the National Basketball Association in 1946, was gaining in
popularity. Professional baseball also grew stronger in the postwar years. The
national pastime not only retained its importance in popular culture but also
began to expand its franchises to other cities in the 1950s and 1960s. Interest in
professional football, hockey and tennis was also accelerating and within a
decade would reach unprecedented levels of popularity.

So while other major spectator sports reported steady growth in the decades
following World War II, boxing took the opposite track by devolving and
contracting in three important categories: active participants (boxers); schools
and performance sites (gyms and arenas); and qualified mentors (trainers and
managers).

Proponents of the “newer is better” theory of athletic excellence are either

unaware or fail to grasp the significance of this downsizing of boxing’s
infrastructure. Nor do they understand the subsequent negative effects these
changes had on the growth and development of the individual boxer over the
next half century.
 4
Paying Their Dues

Experience is a wonderful thing. That’s where I have a tremendous

advantage over most of my opponents. I have been boxing so long that
I have been confronted with every conceivable situation.1
Former light heavyweight champion Tommy Loughran, quoted in
1933, shortly before his 143rd professional fight.

“Slapsie” Maxie Rosenbloom was on a fast track to the big time. The New York
light heavyweight boxer was undefeated in 35 professional bouts and had the
look of a future champion. In 1925 his overly ambitious manager decided to
match him with the great middleweight champion Harry Greb, a veteran of 275
professional fights. The bout was scheduled for ten rounds. Greb’s title was not
at stake since both fighters weighed over the 160-pound limit.

Rosenbloom froze. He fought as if awed by Greb and did not display the
confidence shown in previous fights. The Cleveland Plain Dealer reported that
after being dropped in the sixth round, Rosenbloom “took the count of seven. By
dancing away, covering up and holding on, Maxie managed to stick it out for the
remainder of that round and the subsequent chapters.” The young fighter lost
every round to Greb. It was a humiliating defeat, but an important learning
experience for the 20-year-old.2

Two and a half years into his professional career, Maxie had not yet developed
into a seasoned professional. Over the next five years he engaged in 96
additional fights. That experience gave Rosenbloom both the seasoning and
confidence he required to realize his potential. In 1930 he won the light
heavyweight championship of the world.

“Slapsie” Maxie Rosenbloom was one of the most colorful boxers of his era. He
was given the nickname because of his method of slapping and cuffing
opponents with an open glove. He was actually a non-violent boxer who
preferred to outpoint his rivals (and not risk injury to his hands) rather than try
for a knockout. In 289 career bouts (1923–1939) he scored only 18 knockouts.
for a knockout. In 289 career bouts (1923–1939) he scored only 18 knockouts.
He fought every outstanding contender and champion of his era and was stopped
just once, at the end of his career. Experts rate him as one of the greatest light
heavyweights of all time. A man of multiple talents, Maxie had a very successful
second career as a Hollywood character actor, appearing in close to 100 films.
Master boxer Tommy Loughran (light heavyweight champion 1927–1929)
was one of the most accomplished boxers of the 20th century (Photograph
by Fowler).
“Slapsie” Maxie Rosenbloom as he looked in 1925, the year Harry Greb
slapped him around (International Hall of Champions).

The Education of Archie Moore

The same year that Rosenbloom hung up his gloves, a hard punching young
middleweight named Archie Moore was on the verge of breaking into the
ratings. In four years as a pro Moore had won 48 of 51 bouts, including 38 by
knockout. In April 1939 he was matched with former champion Teddy Yarosz.
A victory over Yarosz would place him squarely among the top ten contenders
vying for a shot at the middleweight title.

The day after the fight, the headline in the sports section of the St. Louis Post
Dispatch read, “Yarosz Too Experienced, Wins Decision, Eastern Boxer Proves
Master On Defensive.” A caption underneath a picture of the fight stated that
Yarosz gave Moore “a boxing lesson.” The fight was Yarosz’s 112th
professional bout.3
Ageless Archie Moore used his "amalgam of experience and ring savvy" to
defeat much younger challengers who were toddlers when he first turned
pro.

In the article Moore explained his defeat:

“He just had too much up here,” he smiled, tapping his head, “and I guess in this
game you gotta go through such experiences, but I’ll keep trying.” Yarosz
showed all the respect in the world for Moore’s punching power and would not
give Archie a chance to hit him. So proficient was Teddy that the fans left the
building no longer wondering how Teddy could have been boxing in the top
flight of the 160 pounders for 10 years and show only one little scar on his face.4

There would be other wins—and losses—for Moore. It was all part of the
learning process. He was paying his dues the old fashioned way. Over the next
13 years Moore had an additional 121 professional fights. He was consistently
ranked among the top challengers. Both the middleweight and light heavyweight
champions avoided him for many years. But Moore’s persistence would
eventually pay off. He won the light heavyweight title from Joey Maxim in 1952
—17 years after turning pro. Today Archie Moore is lauded as one of boxing’s
all time great fighters.
Master at work: Tommy Loughran (right) ducks Max Baer’s right cross
during their 1930 bout in Madison Square Garden. Note the perfect balance
and position of Loughran’s feet and hands.
Light heavyweight champion Joey Maxim (right) deftly blocks Archie
Moore’s left in their 1952 title fight. Moore won the decision and the title. It
was his 177th professional fight (AP/Wide World Photos).

Both Rosenbloom and Moore had proven an ultimate truth; it is a law of nature
that the more you do something the more proficient you become. Experience and
challenge are necessary for growth in any field of endeavor. But the days when
boxers could attain the type of extensive professional experience of Greb,
Rosenbloom, Yarosz or Moore is long gone. Consider this: two of boxing’s most
successful modern day superstars, Roy Jones, Jr., and Bernard Hopkins, each
fought 17 years before reaching the same 50-bout milestone that Moore had
gotten to in just 4 years.
 An Amalgam of Experience and Ring Savvy

Despite Moore’s advanced age he was actually in less danger of losing his title
than if he had won it ten years earlier. The Golden Age of talent and activity was
coming to a close in the 1950s. This worked to Moore’s advantage. The type of
fighter who could have toppled this grand warrior from his throne had all but
disappeared from boxing’s shrinking landscape. The new breed of contenders—
Yolande Pompey, Tony Anthony, Yvon Durelle, Guilio Rinaldi—were decent
enough for their time, but did not possess the skill or experience of the top light
heavyweights of a decade earlier. Ageless Archie had managed to outlast his
toughest competition.

Moore’s ability to outsmart younger and faster challengers with his crafty
counter punching style earned him the nickname “The Old Mongoose.” In a
1980 interview with the New York Times Moore attributed his remarkable
athletic longevity to “an amalgam of experience and ring savvy.” A key
ingredient, he explained, was his ability to control the pace of a fight irrespective
of his opponent’s intention. “For a guy who was real energetic and
rambunctious, you knew how to maintain a pace. And you knew how to be
patient. In 30 seconds, I can size up and set up my opponent. Not all fighters can
do that.”5

Archie was nearly 50 years old when he fought future heavyweight champion
Muhammad Ali (then known as Cassius Clay) in 1962. Father time and young
Cassius finally caught up with “The Old Mongoose.” Clay stopped Moore in the
fourth round, sending one of boxing’s all time great fighters into a well-deserved
retirement.

Former welterweight and middleweight champion Emile Griffith fought

professionally from 1958 to 1977 and like Moore was competitive with the top
fighters in his weight class for many years beyond his prime. During the latter
half of his 20-year career he came to regard his relationship with younger
opponents as teacher and student. “I could tell what he was going to do before he
would do it,” said Griffith.6

In 1973, having already fought 98 professional bouts, and considered over the
hill, 35 year old Emile Griffith gave a 15 round boxing lesson to middleweight
champion Carlos Monzon but ended up losing a disputed decision. One year
earlier Monzon had stopped him in the 14th round. In the return match Griffith
used his own “amalgam of experience and ring savvy” to re-adjust his strategy
used his own “amalgam of experience and ring savvy” to re-adjust his strategy
and hold the younger champion to a close decision.

A Statistical Comparison

Graphs 1 through 4 reveal numerical averages for the reigning champions in the
eight traditional weight divisions at the time of their first title acquisition. In
other words, Jack Dempsey was still heavyweight champion in 1925 but first
won the title in 1919 after having fought 73 recorded bouts. Taking that number
into account along with the numbers of the other seven world champions in
1925, the average comes to 84 fights at time of first title acquisition. Source
material for the graphs appears in the Appendix.7

The graphs are spaced at ten-year intervals beginning in 1925. (To keep the
numbers up to date, the final calculation is for March 2007.) Where there are
multiple champions in the same weight class, the fighter with the strongest claim
is listed. Categories include: (1) number of fights to first title; (2) number of
rounds to first title; (3) percentage of knockouts to total fights; and (4) number of
years to first title.

The results clearly indicate a decline in the average number of bouts and rounds
from 1925 to the present. Although the average number of years to a title has
remained fairly constant, averaging four to five years, the number of bouts per
year has declined precipitously. As expected, the busiest activity takes place
from 1925 to 1955. The steepest decline in fights and rounds occurs from 1985
to the present.
Average Number of Fights. Graph 1: Average Number of Fights to Title

The numbers reflect the fact that in the first half of the 20th century most
professional boxers routinely fought at least once a month, while over the past
twenty years the average is one fight every three or four months.

No Substitute for Experience

If Sugar Ray Robinson—considered by most experts to be the greatest pound for

pound fighter of all time—had turned pro after 1980 he would have accumulated
between 45 and 60 fights over the next 15 years. These figures are similar to the
between 45 and 60 fights over the next 15 years. These figures are similar to the
15-year totals compiled by Roy Jones Jr. and Bernard Hopkins, both of whom
turned pro in the late 1980s. It is also very similar to the current fighting
schedule of Floyd Mayweather, Jr.

But Sugar Ray Robinson had a decidedly different career track than either Jones,
Hopkins or Mayweather. Turning pro in 1940, he averaged a fight a month,
compiling 83 fights in his first seven years as a pro. During that time he defeated
six world champions and dozens of contenders in both the welterweight and
middleweight divisions. Barely two years into his phenomenal pro career,
Robinson had already outpointed lightweight champion Sammy Angott in a non-
title ten rounder. Robinson’s defeat of Angott was his 33rd straight victory.
Rounds. Graph 2: Average Number of Rounds to Title

Yet, as great as Robinson was in his 33rd fight, he was even better six years later
after having fought an additional 56 fights and 337 rounds. What made him
better was the seasoning he acquired by consistently fighting top caliber
competition. Robinson was especially appreciative of former welterweight
champion Fritzie Zivic’s contribution to his education. “He taught me more in
20 rounds of fighting than anybody,” said Robinson. “He had all the answers. He
was boxing’s dictionary.”8

Zivic, in his 200 plus fights, had learned every trick in the book, and invented a
few of his own. He was considered one of the dirtiest fighters ever, yet this
master technician was so adept in his art he was never called for a foul.
master technician was so adept in his art he was never called for a foul.

Another brilliant contemporary of Sugar Ray Robinson was the great

featherweight champion Willie Pep. After only two and a half years as a pro, Pep
outpointed Chalky Wright for the title. It was his 55th pro bout. But Willie Pep
was a better all around fighter six years later, after accumulating an additional 80
fights and 742 rounds.

From 2000 to 2006, Roy Jones, Jr., and Bernard Hopkins each had 13 fights,
representing 128 rounds for Jones and 145 rounds for Hopkins. In six years both
fighters had fought fewer than 150 rounds apiece, mostly against third rate
competition. That type of activity would have amounted to child’s play for Pep
and Robinson, who routinely had at least 10 fights and over 100 rounds per year.

No matter how much natural talent a fighter may bring to the table today, the
current working environment does little to affect the realization of his full
potential. Viewing tapes of Roy Jones, Jr., Bernard Hopkins and Floyd
Mayweather, Jr., reveals to the knowing eye that they are basically the same
fighter in their 35th pro bout—at the apex of their careers—as they were in their
20th pro bout. There is very little difference to be seen. Part of the problem is the
quantity and quality of available competition these fighters have been exposed
to.
Knockout Percentage. Graph 3: Average Knockout Percentage to Title

The hectic boxing schedules of Robinson and Pep were considered normal for
fighters of their generation. Inactivity of three or four months between fights was
considered excessive. It was not uncommon to accumulate some 100
professional bouts in just four to six years of campaigning. Typical is the record
of former featherweight contender Al Reid, who turned pro in 1935. Reid fought
99 professional bouts over the next six years.

A few legendary iron men, such as Sam Langford, Battling Levinsky (two ten
round fights in a single day), Jack Britton, Ted Kid Lewis (49 fights in one year),
Johnny Dundee, Harry Greb, Maxie Rosenbloom, Freddie Miller and Fritzie
Zivic approached, or exceeded, 300 career bouts. Such numbers are unheard of
today.
today.

In the event a fighter remained idle for several months, he would usually engage
in several “tune up” bouts against average or below average opponents in order
to fine-tune his timing and conditioning. These bouts were generally spaced
three to six weeks apart. The fighters knew they had to stay active and sharp
because the competition demanded it. The “tune up” bout has since gone out of
style since a fight every four to six months is considered normal today. No one
raised an eyebrow when Shane Mosley, after stopping washed up Fernando
Vargas in July of 2006, told the media, “I really have my eye set on taking the
rest of the year off…. I fought two good fights this year and I need a break. I
have a lot of money.”9
Years. Graph 4: Average Years to Title

Compare: In 1922 lightweight champion Benny Leonard fought one of his

toughest battles, a 12 rounder against number one challenger Lew Tendler. Nine
days later, with an unhealed cut over his right eye and his body still sore from
the Tendler fight, Leonard honored a commitment to meet former contender
Ever Hammer in a ten round non-title fight. It was his eighth bout of the year,
including four title defenses. Leonard, protecting his injured eye, boxed
cautiously and won an easy decision.

After Jake LaMotta lost a ten round decision to Sugar Ray Robinson in October
1942, he prepared for their return bout by fighting five times over the next four
months. Among the opponents he faced were top contenders Jimmy Edgar and
Jackie Wilson. Robinson kept active by meeting four opponents, including
veteran Izzy Janazzo and middleweight contender Vic Dellicurti. After their
second match in February (which LaMotta won) they faced off again three
weeks later. Robinson even managed to sandwich in a ten round bout with Jackie
Wilson before the rubber match.

A Golden Age pro answering the bell every two to four weeks could not allow
himself to be beaten up to the point that he would have to miss his next payday.
Boxing is a hurting business but it would have been even more painful to turn
down a potential payday. As a result, the old timers often fought with unhealed
cuts or bruised hands. They had to be tough and resourceful. They had to learn
how to fight under extreme conditions. That is why the contenders and
journeymen who made it through this type of apprenticeship were rarely
knocked out.

Sal Rappa explained in an interview, “Sometimes a fighter might not pull out all
the stops, or remain more cautious, or fight less strenuously against a mediocre
fighter because he was already signed to fight a top contender in three weeks. It
would not make sense to wear himself out against a mediocre but tough
opponent. The next bout was far more important to his career. So he did just
enough to win.”

The Must Win Syndrome

Former fighters, historians, authors and trainers say the changes in the way a
Former fighters, historians, authors and trainers say the changes in the way a
boxer learns has not been for the better. In the modern era winning is paramount.
This was not the case in previous generations. Here’s what several say on the
issue.

Chuck Hasson: “The Harry Greb vs. Maxie Rosenbloom fight showed a fighter
in the learning process going up against the toughest guy in the world. He lost,
but that did not stop him from becoming a great fighter. It helped him improve.
Many future champions of that era lost a lot of fights—guys like Sammy Angott
and Fritzie Zivic come to mind. Today people would sneer at their records. But
those losses were part of the learning process, part of the apprenticeship to
become a good fighter. When you fought good fighters there was always the
chance that you would lose.

“One of the things that gets me today is that you’ll see a young boxer being built
up and they’ll put him in an eight rounder and when he wins his managers say,
‘we’re sure he can go eight now, so lets now put him in a ten.’ Years ago the
process was different. When you were a six round fighter you might fight a
series of matches with a swarmer, then a series of sixes with a counter puncher,
and then a series of sixes with maybe a spoiler. And then, after your guy proved
he could go six rounds with anybody, any style, then they’d move him into an
eight. And he’d then fight a series of eights and go through the same process of
maybe 15–18 bouts with every conceivable style, and then they would move him
up to a ten. Nowadays he goes eight rounds one time so it’s ‘let’s put him in a
ten, he’s ready to go ten rounds.’ It’s a whole different apprenticeship today.”

Teddy Atlas: “You had so many good fighters in the decades we are talking
about. The other thing that made those eras so competitive—and we’re never
going to see it again—was the combination of so many gyms and so many clubs
for fighters to learn. I mean if there are no hospitals there are not going to be that
many good doctors. If there is no crime you’re probably not going to have a lot
of good criminal lawyers.

“There was a lot of hunger. There was a need for these people to come up from
where they came and to make it in boxing. There were a lot of clubs and a lot of
interest. The gyms and the regular fight shows allowed them to develop.”

Bill Goodman: “The worst thing they did to boxing over the past 25 or 30 years,
which is tantamount to suicide for the sport, was the way promoters, managers
and television magnified the cost of defeat. It is one of boxing’s biggest faults
today. In other words, a fighter has to have a 30–0 undefeated record or he’s
nothing. God forbid he should lose a fight. They might as well take him out and
shoot him like they do horses that break their leg.

“Going back to the early 1900s, maybe earlier, the only thing that ever meant
anything in boxing was a thorough effort on the part of the fighter. Those two
words thorough effort are emphasized because of what it meant at the time. It
was not whether you won or lost or fought to a draw. What was important was
that you gave your best, and you gave your all, because if you did that they used
to bring you back. They’d want to use you again. You developed a following
because of the fact you put on a good show all the time. It wasn’t the win or loss
that counted. You were better off losing a fight, and losing it properly, than
winning the fight and stinking the joint out.

“Nowadays they are only concerned with protecting the fighter’s record. They
magnify the cost of defeat like nothing else matters but the win. This is what put
the tailspin in boxing. They can’t make the proper matches because nobody
wants to take a chance. They’re all afraid of losing. One guy has a fighter he
wants to move, and another guy has a fighter he wants to move, but they don’t
want to fight each other even though the match is a natural that could draw an
audience and make money. But they don’t care. They’ll turn the match down and
get a fight with some stumblebum so they can get another win. That doesn’t do
any good for boxing. Competition means something to boxing, and that’s not fair
competition. So people get disgusted. They don’t want to bother with it, except
for fans in the 20 to 40 age range that don’t know the difference.”

Teddy Atlas: “It’s also important to understand that managers didn’t have to
worry about only winning because it didn’t knock them back the way it does
today, where if you don’t have a glossy undefeated record you don’t get on
Showtime, or HBO, or one of the TV outlets for bigger money. In those days all
that mattered was that you could compete and you stayed active. You had the
opportunity to stay active because of the enormous amount of shows. What
mattered was that you could compete and know there was another opportunity
around the block, so to speak.

“One of the biggest differences between then and now was that the manager
wasn’t burdened with navigating to protect the fighter from losing. There wasn’t
the pressure that there is today to remain undefeated. You could let the fighters
get the fights that were going to let them develop—win or lose.
“What counted was that the fighter was going to get better and have another
opportunity to perform, immediately down the road or further down the road.
And that made a huge difference compared to today, because now fighters are
navigated by their management to steer away from fights that could make them
better, whereas in those days they were steered into them.

“You have guys today that are navigated and managed to positions instead of
being developed to positions. They are not put in with fighters that are going to
make them better fighters. They are navigated around guys in order to get one of
these manipulated title belts on television.

“Gerry Cooney was steered away from fights that could have given him a chance
to beat Larry Holmes. But what was most important—and it’s no knock on
anyone because it was the times and the landscape—was for him not to lose. If
he would have been put in some fights that were 50–50 fights, or even 55–45
fights, as far as percentages of winning or losing, with Cooney being the slight
favorite, he would have taken a deep breath in one of those fights and possibly
gained the confidence that would have come with that experience by putting his
feet down and saying, ‘I can win this fight with Larry Holmes’ when that point
in the fight came around. But his management didn’t want to risk that because
the landscape allowed them to go to a ten million dollar fight without risking
defeat against a competitive opponent. And we understand that. But in the
1920s, 30s and 40s, it wasn’t that way. It was even feeding grounds for
everybody. It really was. It was open prairie. And that was one of the great
things you had right from the beginning.”

Mike Capriano Jr.: “The economic side of the sport has changed. Managers are
paying their boxer’s opponents. In the old days it was: ‘You’ve got a fighter,
I’ve got a fighter, let’s make a match.’ Not today. It’s hyping and building up
someone at someone else’s expense in a mismatch.

“Today they want to insure a win. In the old days it wasn’t that important to be
undefeated. Managers didn’t care so much about an undefeated record. A loss
meant experience. The managers expected a win but were not sure their fighter
would win. At some point they wanted to test the fighter, have him gain
experience and see if he really had it.”

Teddy Atlas: “Like I said before, it didn’t matter; it wasn’t a death sentence to
the manager or the fighter if you lost. It was just a matter of fighting and getting
better … fighting and moving up … and trying to get to Madison Square
Garden. That’s all that mattered.

“Today the main concern is just getting to a certain record. I’ve heard managers,
and even fighters say, ‘I’ll get to 15 wins and no losses and then I’ll go into a big
money fight.’ They don’t even realize it, but that tells you something right there.
People let that go right over their heads. But that tells me something about my
business that’s very unsettling and very disturbing. In the old days it wasn’t that
way. It was a matter of fighting guys that were put in front of you and dealing
with that fight and then having an opportunity to get back whatever happened
from that fight, whether it’s to go forward or whether it’s to make up for the
result of that fight.”

Kevin Smith: “If you look at any of the 1920s fighters, even an ordinary main
event fighter from some obscure tank town, you are going to recognize names on
his record. These guys fought each other. There was not as much avoiding
competitive fights as there is today. Take a guy like Morrie Schlaiffer out of
Omaha. He fought some pretty damn good fighters and Morrie Schlaiffer wasn’t
really that good. But he went to the big cities and took on the toughest
opponents. And guys like Panama Joe Gans and Phil Kaplan, and other
contenders would go out there and fight him in Omaha. They went where the
money was and it didn’t really matter a lot of times who it was they were
fighting. Every fight was experience. Most fighters of that era had a hundred or
more fights.

“It wasn’t as big a deal to lose back then as it is now. Losses were considered a
lot more like baseball in that you lose a game and you go on and try to win the
next series.”

Freddie Roach: “A fighter in the 1940s and 1950s could develop and learn his
skills gradually. It’s different nowadays. You’d better be able to fight right away
because having a loss on your record is almost unacceptable for TV. Everyone
has to be undefeated. Back in the 1940s and ’50s you had 30 pro fights before
you fought a main event, and you probably lost a couple of times but the thing
was you learned along the way and you don’t have that luxury nowadays of that
learning process.

“It seems like fighters were a lot more active when they could fight once a
month, or even more. Look at today’s champions, they fight twice a year and
that’s a lot.
that’s a lot.

“You also had great role models. You had a lot of good fighters in the gyms, and
just being around guys like that rubbed off on fighters. The young guys kind of
copied them a little bit, learned something here, and something there, and it
rubbed off on them. It was good for them. Unfortunately, you don’t have that
nowadays. You don’t have the role models per se. In my gym I have a couple of
world champions and my young fighters benefit from it because they get to spar
with that quality of fighter but there’s just not enough of it. You don’t have that
opportunity.

“I started my career in 1978 in Massachusetts, but I decided to move out west

because there were only a few featherweights in all of New England at that time.

“They used to hold weekly fights at the Silver Slipper Casino, in Las Vegas. I
fought nine times in my first year there. I stayed busy. My first ten rounder I
think I got paid $1000. But the money wasn’t the issue back then. My first pro
fight I made 90 bucks for six rounds. But I was learning my trade. It wasn’t,
‘when I get to the title that’s when I’ll get the big money fights.’ Of course you
hoped for that, but the money was not the important thing for me at that time.
Learning my trade was the important thing.”

“The Black Murderers’ Row”

Teddy Atlas: “In the 1920s you had some extraordinary guys. And what was
extraordinary about those times was that the best fought the best. There wasn’t
as much manipulation and not quite as much navigating. I mean there was some
navigating with Jack Dempsey, and with some white boxers in particular.
There’s no doubt about that. But there was less of it in certain eras—and those
would be my best eras.

“But I would also say that you have to be real careful when you look at that era
and understand there is a little separation—to my eyes at least—when comparing
the years from the early 1900s to the 1950s. It concerns the black fighters of that
early period. You had guys like Sam Langford. I would gladly pay these crazy
memorabilia guys for this great fighter’s autograph. I have special, special
admiration for Langford and the other great black fighters of his era; Joe Gans,
Jack Blackburn, Joe Jeanette, and the original Joe Walcott. They were all great
fighters. All of them.

“That era was very competitive. But did the white guys get the trump cards?
Yes, they did. And that was the only thing that changed it for me a little bit. Yet
it was still a very unbelievably competitive time. When you go further, to the
1930s and the ’40s and a little bit into the ’50s, you had great fighters like
Archie Moore, and those other light heavyweight monsters, Lloyd Marshall,
Jimmy Bivins and of course Ezzard Charles, who people don’t even realize was
one of the greatest light heavyweights of all time.

“You had certain black fighters, such as those I just mentioned, and a few others,
that were avoided by the champions and had to go into the heavyweight division
to be able to get fights and to make money. You had guys like Archie Moore,
who for ten years they didn’t allow to get a title shot. Moore had the added
pressure of being his own promoter as he went from city to city establishing his
credentials.

“The best black light heavyweights and middleweights of that era were so good
they had trouble getting the top guys into the ring with them. So guys like
Charley Burley, Holman Williams, Archie Moore, Jimmy Bivins and Lloyd
Marshall would fight each other. Charley Burley fought Holman Williams at
least seven times, I believe. Those were great competitive times. But if you want
to know which era was the best—and you take away the race card—you’d have
to go to that era of the late 1940s and into the early 50s, with the most talented
weight divisions probably the welterweights and middleweights. I’m talking
about the era of Robinson, LaMotta, Gavilan, Basilio, Burley. I mean you’d be
on safe ground—although it’s always open to argument—to say that was a very
tough era because starting in the late 1940s and early ’50s the best black fighters
were finally getting their chance to fight for the title. That’s what makes that era
a little different because now the white guy had to fight those guys too. That’s
what made it a little different … just a little. It was kind of like baseball when
the Negro athletes were finally allowed to play in the major leagues. To me
that’s when you had the best fighting the best with no fences. I think you could
also make an argument for the other earlier years. And, like I said, hopefully I’m
explaining it properly.”

The Reality of Race

The injustice of denying the great black middleweights and light heavyweights
of the 1930s and ’40s a chance to fight for a title was often tied to economic
of the 1930s and ’40s a chance to fight for a title was often tied to economic
realities as well as prejudicial attitudes. Promoters were reluctant to match a
popular champion against a dangerous black contender for fear that a loss would
diminish the white fighter’s stature and drawing appeal. Rocky Graziano, the
very popular and exciting middleweight champion (1947–48), was a huge draw
wherever he fought. It is doubtful he could have beaten Charley Burley. The
match was never made because it would have knocked Graziano off and
replaced him with a fighter who, despite his deadly punch and immense talent,
did not have a colorful style and—most important—meant little at the box
office.

Unfortunately, the economic situation for most black fans was such that buying a
ticket to a championship fight was a luxury most could not afford, especially
during the first few decades of the 20th century. A black fighter needed to
establish crossover appeal with white fans that would make him attractive to
promoters and ease his way to a title shot. Joe Louis had tremendous crossover
appeal. Sugar Ray Robinson, Beau Jack, Kid Chocolate, John Henry Lewis and
Henry Armstrong were also extremely popular with white audiences, which put
them in great demand. Charley Burley, Holman Williams, Lloyd Marshall, Bert
Lytell, Eddie Booker, Jimmy Bivins and the Cocoa Kid were unable to make the
leap even though they were top rated contenders. Archie Moore was practically
middle aged by the time he established his crossover appeal, but he made the
most of it by fighting successfully well into his forties. Ezzard Charles, perhaps
the best of what boxing historians later dubbed “The Black Murderers’ Row” of
middleweight and light heavyweight contenders, eventually moved up to
heavyweight. The dearth of marquee names in the heavyweight division after Joe
Louis’ retirement in 1949 was instrumental in Charles finally getting his shot at
a title.

In terms of men reaching their full potential as professional fighters—with or

without a crown—the fertile competitive environment of the Golden Age of
talent and activity required all top contenders to go through a similar
apprenticeship. The era they competed in allowed Burley and the other feared
black fighters of his generation to keep busy, earn a living, and develop into
great fighters. Knowledgeable boxing historians fully recognize their place
among the pantheon of ring greats.

Toughness of the Old-timers

 Toughness of the Old-timers

Another difference in the previous era and today’s sport is in true toughness.
Practitioners and pundits have this to say on the matter.

Teddy Atlas: “There is one other very important quality that made those guys
so much more to me, something different than the guys of today: Mental
toughness.

“The second George Foreman [after his 10 year hiatus] had a mental attitude that
was more like the old-timers. The second one thought more and he was mentally
tougher. I know he wasn’t physically better, but he used what he had physically
better. And he was much tougher. He would have knocked out the young George
Foreman. He would have exposed him the way Ali exposed the young Foreman,
but in a more brutal way.

“The old George Foreman used his experience. He was much more relaxed in
the ring. He’d move you into punches. He would take advantage of the mind and
of the experience. The young George—experience took advantage of him. The
older fighter had the attitude and make-up of a tough fighter. The young one did
not.”

Erik Arnold: “I think a lot of these guys have less ‘heart’ than the fighters of
the past. They are not as tough, and I think it’s because they do not have to really
go out of their way to make money. It’s not a job with them. Boxing is
something they exploit to become rich. They become celebrities. It’s like an
alternate path to being a film star. You don’t have guys like Jimmy Carter or
Jersey Joe Walcott. Boxing was their livelihood. It wasn’t just something to
make big money and be seen with a lot of Hollywood people. It was their craft—
like a carpenter who doesn’t expect to become wealthy but this is what he does
for a living. And that’s been pretty much lost in boxing.”

Teddy Atlas: “There was urgency and there was pride. It used to be a huge thing
if a kid could carry the gym bag of a professional fighter. That was a special
privilege. There were other kids who would just follow the champion down the
street as he walked to Stillman’s. There’s a responsibility that comes with that
kind of pride. That’s what people forget. With that pride comes a responsibility.

“You have to behave a certain way. You have to. And the old timers behaved
like pros. They behaved like fighters. Of course there were fewer options then. If
you turned a fight down with the wrong promoter—and I hate to say it, but
you turned a fight down with the wrong promoter—and I hate to say it, but
probably every one was the wrong promoter because there was solidarity in that
way—you didn’t fight! So the temperament, the atmosphere, the urgency … you
had to behave like a fighter.

“Today there are too many options not to behave like a fighter. For everything
that I talked about in a positive way—that these guys had to be men, and be
stronger men, and better fighters—there’s excuses today that match every one of
those elements to avoid responsibility, accountability, and being a pro.”

Tony Arnold: “The mentality is different today. The fighters want to make
some big money in as few fights as possible and get out. Everybody wants to be
a superstar and everybody wants to be in the image of an Ali or Sugar Ray
Leonard.

“The fighters of the Golden Age knew they had to be in it for the long term if
they were going to make it a career. That meant sixty, eighty, a hundred fights.
They said ‘I’ve got to be good. I’ve got to know how not to get hurt. I’ve got to
stay in top shape because my fight that I’m going to have next week will only
pay me enough to last at least four to six weeks and I’ve got to be ready for
another fight. This is my job. I’ve got to be in it for the long term.’ It was not:
‘I’m going to try and get Don King to give me a million dollars in my 15th pro
fight and I’m going to be a superstar.’ They looked upon it as a profession. The
fighters today don’t look at it as a profession. They look at it as a way to make
some fast money and become famous.

“The old timers’ attitude was ‘this is my job. I’ve got to get up in the morning
and run. I’ve got to stay in shape. I’ve got a family to feed. I’m only going to
make 500 dollars for this fight and that’s going to last me for a couple of weeks
and I have to pay the rent. If I’m not in shape and if I don’t learn my trade and
try to be better than the next guy, and get better in every fight, I’m going to end
up working on the docks.’

“That’s what motivated these guys—the hunger and the fear. It motivated a lot
of the fighters to be good at what they did. And it motivated the trainers too.
They also did not make that much money for each fight. They said, ‘My guy’s
got to keep fighting. I’ve got rent to pay. He can’t get hurt and he can’t get
knocked out too often. He’s got to be good at what he does. And they lived with
these guys and ate with these guys and they talked boxing 24 hours a day. They
trained hard and they thought about their opponents. It’s not like today. It was a
whole different thing. It was a profession. You had to be dedicated to be good
whole different thing. It was a profession. You had to be dedicated to be good
because the other guy was in the same position as you and he was good too and
you had to be good to beat him.”

Freddie Roach: “I see these kids coming out of the Olympics and they’re a little
bit spoiled. You know, back in the days when I turned pro everybody had a job. I
worked a job my whole career. Before work I’d do my roadwork and after work
I’d do my training. I was an electrician, or a bus boy in Las Vegas, or a
dishwasher. The thing was, boxing didn’t pay my bills. But you take the kids
nowadays and you look at them and they run an hour in the morning, maybe, and
then they work out in the gym for two hours. And they have 21 hours in the day
to get into trouble, and believe me they’ll get into trouble.

“They don’t have that grittiness … that hunger. Back in the ’40s and ’50s the
fighters weren’t babied. You were a pro fighter. You could fight a couple of
times a month, even three times a month. Activity, I think, is probably the
biggest thing that’s missing for fighters today because you can’t improve your
game and remain sharp unless you have activity.

“Back when they had club fights you could take those small steps up the ladder.
You’d start off with the four rounders, then six rounders, then eights. The
opponents were getting better each time, and you were experiencing different
styles. You didn’t go from fighting D fighters to an A fighter in one fight. But
that’s what happens nowadays because people are looking for that payday. You
look at a fighter with a terrific record, but who has he fought? Today you get 20
wins under your belt and all of a sudden you’re a contender. But if you’ve fought
20 stiffs the first time you go in against a good fighter you’re not prepared. The
good fighter knocks out the fighter with 20 straight wins and everyone thinks
he’s special.”

The Competition

The modern era’s emphasis on winning and money has also brought about
changes in competition. Experts say lack of quality competition and fewer fights
have diminished the sport.

Tony Arnold: “The guys who fought years ago went up against so many
different kinds of styles. Many of them had 150 fights by the time they were
major contenders. They knew every move another guy was going to make. It
took real ability to beat these guys. I’m not even talking about the champions.
I’m talking about guys like George “Sugar” Costner, a 1940s era welterweight
and middleweight contender. I saw Costner when he fought Gene Burton. These
guys were highly skilled fighters. Costner was a top contender. He could take
your head off with one shot and he was a skilled boxer too.

“In 1950 Sugar Ray Robinson knocked out George ‘Sugar’ Costner in the first
round. I remember him telling the press there was room in boxing for only one
‘Sugar.’ But to show you how good Costner was—and how great Robinson was
—in Costner’s very next fight he takes on Kid Gavilan and beats him. After
Gavilan he fights Ike Williams and beats him too! That was Costner’s last fight.
He had to retire because of eye trouble. He went blind eventually. In those days
they couldn’t fix detached retinas.

“But he beat Gavilan just before Gavilan won the title and he beat Ike Williams
right after that. This is only two or three months after he loses to Robinson. I
read about the fights. They said that Williams took a terrific shellacking. So did
Gavilan. I mean he out boxed them and he out punched them. But as good as
Costner was, he couldn’t hold a candle to Robinson. Sugar Ray Robinson
showed true greatness in destroying such a good fighter without even breaking a
sweat. You don’t see or hear things like that anymore.

“My point is that guys like Floyd Mayweather Jr. couldn’t beat a George
Costner, Gene Burton or Bernie Docusen. Docuson was a master boxer. He went
15 close rounds with Sugar Ray Robinson in 1948. In the first 10 rounds the
fight was dead even. And this was a prime Robinson defending his welterweight
title. In the 11th round Robinson caught him with a great right hand and dropped
him. Docusen went defensive after that for the next five rounds and Robinson
won the decision. But the fight was dead even for 10 rounds. This guy Docusen
could box. He was a brilliant boxer. You don’t see that anymore.”

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “The competition was brutal back then. I remember when
Beau Jack was making a name for himself in New York in the early 1940s. They
brought in tough guys like Terry Young and Freddie Archer to face him. I
remember when local club fighter Bobby Ruffin came into the Garden to fight
Beau Jack. Ruffin, a 3-to-1 underdog, made a monkey out of him. They did the
same with Bob Montgomery. All of a sudden he’s fighting a Bummy Davis, who
could kill you. He’d be all over you. Today’s lightweights don’t fight guys like
that. Of course it’s not their fault. They don’t have the competition and the
experience of learning with good trainers.”

Emanuel Steward: “I wasn’t around boxing in the 1940s but when I look at the
ratings in the old magazines from the 1940s and 1950s, you can see that the
depth of talent was so deep. We don’t have that depth anymore. The fighters of
that era were really fighters—I have to put it that way. They spent their time in
the gym and they learned the proper way, and a lot of the kids that I’ve started
have learned from that.

“Today one fighter in a division might be good and then it kind of fades off.
With all the crazy weight divisions we have, those contenders from 50 years ago
would be multiple world champions today.

“You’ve still got some exceptional guys out there, but in general the kids you’ve
got today … well … I would say one of the worst eras that I have ever seen is
the one right now. I’m looking on TV, on ESPN, and these kids wouldn’t even
be sparring partners for some of the better fighters from years ago. They are not
learning. I guess the word that I want to use is ‘seasoning.’ They don’t have the
‘seasoning.’ The kids today don’t put in their time. The activity level is a major
factor in their lack of development. They may have speed, and have picked up
some technique, but I think going down the stretch the old timers would have
beaten today’s guys mostly.

“A lot of the old fighters I watched on film or saw in person boxed with the left
hand down. I got a lot of criticism with Tommy Hearns for having him carry his
left hand down. But if you look at nearly all of the old time fighters they all
fought with the left hand down. They used the right glove to parry punches, or
they slipped the punches and countered. Fighters like Charley Burley, Tony
Canzoneri, Kid Chocolate and other old timers used all parts of their body to
defend themselves. They moved their upper bodies, they learned how to use their
shoulders … kept the left shoulder in front and forward … weight on the front
foot. Today’s fighters face you straight on and that’s no good.

“The old timers used to soak their faces in brine to toughen the skin. Those guys
were really into their boxing! The kids now … it’s too much commercialism and
the focus and intensity are not the same. A lot of these kids, they turn pro and
they get these big bonuses. They’re getting maybe twenty or fifty thousand
dollars for their first fight on TV and they’re not interested in fighting in a club
dollars for their first fight on TV and they’re not interested in fighting in a club
fight for five thousand dollars and continuing to develop their skills. Every
fight’s got to be a big money fight. Every fight’s got to be a TV fight.

“I was fortunate to see the era of Cassius Clay, Harold Johnson, and Archie
Moore, who was still fighting in the 1960s. Even Robinson had a few fights in
the 1960s. I was fortunate to see them. Going into the 1970s and early ’80s we
still had some good fighters and then it dropped off.”

Freddie Roach: “I can’t go back to the 1920s or 1930s because I don’t really
know much about that era. I do know the 1940s and 1950s a little bit better
because my dad was a fighter then and he used to tell me stories about that. I’ve
also seen film of the guys from the ’20s and ’30s, and so forth, but some of the
quality of the film is just hard to see, so it’s hard for me to gauge, style wise. But
I’m sure it was the same as the ’40s and ’50s where they had a lot more fights …
a lot more competitive fights. They fought each other often because it’s the way
they made a living. With the money that they make today if you fight two or
three times a year as a champion that’s a lot of fights. But how can you really be
sharp if you’re only fighting three times a year? It’s a very difficult thing to do.”

Wibert “Skeeter” McClure: “Boxing, in my opinion, is the only sport in which

the participants haven’t gotten better since the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s. Football
players today are better than the ones who were playing in the ’50s. It’s the same
with basketball and baseball. The fighters of today couldn’t even hold a candle
to the fighters of the 1960s and 1970s. They just couldn’t do it. They were too
tough, and too strong and too savvy and too skilled. Part of the reason is owing
to the fact that they fought more frequently. You have champions today who
fight once a year or twice a year. Anybody who applies his craft to any trade or
profession and performs it only twice a year can’t be good. You just cannot
develop that way.”

Ted Lidsky: “Even if the top fighters of today have the natural gifts that include
the temperament, as well as the intelligence, and all the physical gifts that went
along to become a great fighter, they cannot become a great fighter nowadays
because the competition is not there. This is not something you learn on your
own. This is something you learn through experience. The fighters today can’t
get that experience. A person who had the physical gifts and intelligence to
become a great neurosurgeon could not become a great neurosurgeon without a
medical school to learn how to do it and without doing a residency. There are no
more residencies. There are no more medical schools. They are all gone. Now
it’s vocational high school where you learn how to punch.

“De La Hoya, Hopkins, Mosley, Mayweather—they have natural physical gifts.

They just can’t develop to the fullest extent. It doesn’t take very much boxing
skill today to shine above the general level of mediocrity.”

If Tiger Jones were fighting today…

Dan Cuoco: “It’s like playing tennis with someone that’s not as good as you
are. You’re not going to improve. But playing with somebody that’s as good as
you are will improve your game, and if you start playing with opponents that are
even better you’re going to become a better player yourself. And that’s the same
thing in boxing.

“Let’s say you were to evaluate at random any of the top middleweights from
the 1950s—for example Bobo Olson and Joey Giambra—and made a list of their
opponents, and then gave the opponents a grade based on overall skill level and
the type of opposition they faced. Then do the same with Bernard Hopkins, a
modern day champion who many people think is an all time great fighter. I think
the outcome would be a no brainer. The old timers’ level of opposition is going
to win out every time. When you take a look at who Giambra and Olson fought
—guys like Tiger Jones, Joey Giar-dello, Dave Sands, Billy Graham, Ernie
Durando, Spider Webb—you can see the difference in the caliber of opposition.
Top welterweight contender Bernard Docusen fought on even terms with a
prime Sugar Ray Robinson for the first 10 rounds of their 15 round title
fight in 1948. Docusen’s level of skill and experience is no longer attainable
today (Sports Legends Photos).

“If Tiger Jones were fighting today he would be a world champion. But there are
people who will look at his record and say, ‘Oh he had 20–30 losses, he had to
be a bum.’ Well, I say take a look at film of that ‘bum’! The guy was incredibly
tough. He was only stopped once in his career and his opponents were a virtual
‘who’s who’ of the 1950s and 1960s. There wasn’t anybody that he ducked. And
when he was losing more than he was winning Tiger Jones was still capable of
beating Charley Humez in Madison Square Garden when Humez was the
number one or two middleweight in the world. When you examine the level of
his opposition, or go further and do some microfilm research describing the
details of his losing fights, you get a far more accurate picture of Tiger Jones’
ability.

“You could say that I’m just a 60 year old guy whose going to give an edge to
the guys that were the idols of my youth. Well you can say that, but I’ve been
following boxing since I was a young kid. The first fight I ever saw was Larry
Boardman against Wallace Bud Smith in 1956. I’m not just saying the fighters
from the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s and ’80s were better because that was my era—I’m
saying it based on the level of opposition. To me that is the bottom line: The
level of opposition.”

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “People question the fairness of comparing fighters from
different eras. But if you’ve seen them fight, and know what you are looking at,
you can compare them. Absolutely. If you have the ability you can see that
today’s fighters are not making the same moves.

“These people never saw Marcel Cerdan. And that’s the difference between
people today and somebody of my age. They didn’t see these other fighters.
More often than not the fighters and their opponents were both outstanding. You
would see what each one of them would do. You’d see an outstanding boxing
match. There is no comparison. We have the advantage because we saw both the
fighters of today and the fighters of yesterday, and there is no doubt.

“But we cannot blame the fighters of today because we don’t think they are
better than the guys that we saw decades ago who we believe were outstanding
better than the guys that we saw decades ago who we believe were outstanding
fighters. It’s not their fault. The ones with great talent today may have adapted if
they had fought back then. I think maybe De La Hoya could have, but he just
meets that category we spoke about. He’s not Kid Gavilan.

“If we were to take the best fighters of today and match them against the best of
the 1920s, ’30s, ’40s and ’50s, the old timers would knock these guys off. I’ve
never spoken with an old timer—I’m not talking about someone connected to the
game—who watched fights for years and said that the fighters of today are
better. Of course they’re old too, but is that such a disease that we all suffer
from?

“I’ve run into a lot of people that were old enough to have watched the old
timers. ‘Oh, they were much better, those old time fighters,’ they would say.
‘They boxed and moved … hit you with clean punches.’ And it’s true. The old
time fighters were active in an environment where they learned more. They were
hard tough guys that had to win to survive. The fans today never saw these
fighters. Did they ever hear of [former middleweight champion] Ken Overlin?
I’m not preserving any situation where my status is better than anybody else’s.
I’m not doing it to lie. I’m telling what we saw and what we know.”

Erik Arnold: “Boxing is more spectacle than substance today. It began to

decline, to some degree, in the 1960s. The decline picked up steam in the early
70s and was snow balling from the 1980s on, becoming an avalanche from the
late 1980s to today—meaning today is the worst era in the history of the sport.”

Getting Away with Less

During the Golden Age of talent and activity a fighter’s development progressed
in stages. But not every fighter matured at the same rate. It took Fritzie Zivic
(welterweight champion, 1940–41) almost 100 fights before he hit his stride. If
Zivic were fighting today he would never get the experience that made it
possible for him to become the type of fighter capable of stopping the great
Henry Armstrong.

Teddy Atlas: “It doesn’t matter in what profession, whether you’re a carpenter,
a doctor, a lawyer, or a prizefighter, if your allowed to get away with less you’re
constitution will become less, and you will not develop the type of dependability
the old time fighters had in those days, where you don’t think about it going into
the fight. It’s just there because it was born from a necessity to be there and an
urgency to be there.

“What would happen if a carpenter were allowed to do work where the lines
weren’t straight and the curves weren’t smooth? In boxing that’s allowed. You
can go in there and not jab your way in, and many times you don’t get picked off
because your opponent allows it. Or you don’t feint a guy to get the punch out of
the way and then come in safely, or you don’t time your opponent when he
comes in.

“In the old days if you’d get inside and didn’t punch you would lose the fight
because you were allowing the other guy to take control of the fight. But
nowadays guys accept silent agreements. An opponent lets you hold and you
both go along with it. So you develop less of a constitution in those areas, and
less depth in those areas. Obviously your work, on a consistent basis, would
represent those mistakes. And those mistakes would become allowable, they
would become plausible, they would become acceptable, and after a while you
wouldn’t even see them as mistakes. You would see them as the expedient thing
to do. But that type of ‘expedient’ didn’t work for the old time fighters. It didn’t
exist. It was not in their vocabulary. Being solid in every crevice of the freakin’
sport!—That’s what became mandatory for these guys, because otherwise they
couldn’t exist on that level.”

Dues Paying

Carlos Ortiz, the former lightweight and junior welterweight champion, is a

genuine all time great boxer. He began his illustrious professional career in
1955, at a time when it was still possible for a fighter to pay his dues the old
fashioned way.

Carlos Ortiz: “If you didn’t know how to fight in my day you couldn’t survive.
There were too many hungry fighters in my time. It was a ‘live or die’ situation.
Before I turned pro I had maybe 150 amateur fights. Three years later I had 25
professional bouts but I was still in ‘high school,’ so to speak, not in college. I
got my higher education from guys like Joey Lopes, Tommy Tibbs, Kenny Lane,
Dave Charnley, Len Mathews, Dulio Loi….
Paying his boxing dues the old fashioned way in the 1950s and 1960s
allowed lightweight champion Carlos Ortiz to realize his full potential
(Sports Legends Photos).
“You cannot become a good fighter without fighting other good fighters. You
can’t. And there are not that many good fighters today to allow you to become a
great fighter. That says it all. You also have to have a lot of fights. How could
you be a great fighter just fighting 20, 30, 40 fights? You’ve got to have 70, 80,
100 fights.

“To call a fighter with 30 fights a ‘veteran’—you hear it all the time on TV—
means that whoever says it has never seen yesterday’s fighters or hasn’t been in
the sport a long time. People think the champions today are great fighters. It’s
because of lack of knowledge on their part.”

Lost Art

In 1998 Stephen Holden, music critic for the New York Times, wrote about the
musical artistry of Frank Sinatra and the type of schooling that influenced his
singing style: “As for the lost art of intimate popular singing, the training
grounds for that kind of performance no longer exist. Today’s singers no longer
have to endure grueling apprenticeships performing night after night with big
bands.”10

Professional boxing has also lost the type of grueling apprenticeship that for so
many years was the foundation for the development and refinement of the
boxer’s art and character.
 5
Cooking the Books: Boxing’s Nutty Knockout Numbers

“THINK”
Sign posted in New York boxing gym, 1958

“THINK KNOCKOUT”
Sign posted in New York boxing gym, 1985

While the experience level of professional fighters (in terms of total number of
fights and rounds) has steadily declined, only one number has spiked
dramatically upwards, especially over the past 20 years, and that is knockout
percentages. Overall, the percentage of knockout victories to total fights has
almost tripled since 1925.

Of course the number of knockouts scored by a fighter is of little value in

determining his punching prowess unless the quality of competition is taken into
account. Is he stopping opponents who are rarely knocked out by anyone? Can
he sustain KO power into the late rounds of a bout? Does he have the ability to
end a fight quickly and efficiently once an opponent is hurt? A great puncher has
to excel in all of these categories. But above all is the ability to knock out quality
opponents on a consistent basis—a task that, in the real world, is exceedingly
difficult.

Although you wouldn’t know it by looking at the stratospheric KO percentages

of today’s fighters, truly great punchers are a rare breed. Among the handful of
authentic knockout artists fitting the definition are Stanley Ketchel, Sam
Langford, Jimmy Wilde, Bob Fitzimmons, Jack Dempsey, Joe Louis, Rocky
Marciano, Sugar Ray Robinson, Henry Armstrong, Ezzard Charles, Freddie
Steele, Archie Moore, Roberto Duran, Sonny Liston, Max Baer, Bob Foster,
Sandy Saddler, Eder Jofre, Rubin Olivares, Aaron Pryor, and Alexis Arguello.

Mike Tyson, Earnie Shavers and George Foreman, while possessing tremendous
power, do not belong to the inner circle of great punchers because of their
inability to measure up in one or more of the categories mentioned earlier. Punch
for punch they may have hit harder than some of the fighters rated above them,
for punch they may have hit harder than some of the fighters rated above them,
but their effective use of superior power against quality opposition was lacking.
To put it another way, what good is the sharpest sword in the hands of a
bullfighter with poor aim? During the Golden Age of talent and activity it was
exceedingly rare for a fighter to achieve a legitimate KO ratio exceeding 50
percent of total fights. Only the best punchers could accomplish this feat.

From 1925 to 1955, 173 boxers were recognized as world champions in the eight
traditional weight divisions. Only 20 were able to achieve a 50 percent, or
higher, KO ratio.1 Of the 60 current world champions recognized by the World
Boxing Association (WBA), World Boxing Council (WBC), International
Boxing Federatin (IBF), and World Boxing Organization (WBO) (as of March
2007) 46 have already achieved a KO ratio in excess of 50 percent, including 20
in the 70 percent range.2

No boxing aficionado in his (or her) right mind would place contemporary
heavyweight titleholders Wladimir Klitschko and Shannon Briggs in the same
league with Rocky Marciano as a puncher. Yet Klitschko (43 KOs in 51 fights)
and Briggs (42 KOs in 52 fights) have knockout records that are almost identical
to Marciano’s 43 KOs in 49 fights.

Today a fighter who doesn’t have at least a 50 percent KO ratio doesn’t get
much attention. In fact, it is almost an embarrassment not to have knocked out
over half of your opponents. The prevailing attitude is if you can’t punch, you
can’t fight.

Edwin Valero, the undefeated WBA 130-pound super featherweight champion,

has won all 21 of his fights by knockout—19 in the very first round. In six years
of fighting Valero has fought a grand total of 31 rounds. Sandy Saddler, one of
boxing’s greatest all time punchers, won the same 130-pound title in 1949.
Valero has already surpassed Saddler, in total of one round KOs. Saddler’s
record shows 17 first round knockouts—2 less than Valero. But Saddler had a
total of 162 fights during the course of his 13 year pro career.

“The high knockout records of today’s fighters are reflective of the

competition,” said former champion Carlos Ortiz. “With good competition
you’re not going to get those knockouts. The numbers are irrelevant.”
 Meaningless Percentages

There is only one way today’s fighters can accumulate such unprecedented
knockout percentages. The answer is they are being purposely—and consistently
—matched against inferior or compliant opposition. The numbers become even
more absurd in light of the fact that many boxers are “arm punchers,” meaning
that very few of them know how to put the full weight of their body into a
punch.

Tony Arnold: “Most of today’s fighters have these huge knockout records even
though they are not punching with leverage. You are supposed to put your
weight into your punches but most of today’s fighters do not. You can’t always
be in the right position but you attempt this whenever you can. You pivot on
your foot and you twist your hips and you use your shoulders to give your punch
momentum—not your arm. When you punch you turn and you’re on that pivot
and your whole body has to swing behind that punch.”

Hollow Opponents

If Jake LaMotta (middleweight champion 1949–51) were fighting today he

would wreak havoc among the current crop of middleweight and light
heavyweight champions. Very few could survive six rounds with “The Bronx
Bull” at his best. Yet, in his time, LaMotta was never considered a great puncher
—and rightfully so.
Jake LaMotta (right) and Fritzie Zivic mix it up in 1943. LaMotta’s
knockout ratio would have been much higher had he not consistently fought
the toughest boxers of his era.

Jake had 30 knockouts in 106 career fights. His 28 percent KO ratio is

unimpressive by today’s standards. But if one takes into account the many
quality opponents LaMotta fought, his respectable but not overwhelming number
of knockouts makes perfect sense because Jake consistently fought the toughest
fighters of his era.

Boxing historian Dan Cuoco, director of the International Boxing Research

Organization (IBRO), has studied various statistics with respect to knockout
percentages. Dan uses the great Depression era lightweight champion Tony
Canzoneri’s KO percentage to explain the deceptive nature of today’s knockout
statistics.
Dan Cuoco: “Tony Canzoneri engaged in 175 professional fights (1925–1939)
and scored 44 knockouts, a percentage of 25 percent. One could easily conclude
that a fighter with a 25 percent KO ratio is not a puncher. But let’s delve deeper.
One only has to look at the level of his competition to realize that opponents
such as Barney Ross, Jimmy McLarnin, Lou Ambers, Johnny Dundee, Sammy
Mandell, Benny Bass, Kid Chocolate, Bushy Graham, Bud Taylor, Jackie Kid
Berg, Baby Arizmendi, Andre Routis, Billy Petrolle, Battling Shaw, Joe Ryder,
Wesley Ramey, Al Roth, California Joe Lynch, Johnny Jadick, Leo Rodak,
Sammy Fuller and Davey Abad were no pushovers. His impressive knockouts of
Kid Chocolate, Jackie Kid Berg, and Al Singer indicate a fighter who could
punch. He fought the fighters mentioned above more than once (a total of 40
fights) and recorded 3 knockouts for a very low KO ratio of 7.5 percent. But,
again, consider the level of competition.

“Now lets look at modern renowned power puncher Felix Trinidad, who
engaged in 44 professional fights (1990–2005) and scored 35 knockouts, an
impressive KO percentage of 79.5 percent. The level of Trinidad’s competition
includes quality fighters such as Hector Camacho, Pernell Whitaker, Oscar De
La Hoya, Bernard Hopkins, Ronald (Winky) Wright, William Joppy, David
Reid, Fernando Vargas and Ricardo Mayorga. He fought each once (a total of 9
fights) and recorded 3 knockouts for a KO ratio of 33 percent, well below his
career stats. If he fought Camacho, De La Hoya, Hopkins and Wright several
more times (as is the case with Canzoneri and his opposition) his ratio would be
even lower.”

Mike Capriano Jr.: “What today’s huge knockout percentages tell me is that
these fighters are being matched with improper opponents—someone that
shouldn’t be in the ring with them.

“The old time managers didn’t care about knockout records. At some point they
would want to see their fighter extended. You were a better fighter when you
learned to go the distance. Your confidence was greater because you could go
ten rounds. Once you start knocking a lot of people out then it becomes an issue
as to endurance. You don’t want to see your fighter with 10 one round
knockouts. You want to see your fighter go six, eight or ten rounds. Let’s see
him in with a strong guy who’s not getting knocked out.”

Teddy Atlas: “You did not see so many knockouts years ago because the old
timers were fighting good fighters—it’s that simple. I’ve been saying it on TV
for almost ten years now. When I see these knockout records I say, ‘Wait a
minute, before we start saying it’s indicative of the fighter’s ability, lets think
that maybe its indicative of the opponents he’s been fighting.’ And that’s the
answer. I look up the record and see he’s fought all nobodies from Indiana, or
from Tennessee or out west somewhere, and that’s all I need to know. And of
course they can have 200 knockouts and it means nothing. But in the days you’re
talking about, they were fighting guys that you were not able to hit like that. And
if you did hit them it didn’t affect them like that. They were fighting real
fighters.

“Nowadays there are so many hollow opponents on a record that the knockout
ratios are false. They’re not indicative. All they’re indicative of is that more is
being put into navigating the guy into fighting soft opposition than there is into
anything else at that point in his career.”

Rollie Hackmer: “This is the worst crop of fighters in a hundred years and it’s
mostly due to a lack of trainers. Fighters are built up on one round knockouts.
You have so many knockouts in boxing today it’s horrendous. Mismatches! And
the commissions permit it.”

Smoke and Mirrors

Up and coming fighters seeking to insure an undefeated record until a big money
fight comes along are not being exposed to the type of stand up competition that
would improve their overall boxing skills and confidence. Instead they are
maneuvered into matches with opponents who they are almost sure to defeat.
The inflated knockout statistics of today’s fighters is reflective of this continuing
trend.
 6
Where Have You Gone Charlie Goldman?

We teach old school boxing training. We train fighters the way Louis
and Dempsey and Henry Armstrong trained, and Willie Pep and Jack
Johnson and Rocky Marciano, and all the other great fighters in
history. Those guys were some of the best to ever fight, and if it was
good enough for them it’s good enough for us too [From page xii
(Introduction), Box Like the Pros by Joe Frazier and William Detloff.
Copyright © 2006 by Joe Frazier and William Detloff. Reprinted by
permission of HarperCollins Publishers].
Former heavyweight champion Joe Frazier

The experience a fighter acquires in the ring is essential to his development, but
no less important is the ongoing education, care and feeding he receives from his
teacher-trainer. A competent teacher-trainer is an indispensable asset to a fighter.
One of the most significant contributing factors to the lack of quality boxing
skills among today’s professional fighters is due to a dearth of competent and
experienced trainers.

During the Golden Age of talent and activity, New York City was home to the
largest number of master trainers. Among the best were Charlie Goldman, Ray
Arcel, Hymie Cantor, Doc Robb, Doc Bagley, Bill Gore, Jimmy DeForrest,
Mike Capriano Sr., Freddie Brown, Jimmy Ambrose, “Pop” Miller, Willie
Grunes, Vic Zimet, Whitey Bimstein, Nick and Dan Florio, Dai Dollings, Jimmy
Lambert, Teddy Bentham, and Pete Mello.

Chicago’s best included Jack Blackburn, Larry Amadee, Johnny Coulon, Izzy
Kline, Jack Hurley and Sedgewick Harvey. Philadelphia had Jimmy Wilson,
Jack Brady and Jimmy Coster. Leading the Boston contingent were Al Lacey,
Tony Palazzolo, Sammy Fuller and Al Clemente. Heine Blaustein was a virtual
institution in Baltimore, as were Eddie Futch, Luther Burgess and Walter Smith
in Detroit. Before moving his base of operations to Miami, Florida, in the 1950s,
Angelo Dundee received a priceless education in Stillman’s Gym. His mentors
included Ray Arcel, Charlie Goldman and Chickie Ferrara.
Trainer Charlie Goldman, wearing his ever present derby, tapes
heavyweight champion Rocky Marciano’s hands prior to a workout in 1953
(Bill G. Green).

Every city boasted its own coterie of outstanding trainers. Golden Age gyms
were rich with knowledge, experience and creativity. However, as noted in
Chapter 3, hundreds of fight clubs and gymnasiums—boxing’s universities—
began to disappear in the years following World War II. Scores of qualified
teachers (including most of the names mentioned above) retired or were forced
to leave the sport because they were no longer able to earn a decent living.

As the gyms closed and the ranks of quality trainers continued to thin out, a
decades old oral tradition of trainers passing knowledge to a new generation
became disrupted. In their absence mistakes went uncorrected, important lessons
were never taught, and valuable information was lost. Eventually the level of
skills declined as mediocre fighters became mediocre trainers.
 The Finer Points

The experts weigh in on what has been lost in this downward spiral.

Bill Goodman: “It all started to break up in the mid–1950s. The better trainers
died off, got freezed out, got disgusted, or just gave it up. They lost interest.

“The people who knew how to teach the finer points were disappearing, and
there was nobody to pass it on to the next guy. The type of trainers that have
been around for the past 25–35 years are not of the same caliber as the old
timers. They can teach boxing but they cannot teach the finer points of boxing. I
emphasize that wording—the finer points of boxing.

“For example, fighters have become more susceptible in recent years to cuts
caused by unintentional head butts. To avoid that situation a right-handed boxer
should always have his face turned slightly to the right when he leads off with a
left jab so that his left ear, not the front of his face, is angled toward the
opponent. You’ve always got to show the smallest target that you can. As you
move in your opponent will naturally drop his head and if you are facing him
incorrectly sooner or later you will butt heads.

“Years ago many fighters, regardless of how clever they were, wound up with a
cauliflower left ear. That left ear was always busted up. It was a badge of
distinction for many of them. Even a great boxer like Johnny Dundee had a
cauliflower left ear. Why? Because it was better for them to take the shot on or
near the ear than around the eyes and risk getting cut. Fighters are butting heads
and getting cut unnecessarily because they are not taught this simple move.

“Another example of the lack of refinement is the way most fighters throw a left
hook. They are extending their arm too far. The arm should be closer to the body
when executing this punch. Part of the problem is they are too far away when
attempting to hook so consequently they are over extending the arm. This is the
reason you are seeing more fighters injuring their shoulder or rotator cuff.”

Tony Arnold: “When you throw a left hook your left foot and hip has to be
turned with the punch all with the same motion. It is your shoulder and upper
back muscles driving the punch—not your hand. Your hand is just the delivery.
You extend your hand as little as possible and you’d be surprised how much
power you can generate into a short punch by just turning your body. That’s
what was taught and that’s what I learned. You just put your hips and shoulders
into the punch and you did not extend your hand so much. The old time
contenders learned how to execute a punch and could throw a good left hook.

“Very few fighters know how to throw good short punches. Most of them throw
too wide and they have a poor judgment of distance—if they are even taught
judgment of distance. We were always taught you’ve got to know where you are
in the ring and where your opponent is all the time. It’s not just two guys
jumping around. You’ve got to know distance and you’ve got to time your
punches. You can’t be wasting your punches and you can’t be missing
opportunities. Of course it’s impossible to do exactly the right thing every
second but your training has to be geared to recognize these things.

“Proper leverage and balance is another lost art. I heard trainers in the late 1940s
talk about leverage and balance. That’s one of the first things you learned and
from that comes everything. Without leverage and balance you don’t have good
footwork and you don’t have good punching power. But before you learn how to
throw a punch you’ve got to learn how to move. My trainer would have me
moving around the ring in all different directions lightning quick, with my hands
at my sides, forward and back, side-to-side. Do they teach this today?

“I don’t think the trainers emphasize timing. The way they throw punches today
if a guy gets hit with a punch it seems he just happens to be there and the other
guy got lucky. I don’t see any real good sense of timing anymore. The old school
trainers used to teach timing. When your opponent throws a punch there has to
be an automatic reaction—the right reaction. And you’ve got to know when he
throws a jab there are several things you are going to do. If he is a very hard,
aggressive fighter and he has a strong jab, you are going to react one way. If he’s
throwing a weak jab you’ve got an opportunity to try something else.

“There’s a million different ways to teach somebody how to fight. But you’ve
got to go with the fighter’s ability, his sense of timing, sense of balance. You
can’t say in a nutshell ‘this is what you do.’ It’s more complicated than that.
You’ve got to start from the bottom and work up. You start with the fighter’s
balance and his footwork, and then you work your way up to defensive skills,
offensive skills, what to do when your opponent makes a certain move. I just
don’t see a lot of that today. I don’t see much strategy being taught today. I see it
all as luck—one guy gets lucky and hurts the other guy.
“The fighters today do not have the skills of the fighters of years ago. A lot of
things are missing, including the art of feinting, the art of body punching, the art
of infighting. They don’t seem to know the reason why they are throwing these
punches.

“It looks to me like they are not being taught the purpose of a jab. What do you
do with a jab? Is a jab to keep a guy away from you? Is it meant to control the
fight? What do you do when an opponent makes a certain move? When you see
an opportunity what do you do? I don’t see the same type of training today.

“In a fight it is the corner’s responsibility to recognize what is going on and tell
the fighter who may not, in the heat of the fight, see certain things. But even if
given the proper instructions, if the fighter has not been trained properly he
won’t know how to execute the moves.

“It all starts with the training. And the reason why most of these fighters don’t
have the skills of the fighters of years ago is because of the training. I don’t think
there are any teachers anymore. There are conditioners, but not true teachers.
With very few exceptions, the trainers of today do not know how to teach.”

Bill Goodman: “Most of the time fighters are short of the mark when they jab
because they don’t know how to edge up before they get off the punch. They
also are not using their shoulders or bending slightly at the waist to get more
distance with the jab. Consequently they are not at the proper distance, which is
why today’s fighters are not as accurate with their punches as the old timers
were. Those older fighters didn’t throw a punch until they were at the proper
range. This skill is not easy to learn. You don’t pick it up overnight. You can’t
just tell somebody to do it. You have to be shown first, and then it’s three to five
years before you develop the skill. That’s why so many of today’s top pros still
look like beginners. They do not have enough time and enough tutoring to
develop into anything.

“HBO recently showcased a lightweight fighter from England named Amir

Khan. He’s a fair prospect and he does have ability but it’s obvious he’s not
being taught properly. He does too many amateurish things that should be picked
up on. If he had a competent trainer like they had around years ago, they would
spot those things. The announcers raved about the guy because they don’t know
the difference between a fighter with ability and a fighter who’s been well
schooled. I could see that he is not being adequately schooled. He’s been shown
a few things but the rest he’s going to have to pick up by himself. I’m not
blaming the boy for that. I’m blaming his handlers. They don’t know how to
teach him properly. I’ve seen it through the years. They can teach but they don’t
know how to teach the finer points of boxing. That’s what they’re lacking.
Boxing technique will never go back to what it was because they don’t know the
finer points. Most of the better fighters of the past two or three decades—the
Haglers, the Leonards—they knew a bit more, they picked up a little bit more,
but they still weren’t in the class of the best fighters of the 1920s to the early
’50s.”

Tony Arnold: “What I think they do is say to the fighter, ‘This is how you jab
and this is how you throw a right hand,’ but what I don’t see is any craftiness.
How crafty would Roberto Duran have become without Freddie Brown and Ray
Arcel in his corner? He was getting the benefit of guys who learned how to train
fighters in the 1920s. That’s why you had a fighter like Duran who once his
strength and power was beginning to fade still had that ring craft to fall back on.
Today the fighters don’t have anything to fall back on. Whatever their forte is—
punching power or speed—if they lose their punch or they lose their speed they
don’t have anything to fall back on. The perfect examples of this are Mike Tyson
and Roy Jones, Jr. The old timers were multidimensional.

“I was lucky to grow up in an era when there were still outstanding trainers. The
1940s and 1950s was a crossover era. Most of the trainers that I used to see at
Stillman’s—guys like Whitey Bimstein, Ray Arcel, Jimmy August, Freddie
Brown—got their start in the 1920s and 1930s, and they were still around
teaching guys 20 years later. Their fighters were learning the same lessons the
fighters of the 1930s learned. That’s why you still had a high quality fighter in
the 1950s, and stretching into the 1960s.

“Even the corner men who treated cuts and got the fighter ready for the next
round were highly skilled professionals. They worked with thousands and
thousands of fighters. They had the answer to almost every problem.”

Clueless Corner Men

Bill Goodman: “I haven’t seen a corner work properly in years. In most cases
they don’t know what they’re doing. The bell rings, the fighter comes back to his
corner at the end of a round, and he’s standing there waiting because the stool
isn’t in the ring yet. Years ago at the ten second warning that indicated the round
was coming to a close the corner man was halfway up the steps before the bell
rang. He was charging up those steps. The stool was always in the corner before
the fighter came back. You don’t see that. They don’t do it.

“I also never see the corner man grab hold of the fighter’s trunks and foul
protector and pull the waist out so he can breathe. That’s the first thing you do
when he comes back to the corner. And instead of having the fighter’s legs
stretched out so he can get full advantage of the relaxation he sits there with his
legs all cramped up and he’s hunched over. He isn’t even leaning back against
the cushions.

“Many times I’ve seen the fighter answer the bell without his mouthpiece. They
have to call him back. How can you forget giving him the mouthpiece if you’ve
got it in your hand? Other times they send the fighter to ring center for
instructions wearing his mouthpiece. Why are they putting it in his mouth at that
time? It’s harder to breathe with the mouthpiece in. You let the fighter come
back to the corner, give him the gargle if he wants it, and then you put the
mouthpiece in.

“The trainers don’t even know how to use the fighter’s robe properly. Today
they think it’s to place an advertisement. But the old time trainers always kept a
warm robe on the fighter and a towel over his head from the moment he left the
dressing room to just after the ring instructions. Even when fighters began
wearing lighter satin robes the trainers would put towels under the robe. They
wanted to keep him warm. After the fight they put the robe back on while he was
still in the ring to keep the sweat in so he would not stiffen up. This isn’t done
today. You see a fighter being interviewed in the ring after the fight and his
second is holding the robe!

“They also use far too much water in the corner. They spill it over the fighter’s
head and everywhere else. It got to the point where they had to change the sole
of the boxing shoe to rubber from leather because the fighters couldn’t get
enough traction in the ring, what with all the water being spilled. The more you
leave the guy alone in the corner the better off it is. Lately I’ve seen some corner
men use a spray bottle to refresh the fighter, which is a better choice than
pouring it over his head.

“So many things are not being done properly. It gets even worse when the
befuddled fighter comes back to the corner after a tough round. The advice he
gets usually goes something like this: ‘Come on! This is your round. This is it!
gets usually goes something like this: ‘Come on! This is your round. This is it!
You’ve got to turn it around now! You want to win this fight?’ How is the
fighter going to win with that type of instruction? That’s no instruction. ‘Throw
more punches,’ he’s told. But do they spot the openings and tell him what to
throw—what to hit the opponent with? That’s what you’re supposed to do.
Instead it’s, ‘You want to win this fight? You’ve got to throw more punches!’
And they get away with it because they don’t know. The trainers and corner men
don’t know from nothing.”

Teddy Atlas: “It is very frustrating to hear so many trainers telling their fighter
to ‘make it into a street fight.’ That’s the best plan of attack? That’s the best you
can come up with? It drives me crazy to hear that. It is an excuse for not being
able to tell the fighter something that should obviously be a lot more
constructive and a lot more productive. It’s like if you don’t know what to tell
your fighter that is a way of getting around it. That’s your way of hiding the fact
that you can’t give him better instructions and can’t come up with a better plan
than that.

“How would you feel if somebody in your family was about to undergo surgery
and during your consultation with the doctor you said, ‘Doc, what’s you plan?’
And he told you ‘Well, I’m going to chop him up.’ You wouldn’t want to hear
that. You’d want to hear the doctor say, ‘ I’m going to make an incision here and
then I plan on making an incision on the other side and then I’m going to take
the artery from this area and bring it over to this area….’ In other words you’d
want to hear something that made sense. You’d want to hear something that had
some worth behind it, that would suggest there is an idea and a plan that is
backed up by intelligence and education. You’d want to hear something that
would indicate more substance and more professionalism than ‘I’m going to
chop him up’ or ‘I’m going to turn this into a street fight.’”

Tony Arnold: “Not every fighter could execute what the old school trainers
wanted them to do, but they still had the benefit of these guys. The trainers knew
how to bring out the best in a fighter, even a fighter with limited talent.
Whatever talent he had was brought to the front by these guys. They could
recognize immediately what the fighter had going for him. I don’t think you
have anyone around like that today—a trainer who can recognize the fighter’s
strengths and his weaknesses and then capitalize on his strengths and minimize
his weaknesses. How many trainers have that skill today?

“A few superstars have been developed in recent years. We can talk about
Hearns and Leonard, and a few others from the 1980s, but then it began to fade.
Hearns and Leonard, and a few others from the 1980s, but then it began to fade.
I would say by the late 1990s things had really fallen apart. There was very little
talent. And the trainers were deteriorating as well. There are no teacher-trainers
anymore, just conditioners.

“Buddy McGirt was a capable fighter and he is a capable trainer. Freddie Roach
is a decent trainer. But you can’t compare a Freddie Roach or a Buddy McGirt
with a Charlie Goldman, or a true teacher. I mean these guys created works of
art.

“My experience with my own trainer, Willie Grunes, was one of intensive
training. Willie boxed in the 1920s and began training fighters in the 1930s.
Learning from him was like going to college. He was something else. I feel it
was a privilege for me to learn from him. I feel that I learned so good that when I
boxed my first amateur fight I felt like a seasoned pro. My first amateur fight I
so outclassed the other guy I was walking on air. It was because of Willie. He
burned things into your brain that I never forgot. I could do it tomorrow. He had
knowledge and determination. He was a perfectionist. I don’t care how long it
took, he made a really skilled boxer out of you. One of the big problems today is
that trainers cannot develop a fighter.

“Boxing began to change in the 1950s. The small clubs were drying up.
Managers and trainers who couldn’t make a living in it anymore began drifting
out of the sport and a lot of them were taking their knowledge with them.

“A few of the top trainers did develop some protégés that were OK, but they
didn’t live boxing 24 hours a day like the old timers because they didn’t have the
clubs. The old school trainers, like Charlie Goldman and Ray Arcel, used to train
fighters all day long in Stillman’s and at night they’d work the corners of three
or four kids at the local arenas. This went on practically seven days a week—
daytime in the gym, nighttime in the arena. But when the small clubs began
drying up fights were few and far between.”

Bill Goodman: “You see an awful lot of southpaw boxers today, which is just
another indication of how upside down and backwards things have become. In
fact, I never heard of a southpaw boxing another southpaw until recently. Years
ago when a trainer saw that a beginner was left handed they wanted to convert
him to fight right handed because nobody wanted to fight a southpaw. Who
looks good fighting a southpaw? It was just too hard to get opponents as you
were bringing the guy up. As soon as you mentioned southpaw they’d walk
away.

“But southpaws are rarely turned around today. Do you know why? It’s because
the modern day trainers aren’t even aware they should be turned around. They
don’t know. And there’s work to it. You cannot convert a guy from left to right
overnight. It is not an easy thing to do. It’s a tedious process taking hours and
hours of work. It’s like teaching a guy to slip and block. It’s not something a
human being is going to pick up right away. But the trainers don’t have the
knowledge. It doesn’t make any difference anymore. They get away with
everything today.”

Mentors and Protégés

Tony Arnold: “Many of the trainers from the 1920s and 1930s were still around
in the 1940s and 1950s to act as mentors and teach their skills to the guys. They
were able to teach and develop fighters, not just condition them. I’m talking
about the great teachers. You don’t have that anymore. The trainers of the ’40s
and ’50s had all this knowledge. They benefited from the skills of the older
trainers and improved upon it.

“I do not see the same type of teaching today that I saw when I started boxing in
the late 1940s. The trainers in Stillman’s gym were always working on trying to
adapt their methods to the type of individual they were training. What I mean is
that some fighters were slower, some were stronger, some were smarter and
some were faster. The trainers always worked around that. They saw a guy’s
natural tendencies when he did certain things, and if they were good tendencies
they’d improve on it and if they were bad tendencies they tried to minimize
them. The typical example, of course, is Rocky Marciano, who was trained by
Charlie Goldman.

“People forget how versatile Goldman was. He knew how to train an awkward
slow heavyweight like Marciano, but he also knew how to train fast moving
lightweights. In the 1930s Goldman trained featherweight champion Joey
Archibald and lightweight champion Lew Ambers. Ambers wasn’t a puncher but
he was a fierce infighter and a great boxer at long range. Marciano was a totally
different type of fighter. He started out with little or no boxing skill but Goldman
was able to mold him into the type of fighter he became. He brought out the best
in each man. Goldman could train anyone.

“Even Jack ‘Doc’ Kearns was a helluva trainer. He molded Dempsey to his
“Even Jack ‘Doc’ Kearns was a helluva trainer. He molded Dempsey to his
maximum ability. That’s what a good trainer could do. They analyzed their
fighters.”

Last of the Breed

In the 1970s Eddie Futch, Freddie Brown and Cus D’Amato were among the last
Golden Age trainers still mentoring protégés. Freddie Roach and Teddy Atlas
were the lucky recipients.

Freddie Roach: “A big problem today is that we do not have enough good
teachers. To qualify to be a trainer all you have to do is put a towel over your
shoulder and tell a kid to throw out a jab and all of a sudden you’re a trainer.
They hang around the gym and pick up a few things here and there from the
trainers but they really don’t understand the reasoning behind what they’re
telling the fighter. They have no concept of it. They just repeat what they’ve
heard. I’m not saying that you have to be an ex-fighter to be a trainer, but I think
it helps.

“In any case, boxing has lost a lot of good coaches and I thank God that I had
Eddie Futch to teach me. He was one of the all time greats. One of the best
trainers of his era by far, I would say. I had a good role model. That’s what was
so good about me being Eddie’s assistant, because when he asked me to work
with a fighter and told me to do something we spoke the same language because
I was trained by him for ten years. Those old school guys—they are it. I like
them.”

Teddy Atlas: “In the same way that there were places—the clubs, the gyms—
for a fighter to develop, these were the same places that were the breeding
grounds for trainers.

“It meant something to be a trainer in those days. Nowadays it means something

—it means you need a CAT scan! I say that jokingly, but how many guys today
are going to say, ‘I’m going to be a trainer full heartedly.’ First of all, quite
honestly, there are a lot of people around that are an embarrassment. But in all
fairness, you do not have the breeding grounds or the training grounds for them
to develop and get that kind of apprenticeship. It’s not there. So you’d better
have a social security check or something coming in if you’re going to try to do
it, because there’s not enough action to subsidize yourself.
Freddie Roach credits his success as a trainer to the mentoring he received
from the great Eddie Futch (Gil Ortiz).

“The things missing that made the fighters better are also the things missing that
allowed the teachers to be developed. And without those things, even with
advancements in other areas, there are certain things that aren’t going to
advance. They’re going to be left behind to a certain extent, or they’re only
going to be in spots, because now instead of there being good trainers in every
city, there might be one city that has to share the trainers with 20 other cities, if
you could do that.

“When I was in the gym with Freddie Brown, and the other veteran trainers, they
tried to take me under their wing. They were all good to me. They just
appreciated that someone young was learning the right way.”

Living the Legacy

Mike Capriano, Jr., had a remarkable entry into boxing. He virtually grew up in
his father’s Bronx gymnasium, the Teasdale Athletic Club, which churned out
dozens of amateur champs and quality pros in the 1930s and 1940s.

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “Today, and even going back almost 40 years, you had
less fights and gyms. There is no opportunity to learn. The gyms—these were
the schools, as we knew them—are long gone. All this is reflective of the
crudeness that you see among today’s fighters, trainers and corner men. The loss
of the boxing teacher-trainer is obvious in all of what you see today.

[This photo appears in the print book

but is not included here
due to copyright issues.]

Teddy Atlas advises Michael Moorer between rounds of his title winning
effort against Evander Holyfield in 1994. Atlas, a protégé of the legendary
Cus D’Amato, now imparts his wisdom to a nationwide audience as ESPN’s
ringside analyst (Getty Images/Holly Stein).

“I don’t see how today’s trainers could know what we knew without going
through that school. It was a learning process. The industry had five thousand
fighters, maybe more, and the gyms were perfect. And you just learned it there.
You learned how to watch your fighter.

“Today’s trainers are not able to embrace what the old timers knew because they
don’t have enough fighters and there is not enough competition. Now that’s not
to say some of these people today who were ex-amateur and ex-professional
fighters could not be good trainers. They could be, but they still don’t have the
education and they never will because they weren’t there. Unfortunately it’s
gone.

“The trainers had the opportunity to see all different types of styles because
there were so many fighters and you had to understand styles.

“You could take all the videotapes of today’s fighters and watch them for hours
and hours and you are not going to see what we saw. You had to be there to see
them—and we saw them. We saw hundreds of fights and hundreds of styles.
They don’t see that today.

“Because the trainers understood styles they usually knew in advance which
fights were going to be tough for their fighters and which ones were not. For
example, my father took a fight for his featherweight Harry LeSane against
Sandy Saddler in 1948. I told him I thought it was a dangerous fight for LeSane.
Saddler was the number one featherweight contender and he had a tremendous
knockout record. But my dad said, ‘You watch, Harry will slap him all over the
place … he’ll be there, he’ll he here, Saddler will never find him.’ And it
happened exactly the way he said. LeSane lost the ten round decision but all
three of his bouts with Saddler were competitive, and he went the distance every
time.
Mike Capriano, Jr., trained more service champions than any other Marine
Corps boxing coach. Pictured with Capriano (center) in 1954 are four of his
All-Marine champions. Left to right: Bud House, Richie Hill, Capriano,
Randy Horn and Walter Byars (Mike Capriano, Jr.).

“I remember when another one of his fighters, Pedro Biesca, was going up to
Hartford to fight Willie Pep in a non-title fight. I said, ‘Whoa! I don’t know.’ My
dad, who had been training fighters since the 1920s, told me not to worry.
‘You’re going to be surprised,’ he said. ‘He’s going to be right inside of Pep.
He’ll be right on him. He will do all right.’ So Biesca goes up to Hartford, Pep’s
hometown, drops Pep, and loses a disputed decision.

“They had this knowledge. You should have heard the discussions when they’d
talk with the promoters about making a match: ‘I’d like to make your guy with
so and so on the 23rd of September,’ the promoter would say. And the trainer
might respond, ‘Well, this guy’s a bomber and it may be my guy’s last fight,’
and so on. The point is you had a trainer who really knew what he was doing,
and you had a manager whose full time job was managing fighters.
and you had a manager whose full time job was managing fighters.

“The trainers today don’t even use the same terminology anymore in terms of
telling the fighter what he is supposed to do to correct his mistakes. They don’t
know how to describe the movements because they don’t understand the words.
They don’t understand what it means so they cannot say ‘Look, you’ve got to get
in and under this guy, you’ve got to spin him,’ or ‘You’ve got to stay close to
him and put your foot in between his two feet.’ They cannot use the same words
to describe what they want the fighter to do and that’s related to the fact that a
lot of them really never had fights. They just don’t understand what it is they
have to say, and they don’t know it because they never did it, and if you never
did it you can’t explain it to somebody.

“What is also very important to a fighter is to have the proper sparring partners. I
mean sparring partners that you can work with and not only learn from but could
try different maneuvers and moves. You can’t emphasize enough the importance
of having the right people to train with. One of the most difficult problems in
developing a main bout fighter is to find sparring partners that he can work with
and will make him a better fighter. It is an enormous help in the fighter being
able to recognize his own talent. The type of educational sparring I am talking
about does not exist today. These fighters are busy lifting weights when they
should be boxing 3–4–5 rounds.

“The training and competition have to be integrated because after a fight the
trainer will instruct the fighter in how to correct his mistakes so that he can
incorporate the changes into his gym workouts.

“The great fighters of the past were fortunate to have that type of training and
you just can’t get that today. They don’t know how to get a fighter ready as we
did, and they don’t know when to reduce his workouts when he’s over trained.
Quality instruction is just about nil. They don’t seem to know what to tell a
fighter, even some of those that fight reasonably well. Some fighters recognize
this inadequacy and look around to get an earful from another trainer or someone
who looks like he has some experience.

“Apparently Buddy McGirt is a pretty fair teacher. The fighters like him because
he teaches from the old school. Buddy McGirt was a pretty good fighter in the
1980s, and he would be a pretty good teacher because he was a student. I
remember him coming around to Gleason’s gym when he was still fighting. He
wanted to snoop around and see what my father would tell somebody. He knew
the dinosaurs were the guys who really had this knowledge.
the dinosaurs were the guys who really had this knowledge.

“The training methods are different. They use a lot of weights today. We used to
be concerned about the speed of the punch and you didn’t need to be so heavy
armed or heavy muscled. The speed of the punches and the speed of movement
were very important, which is not the major instruction of today.

“Some of these trainers never even put a glove on and they are trying to instruct
people. You could be a trainer without having boxed, but certainly you had to go
through the feel of hitting a bag, putting a headguard on. But even then, some
outstanding fighters were lousy trainers.”

A Lack of Standards

Another contributor to the demise of the art, say observers and practitioners, is a
lack of uniformity in skills and training.

Wilbert “Skeeter” McClure: “A big problem is the lack of standards in boxing.

There are six ways to keep a left jab from landing. Six ways. For a left jab to
land over and over means that your trainer has been deficient in teaching you
how to defend against a left jab. You’ve got six damn ways to keep a left jab
from landing! So why can’t you draw upon one of those six ways to not get hit
by a left jab? But I’ll bet you not one in 25 trainers know that. The principles are
gone … they’re just dead. And most of the trainers today don’t know it so they
cannot pass the information on.

“When I was an amateur back in 1953 and ’54, when I first started boxing in
Toledo, Ohio, our gym was in the basement of the projects. We had three of
eight national Golden Glove champs training in that gym and these guys were
pretty, they were slick, they were smart and they were savvy on both offense and
defense. So as a young kid I got a chance to see great fighters in the gym every
day. And I studied them when they worked out. I studied them when they
shadowboxed, and when they sparred or hit the bag. I studied and studied and
modeled myself after them. Most fighters today, I won’t say all, but most
fighters today, don’t have a model to look at in the gym. They don’t have one.
They have someone who bangs people around but they don’t have one who is
precise and who is accurate and scientific, and the other good things great
fighters had.
fighters had.

“The sport needs to have standards. For example, in any baseball game there is a
standardized description for what a pitcher throws and for the signals that a
catcher gives to the pitcher. It is uniform. Not so in boxing. I’ve heard trainers
say, ‘I want him to drag his foot like this.’ In no sport do you drag your foot. But
there is no common denominator in boxing as far as the language goes to
describe what a good fighter needs to do. I’ve heard trainers tell a fighter to
‘hop.’ That is a term that is inappropriate for certain moves. But since there is no
uniformity, as far as defining these terms, the trainers come out with a bunch of
ideas that I’m listening to over the years and I’m saying, ‘What the hell is this? It
doesn’t make sense.’

“When I was state boxing commissioner of Massachusetts I wanted to have

trainers licensed. I wanted to put them through a series of workshops. And if
your fighter kept getting hit with a left jab after we’ve told you in the seminar
how to train him not to be hit, and he continues to be hit, we’re going to take
your license away because you’re incompetent. It would be similar to a doctor
who goes to medical school and keeps killing patients. They’re going to take his
license away.

“In boxing, trainers are the front line. A trainer is a very important individual. I
was told my idea would fly but it never got off the ground. There was a problem
with out of state trainers coming into Massachusetts with their fighters. In order
to be effective the licensing of trainers has to be nationwide and all states have to
participate. Boxing has to do this if it is ever to get its house in order—if it ever
can. We have to start looking at the specific skills warranted and try for
uniformity and address the problem in that fashion.

“I am not saying that all good trainers have disappeared. There are some good
ones. I think Emanuel Steward is very good. Teddy Atlas is a good trainer. There
are some around.”

Emanuel Steward: “A lot of the fighters in the 1950s, after 12 to 20 fights,

were still preliminary fighters so they were learning their craft a lot slower. They
had a chance to develop.
Emanuel Steward has been teaching fighters since the 1970s. HBO’s boxing
analyst still finds time to train world champions and mentor young trainers
(Emanuel Steward).

“And you had teachers back then. You don’t have teachers anymore. You’ve got
guys who run with the fighters and get them in good shape, and you’ve got the
physical fitness types lifting weights, but they are not really teachers like Charlie
Goldman who taught Marciano and utilized his strength and took his
shortcomings and made them into assets … or a Jack Blackburn who taught Joe
Louis the real art of turning your body with short punches. People like Goldman
and Blackburn were more than trainers. They were teachers, and you hardly have
any teachers anymore.

“I started boxing in 1952. And my first amateur fight was in 1953. But I was
watching guys like Marciano, Joe Brown, Jimmy Carter, Sandy Saddler and the
other top fighters of that era. I learned from them and I applied my own
techniques, along with a few other things, and it helped me when I started
techniques, along with a few other things, and it helped me when I started
training fighters.”

Punch Pad Mania

The vacuum of expert teacher-trainers has created a fertile breeding ground for
gimmickry and artifice that is of little use to a fighter. One example is the misuse
of weight training. This topic deserves extensive analyses and is covered in a
later chapter. Another example is the ubiquitous use of what are popularly
known as “punch pads” or “focus pads.” These oversized gloves, similar in size
and cushioning to a catcher’s mitt, fit over a trainer’s hands to act as targets
while the fighter hits them with a series of combinations.

Punch pads were apparently rediscovered after showing up in the Rocky movies
in the early 1980s. Every boxing movie now has the requisite scene of a fighter
working out with the punch pads. Before Sylvester Stallone incorporated punch
pads into his movies they were virtually non-existent.

Pad workouts are colorful. They are fun to do and watch but their contribution to
enhancing a boxer’s skill is negligible. Although punch pads had been around
since the 1950s, old school trainers rarely, if ever, used them. They believed that
hitting the pads with the same combinations over and over had limited teaching
potential and emphasized a robotic “bang, bang” style of boxing. Their use did
not encourage the fighter to think. Many trainers even slap the fighter’s gloves
with the pads at the same time he begins his punch. Absolutely nothing is being
accomplished.

The original purpose of pad work was to improve a fighter’s execution of a

specific punch. Once the fighter had mastered the mechanics of the punch his
workout would continue on the heavy bag. Everything that is taught with the
pads achieved better results using the heavy bag.
Floyd Mayweather, Jr., hitting the punch pads. The ubiquitous punch pads
are another indication of the dumbed down quality of today’s boxing
instruction (AP/Wide World Photos).

Tony Arnold: “I don’t see how you can develop good form punching at the
pads. I think it’s part of the reason why a lot of fighters don’t have good form
today. They spend too much time hitting these punch pads. The pads are useless
when compared to watching a fighter’s punch delivery on the heavy bag or in
sparring. That is how you watch and correct a fighter’s moves and balance. How
can the trainer see how well the fighter is delivering punches, or how well he’s
on balance or off balance—particularly after missing a punch—if he’s standing
in front of the fighter and letting him hit the pads? I don’t think the trainer has a
good view of the fighter’s punch delivery or his balance. He’s just holding up his
hands as targets, whereas if he’d watch the fighter on the heavy bag he would be
in a much better position to evaluate the fighter’s movements.

“Another problem with the pads is that you can’t really lean into a punch. The
pads yield too much. They give too easily. You can’t really throw a power
punch. The pads teach you bad habits. They teach arm punching. You can’t feel
punch. The pads teach you bad habits. They teach arm punching. You can’t feel
if you’ve got any power in the punch. That’s not the case when you hit the heavy
bag and you can turn your hips and shoulders and you pivot to get maximum
force and your trainer watches your form and corrects any mistakes.

“I spent plenty of time in Stillman’s gym and most of the teaching was on the
heavy bag. I never saw the pads used in Stillman’s. I know they were used from
time to time. I’d heard of them. But they were only effective for bringing
attention to a particular flaw that you were trying to correct. Once the fighter
gets the idea of what the trainer wants him to do then you have him execute the
punch on the heavy bag, which is similar to hitting a body.

Tony Arnold punching the heavy bag in 1955. Arnold boxed amateur and
pro from 1949 to 1957 and never saw punch pads used in the gym (Tony
Arnold).
“If you hit the heavy bag with just your arms and then you try pivoting and
putting your body into the punch, you would feel the difference in power right
away. You don’t feel that difference in power when you’re hitting pads because
they give way the minute you hit the palm. There is no resistance—that’s the
word—you’ve got to feel the resistance.”

Emanuel Steward: “They have the fighters punch the hand pads—pop, pop,
pop—and they put on a show and make a lot of noise that’s impressive to the
crowd and the media guys. But it’s just a show for the most part. Very little is
actually being taught. As I’ve said, there just aren’t any teachers, and that’s been
a big problem for some time.”

Dumbed Down

Before the 1980s punch pads were never part of a boxer’s regular workout
routine. Far from being an improvement, their ubiquitous presence is yet another
indication of the dumbed down quality of today’s boxing instruction.
 7
Boxing’s Missing Links

I think Lowry would have gone the distance if we had fought a

hundred times. I could never get used to his style of fighting.1
Rocky Marciano, former heavyweight champion, commenting on his
inability to knock out journeyman boxer Ted Lowry in two ten round
fights.

In the fall of 1949 future heavyweight champion of the world Rocky Marciano
fought a tough journeyman boxer named Tiger Ted Lowry. Marciano had turned
pro two and a half years earlier and was devouring the competition, having
knocked out 19 of 20 opponents. His management thought it was time to test his
mettle against a tougher caliber opponent.

Lowry was a veteran of 103 professional fights. A year earlier, weighing 174
pounds, he made a decent showing while losing a ten round decision to Archie
Moore. In 1947 Lowry had fought 10 round draws with heavyweight contenders
Lee Savold and Lee Oma.

Lowry’s record was spotty, but he was a battle tested old pro with a solid chin.
He could punch but was usually content to fight defensively, earn his pay, and
get ready for his next fight, usually within two or three weeks, and sometimes
less. One thing was certain: Lowry would not be easy to knock out. In eight
years he had been stopped just once.

The test nearly turned into a disaster—for Marciano. Lowry stung Marciano
(180 pounds) with powerful right hand punches in the first and second rounds. In
the fourth round he staggered Marciano with right uppercuts. But just when it
appeared Lowry was about to score a knockout he eased off and went into his
defensive shell. As the bout progressed a recovered Marciano took the initiative
but was unable to nail the cagey veteran with a solid punch.2 At the end of 10
rounds the judges gave the decision to Marciano. Most of the fans, and the
reporter covering the fight for the Providence (Rhode Island) Journal, thought
Lowry deserved to win.

One year and eight fights later an improved Marciano won a convincing ten
round decision over Lowry, but once again was unable to score a knockout. The
fighter who frustrated Rocky was a classic journeyman boxer. Fighters such as
Ted Lowry once dotted boxing’s fertile landscape. They were a necessary
ingredient in every future champion’s education. A journeyman could be an
experienced club fighter or a perennial fringe contender drifting in and out of the
bottom third of the rankings. He might also be an over-the-hill but not quite
washed up ex-champ.

Tough and ring-wise journeymen boxers presented a test for any fighter who felt
his time had come to break away from the pack. A journeyman with a good chin
was always in demand by promoters because he could be counted upon to give a
good showing and last the distance. Most were also pragmatic realists. Fighting
once or twice a month, their goal was not to strive for a title shot but to keep
fighting and earn enough money to support their families. It was also imperative
that they avoid taking too much punishment. Winning was important, but not as
important as staying active and available for the next payday.

A Journeyman Speaks

In 2006, at the age of 86, Ted Lowry, a veteran of 144 professional fights, still
possessed all his faculties. He is articulate and precise in his speech and can still
recall many of his fights in detail. Ted Lowry is a boxing treasure. He is one of
the last remaining links to boxing’s Golden Age of talent and activity. At the
time of this interview he was looking forward to the publication of his memoirs
—which he penned himself—titled God’s in My Corner: A Portrait of an
American Boxer. The memoir also includes his experiences during World War II
with the 555th “Triple Nickel” Parachute Infantry Battalion, an elite all-black
airborne unit of the U.S. Army.

Ted Lowry: “People sometimes ask me how I was able to avoid the terrible
damage that afflicts so many ex-boxers. Well … I knew how to fight.
Journeyman boxer Ted Lowry, pictured in 1952, averaged a fight a month
for 12 years (The Standard-Times).

“I was a boxer. I was taught that the jab was the most important thing that you
had, and I found that to be true because the jab set you up for everything else. I
was also very good at covering up and at tying a man up.

“I never took a beating. I was knocked down a few times, but I never took a
beating. You might say I could box and I could fight, and I used to do both. If a
man that I was fighting was a good fighter I’d box him, and if the man was a
good boxer then I would fight him. And that’s the way I fought.

Ted Lowry (left) ducks Rocky Marciano’s right cross in 1950. A savvy
defensive specialist, Lowry went the 10 round distance twice with Marciano
(The Providence Journal).
“I would say that the fighters of my time would be too much for the fighters of
today. You take fellas like Ezzard Charles, Archie Moore, Jersey Joe Walcott—
they were very smart fighters, and they had punching power. They were good
boxers. They knew how to move in, they punched hard, and they could take a
punch. When you tried to hit them they’d ride with the punches. They didn’t take
the punches solid. They were going away when the punches were coming. I was
taught, and I know they were too, that when a man threw a left hand you knew
what to look for next. If he threw a right hand you knew what to look for next. If
he jabbed you knew what to do. So that way you very rarely got hit with those
punches, especially if you were good with blocking.

“My trainer, Panama Roy Brooks, taught me. He was a former New England
featherweight champion back in the 1920s. Jack Johnson had trained him. Roy
taught me how to catch the punches, like Johnson, in my hand, on my gloves, on
my arms. I very seldom took a solid punch. When I got hit and got dropped it
was an accidental punch. Most of the punches, I saw them coming.

“My trainer would tell me stance was the most important thing. Next thing to a
jab is your stance. I fought slightly bent over a little. It was not a crouch. But it
made my jab a little longer. My hands were always up high, and the slight
crouch allowed me to slip punches, and catch punches, and get under punches.

“If you’re just throwing a punch with your arm you are hitting an opponent with
maybe 40 or 50 pounds. You’ve got to have your body behind the punch.
Today’s fighters are not taught right. They are taught how to throw a hook but
they are not taught how to throw a hook with power. They teach the jab, but they
don’t teach you how to step in with the jab. Nobody today has a hard jab. You
never see anybody these days jab a person and bust an opponent’s head open, or
bust the eyes open. It takes maybe three or four jabs to swell a man’s eye. In my
day you could do it with one punch, because you were moving in and hitting him
with the weight of your body.

“I weighed 174 pounds when I fought Eddie Blunt in 1942. And you could
check the records on this—Blunt weighed 230 pounds when I fought him. Do
you remember Eddie Blunt? He was a heavyweight contender. I dropped him in
New Bedford with a right hand. I weighed 174 pounds. [The 10 round bout was
scored a draw.]

“It takes something to be a fighter, let me tell you. And it takes a lot of fights
before you become an exceptionally good fighter. You’ve got to have more
before you become an exceptionally good fighter. You’ve got to have more
concentration in boxing. It’s different training than for football or baseball.
Definitely boxing is tougher than any other sport. It takes more out of you and
you’ve got to be dedicated. You can really get hurt if you don’t take care of
yourself.

“I never went into the ring out of shape. I’d do five miles of roadwork. I worked
hard at it. I’d be out jogging and then I’d pick it up. I would sprint and run, about
one hundred yards apart, mix up the speed, cause that’s the way you fight. In
some rounds you punch more than others. But I would not run up hill—too much
of a strain on your heart.

“Fights are won and lost in the corner. If you’ve got a smart trainer he’s paying
attention to your opponent and letting you know what you can do. You don’t tell
your fighter, ‘you’re getting hit with the right.’ The trainer should be telling you
what you could hit your opponent with. You tell him, ‘You got to move left, or
right, or move this way.’

“If a fighter is with the trainer who taught him from the beginning, he knows his
fighter, what he can do and what he cannot do. If a new trainer comes in, he
doesn’t know what his fighter can do. If he tells him in the middle of a fight to
‘double up with the right’ or ‘throw a left to the stomach and follow with a left
to the face and then a right cross and hook’ or another combination, the fighter
may not be able to do it and the trainer doesn’t even know it.

“The good fighters were getting out of it in the 1950s. Before that, when there
wasn’t that much work around, everybody was a fighter. I’m not trying to sound
boastful but I feel I can beat the fighters I watch today.”

Journeymen Boxers

Journeymen boxers were often asked by sportswriters to comment on an up and

coming prospect they had tested. After losing his second decision to Marciano,
Lowry offered the following assessment: “I don’t want to be critical of him. He’s
a comer, but I don’t think he is quite ready for experienced fighters like Savold,
Oma, Walcott and Charles. I’ve fought that kind and I know. If I was managing
him, I’d wait awhile before firing at that title.”3

It would be two more years before Marciano challenged Jersey Joe Walcott for
It would be two more years before Marciano challenged Jersey Joe Walcott for
the heavyweight title. In the meantime there were still dues to be paid and
lessons to be learned. Lowry had already done his share of the teaching.

Bill Goodman: “Fighters like Tiger Ted Lowry were needed because he stood
up and was capable of testing the fighter. The manager would take his fighter to
a small town and put him in with a journeyman to find out what he’s got. The
promoter got his money’s worth with those kind of guys. They served a variety
of purposes. In the old days a fighter like De La Hoya, after his long layoff,
would have had one or two tune-up bouts with a journeyman fighter before
taking on Mayweather. He would not have fought a major fight after laying off
for a year.”

Mike Capriano, Jr.: Maybe there is some kind of a syndrome that old people
have that makes them believe everybody was better when they were young. But
here is somebody—Ted Lowry—that actually boxed the great fighters and could
tell you the difference between fighters of his day and the present. He boxed
Archie Moore, Tiger Jack Fox, Joey Maxim, Rocky Marciano. He even boxed an
exhibition with Joe Louis when they were both in the army.

“Lowry could go the distance with anybody. He fits that mold of fighters that
would extend you. You weren’t stopping these guys and they are going to extend
you. And if you got out of line, Lowry would bang you a couple of times and put
you back in line. His color and lack of standing was the only reason Ted did not
become a contender. I know he didn’t have a superlative record, and he lost a lot
of fights, but I agree with him when he says that most of those fights were stolen
from him.”

Bill Goodman: “Unless you are a fight fan of a certain age you won’t recall the
many other journeymen boxers active at the same time as Ted Lowry. Fighters
such as Buddy Farrell, Charley Caby Lewis, Billy Grant, Filberto Aserio, Leo
“Lefty” Lebrun, Phil Burton, Bobby Mann, Joe Blackwood, Henry Holt, Lew
Perez, Eldridge Eatman, Willie Cheatum, Johnny Williams, Joe Blackwood,
Harry Diduck, Billy Nappa, Bobby Bell, Frankie Blair, George Washington,
Tommy Tibbs and many, many others, were the very life blood of this sport. It
would do today’s fighters a world of good to meet this type of fighter because
they would have been exposed to many different styles.

“In addition to the tough journeymen fighter there was also a need for ordinary
run of the mill opponents who could extend you but not beat you. He was also an
important component of the business. I don’t mean the type of inadequate
important component of the business. I don’t mean the type of inadequate
‘opponent’ that is used to build up a fighter’s record today. I’m talking about the
less talented fighters of years ago who served several functions. Say a first class
fighter won a tough bout but got busted up in the process. You don’t want to put
him in another tough war again. So you took him to a smaller club somewhere
out of town and matched him with a lesser name. He came away with a win and
they were able to bring him back. First class fighters fought this type of easy
opponent in small towns to keep busy and pick up a small amount of change. As
long as the opponent didn’t get too fresh they’d carry them the limit.”

A Cut Above

Good journeymen fighters were a cut above the run of the mill ‘opponent’ types.
They functioned as sentinels guarding the gate to contender status. It was their
job to filter out an authentic nugget of gold from a flash in the pan.

Sugar Ray Robinson, ever the prima donna, had his own personal gatekeepers in
stable mates Artie Towne and Gene Burton. If a fighter was able to get past these
two talented fringe contenders—no easy task—it could earn him a shot at the
great Robinson.

The boxers mentioned in this chapter are just a tiny sampling of the kinds of
fighters found in the records of every champion and contender of the Golden
Age. It is both inaccurate and insulting to compare these solid and reliable
professionals to the third and fourth rate pushovers who make up the majority of
opponents listed on the glossy knockout records of today’s so-called contenders
and champions.

No One to Learn From

Tony Arnold: “A fighter learns his trade from fighting other skilled fighters.
But there are no skilled fighters around for today’s fighters to learn from. And
that’s too bad because you can learn so much just by fighting them. I remember
a lot of the young kids would fight a ring wise but ring worn Fritzie Zivic and
they’d come away saying, ‘Hey, I just went to college.’ There is nobody around
like that today. You don’t have tough journeymen fighters like middleweights
Charley Cotton and Ralph Tiger Jones. In the 1950s these were the type of guys
you were learning and getting valuable experience from.

“Tiger Jones was a tricky guy. He’d walk into you, but he didn’t walk straight
into you. He wasn’t a face fighter. He would bob and weave and slip or slide
inside. Young fighters could learn a lot fighting a guy like that.

“One of the smart moves on Cus D’Amato’s part was when he matched Floyd
Patterson against an aging Joey Maxim early in Patterson’s career. He thought
Patterson might lose but he knew he was going to learn a lot fighting Maxim,
and he did, even though he lost a very close decision that could have gone either
way. But D’Amato had put him in there to learn.

“Years ago the managers weren’t worried about a loss or two. Now if a fighter
doesn’t have a 25 bout winning streak nobody’s interested. But things were
different then. It was all right to take a loss against a guy like Maxim. D’Amato
knew he wasn’t putting Patterson in with a guy who’s going to give his fighter a
beating. Where do you find a guy with that skill? Maxim couldn’t punch worth a
lick but he was so smart. He fought the hardest punchers of his division, and he
beat some of them just with skill and toughness. There’s nobody around like
that.”

The Value of Experience

If we could time travel the top contenders and champions of today and send
them back to fight the best journeymen boxers of the Golden Age, my money
would be on the old-timers. The speed, reflexes and athleticism of today’s
boxers might keep them out of danger for a while but sooner or later the crafty
battle-tested Golden Age pros would expose their flaws and inexperience. It
would just be a matter of time. Superior schooling coupled with the ability to
adapt to different styles, mental toughness, and years of priceless experience
would eventually overwhelm all of the modern day superstars. It wouldn’t even
be close.
 8
The Good, the Bad, and the Inconsistent

Only a tiny percentage of today’s contenders would have gotten past

the better four and six round club fighters of the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s.
They would have been crushed by the competition.
Emanuel Steward

During the first half of the 20th century, it was highly unusual for a professional
boxer to challenge for a title without first acquiring what the old school trainers
referred to as seasoning.

Seasoning is a combination of experience, confidence and ring craft. It enabled a

fighter to function under pressure, deal with the unexpected and, when
necessary, adjust his strategy during the course of a fight. Depending on the
quality of competition and the fighter’s innate ability, it took at least four years
and 40 to 60 professional fights to achieve seasoning. The result was a consistent
level of performance in keeping with a fighter’s background and experience.

Today’s dizzying merry-go-round of fighters winning, and then losing, and then
winning back one title belt after another is due primarily to a pervasive lack of
seasoning among today’s fighters. Noteworthy examples of this trend include the
following.

In 2003 undefeated Vernon Forrest decisively beat highly touted Shane Mosley
for the welterweight championship. He then repeated the win six months later.
Defending his title for the second time, Forrest was heavily favored to defeat a
crude South American club fighter named Ricardo Mayorga. But Mayorga had
other plans. He upset the odds and shocked the boxing world by knocking
Forrest out in the third round. Six months later a cautious but determined Vernon
Forrest attempted to win back the title. Mayorga fought his usual fight; pressing
ever forward, throwing punches from all angles, he took Forrest’s best punches
without flinching. After 12 close rounds the judge’s decision went to Mayorga.

The two-time conqueror of Shane Mosley had lost twice to a tough but ordinary
slugger because he was unable to adjust his style to an awkward pressure fighter
slugger because he was unable to adjust his style to an awkward pressure fighter
with a good chin. Vernon Forrest, a talented former amateur star, had averaged
just three fights per year in the eleven years he had been fighting as a pro. Of the
26 knockout victims listed on his record, 19 did not go past the third round. In
addition to not getting enough experience, he was consistently meeting inferior
opposition. Forrest had been weaned on third rate boxers who either ran from
him or collapsed when their face came in contact with his glove.

Highly regarded welterweight champ Vernon Forrest (right) was upset by

underdog Ricardo Mayorga twice in 2003. A pervasive lack of seasoning is
responsible for the inconsistent performances of many contemporary
champions (AP/Wide World Photos).

Lacking the experience, mental toughness, and confidence of a seasoned pro,

Forrest became unnerved by Mayorga’s ability to absorb his best shots and fire
back with his own punches. Mayorga was not behaving like the majority of stiffs
he had flattened. This was a totally new experience and he was unprepared to
he had flattened. This was a totally new experience and he was unprepared to
deal with it. Before he won the 147 pound title Forrest had fought only two or
three mildly competitive fights and one good fighter (Mosley), whose style was
tailor-made for him.

Vernon Forrest never realized his full potential as a fighter. Throughout the
skimpy pro career of this very gifted athlete, observers saw tantalizing glimpses
of what might have been. He possessed a fine left jab and excellent balance and
threw accurate three and four punch combinations out of a traditional stance. But
what he lacked, and never acquired, was the all-important seasoning. Without
this key ingredient Forrest was little improved from the world-class amateur
fighter he was when he first turned pro 11 years earlier.

Ricardo Mayorga didn’t last long on the title merry-go-round. He was thrown off
in his second defense. Mayorga lost a unanimous 12 round decision to Corey
Spinks, an amateurish hit and run type whose main asset is speed and little else.
Corey, son of former heavyweight champion Leon Spinks, used a basic jab and
move strategy to flit around the ring while avoiding his opponent’s clumsy
rushes. This simple but effective strategy is what Forrest should have employed
against Mayorga had he been capable of doing so.

The New York Times reported that Spinks had used “slick movement and refined
skills” to win a decision over Mayorga.1 Corey may have been slick but his
moves were far from refined. Refinement is a byproduct of seasoning, which
Corey has yet to attain.

Corey Spinks’ reign as welterweight champion was short lived. He squeaked by

the talented but overrated Zab Judah in his first defense. The close fight
warranted a rematch. Next time around Judah stepped up the pressure and belted
Spinks out in the ninth round.

The new champion’s hold on the crown lasted only until his first defense. He
lost a unanimous 12 round decision to an unknown 5-to-1 underdog named
Carlos Baldomir. Baldomir is slow of foot and can’t punch but he is persistently
aggressive and difficult to hurt. These assets were more than enough to
discourage the easily discouraged Zab Judah.

Baldomir, 35 years old when he won the title, was so lightly regarded he was an
8-to-5 underdog to lose the title in his first defense against burnt out Arturo
Gatti. But Gatti, HBO’s favorite punching bag, had been to the well once too
often. His great fighting heart couldn’t pull this one out. Baldomir stopped the
often. His great fighting heart couldn’t pull this one out. Baldomir stopped the
old gladiator in the eighth round.

Carlos Baldomir’s 15 minutes of fame ended when he fought Floyd

Mayweather, Jr., considered by many to be the best pound for pound fighter in
the world today. Mayweather, as expected, won an easy 12 round decision. He
was just too fast for the plodding, power deprived soon to be ex-champ.
Nevertheless, Baldomir is to be commended. He is at best an ordinary club
fighter but he keeps trying round after round, refusing to let his obvious
deficiencies get in the way of his dogged determination.

Mayweather is reminiscent of a young Roy Jones, Jr., minus the punching

power. Like Roy, his offense and defense rely almost totally on speed, reflexes
and instinct. In a follow-up win against his lesser mirror image, Zab Judah,
Mayweather was not overly impressive. The toughest test for Floyd was to come
in his highly anticipated 154-pound title clash with Oscar De La Hoya in May
2007 (see Chapter 12).

Meanwhile, in the light heavyweight division, Antonio Tarver and Glen Johnson
—the two fighters who shocked the boxing world by knocking out Roy Jones, Jr.
—played patty cake with the title. Their two sleep-inducing fights added further
proof to the argument that Jones was either totally washed up or (more likely)
way overrated if he could lose to these two mediocrities. Tarver defeated
Johnson in their rematch and reclaimed the title. But in his very next fight he lost
11 of 12 rounds, and the title, to 41-year-old ex-middleweight champion Bernard
Hopkins.

Aside from Hopkins’ cakewalk over Tarver, the most surprising merry-go-round
upset of 2006 involved super middleweight champion Joe Calzaghe’s easy
defeat of the very hot Jeff Lacy in a rare title unification bout. Three years
earlier, Lacy, a former amateur star, had won a version of the super
middleweight title in his 12th pro fight. He entered the ring a slight favorite
despite the fact that Calzaghe had almost double his number of fights. But the
overly muscled Lacy was stiff, slow and clueless (as was his corner) in knowing
how to deal with his shifty opponent’s busy offense and speed. Round after
round Lacy kept walking mummylike into Calzaghe’s awkward but rapid arm
punches delivered from a southpaw stance. It was an embarrassingly poor
performance by a fighter who did not have the tools to cope with an ordinary but
far more experienced opponent.

Boxing’s title merry-go-round continues: Shane Mosley, Zab Judah, Corey

Boxing’s title merry-go-round continues: Shane Mosley, Zab Judah, Corey
Spinks, Vernon Forrest and Antonio Tarver have since re-won title belts.

Flawed Fighters

It is this lack of experience, lack of seasoning, that leaves today’s champions so

vulnerable when defending their titles, say the insiders.

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “Today’s fighters have not been tested early in their
careers against a variety of tough prelim fighters and then tough, legitimate
contenders. Unlike the top fighters of the 1940s and 1950s, they have not been
developed through their flaws. If another fighter comes along, equally
unseasoned, but possessor of a style that the current star has not been exposed to,
and therefore is weak in that area, he will be upset.

“But there is another reason for their inconsistency. Psychologically, fighters are
weaker today. The old timers had a psychological resiliency. When they got
knocked down it was like they were insulted. They would get up and try to take
you apart. They had that extra dimension. Arturo Gatti had that quality, but not
the rest of the equipment.

“The Golden Age contenders and champions were battle tested. They survived
the killers of their eras as they came up through the ranks. How many killers are
there today to fight on the way up? Years ago you had to fight who they told you
to fight. You could not pick and choose your opponents. They fought other good
fighters who at any given time could put forth a great fight and beat them. A
good fighter of that day was liable to upset you. They were capable of rising to
the occasion. The competition from the 1920s to the 1950s was brutal. You
cannot compare it to today.

“The industry is not operating to develop really outstanding fighters. It’s just not
possible because they do not have enough fights. And the competition isn’t the
same. If you win five or six fights today, and some promoter latches on to you,
and then go undefeated in 10, 15 or 20 fights, you end up fighting for some kind
of title. Now where are you going to go with that kind of experience in the 1940s
or 1950s? Nowhere.”
Bill Goodman: “Years ago you had 50 to 70 fights before you fought for a title.
You knew how to handle all situations—or you should have known. You had to
handle opponents who were awkward, fast, slow, sluggers, boxers, clever guys
and southpaws. You had experience with those types of styles.

“Jeff Lacy looked like a good prospect, which he was. But as soon as he got in
there with a guy who was a little cute, he fell apart.”

Carlos Ortiz: “You can fight a guy with 16 or 18 fights for a title. You never
heard of that in my time. You had to have 40, 50, 60 fights before you fought for
a title. There are not enough shows, fighters or competition. It’s a tough
situation.”

Steve Lott: “Technically the fighters today are not as sound as the fighters of the
1950s and 1960s. The progression downward started after the 1960s. You began
to see less technique and less movement to avoid punches. My good friend Cus
D’Amato was of the opinion that the greatest skill level among boxers was
achieved in the 1920s and 1930s because those guys boxed so much in the gym
and fought every two or three weeks. They had to know how to slip and weave
and use slick moves to keep from taking too much punishment. They would not
be able to fight every two weeks if they took a beating every time they fought.
Many of today’s fighters know that they don’t know how to keep from getting
hit.”

Emanuel Steward: “Fighters like Fernando Vargas and Zab Judah win a title
and then quickly lose it because they did not have the proper seasoning. Once
they get the championship they can’t hold onto it. They haven’t gone through the
slow apprenticeship.

“Only a tiny percentage of today’s contenders would have gotten past the better
four and six round club fighters of the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s. They would have
been crushed by the competition.”

Tony Fosco: “The old timers would have found a way. In a tight spot they
would have found a better way to change the course of a fight than these new
timers.

“Today’s fighters are kind of one-dimensional. If they can’t win with the
primary way they know how to fight they’re dead. If what they know going into
the ring doesn’t work for them they don’t know how to change. The old timers
could change tactics in the ring. They could develop a new strategy the next
could change tactics in the ring. They could develop a new strategy the next
round and come out and try something else.

“You get to see the whole fight when you watch the kinescopes from the 1950s.
You can actually see how they could do something different and solve the
problem. A boxer is getting hit with a right hand and he won’t get hit with a right
hand the next time.

“A big problem is the training the fighters receive today. They are not being
taught properly. But they are also not being given enough chances after they lose
to come back. A fighter today loses two or three big fights and you do not see
them anymore. They get discouraged and wander off. Once the forward motion
is stopped very few of them come back.”

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “A seasoned puncher was always dangerous. In the late
1940s my dad had a fine middleweight fighter named Pedro Cobe. Pedro was a
very good boxer. He was matched with Steve Belloise, a former middleweight
contender who had seen better days. There was no reason for my father to
believe Cobe could not outbox Steve Belloise, who was at the tail end of his
career and had already lost several times. But the old pro moved around and in
the second or third round—‘bing, bang, boom’—he lands one of those hooks and
our guy is knocked cold.”

Freddie Roach: “Styles make fights. Everybody has a style they’d like to fight.
Against a certain style I might do exceptionally well. But there is another style I
might not do well against. The old timers had the advantage of having many
more opportunities to practice fighting guys that presented a difficult style. They
were also able to stay sharp by fighting so often. How can you be sharp fighting
so infrequently? Manny Pacquiao fought last year only twice. You fight two
fights all year and what are you doing the rest of the time? A lot of fighters are
not in the gym every day because it’s hard to train if you don’t have a fight
scheduled. If you only fight twice a year and you train year round you’re going
to be burnt out. But years ago you could stay busy when you had all these club
shows going, and you didn’t have TV. You weren’t making a lot of money
either, but you were learning your trade and getting better with your skills.

“When is the last time you had a champion that had longevity? Larry Holmes
had it as heavyweight champion for seven years. Joe Louis had it for eleven
years. Nowadays they have a championship for a minute and then they turn it
over. There is no dominating factor now. There’s nobody really great out there
over. There is no dominating factor now. There’s nobody really great out there
right now, in my mind. Of course you have a guy like Roy Jones, Jr., who picks
and chooses his opponents. Back in the days of LaMotta, Gavilan, Pep, and
those guys, they fought everybody and anybody. They had to put food on the
table and they weren’t making millions of dollars.

“There is very little consistency today. Naseem Hamid was a well-managed

fighter. But everybody he beat was on the way out. The first guy he fought that
was still there I thought was going to expose him, and Barrera did it. And then
they put Barrera as the top pound for pound boxer in the world and my guy
Pacquiao blows him away. He [Pacquiao] is not a great fighter yet. His career is
still out there. He’s a good fighter, and so is Barerra. They are both good fighters
—but far from great.”

They All Had It

Teddy Atlas: “Years ago what really mattered was the ability to be dependable
and steady. You couldn’t afford to kind of wobble away from that ability. You
had to keep the ‘pedal to the metal’ in the areas you needed to, and to stay steady
in the areas you needed to stay steady. That was as much a talent as any of the
physical attributes we’ve talked about—your ability to stay concentrated with
the things you needed to do, which meant the ability to be steadfast and to
perform at the same level at all times. And that quality was born from the times,
which was born from the things that we described. It was something that was
there with all the fighters in those days.

“You could take 20 rated Golden Age fighters from a weight division and just
select the guys at the bottom of the list and they all had it. They might not be as
talented as the guys at the top, as far as pure physical talent, but the ability they
had, joined with the experience, and the ability to pick up and learn the things
that were there to be learned by fighting many types of fighters, and being in the
gyms with the teachers, all of that combined together and made the type of
fighter that could plug in and fit in on any night with anybody. And if the top
guys had an off night … if Sugar Ray Robinson was just a little bit off because
maybe he fought six fights in six weeks and maybe he was just a little physically
depleted—that could be enough for one of these guys, whether it was Jose
Basora, Bobo Olson, Holly Mims, or Randy Turpin, guys who didn’t quite
match up physically with Robinson, to put him through a rough evening. There
was no quarter given. These fighters could not afford not to be consistent. And
that quality had to be developed by the time you got to the top guys or you just
didn’t get there.

“But nowadays you can get to those places without that quality being developed,
because you can get away with less. And if you’re hooked into the TV networks
you still get paid more even though you get away with less and there is not a
price to pay. But in the old days there was a price to pay if you didn’t take full
advantage of everything in all areas, in all moments.

“There is no necessity today. There was necessity in those days. What I mean to
say is that you had to be consistent. That was a necessity. It was part of your
talent base. People don’t understand that. Consistency was part of their talent
base.

That’s why I pick half of these old timers over all of the fighters of today.

“I don’t give a damn about the nutrition they wouldn’t have had back then, and
these weight machines, and the speed, and all the other things they think make
fighters better today—I don’t care about any of that. Part of their talent was
consistency. And it wasn’t an accident. It was a development. But they had to be
consistent as people before they were consistent as athletes. It was incumbent
upon them. It was demanded of them. It was part of the job requirement and it
was part of living.”
 9
Fistic Forensics: Two Fights Analyzed

It was a performance that rates among the most remarkable in boxing

history and elevated Bernard Hopkins to new heights.
The Ring magazine, October 2006, reporting on Bernard Hopkins’s
win over Antonio Tarver.

It was an amazing performance.

Jim Lampley, HBO commentator, praising Hopkins after his one-sided
victory.

Most boxing commentary, whether in print, on television or over the Internet, is

at best superficial and at worst completely misleading. As the following
insightful analysis of two major championship fights (chosen at random) reveals,
today’s fight fans have no idea how much information they are not getting.

June 10, 2006: Bernard Hopkins vs. Antonio Tarver

Result: Unanimous Decision for Hopkins

Teddy Atlas: “The bottom line is that Tarver’s defeat wasn’t just physical. He
just didn’t fight. He got broken down. It’s possible that Tarver may have been
intimidated at the press conference before the fight when Hopkins called him a
fraud. Hopkins stood up to him and evoked a certain confidence that may have
fractured Tarver psychologically. I mean Hopkins didn’t use any physical
abilities that night to defeat Tarver. His defeat was more mental. Mentally he did
not perform like a pro, meaning that Tarver did not even fight. He could have
done things wrong and lost because he implemented a failed strategy, but he did
nothing.

“Tarver lost 11 of 12 rounds from lack of activity, from lack of applying himself.
That type of behavior is usually consistent with a guy who breaks down, who
gives in, who submits. In boxing you don’t have to submit only by falling down.
gives in, who submits. In boxing you don’t have to submit only by falling down.

“Tarver’s performance was consistent with a guy who does not possess a high
caliber of constitution. And that kind of guy did not exist in the old days. That is
the one area the old time fighters were consistent in. They were bathed in the
kind of water where they all had to be consistent in that area.

“As a fighter you can’t do anything about the genetic pool you come from but
you can take what you have and develop it with teachers and with experience,
from a technical base, where you try to get the most out of what you have
physically. Some guys have more physically but the one thing that is there, and it
is available to everybody to pull from, to share from, is the ability to make
yourself more consistent and reliable in the mental area. That’s there for
everybody no matter whom your parents are, no matter what your genetics are.
That is there for everybody. And the fighters we are talking about—the ‘Golden
Age’ fighters—they pulled from that. They had to. They were all bathed in that
water, otherwise they couldn’t exist. And what is that water? It is the water to be
reliable, to make the right choices under pressure, to not give in, to give no
quarter … to behave like a pro … to behave like a fighter! And that’s what was
noticeably missing in the fight. That behavior was missing. The behavior to go
in there and have an off night, but have an off night still throwing the punches, to
have an off night still going to the body with a smaller man and finding a way to
invoke your advantage there, to go in there and still use your experience.
Bernard Hopkins (right) won as he pleased against a passive Antonio
Tarver in 2006 (AP/Wide World Photos).

“Tarver was a guy that not only beat Roy Jones, Jr., but he was also a guy that
was one of our all time best amateurs. He had 250 amateur fights. So you go in
there, and if the guy’s counterpunching you, then you feint him. You have him
make a premature move, and then catch him. You have the experience to do that.
But do you have the will to do that? Do you have the control to do that? The
answer is obviously no, because there was a lack of performance in those areas.
There was an absence of professional fighter behavior. And that is something
that was never absent in the old days. The old timers may not have been as quick
as an opponent, or not always as versatile. They may not have possessed all the
options of some of their opponents in different areas, but they all were bathed
from that same water, the water of becoming a professional fighter. And the
urgency and the necessity of that behavior had to be in place on the way up and
that’s what was most noticeably missing.
that’s what was most noticeably missing.

“It’s like being a professional race car driver and the turns are coming up fast
and the traffic is getting very dense, but you’ve got to stay behind that wheel.
The one thing you cannot do is jump out from that seat. You can’t eject from
that seat. Well—simply put—Tarver flicked the ejector button.”

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “I couldn’t help but notice how amateurish Tarver
appeared in his fight against Hopkins. He really doesn’t throw a right jab. He
kind of sticks it out there, paws it out there, while looking for that one big punch.
He is certainly nowhere near a Tommy Hearns, who was also a tall fighter that
threw long punches. Tarver lost 11 of 12 rounds to Hopkins. He did nothing.
And Tarver is the guy who beat the ‘great’ Roy Jones, which these fools today
rate up there with the greatest. Ridiculous!

“I give today’s fighters as much credit as I can. They travel the distance pretty
well and they have some idea of the circumstances surrounding a boxing match.
But they’d have to show me that they could beat the preliminary guys that we
knew, or the club fighters that we knew, because they are not in any way
whatsoever beating any of the real fighters—meaning the contenders and rated
fighters of years ago. Let them box a Jose Basora or a Steve Belloise, or any of
the quality middleweights from the 1930s and 1940s, and you’d find out. You
want to see a boxing match? Let any of today’s boxers take on someone like
Georgie Abrams, who fought close battles with Charley Burley, Sugar Ray
Robinson and Marcel Cerdan.

“How about Bernard Hopkins and Bob Foster at light heavyweight? There is no
doubt in my mind that Foster would knock him out. Hopkins is not coming in
with his 41 year old physique and conditioning to fight Foster or any of those
real good light heavyweights in their prime. Most of them would knock him
off.”

Erik Arnold: “Antonio Tarver fought going backwards the whole time and
Hopkins just followed him around. Tarver kept going straight back into the ropes
with his head up. On the rare occasions when Hopkins threw a punch he was
able to hit Tarver but most of the time he didn’t jab and he didn’t show any real
skill. Hopkins didn’t even cut off the ring. He was just following him around and
Tarver wasn’t fighting back at all. And that was the whole fight—the whole 12
rounds.

“It was a terrible fight. They didn’t show anything. They both looked like two
“It was a terrible fight. They didn’t show anything. They both looked like two
preliminary fighters. With all his years of experience Hopkins showed nothing. I
think it was less a case of Hopkins winning than Tarver not fighting. Hopkins
shook him a few times but even then he followed up with arm punches that
lacked real power. And he didn’t know how to get his punches underneath
Tarver’s long arms. Tarver would just stay on the ropes and put his arms up and
Hopkins would whale away with a few weak shots and that was about the main
excitement of the fight.

Tony Arnold: “Hopkins wouldn’t have been more than a club fighter years ago.
I don’t think any of these guys, Tarver, Hopkins, Wright and Taylor, even fit
into 1970s. Tommy Hearns and Ray Leonard were head and shoulders above the
best fighters of today.”

Only Seeing the Part They Are Capable of Seeing

Teddy Atlas: “Of course Hopkins gets credit for winning the fight. But in
today’s day and times, whether its baseball, boxing, basketball, or whatever it is,
if a hitter has one year of hitting .300 they immediately start to talk about
comparisons to guys that did it for 20 years, and that’s absurd. But it’s all part of
the TV world. It’s part of the weak world. It’s part of the convenient world. It’s
part of the lazy world, and part of the short attention span world.

“If a guy has a statistic that’s good for one year they start lumping him in with
guys that did it for 20 years. We want to be able to say the guys of our era are
terrific while we’re around. We see somebody who for one month hits a good
average and right away we’re linking him with Willie Mays. But we haven’t
seen him hit in bad weather yet, we haven’t seen him deal with an injury, we
haven’t seen him deal with a slump, and we haven’t seen him deal with a pitcher
like Bob Gibson who’s going to throw at his head and see if he can shake that
confidence and make him not behave like a hitter anymore. We haven’t seen
that, and yet we’re acting as though we have seen it and we’re not caring that we
haven’t seen it.

“Unfortunately, you don’t have the writers today who can help set the record
straight. You don’t have the Jimmy Cannons, the Damon Runyons, the Red
Smiths—the quality writers who understood the sport, who understood what
they were watching, and what they were not watching. You don’t have that
caliber of people who are reporting the news at the level you had in those days.
So a lot of these current writers and commentators can be swayed a lot easier.
So a lot of these current writers and commentators can be swayed a lot easier.
They only see the part that they are capable of seeing. They see Bernard Hopkins
win 11 of 12 rounds but they don’t see where the other guy gave away 11 or 12
rounds. I’m taking nothing away from Bernard. But it wasn’t so much what he
was doing. It was more what the other guy wasn’t doing. But they don’t see that,
they don’t look at that.

“Nowadays, in all the sports, we’re so quick to just embrace less … whatever
hits us at the moment. We don’t give quite as much recognition to the
consistency of performance as we do what’s right in front of us and what feels
comfortable. We really don’t. We don’t expect it and we don’t demand it. It’s a
shortcoming of our society. And it shows why imports are growing over exports.
It shows why demand for quality products from other parts of the world are
obviously growing as we talk because this is what goes on in the workplace—the
lack of demand for that kind of performance. So that’s part of it. You don’t
demand-you don’t get.”

June 17, 2006: Jermain Taylor vs. Ronald Winky Wright

Result: 12 round draw

Tony Arnold: “Jermain Taylor began his fight with Winky Wright with a good
strategy. He was backing away from Wright, thereby making the defensive
fighter (Wright) become an aggressive fighter and creating opportunities for
Taylor to counterpunch. But I soon noticed that Taylor was not controlling the
fight. He was not catching Wright with counterpunches as he was coming in.
Instead Taylor was allowing Wright to bully him into the ropes. He was jumping
backwards instead of trying to slip inside Wright’s jab.

“What looked like a beautiful strategy for Taylor in the beginning, and would
have been a good strategy for a crafty fighter, was not happening. To my
surprise Taylor was not trying to sucker Wright in to land his combinations.
Instead, Taylor was trying to get away from his punches. Wright was not
running into good counterpunches, as he should have been. In fact he wasn’t
being suckered into anything.

“Taylor was acting like he was being chased by a fighter who had one punch
knockout power. He was being too defensive. The few times Taylor did open up
and land a few punches he showed good form, but he didn’t keep it up. He
wasn’t consistent enough, and he wasn’t aggressive enough. Wright forced the
wasn’t consistent enough, and he wasn’t aggressive enough. Wright forced the
fight. He jabbed Taylor into the ropes and then flurried. He did this round after
round. It looked to me like Taylor did not have the experience or ability to
implement the proper strategy.

“But on the other hand, Wright, the more experienced fighter, was not the
defensive fighter I had been led to believe. His jab was weak, as were most of
his punches. And his defense was only ordinary. He never moved his head and
he never slipped any punches. Instead he tried to block Taylor’s punches just by
putting two gloves up in front of his face, and Taylor wasn’t smart enough to
take advantage of that.

“When an opponent blocks the same way all the time you try different things.
For example, if an opponent is blocking your jab by putting both gloves up in
front of his face—as Wright was doing—you hit him with a light jab and then
you go to the body with a follow-up right or left. Or you throw a punch that
doesn’t have any real intent behind it just to get his gloves up in front of his face
and then you know where to throw the second and third punches. You can then
step in with a hook around his gloves. It’s common sense. And if you hurt him
you can follow up with combinations.

“Nobody can block his whole body and head at the same time. You need a
combination of your gloves and body movement to get away from punches, but
you do not do it the same way every time, as Wright was doing. Any fighter with
any experience would love a fighter that fights the same way and reacts the same
way whenever he gets hit with a punch or tries to block a punch.

“A skilled defensive boxer doesn’t rigidly walk straight into punches and try to
smother them by putting his gloves in front of his face, as Wright did. The old
way to block a jab was to parry it with an open glove. You either knocked the
jab to the side or knocked it straight up but you always had the other hand ready
so that when you parried the jab you could bang with the other hand. But Winky
had both gloves in front of his face, so he was tying up his hands. When a fighter
blocks a punch this way he is never in a position to counter because he has both
gloves up in front of his face. Wright should have slipped or parried Taylor’s jab
and then countered with his other hand.

“These same patterns were repeated every round; Taylor jabbed and Winky
would put his gloves up in front of his face to block the punch. Winky would
then return with his own jab and Taylor would invariably retreat back to the
ropes where he did nothing while Wright flurried. When Taylor did open up with
ropes where he did nothing while Wright flurried. When Taylor did open up with
combinations he showed some ability. He showed that he had good form and
decent power. Taylor was fighting a very ordinary boxer who they are praising
as a great defensive fighter. But Wright was always blocking the same way and
to me that is not a great defensive fighter.

“Marcel Cerdan, the great middleweight champion, used a similar style with
both gloves up, not unlike the peek-a-boo style of Floyd Patterson. The film of
Cerdan vs. Tony Zale [1948] shows Cerdan holding his gloves around his ears.
But Cerdan was always moving. He’d dip inside of Zale’s punches or bob under
them and be in perfect position to land two or three hard shots. Winky’s way of
fighting had him standing straight up and taking the punches on his gloves. He
just stood there with his gloves up. If he got hit he’d take the punch but as soon
as Taylor stopped punching Wright would start moving forward again like a
robot. He would then throw a weak jab, which Taylor overreacted to. But that
weak jab was able to back Taylor into the ropes even though Taylor was the
stronger fighter, and the more powerful puncher.

“In the beginning of the fight Wright was very cautious. He was just trying to
keep distance by throwing a weak and tentative left jab. But even when he saw
that Taylor was overreacting to his weak jab, he still didn’t try and put any real
power behind his jabs. I just could not understand why Taylor reacted to those
jabs like a building was falling on his head. He kept jumping back and never
once tried to dip inside the jab—never once. He acted like he feared Wright’s
jab. He retreated from it instead of using the jab as an opportunity. When an
opponent jabs, you always look for a place to counter.

“Wright was smarter than Taylor because he realized he could back Taylor into
the ropes where he could open up with a flurry of punches and show the judges
that he’s the boss. But Wright did not fight like a crafty fighter. As for Taylor,
his style remained the same from round one to round twelve. He never came
forward, never slipped the jab, never tried to feint. That’s a dead art, the real art
of feinting. Both Taylor and Wright repeated the same things throughout the
fight. But Wright was more aggressive and he threw more punches.

“If Taylor had done what I thought he was planning to do—sucker Wright into
counter punches—he would have outsmarted Wright. But he did not have the
necessary skills. He started out looking like a skilled fighter but turned out not to
be. In years past even a fighter with only 20 pro fights, if he fought the right
competition and he had real talent, could develop these skills pretty quickly. But
competition and he had real talent, could develop these skills pretty quickly. But
today it’s a different world.

“I can only judge Wright by what I saw and to me he appears to be an ordinary

fighter. Taylor showed potential and with more experience he could become a
better fighter. He threw good punches but I don’t know how smart he is. It is not
only the punches you throw—you’ve also got to think in there.”

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “One of the problems is that we forget some of what we
saw years ago. We forget the class and the style—the ‘sweet science.’ It’s gone.
For example, fighters today don’t really understand how to bob and weave.
Maybe they bounce their head up and down like Tyson did but they really don’t
know how to move underneath their opponent’s punches and into the middle of
their opponent. They don’t do that. Nobody does it.

“How many times do you see the jab, left hook, right cross combination and then
the fighter moves over to the right and drops a punch underneath? You didn’t see
that with Winky Wright or Jermain Taylor. I mean when was the last time you
saw a nice boxing match with some guy out pointing another guy on pure skill—
or see a fighter who gets dropped and then gets up and counter punches his way
back to win the round. You don’t see that anymore. There was an assortment of
exciting maneuvers made by different fighters years back that we have forgotten.

“Billy Graham, a welterweight contender from the late 1940s, would have had
no problem beating both Taylor and Wright. Graham was good but we didn’t
consider him an outstanding fighter. He couldn’t crack an egg. I remember his
fights with Joey Giardello and Kid Gavilan—wonderful boxing exhibitions.

“Jermain Taylor is a tall and gawky athlete who is still learning but he’s not a
bad fighter. He’s a pretty good banger. But again, he’s no Tommy Hearns either.
There were a lot of guys like him years ago; good prospects with extensive
amateur backgrounds and a lot of natural ability. Back then if he fought 22
reasonable guys, he probably would be just about ready to top one of the clubs.

“In the 1970s my father was training a fighter named Kenny Bristol, who was
the British Empire middleweight champion. He was as good, if not better than
Jermain Taylor. But Jermain has potential. Had he turned pro in the 1940s or
1950s the chances are very good that he would have been developed into an
outstanding fighter.

“Winky Wright has more experience than Taylor and is a difficult guy to fight,
“Winky Wright has more experience than Taylor and is a difficult guy to fight,
but his ability is limited by that stupid peek a boo style he uses which limits his
vision. Jermain should have been moving to Winky’s right or to his left … get to
the side and wing him on the right and wing him on the left and soon his hands
wouldn’t be in front of him.

“Winky Wright knows how to fight. He’s not bad. But he’s one-dimensional. It’s
an awful style. You want to be a fighter, you’ve got to expose yourself
somewhat. It means that you’ll have a better offense. You’re better off learning
how to block punches or have the instinct to block them rather than keeping your
gloves up alongside your ears. You can make a good fighter out of him but that
style kills him. He could try being in a little bend, doing weaves, which would
add to his effectiveness.

“Wright’s style also limits his power because he pushes his punches in front of
him. You’ve got to be able to be on the angle and come from the shoulder when
you throw a cross. And when you throw the hook you pivot your foot and put
your weight into the punch.

“What was also missing from this fight was inside fighting. We never see that
today. That’s a lost art. You used to see clever boxing all the time. You know,
guys like Allie Stolz, Maxie Shapiro, Tippy Larkin—clever boxers that hit and
moved and could box you at long or short range and rarely got hit solidly. They
didn’t have to knock your head off but when you’d start to expose yourself
they’d drop in some good punches. There’s been nobody like that in 20 years.

“Of the four of them—Tarver, Hopkins, Taylor and Wright—I think Taylor is
the most pleasing to watch and he looks like he could become a good fighter.
Wright is stronger and has more ring savvy, but again, he’s limited with that
style, very limited. If Wright were fighting in the 1960s he would get bombed to
pieces by Emile Griffith at middleweight. But he’s a tough guy and he’s going to
give you a fight. Even 20 years ago he’s not getting knocked out so easily. But is
he in the mix with the fighters of the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s? No, I don’t think
so.”

A Mutual Inconsistency

Teddy Atlas: “As I said before, one of the great strengths of the old time
fighters was their ability to be consistent within what their style and identity was.
If they needed to make an adjustment during the course of a fight they had the
experience and the ability to make that adjustment, and to be consistent with
fitting it in so that it became part of their ring style for that particular fight.

“In the Winky Wright vs. Jermain Taylor fight, what was most apparent to me
was that neither boxer was consistent in staying with the strategy that was
advantageous for each, and staying away from that which was less
advantageous.

“What I mean is Winky Wright had the advantage when he kept in close
proximity to Taylor. By keeping the fight at close quarters he was able to get
inside the longer arms of the taller and thinner Taylor. It made sense for Wright
since he had made a living being able to put pressure behind a tight covered
defense and maneuvering inside where he was very effective. I thought that’s the
course that he would wind up choosing to be consistent with because it had
worked for him throughout his career. It made sense because he would be
working off his strength and the lack of strength that Taylor would have in
response to this type of strategy.

“In previous fights Wright had been successful when he moved in close but in
this fight there were many times when he either stopped working when he got in
close, or did not take full opportunity of those moments when he was able to
move inside of Taylor’s guard.

“Normally you would expect a fighter with Wright’s experience to take

advantage of that kind of moment but instead when he did get in close quarters
he either did not punch or took himself back out. This inconsistency on his part
allowed a couple of things to happen. It allowed the fight to go back and forth as
each fighter grabbed an advantage and then would lose the advantage. Wright’s
inconsistency allowed it to be a close fight because at long range he could not be
as effective as he was at close quarters.

“There is a little bit more of an excuse for Taylor’s inconsistency. He’s a

younger guy and hasn’t been a pro as long. But he has the confidence of a
lengthy amateur background in which he represented the United States in
international events and in the Olympics. And he had the confidence behind him
of beating Bernard Hopkins, who had been champion for so many years, and
acclaimed by many people as such a terrific fighter. It would be expected that in
such a tactical fight he would have been more consistent in the areas that he
drew advantages, which was keeping to the outside where his strong jab—the
same jab that had kept the counterpunching Hopkins at bay—would serve him
same jab that had kept the counterpunching Hopkins at bay—would serve him
well and force Winky to work his way in and then, as I like to say, ‘make him
pay for real estate.’

“It was advantageous for Taylor to keep the fight at a distance, which, obviously
would not have been advantageous for Winky. And there were spots when he did
that—when he kept Wright on the outside with his jab. Wright was finding it
difficult to work his way in without paying some kind of price to get past the
quicker hands of Taylor. But Taylor only did it in spots. He allowed Wright to
get inside, thereby giving up those temporary advantages.

“Both fighters were unable to be consistent with their strengths. They each
allowed the momentum of the fight to swing back and forth where first one, and
then the other, would enjoy a temporary advantage and opportunity and then
give up that advantage and opportunity, making it a very difficult fight to call a
winner.

“Wright and Taylor do not quite possess what the old time guys did. In the old
days there was a consistency born out of an urgency that never went away. The
difference was that the old timers would always have that element working for
them; the element to understand what they needed to do throughout the duration
of a fight. It did not diminish during the course of a fight. That was one of their
greatest attributes. They knew how to make adjustments, how to box, how to
press and how to fight inside. They knew how to get edges in different ways and
how to take away somebody’s speed. They knew how to do all those things
because they were fighting so often and they had good teachers.”

After the Matches

Jermain Taylor’s subsequent victories against Kaseem Ouma and Corey Spinks
confirmed his amateurish tendencies, including telegraphing his punches and
retreating straight back into the ropes instead of circling either left or right.
Jermain has the tools, but he either cannot or will not use them. He was still a
work in progress a year later when gritty, hard punching novice Kelly Pavlik
knocked him out in the seventh round.

In 2007 Bernard Hopkins was 42 years old. He announced his retirement after
defeating Tarver, but three months later changed his mind, telling reporters he
was thinking about challenging one of the heavyweight champions. Considering
was thinking about challenging one of the heavyweight champions. Considering
the slag heap the heavyweight division has become, don’t count him out.

Perhaps looking for an easier payday, and a temporary respite, Antonio Tarver
took on 60-year-old former heavyweight champion Rocky Balboa.
 10
Too Much Amateur

Thirty years ago, or even 20 years ago, a boxer was around four, five
years before he got to be a main eventer. He’d have 50, 75 fights
before we thought of putting him in a main event.1
Trainer quoted in September 1956 issue of The Ring magazine.

In 1991 Bob Foster, light heavyweight champion from 1968 to 1975, was asked
if he thought he could have beaten Michael Spinks, who held the same title a
decade later. “I would have beaten him,” replied Foster, “because Spinks had too
much amateur in him.”2 Foster’s “too much amateur” remark stands as a fitting
description for the vast majority of today’s contenders and champions.

I can no longer tune into a televised fight that is already in progress and quickly
determine if I am watching a preliminary bout or the main event. So many of
today’s headliners look and fight like preliminary boxers it is impossible to tell
the difference.

Since the 1990s the line separating top amateur boxers from top professional
boxers has become blurred. There exists a hint of lingering amateurism in the
fighting styles of Roy Jones, Jr., Antonio Tarver, Corey Spinks, Zab Judah,
Floyd Mayweather, Jr., Vernon Forrest, Vladimir Klischko, Jermain Taylor, and
a gaggle of other lesser-known belt holders and contenders. Body punching,
bobbing and weaving, infighting, feinting, timing and mobile footwork are
among the lost boxing arts. These skills are rarely seen today, even among
champions considered superior boxers.

Amateur boxing has to take some of the blame for what has happened to the
quality of professional boxing over the past two decades.

Amateur boxing is governed by international Olympic rules. These rules

encourage a long-range stand up style of boxing. Body punches are rarely
thrown because they do not count in the scoring. Amateur rules do not allow
bending, ducking or weaving, as that could lead to unintentional head collisions.
An amateur fighter using these moves risks a point deduction. Clinching or tying
An amateur fighter using these moves risks a point deduction. Clinching or tying
up an opponent is also disallowed.

On the plus side, amateur boxing emphasizes safety. Most fights are limited to 3
rounds and competitors must wear headguards. The referee, at his discretion, can
administer a standing eight count or end the bout if a boxer appears
overmatched. Skillful boxing is encouraged and rewarded. A knockdown counts
no more than an accurate jab in the scoring.

Aside from trying to create a safer environment, amateur officials also want to
distance the sport from anything reminiscent of the sleazy professional boxing
world. But in their zeal to create a safer and cleaner image for boxing, they have
taken away many of the fighter’s traditional tools, including body punching,
infighting, clinching, bending, ducking and weaving.

Prior to 1976 amateur boxers planning to turn pro were not as concerned with
mastering the international style. That attitude changed after Sugar Ray Leonard
and his gold medal winning Olympic teammates received lucrative television
contracts.

Professional Amateurs

Insiders and observers say too many fighters are stuck in the amateur mode of
competition, although they are competing as pros.

Emanuel Steward: “A lot of today’s fighters are still doing the amateur things.
In the past amateur fighters who turned pro went to professional trainers. You
had the Charlie Goldmans and the Ray Arcels—the guys who taught them the
tricks of the trade. What’s happening now is that the amateur kids are staying
with the same coaches. A lot of them are not making the transition to becoming
professionals because the coaches themselves can’t make the transition. So a lot
of the kids in the pros are still fighting like amateurs.”

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “Today most fighters turn pro with a similar stand up style
because the scoring under international amateur rules does not count body
punching. So the boxer that weaved and was able to get under the punches is
discouraged from doing so. Everyone turning pro is a stand up fighter, or close
to it. They all have a certain type of style, which is common today. If they had
fought in the 1930s or 1940s they would be facing different types of styles,
which they’d have no experience with. They’d have problems trying to adjust.

“Usually where amateurs trained there were also very skilled professional
fighters. A young fighter had the advantage of watching the pros train.”

Teddy Atlas: “Some of these kids today do have a lot of amateur fights and they
do get experience in that way, but what happens next is that when they go into
the pros it’s almost like they’re going into a non-competitive environment. It’s
like going from tackle football to flag football. When they go into the pros
they’re navigated so much that any theoretical advantage they may have gotten
from their amateur experience, especially if they were on the top level nationally
and internationally, is lost.

“It really is like going from playing full equipment football to suddenly playing
flag ball, because now they are going in the opposite direction. They are
consistently matched with inferior opponents and the result is that any
development that was gained in their amateur careers, that was there for them to
continue to improve upon in the pros, is lost. They are not forced to face reality.
They are not forced to face decisions and have urgency in the ring and in their
career.

“They’re like a turkey that’s put out on a farm for a year to just eat the best food
until their head is chopped off for the freakin’ dinner. You know what? That’s
actually a pretty good analogy, because they go from amateur, where they might
have had 160 fights, to the pros and the first thing the manager does is start
buying fights for him, making sure that they’re non-competitive. They actually
make sure that they don’t have any competitive fights while they are building up
his undefeated record.

“If you try to make a comparison to this era and 50 or more years ago it’s a joke
because the old time guys, wherever they were getting experience, whether it
was in the pros, or the amateurs, that experience was competitive experience at
the time that it counted the most—in the formative years. They fought
competitive fights.

“Why do you think a fighter like Francisco Bojado, a guy that was supposed to
be the next star, blew up to 160–170 pounds and then lost to an ordinary
opponent that he was not supposed to lose to? It’s because of what they were
opponent that he was not supposed to lose to? It’s because of what they were
feeding the “turkey” when he turned pro. Do you think he can have the mental
conditioning that the old timers had? Do you think there is any comparison to the
mindset of a Bojado and another fighter from an earlier era? He may not have
had the same number of amateur fights as Bojado but he had those competitive
pro fights, perhaps a hundred or more. There’s no comparison. Those guys
would have eaten Bojado and spit him out because they were getting conditioned
for what the business was about. They were fighting those kinds of fights. “You
take an amateur kid today and feed him ten or twelve easy pro fights—you
cannot tell me that you’re on the same plane as the fighters we are talking about.
That’s the difference, and that’s a huge difference.”

Freddie Roach: “A boxer learns the fundamentals in the amateurs. When I was
an amateur, in the 1970s, we fought under professional rules. When we would go
to the national tournaments it was under International rules and we’d get
disqualified for bending too low and making the punch miss, which is something
I was taught to do.

“Bobbing, weaving, and body punches do not count in the amateurs. All you can
do is block the punches by putting your hands in front of your face. What kind of
defense is that? In the pros it doesn’t make sense because you want to slip a
punch and counter. When you slip a punch there is always the opportunity for a
counter. If you don’t learn that as a young amateur it becomes hard to change
later on. By the time a fighter gets to the championship level in the pros many
are still putting their gloves in front of their faces but not attempting to slip the
punches.

“Part of the problem is that you’ve lost the pro coaches. To me the amateurs
were at one time like pre-school for a professional fighter in learning his trade.
But with the new scoring system in the amateurs it’s a whole different sport. So
when you turn pro it’s almost like you have to forget everything you’ve learned
as an amateur in order to change into a pro style and it is very difficult to get
someone to change.

“Body punching is a lost art today. They don’t score body punches at all in the
amateurs. In the pros they should score it—they are supposed to—but a lot of
judges just look for the headhunters. There is no bodywork anymore. I think
that’s the biggest thing missing in boxing—knowing how to break a guy down
with a body attack. These fighters back in the 1940s, and ’50s, they’d work the
body and by the eighth, ninth, 10th round these guys’ legs would be gone. Body
shots take a lot out of you, unlike headshots, which you can recover from during
the course of a fight. Headshots may put you on ‘queer street’ a little bit—body
punches kind of stay with you the entire night. They take their toll. So that is
missing, along with the numbers of fighters, the quality professional trainers and
the role models to learn off of.”

Wilbert “Skeeter” McClure: “I had 148 amateur fights. I turned pro after
winning a Gold Medal in the 1960 Olympics. My first 4 pro fights I didn’t clinch
because in international amateur competition you don’t clinch. The referees will
penalize you.

Tony Zale (right), a serious devotee of the (now) lost art of body punching,
lands his favorite punch on Rocky Graziano during their 1948 middleweight
title fight, won by Zale on a third round KO. (AP Images/Wide World
Photos).
“The main difference between amateur and professional fighting is the distance
and how tough and savvy the fighters are in the pros. Like they foul you in some
interesting ways. The amateurs are clean, clean, clean. But in the pros you learn
that it’s a war out there. They are going to grab you, yank you, push you, step on
you, and foul you deliberately. You’ve got to be prepared for that, and that’s
what I was learning.”

Teddy Atlas: “Very rarely do you see inside fighting today. Fighters are not at
the level to be able to know how to do it and the trainers are not there who would
be able teach it. But even if a fighter desired to fight on the inside the referees
today don’t allow him to.

“In the old days the referees were developed as real referees. They understood
what was going on. The referees knew when a guy was not clinching. They
understood that he was getting position. The referees did not panic and break the
boxers apart right away, as they so often do today, and have the boxers go
outside to avoid that kind of fighting. They didn’t tap him and say ‘get out of
there.’ They watched and let him do his thing, and ply his trade.

“Those old time fighters were magnificent in the way they knew how to
maneuver on the inside. There were so many aspects to it. If you understood
what was happening you could see that when it looked like a fighter was tiring,
what he was really doing was moving his arm underneath the other guy’s arm so
he could hit him with an uppercut. And when his hand was on top, over the
glove, all of a sudden it went underneath, and the next thing you know he’s got
his shoulder in there and he’s hitting him with a punch, or turning the guy’s
elbow to maneuver him into a punch. You’d see a fighter push his opponent so
the other guy would start to push back and then all of a sudden he’d pull back
and walk him into something.

“It was a science. It really was the ‘sweet science.’ That writer was right. I’ll bet
you he watched inside fighting when he thought up that phrase. I bet you the
writer who said that—I think it was Liebling—I’ll bet you he was watching a
fighter who knew how to fight on the inside. When you ask about the lost
techniques, the inside gift, the inside science, that’s where I go.”

Chuck Hasson: “‘CompuBox’ never counts body punches. I’ll see a guy that’s
directing his attack to the body and at the end of the round the announcers report
that according to the ‘CompuBox’ count he landed six punches. Well I saw him
land 15 to 20 body punches but they don’t even detect these punches.

“I loved to watch body punching and inside fighting. I especially enjoyed the
way the masters would maneuver inside. Despite being where all the danger is,
they would be slipping, sliding, moving their head, and blocking with their arms
shoulders and elbows. I love the art of body punching and infighting. But you
don’t have the master trainers to teach a fighter how to do either. And today’s
fighters are being pushed into 12 round bouts without having fought enough
sixes and eights. It seems like every fight is a 12 rounder.”

Masterful Moves

A good boxer in the Golden Age would look for mistakes—and even try to
tempt them from an opponent—and then take full advantage. They adapted to
the style of an opponent as a match progressed.

Tony Arnold: “There’s another problem today’s fighters have—they don’t

know how to capitalize on another fighter’s mistakes. You see it time and time
again. They know to throw a jab and then follow with a right hand but they
cannot see a mistake and then know how to capitalize on it. Like the way Archie
Moore used to sucker a guy into a right hand lead. Archie was ready with his
own right hand counter, or he would come inside the opponent’s right lead with
his left hook. How do you think he knocked out Bobo Olson?

“Archie was a master at drawing leads. He’d expose one side of his head so
you’d throw a right hand or he’d lean to the left so you’d throw a jab. How many
fighters know how to do that today? If you draw a lead you’re making the
opponent do something that you are prepared to counter. Who teaches that
anymore? That’s a lost art. That’s a skill of a master fighter. And they could do it
so subtly you don’t even know they’re doing it. Many times a fighter would
purposely drop his left shoulder or drop his left hand to expose himself to a right
hand lead because he wants that lead so he can counter punch. These are the
skills of a seasoned professional fighter.

“There are so many things that are lost today it’s incredible. Guys call
themselves trainers and teachers but they don’t teach the fighter ring generalship
or the tricks of the trade. They think a trick is stepping on the other guy’s feet,
but there’s a lot more to it than that. You want to make the guy fight your fight.
A master fighter can do that—not just to try to meet the guy in the center of the
ring and hit him harder than he’s hitting you, or beat him to the punch. You try
and make things happen.

“Maxie Shapiro, a 1930s era lightweight contender, was a master at ducking,

weaving, and sliding with a purpose. He knew an opponent was going to throw
jabs or straight rights at him if he moved his head a certain way. That’s real skill
—making the other guy do what you want him to do. So many things like that
are missing today. When you talk about the different eras of fighters you have to
take that into consideration.

“Golden Age fighters didn’t just go into a fight and say, ‘I’m going to knock this
guy out,’ or, ‘I’m stronger than him and I’ll overpower him.’ They did not go in
with that attitude. The attitude was, ‘I’m going to make this guy do what I want
him to do. I’m going to make him fight my fight. I’m not going to fight his
fight.’ And the real good fighters could do that. They would make the fighter
chase them. Sugar Ray Robinson was the grand master at that. He could knock
you out going backwards. He would retreat so the guy would come in faster on
him and then he’d pop him as he was coming in. Look what he did with Gene
Fullmer in that second fight. Robinson was a faded old man then but he set him
up for that left hook so perfect you could see it coming. Fullmer was always
coming in with those wide right hand swings to the body and Robinson let him
do it many times and he would block the punches with his left forearm, and
sometimes he’d take the shots. And in the fifth round Fullmer came in again
with the wide right and Robinson stepped in with a perfectly timed left hook.
That’s a master executing a move.

“Archie Moore did the same thing in his last fight with Harold Johnson in 1954.
Johnson was winning the fight. He had Moore down. But Moore couldn’t quite
catch him, couldn’t quite get his rhythm. Johnson was scoring points and boxing
beautifully and Moore was frustrated. Johnson was too quick and too smart. In
the 14th round Archie came in slow for the first minute and suddenly, when
Johnson jabbed, he sprung in with his right. Archie was timing those jabs.
Johnson was becoming so confident because Moore was just standing at the end
of those jabs. This is just one of the thousands of things a great fighter could do.
They talk about Holyfield and Michael Spinks as great fighters but they didn’t
fight that kind of fight.

“Bob Foster knew how to set up his left hook. The problem with him is that I
“Bob Foster knew how to set up his left hook. The problem with him is that I
don’t think he could have survived Moore. He had the perfect style for Moore in
that Foster’s half crouch would play right into Moore’s right hand. It would just
be a question of time. Foster was a helluva fighter. The problem was his
durability. Speaking of durability, look at Billy Conn. Nobody but Louis could
knock him out.

“I’m not just being kind of sour grapes because it’s not my era. You can see it. I
mean there were guys in the 1960s and ’70s, even in the ’80s that were really
skilled fighters. Wilfredo Benitez was a fine fighter, he had a lot of natural skills.
He was a young fighter, yet he could hold his own with veterans. Marlon
Starling was a good all around fighter, as was Wilfredo Gomez. It started fading,
I think, around the 1990s. Things got worse.”

The Farther Back You Go—The Better the Fighters Are

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “Different styles—that’s what made the business. In the
1920s, during the prolific era of New York’s Lower East side lightweights,
intelligence was important. Benny Leonard was a tremendous influence in every
weight division. The Benny Leonard style of setting you up for knockout
punches was taught then, as was the correct way to tie up an opponent.

“Leonard’s style was to outbox you and look for a spot—cross that right hand, or
drop that hook or uppercut. There was not a mark on him. Charley Burley was
similar. He’d move around throwing fast punches and size you up as he looked
to knock you out. Henry Armstrong learned to slip punches and move you back,
which exhausted the fighter moving back.

“There are no super skilled boxers like Tippy Larkin, Billy Graham, or Maxie
Shapiro. I don’t see them around. There were many different types of fighters
and you’d see many different styles, and that’s probably what made them better
fighters.

“I don’t see anyone with that type of skill today—in any weight division. Some
of today’s fighters look good, and they seem to have the natural instincts and
maybe somebody is teaching them but I still don’t see the moves. They need
more seasoning.

“You don’t see a fighter bend and weave in anymore. I mean we might see
somebody bob back and forth and move in but that is not your classic bend and
weave move. Even Tyson never did that. He’d bob back and forth but he just
weave move. Even Tyson never did that. He’d bob back and forth but he just
distracted you, and then he’d throw those overhand punches. Tyson bulled his
way in. He bobbed, but he didn’t weave. He tried to overpower you. And when
he couldn’t overpower you he got stymied. Tyson really had no moves.

“We don’t see fighters today sliding in. We don’t see the feints, the hook off a
feint, step to the right and uppercut, moving, grabbing the elbow and spinning
the fighter. We don’t see any of that today because it’s gone and nobody knows
how to teach it. You don’t see any of these fighters making the same moves as
the old time fighters—absolutely not. The fans today never saw these fighters.

“Of course there were also fighters who were crude and strong, or had great
endurance, but were not as skillful. But the difference between then and now
was that the old timers knew how to use their endurance and strength. So if you
weren’t such a great boxer you knew how to utilize what you had in order to
win. There are fighters today who also are very strong and have endurance but
they don’t know how to utilize these assets.

“I’m not preserving any situation where my status is better than anybody else’s.
I’m not doing it to lie. I’m telling you what we saw and what we know. There is
such an agreement by those that were there and observed. Sure, there could be
upsets if some of the old timers were matched up against today’s best, but I don’t
think so.

“Craftiness is missing. Moore was crafty. Dempsey was crafty. Duran had great
instincts and was crafty. Not feinting, no body punches, and no craftiness—these
are the hallmarks of today’s top fighters. Looking back over the years I have to
say that the farther back you go, the better the fighters are.”

Teddy Atlas: “I still see fighters from the 1930s and 1940s. I have been
privileged to see the films. Not everyone gets to see them. Those old timers are
doing things that I still do not see today’s guys doing. Whether it’s judging
distance better, or jabbing an opponent’s shoulder to distract or unbalance him,
or letting an opponent think he’s safe when he’s not safe, or doing a feint for
more than just motion but actually to make something happen. So many
subtleties are missing. I’d just love to hear the trainers talk about the old timers.
They’d say things like, ‘He’d feint you and make you bend down and tie your
shoelaces.’”

Cookie Cutter Fighters

Bill Goodman: “The fighters all look the same because they are not groomed
properly. Conditioning the fighter with strength training and other forms of
physical work has taken the place of real teaching. The Russian pros all fight the
same way. Most of them have extensive amateur backgrounds and they all fight
using the stand-up Olympic style. The fighters are uneducated. But it’s not their
fault. They are not being taught properly. “I never see a sharp, varied attack;
slipping, blocking, sidestepping, moving on good legs with good balance and
using an active left hand properly. They throw a jab and they stop. It’s a big deal
if they throw two in a row.

“A seasoned pro can adapt his style to avoid punishment. You used to see
fighters adapting fast to avoid punishment. Today it’s all the same, minute after
minute, round after round. If you see one round you saw the whole fight. You
can go home. One round is the same as the other round. They don’t have
variance in it. They all fight the same way. You saw the guy fight once, even if
he’s fighting the same opponent he fought previously, he’s going to fight the
same way.

“There are little things they could do to make it more interesting. Ninety-nine
percent of the time the fighters don’t move off from punching, which makes
them too easy to hit after they’ve delivered their volley. The fighter walks in,
throws a few punches, gets lucky and hits his opponent. But after landing his
punches he should slide out, or spin out, and move off to his right. That move
allows you to get off again. You’re too easy to hit when you stand in the same
place. Even if you slide back a little bit, it’s not enough. You’ve got to move off
of punching and keep moving. That’s the secret of the matter—keep moving.
But the fighters don’t know how to use their legs to keep moving. They don’t
know how to spin out to another position after throwing a volley of punches.
Spinning is a forgotten art. Who spins today?

“Fighters are not being taught to use their legs properly. They don’t know how
to bend either. You also never see guys practicing to develop coordination
between the arms, legs and body. They used to teach that all the time. Fighters
would practice for hours to perfect coordination between arms and legs so they
worked as one. They don’t develop that, so how can today’s fighters look like
those of yesteryear when you don’t see that? Watch a fighter shadowboxing in
the dressing room before a TV fight. You see the arms moving but not the rest of
the body or the feet. They stay in one place. It’s all hands, hands, hands. There is
no coordination or synchronization between the legs and the arms.”
“I can’t blame the fighters. The ability is there. They have the potential to be
much better than they are because the ability is there. You can make a fighter out
of some of these guys but nobody shows them. They think they’re showing
them.”

Clueless Fight Fans

The finer points of boxing are also now mostly lost on fans, too, the experts say.

Ted Lidsky: “If today’s fans were shown some full-length films of Sugar Ray
Robinson, they’d think it’s something different and unusual, but they wouldn’t
understand what he was doing. It’s a different language.

“There’s always been ‘fighting’ but boxing was something different. I very
rarely watch fights anymore these days. I can’t watch an entire fight. It’s kind of
depressing to watch. But if this was what boxing was when I was a kid I would
be embarrassed for having spent so much time watching it because it’s nothing
but brutality. There is no beauty in this. It’s fighting, nothing else. There used to
be skill and grace in conjunction with the brutality. Even sluggers were smart.
Take a look at Rubin ‘Hurricane’ Carter. He didn’t take a punch to land a punch.

“You know, we’ve had discussions about people being actually knowledgeable
about boxing. If you watch fights nowadays as a fan, if you can sit through an
entire fight then you don’t know boxing. I don’t care if you know statistics. I
don’t care if you could give me the history back to the Romans, you don’t
understand boxing itself. If you can sit and watch this thing, what boxing has
become, and what fighting is, then you don’t like boxing. You like fighting. You
like brawling. And it’s not the same thing. If you compare what boxing once was
and what it has become, this is checkers in comparison to chess.”

Tony Arnold: “Even if you take a lot of people today and have them look at
films of great fighters of the past, they still wouldn’t know what they are looking
at. They wouldn’t understand the moves. The problem is people don’t have the
eye to see the good and bad points. They’ll only see the obvious, which is
natural unless you’re really into the business. Mike Tyson walks in with a wild
roundhouse swing and knocks the other guy flat—that they can understand. But
a Joey Maxim smothering a guy’s punches, and slipping and sliding, and staying
out of trouble by stabbing a guy with jabs and then sidestepping his rushes, they
wouldn’t understand.

“Somebody watching films of Willie Pep might say, ‘Oh he runs all over the
place.’ They don’t see what he’s doing in there, how he switches gears, how he
starts to the left and then swings around to the right almost in the same motion.
I’ve never seen anybody be able to do that. Pep was not only a moving target, he
was a target that was moving from all angles. He wasn’t just moving, he was
moving with a plan. The plan was to constantly keep you off balance, so you
didn’t know where he was going to be from one second to the next.

“Fighting Willie Pep is like trying to stamp out a grass fire,” said one
opponent after fighting the elusive “Will-o-the-Wisp.” Pep (left) jabs the
great Chalky Wright in 1942. Pep combined speed with brilliant boxing
technique to win 229 out of 241 pro fights (The International Hall of
Champions).

“Pep was always within punching room, hitting you with jabs, and coming up
behind you, and moving side to side. Pep was always moving with a purpose. He
wasn’t just flying around the ring. A lot of people wouldn’t see that. It depends
on who’s looking at the fights.”

Chuck Hasson: “Today it is so much flash and everything is built on speed,

whereas in the old days there were subtle moves that you just don’t see anymore.
Head feints, eye feints, shoulder feints, body punching. Teddy Yarosz, who was
middleweight champion in the mid–1930s, had a boring style but he was a
master at out-maneuvering an opponent and having him do what you wanted him
to do. It might not be fun to watch but it was effective and it won fights.”

Bill Goodman: “All that’s required today is a guy that can stand up. You
showcase a guy with a good chin that stands up and he is accepted. Years ago
you needed more than that. Today that’s all you need. Nothing. You’re a
fighter.”

The Lost Art of Fighting Off the Ropes

Tony Arnold: “My trainer, Willie Grunes, used to tell me if you can avoid
blocking a punch with your gloves, do so. Slip inside, slip outside or slip under it
and counter punch. Because if you are busy using your hands to defend yourself,
you might not be able to hit your opponent back fast enough with a counter. So
you keep your hands free. That doesn’t mean you never block punches with your
gloves. I mean you’ve got to use common sense. But if at all possible,
particularly when you are on the ropes you want to keep your hands free to
punch.

“Fighters today get trapped on the ropes and all they do is try to cover up while
the other guy’s pounding away. You see it all the time. But I never hear the
announcers say, ‘Why isn’t he slipping and sliding; why isn’t he ducking; why
isn’t he trying to tie the guy up; why isn’t he sidestepping? Why isn’t he
countering?’ I never hear any of that.
“When a fighter’s back is to the ropes and he goes into a shell it automatically
triggers an attack in his opponent’s mind. He’s going to swarm into you. If
you’re in that position on the ropes you’re basically saying to your opponent,
‘Come and execute me.’ But what you should be doing is looking for an
opening. You shouldn’t be thinking ‘I’m on the ropes, I’m trapped.’ You’re not
trapped. Your opponent’s coming into your web. You don’t keep your hands
rigid. That’s like having a gun in a holster. What good is it doing? You’ve got to
have those hands free. When your opponent comes in, if he throws a left hook,
or a straight right—or whatever—you slide, you bob and you bang in two or
three counters. Pretty soon he’s saying, ‘What am I doing? Who’s on the ropes,
him or me?’

“You use the ropes. You can use the ropes to support your back as you slide and
slip and throw counter shots. That way you’re not in a defensive position. And if
you’re countering him and hitting him good, when you see you have a chance
you can spin him off and get him on the ropes, or get out to the center of the
ring, and you haven’t taken too many punches. But what you don’t want to do is
lay on the ropes and hide behind your gloves.”

Erik Arnold: “Today’s fighters don’t know how to avoid punches. When they
are hurt they either grab and hold onto their opponent or just put their back
against the ropes and wait to be executed.”

Rope-A-Dopes

Unlike their Golden Age counterparts, one rarely sees today’s professional
fighters—from rank novice to multiple belt holders—duck, parry, slip, sidestep,
ride, weave or roll to avoid punches. Most walk into punches. The emphasis
today is on aggression, strength and punching power. Defense is given short
shrift. Television encourages this type of fight because it appeals to the broadest
possible audience. As a result, fighters are taking more punishment than
necessary, especially, as noted above, when forced to the ropes.

Whenever their backs are to the ropes most of today’s fighters adopt Ali’s
passive “rope-a-dope” posture. The “rope-a-dope” is both a dangerous and
inadequate defense. It subjects the fighter to unnecessary punishment. In the
entire history of boxing this non-strategy worked exactly once—when
Muhammad Ali used it to exhaust George Foreman in 1974. His continued use
of it in subsequent fights, and even in training, caused him untold damage. Yet
Ali’s influence, good and bad, persists.
Ali’s influence, good and bad, persists.

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “The old timers were exposed to many more fights, but at
least they knew how to fight and protect themselves. They knew the ‘sweet
science.’ Plus the trainers and all the people in the industry understood boxing
better so they knew when a fighter was shot, knew when his legs were gone, and
knew when he was hurt to take him out of the ring. They don’t know this today.”

A Safer Sport?

One might think that by fighting only three or four times a year boxers are
suffering less physical damage than the old timers. I’m not so sure. What I see
are boxers getting hit with more punches in less than half the fights of their
Golden Age counterparts. With all the sophisticated medical tests available and
attention to pre and post fight physicals, the rate of injury and death in boxing
has not decreased. It may be even worse today. Nevada, the second busiest
boxing state after California, is supposed to have one of the finest boxing
commissions. In 2005 two fighters died and two others sustained career-ending
brain injuries. It was the first time since 1933 that two fighters died in Nevada in
the same year.

Compounding the physical dangers of professional boxing are incompetent

boxing officials. A serious problem that is not being adequately addressed is the
competence of referees. There is far too much inconsistency in this area. Too
many fights are allowed to continue beyond the point when they should have
been stopped. State boxing commissions are part of the problem. They remain a
convenient dumping ground for political hacks and cronies who are owed
patronage appointments. The state boxing commissions could also take a much
more active role in policing the sport if they stopped being subservient to the
promoters and sanctioning organizations. There can be no middle ground when it
comes to boxing safety. The main concern must be the physical well being of the
boxer.

Ted Lidsky: “There’s always been a certain level of brain injury in boxing. In
the older literature they talk about it. The averages go from 17 percent to about
25 percent of boxers walk out with frank dementia and about another 25 percent
with clear cognitive problems like memory loss and all the rest. That’s 50
percent, and that’s a huge number. It’s really inexcusable. And that’s the way it
used to be when fighters knew how to duck. Nowadays you see fighters who are
still boxing, still relatively young, who are already slurring and showing all
kinds of evidence of brain injury because they don’t get out of the way of
punches at all. Whereas it was shameful before, it is totally inexcusable now. It’s
wholesale brain injury. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Celebrating Brutality: The Mickey Ward vs. Arturo Gatti Fights

If, as renowned author and boxing maven Norman Mailer once said, “boxing is a
dialogue with fists,” then today’s top fighters are conversing with a very limited
vocabulary. Fighters used to take pride in their ability to avoid punishment.
Today many of them take pride in their ability to absorb punishment. With
defensive techniques at an all time low, many bouts appear to be nothing more
than survival of the fittest contests.
In 2002 Mickey Ward (right) and Arturo Gatti fought like two late model
cars in an endless demolition derby, turning their fight into a monotonous
display of mindless brutality (AP/Wide World Photos).

It would be delusional to believe that boxing is not a brutal sport. But like a
controversial work of art that some consider a masterpiece and others
pornography, an especially brutal boxing match should at least have a redeeming
quality to it. First of all, there must be an element of drama. At the very least, it
should be interesting and entertaining, if not hair raising. Dempsey vs. Firpo,
Zale vs. Graziano I and II, Basilio vs. DeMarco I and II, Moore vs. Durelle I,
Arguello vs. Pryor I, Ali vs. Frazier I, Hearns vs. Hagler and Foreman vs. Lyle
were interesting, entertaining and hair raising. In his description of the first
Alexis Arguello–Aaron Pryor contest, boxing historian Mike Casey defined the
quintessence of the genre as “a chess game that combined skill, nerve and an
oddly poetic form of brutality.”3

I love a good rock ’em, sock ’em donnybrook as much as any fan. Few athletic
events equal the electricity and excitement generated by a great pier six brawl
between two evenly matched fighters. I know I am in the minority, but I cannot
put the Mickey Ward vs. Arturo Gatti trilogy (2002–2003) in this category.

A Human Demolition Derby

Junior welterweights Arturo Gatti and Mickey Ward were on the downslide
when they crossed gloves the first time. Neither fighter had any pretenses toward
greatness. Both were lion-hearted club fighters in the twilight of their careers out
to prove who the toughest guy on the block was.

Ward vs. Gatti (specifically their first and third fights) was boxing stripped to its
essence; two men attempting to beat each other into submission with their glove-
encased fists. While I admired their heart and tenacity, I was disappointed by the
almost total lack of boxing technique. There was not the slightest attempt by
either fighter to avoid punches. The jab, boxing’s most effective and basic
punch, was an after-thought. Footwork? The fighters knew only one direction—
forward. Defense was non-existent.

The first Gatti vs. Ward fight (named in every poll as boxing’s fight of the year
for 2002) was a vicious war of attrition. Every hard fought round was just like
the one that preceded it. The fighters reminded me of two late model cars in a
demolition derby that keep smashing into each other over and over—a fender
demolition derby that keep smashing into each other over and over—a fender
would fall off, a rim sent flying, a grill smashed. But despite the hundreds of
punches that found their target, neither fighter possessed enough punching
power to put an end to their mutual misery. So the fight dragged on, round after
round, with no let up or change of pace. It eventually became—to this observer
—a monotonous display of mindless brutality. By the fourth or fifth round I
found it unwatchable. There was a stupid quality to the violence. Gatti and Ward
were fighting like two crazed masochists entertaining an audience of screaming
sadists. This wasn’t what boxing was meant to be.

Crusading journalist Jack Newfield called boxing his “guilty pleasure.” It is a

sentiment shared by many sensitive aficionados of the sport. I confess that I have
enjoyed many a brutal fight, but Gatti vs. Ward drained the spirit of this guilt
ridden boxing fan.

In their second fight, the more versatile Gatti, under the direction of his new
trainer Buddy McGirt, wisely elected to box and move. He won an easy decision
over Ward. I thought his change in tactics created a more interesting and
entertaining contest than their first fight. But, for whatever reason, Gatti reverted
to macho mode in the rubber match and the result was another crude and witless
slugfest.

One journalist described their third fight as “breathtaking in its brutality”4. He is

probably too young to have attended the Monday night fights at the old St.
Nick’s arena in New York City. Every now and then a mini Gatti vs. Ward fight
would take place on the undercard between two tough but limited preliminary
fighters. Of course, by the time a fighter hit main bout status, he seldom fought
with such reckless abandon. To do so, especially on a monthly basis, would be a
prelude to career suicide.

Teddy Atlas: “Part of what made the first Gatti vs. Ward fight such a brutal
fight—as much as we acknowledge their strengths—a lot of it was because of
their lacking. Because a lot of those older guys wouldn’t have been quite as easy
to hit with that many clean punches. In the eras we are talking about, those guys
wouldn’t have found each other so easily.

“But that ninth was quite a round. They were magnificent in the way they acted
as fighters. The sad part is that the people of today see so little of that kind of
behavior … they don’t understand that was just automatic with almost all the
fighters back in the generations we’re talking about. We appreciated it but we
didn’t get up and set off fireworks when we saw a fight like that.”

Missing the Point

In spite of the prevalence of fighters adhering to the “I hit you—now you hit me
—now I hit you” school of artless boxing, there are a few contenders and
champions who do attempt to hit and not get hit in return. But their actions are
often misunderstood. When Roy Jones, Jr., zipped about the ring like a Mexican
jumping bean on speed, the faux experts called him a “master boxer.” Of course,
this was said before his three consecutive losses to mediocre opponents exposed
Roy as a fighter possessed of tremendous speed and athleticism but with a
minimum of solid fundamental boxing skills.

Erik Arnold: “Instead of really knowing how to box, guys like Roy Jones, Jr.,
Pernell Whitaker and Meldrick Taylor and the rest fly around the ring and they
consider this brilliant boxing. I mean these guys don’t really know how to use a
jab, they don’t know how to slip punches, they don’t know how to take
advantage of opportunities. As Hank Kaplan would say, ‘They are speed
merchants’ who don’t show any real boxing skills.

“Not long ago, on the undercard of a Wladimir Klitchko fight televised by HBO,
I watched an American featherweight beat some talentless Mexican fighter. The
American won easily just by flying around the ring and throwing more punches
than the other guy. But according to Lampley, Foreman and Merchant
[announcers for HBO], he was ‘showing consummate boxing skills.’”

Bill Goodman: “Boxing bears very little resemblance to what it was in the past.
Even the lingo is different now. I don’t even know what the hell they’re talking
about. The announcers use expressions I never heard before. ‘He’s throwing
punches in bunches,’ they say. What the hell kind of shit is that? ‘He’s
exhibiting a high work rate’ is another favorite. In all the years I never heard
these expressions. The whole conversation and vocabulary is strange to me. The
people running the show today don’t know the score. They don’t have the
experience and they have no connection whatsoever with the past.”

Scientific Boxing
 Scientific Boxing

A few years back the ephemeral heavyweight contender Chris Byrd exhibited a
few evasive moves and was instantly labeled a “throwback” to scientific boxers
of the past. The way some people talked about this very mediocre boxer you’d
think he was the second coming of Gene Tunney. But after struggling to a draw
with the crude Andre Golota, winning a squeaker over ordinary Jameel McCline
and being destroyed by Wladimir Klitschko in 2006 even the clueless faux
experts have stopped calling Byrd a “scientific” boxer.

In 1960 Dr. Max Novich, a former collegiate boxing champion and president of
the Association of Ringside Physicians, gave the following description of
scientific fighters of the Golden Age:

“These champions moved in the ring with agility by means of footwork always
remaining balanced and in position to attack or defend. They never remained
more than momentarily in one position. This made them moving and elusive
targets. They shuffled, circled, advanced, side stepped or retreated to make an
opponent miss or lessen the effects of a counterblow. They also developed a
conditioned neuromuscular coordination of the hands and feet.

“This style of boxing is known as on-balance counterpunching. It is the jewel of

boxing performance encompassing the mastery of all the techniques and skills of
boxing such as blocking, parrying, slipping, bobbing and weaving, feinting,
sidestepping, timing, judgment and poise. This is the boxing of championship
caliber.”5

Boxing’s Clarion Call

There is an expression that accurately captures in words the current state of the
art. It is fight announcer Michael Buffer’s ridiculously stretched out catch
phrase, “Let’s get ready to rummmmmble.” Without realizing it, this preening,
well coiffed mannequin has given us the perfect clarion call for what boxing has
morphed into: a mindless, destructive human demolition derby.

I am not trying to hide the fact that boxing is indeed a “rumble” of a sort.
Professional boxing will always be a brutal and dangerous contact sport. But a
true definition must make the distinction between boxing and a street fight with
true definition must make the distinction between boxing and a street fight with
gloves. A six-year-old banging the keys of a piano produces sound—but not
music. And two talentless but brave fighters clubbing each other senseless will
produce a fight—but not boxing.

What a pity more people do not understand the difference.

 11
The Dominance Factor, Part One: Roy Jones, Jr., and Bernard
Hopkins

Every day, I learn something. Duran is a better fighter than me, but he,
too, is not great in the way that Sugar Ray Robinson, Joe Louis, Kid
Chocolate, Willie Pep and Henry Armstrong were great. The fighters
in the old days were really great. If Duran and I were born in their
time, it would’ve been impossible to go to the top. The old-timers
fought like tigers.1
Alexis Arguello, former featherweight, super featherweight, and
lightweight champion.

In 1984 American boxers won nine of 11 gold medals at the Los Angeles
summer Olympic Games. No other Olympic boxing team had ever dominated
the competition so completely. But there is an asterisk attached to this
unprecedented achievement; Cuba and the Soviet Union, perennial Olympic
powerhouses, did not compete in the 1984 Olympics. The communist boycott
was payback for the United States’ refusal to participate in the 1980 Moscow
Olympics after Russia invaded Afghanistan earlier that year.

With their toughest competition absent, the talented American squad easily
dominated the rest of the field. However, when the Cuban and Soviet teams
returned to subsequent Olympic competition, the results were quite different. In
five Olympic tournaments since 1984 American boxers won only a total of seven
gold medals compared to 35 won by boxers from Cuba, Russia and the former
Soviet bloc countries. To paraphrase Professor Einstein: “Dominance is all
relative.”

Many of today’s boxing pundits completely ignore “relativity” and historical

perspective when they point to the dominance of Roy Jones, Jr., and Bernard
Hopkins as proof of their greatness.
 Roy Jones, Jr.

Before he turned pro in 1989, Roy Jones, Jr., was the best amateur middleweight
boxer in the world. He was blessed with dazzling speed, trip hammer reflexes
and above average punching power. Roy breezed through his early pro fights.
Opponents simply could not match his extraordinary athletic gifts. Stymied by
his speed and awed by his reputation, they were incapable of effectively
countering his frenetic and unorthodox style of boxing.

[This photo appears in the print book

but is not included here
due to copyright issues.]

Roy Jones, Jr. (left) pulls away from Antonio Tarver’s jab in 2004. As Roy’s
extraordinary speed and reflexes began to slow with age, his technical
deficiencies were exposed—along with his suspect chin (Getty Images/Doug
Benc).

As Roy continued his romp through the middleweight and light heavyweight
divisions, his talent mesmerized both fans and faux experts. Many believed they
were witnessing true greatness. The one blot on his record—a loss by
disqualification—was avenged with a first round knockout. In a 14-year span
(1989 to 2003) Roy won 48 of 49 fights while acquiring title belts in four
separate weight divisions (middleweight, super middleweight, light heavyweight
and heavyweight).

Roy’s army of admirers considered his victory over John Ruiz, in 2003, for a
portion of the heavyweight championship, the crowning achievement of his
career because he gave away height, reach and 33 pounds. Roy justified the 3-to-
1 odds in his favor by pounding out an easy 12 round decision over his painfully
slow opponent.

The fact that Ruiz was one of the worst fighters ever to claim ownership of the
heavyweight championship should have tempered people’s enthusiasm. But the
media, blind to reality and infatuated with Jones’ supremacy of the light
heavyweight division, went over the top in praising his one-sided victory over a
much heavier opponent. The most goggle-eyed tribute was this gem that
appeared in the New York Times two days after the fight: “Just deal with the
overall ring mastery, work ethic, technical proficiency and confidence: Jones and
Ali are equal. There is a possibility that Jones pound for pound, may be even
better. This is blasphemy, I know, but not too far to the right or left of the
truth.”2

Other media comments were similarly off kilter. Boxing Digest magazine, said
in its May-June issue for 2003, “Jones … made a case for himself as the best of
all time with his easy domination of the hapless Ruiz.”3 The New York Post said
on March 2, 2003, “Jones … won a masterpiece 12 round unanimous decision at
the Thomas and Mack Center Saturday night.”4 To the faux experts, whose
frame of reference and lack of perspective allows for such misjudgments,
Jones’s one-sided victory over the incompetent Ruiz confirmed their opinion that
he ranked with the greatest fighters of all time.

But not everyone was so quick to place Roy Jones, Jr., alongside boxing’s
immortals. A minority of critics—mostly old school trainers—believed his
athleticism was obscuring fundamental flaws. He was off balance much of the
time and his defense was based entirely on speed, reflex and a sense of
anticipation. His critics, and even some of his fans, were also put off by a
reluctant warrior attitude. Consistent with Roy’s evasive hit and run style was
his insistence that HBO-TV add a clause to his contract giving him the right to
choose opponents.

Boxing is a dangerous sport and one can’t blame a fighter for attempting to earn
as much money as possible while facing the least risk. But at the same time Roy
sought out the weakest of the herd by choosing an assortment of docile
challengers, he kept insisting that he was an all-time great fighter.

Before his shocking knockout losses to Antonio Tarver and Glen Johnson
tarnished his stellar image, Roy Jones, Jr., was, in this writer’s opinion, the most
overrated champion in the history of the sport. This is not to say he wasn’t a very
good fighter. His speed, power and instinct made him an elusive and dangerous
foe. At his peak Roy was a very good fighter—but he was never a great fighter
as judged by the standards of the Golden Age.

Roy fought and trained in an environment that did not allow for much progress
beyond his high-level amateur skills. It was only when his reflexes and speed
beyond his high-level amateur skills. It was only when his reflexes and speed
began to slow with age that his technical inadequacies—and suspect chin—were
exposed. When that happened he became just another fighter, and a very
vulnerable one at that.

Jones never attained the high level boxing skills of a Tommy Loughran, Maxie
Rosenbloom, Ezzard Charles, Archie Moore, Harold Johnson or Joey Maxim.
These former light heavyweight champions were able to stay competitive even
after they had gotten older and slowed down because they had acquired abilities
and experience that supplemented their natural talent. Each had earned the
equivalent of a Ph.D. in the art and science of boxing. Even in their dotage,
when they were washed up, these fighters could still exhibit the classic moves of
an experienced old pro.

Throughout the course of his 17-year career, Roy was exposed to a steady diet of
second and third rate opponents. The weak competition provided little incentive
or pressure to improve his boxing technique. He became complacent. Unlike the
fighters mentioned above, Roy never became a savvy old pro—he just became
old. When his speed and reflexes slowed there was nothing savvy to fall back on.

In an earlier era Roy would have been vulnerable even during his prime, before
his speed and reflexes deserted him. The Golden Age pros, unlike their modern
day counterparts, would have known how to override his athleticism, exploit his
technical weaknesses, and find his chin. Roy’s one-sided victories over a slew of
inept challengers fooled fans and faux experts alike into thinking he was an all-
time great fighter. A few misguided souls even placed him alongside Sugar Ray
Robinson. During his prime Roy’s toughest opponents were James Tony and
Bernard Hopkins, who are, by Golden Age standards, just slightly better than
average. He defeated both by decision, but there was no evidence of “greatness”
in either fight.

In his iconic 1958 boxing novel The Professional, W.C. Hienz has an old school
trainer named “Doc” Carroll explaining to a reporter why a popular undefeated
champion is not all he seems. The dialogue could just as well be referring to Roy
Jones, Jr.:

DOC: “People have the idea the other guy’s a great fighter. That’s a Joke.”

REPORTER: “He’s a pretty good one, Doc. Let’s give him that.”

DOC: “Sure he is. He’s champion of the world, isn’t he?”

 DOC: “Sure he is. He’s champion of the world, isn’t he?”

REPORTER: “That’s what I mean.”

DOC: “But not a great fighter. Let’s not get confused about that. Quicker
than the rest, so he covers better. He looks good at it, but he’s not what he
looks. You’ve got to see through all that.”

REPORTER: “I can see it, now that you say it…. I could see that lithe
brown body and the fast hands and all the natural grace, but I could see now
that always, without it being a conscious thought, there had been the
impression lying dormant within me that something was not there. It is the
way a passage of music will raise you and then leave you up there all alone,
feeling but not quite knowing that something is missing and wondering
what is wrong.”

DOC: “Window dressing.”5

W.C. Heinz based the character of “Doc Carroll” on Jack Hurley, a master
trainer famous for developing the great 1930s lightweight contender Billy
Petrolle (known to fight fans as “The Fargo Express”). The authentic boxing
experts interviewed for this book also possess the rare ability to see beyond mere
“window dressing.” Therefore it comes as no surprise to this writer that the
following comments were expressed while Jones was still undefeated and riding
the crest of his supposed invincibility.

Window Dressing

Teddy Atlas: “Roy uses his reflexes and his anticipation rather than technique.
His technique has a lot of holes in it. I don’t think any real boxing guy would
argue with that. I don’t even think Roy would. There are a lot of technically
better fighters, but he depends on reflexes, a sense of anticipation, timing, those
kind of great talents.

“But the old school contenders would have taken advantage of that. They would
have set him up for punches. They would have been like those pheasant hunters
that know how to decoy a pheasant that’s hiding in the bush to flush him out and
into a shot—instead of missing the shot. They would have flushed him into it. I
mean these guys would have taken advantage of his technical flaws and they
would have put him into position to expose them. And then, once those technical
flaws were exposed, I don’t think his speed and talent would be flaunted so
much. I don’t think it would be up there for us to bow to anymore. Instead we
would have said, ‘Well he certainly moved back quickly before he got caught
with that left hook that put him on his ass,’ or ‘Wow, that looked like a real fast
punch he just threw until he got hit with that body shot right after it.’

“The old timers would have had answers to his moves and instead of being awed
—and that’s probably the right word—instead of being awed by his speed and
power, we probably would have been looking more at his flaws. We wouldn’t
have been saying, ‘Wow, look how fast he is.’ We would have been saying,
‘Wow, look at the way he pulled back and got caught with that left hook, look at
the way he drops his hand for that uppercut, and look at the way Archie Moore
saw the opening and dropped a left hook on his chin. Gee, too bad he wasn’t
taught better. You know what? That fella Roy Jones, Jr., could have been a good
fighter. He had a lot of ability.’

“I think Roy Jones, Jr., is a terrific athlete. He has a terrific combination of speed
and power. But you know what? I don’t think he gets past Archie Moore. I’m
sorry. And he doesn’t get past Harold Johnson, Ezzard Charles or Billy Conn
either. I don’t want to keep going, but I could go on … I could. And I’m saying
this for a reason. I could name ten old timers within four minutes of thought that
he doesn’t get past. I mean these guys, especially in that division, were freakin’
monsters!

“All of the things we are talking about; the experience, the toughness, the
endurance—and I don’t mean physical endurance—of having fought that kind of
competition their whole life! Jones would have looked at his manager and said,
‘What are you doing? Where’s HBO? Where’s that contract? Wait a minute …
let me read the contract.’

“Look. I don’t want to get too crazy. But when people talk about speed, I say
what about the things the old timers had that took away speed, like body
punching, feinting, cutting the ring down or missing a punch on purpose so you
could make a guy like Jones, who made a lot of mistakes and pulled back from
punches, move right back into a punch he never saw and say, ‘Where’d that
punch come from?’ Or he might not even get a chance to say it.

“Fighting those killers that used to inhabit the light heavyweight division, your
concentration had to be so keen every second or you were gone. Well, you know
what? Jones never had to be in that kind of fight. So I’m sorry. But look. I think
what? Jones never had to be in that kind of fight. So I’m sorry. But look. I think
Roy is a terrific athlete and, as I’ve said, he has a terrific combination of speed
and power. But you know what? All those guys had good combinations of speed
and power.

“Why do I always have to protect the reputation of the old timers? Why do I
have to be a guy that says it? Can’t somebody go to a library and appreciate
these guys and look at the films that are there and appreciate what abilities these
guys had instead of trying to see what they didn’t have? See what they had! The
top fighters of today don’t have a market on these things. They didn’t invent
anything new.

“The boxers who fought 50–60–70 years ago had to perform under far more
difficult conditions, and they had to do it with tremendous fighters—all the time.
I don’t know if Jones could have got through these guys. But let him get past
one, then the next one, then the next one. I know he isn’t going that far. And I’ll
take it one step further. I like Roy Jones, but I don’t know if he would have
stayed in the business, because I don’t know if his temperament—forget about
his abilities in the other areas—I don’t know if his temperament would have
allowed him, on a consistent basis, to deal with that type of competition. People
don’t understand that temperament is an ability.

“The temperament of the old time fighters would have outweighed a lot of other
abilities that Jones had that they could match in physical terms too. I love guys
like Archie Moore, Ezzard Charles, Billy Conn, but you don’t have to go to that
stratosphere to identify fighters from that era who were capable of doing things
that would negate what Jones does in the ring. There were so many others who
would be able to overcome his speed and athleticism and expose Jones in the
areas that he’s flawed.

“I do give Roy credit for doing so many things wrong and still being successful.
He gets away with it. But instead of just looking at what Roy does well, I look at
what he does wrong and why he gets away with it. That tells me a lot. He gets
away with it not because of what’s there. He gets away with it because of what is
not there. A good fighter would exploit those things.”

Dan Cuoco: “When Roy Jones, Jr., was in with a fighter he respected, or a
fighter that could punch, he fought a defensive fight. Roy was not at his best
when fighting defensively. The old timers would walk him down and work him
over. I don’t think he could hold his own with forgotten greats such as Eddie
Booker, Holman Williams and the Cocoa Kid, never mind a Ray Robinson or an
Archie Moore. I think it would be no contest. I think he would even be respectful
of a Carlos Monzon. Carlos would work him into the ropes—Roy never liked to
fight on the ropes—and Monzon would have a field day with him.

“In his time Roy’s speed allowed him to get away with unorthodox methods.
One of those unorthodox moves was to lead with a left hook. But a top fighter
would not fall for that ploy. The fighters I mentioned would have used that left
hook against him, countered it, and put him away. I’m picking the old time
greats over Roy Jones, Jr., who I think was a little more flash than substance.”

Freddie Roach: “I don’t mean to rap Roy Jones. But I don’t see him as a great
fighter. He’s a talented athlete. He’s probably a great athlete because he can play
a lot of sports and his natural ability of speed, which is a great asset of course,
especially in the sports world, is tough to conquer. But if Roy Jones doesn’t
knock you out early he usually doesn’t knock you out late.

“It’s the punch you don’t see coming that usually knocks you out and Roy has
that great blinding speed, but once he slows down a little bit in the later rounds
he becomes less effective. And now that he’s getting a little bit older I think he’s
going to get exposed a lot more. Back in the old days there were good fighters.
They learned their sport. A lot of the champions nowadays are just good athletes
and they can get by because there’s not a lot of competition like in the earlier
days.

“I think one of the best throwback fighters that I’ve had a chance to work with
was Marlon Starling, who was welterweight champion in the 1980s. He was
really a throwback. He learned his trade. He learned the art of boxing. He wasn’t
just naturally gifted. He had to work at his game.

“Roy Jones, Jr., is a tremendously gifted athlete but he is technically flawed. He

crosses his legs. He walks with his left foot first when he goes to his right, when
he makes that cross. If I see a fighter doing that I know I’m going to attack right
away because once those legs are crossed like that I’m going to put him right on
his ass. He walks heel to toe a little bit. He doesn’t stay on his toes like a
fundamental fighter should. He gets away with it because he has such blinding
speed. But with him getting a little bit older speed is something he is going to
lose, and when those speedy guys lose that split second it’s only a fraction of a
difference but it takes a toll on them. The speed was enough to get them by.
Back in the old days you needed a lot more than speed to get by.
Back in the old days you needed a lot more than speed to get by.

“I think Archie Moore and Bob Foster are beating Roy Jones, and even Michael
Spinks, who came a little bit after them and was a pretty good fighter. When
Spinks came along the light heavy division was pretty good at the time. You had
Dwight Qawi, Eddie Mustafa, Matt Franklin. It was competitive but none of
them were great fighters technically. They were just more or less tough guys.

“I think the art of boxing has changed over the years. I had 54 pro fights, the last
one in 1987. Now 54 fights is not a lot of fights compared to the guys back then.
Years ago guys fought two or three hundred pro fights and they really learned
their craft. Experience is a great asset. We get better with age, we learn. The
thing is, I don’t think that fighters of today get that capacity to learn.”

Rollie Hackmer: “Roy Jones, Jr., is off balance much of the time and his feet
are too wide apart. He has fallen on the canvas several times. Those are
amateurish instincts. A good fighter doesn’t get caught up in a situation like that
and he does that too frequently. Roy does not rank as a great light heavyweight.
My fighter, Doug Jones, would have knocked him out. Lloyd Marshall would
have knocked him out. What do you think Ezzard Charles would have done with
him? Handed him his head!”

Wilbert “Skeeter” McClure: “It takes a great opponent to make you a great
fighter and Roy Jones, Jr., hasn’t fought one yet. That’s OK. That’s history.
Some presidents never have big wars in which they can win and become heroes.
That’s the way the ball bounces. Jones hasn’t fought an opponent that even came
close to bringing out the best in him. I said the same thing about Mike Tyson
before he fought in Japan against Buster Douglas.

“I was in Atlantic City for the Tyson vs. Michael Spinks fight and some sports
writers were praising Mike Tyson, saying he’s the greatest heavyweight ever and
I said to them, ‘Don’t you guys have memories?’ Mike Tyson hasn’t fought a
fighter yet who wanted to beat him, who would say, ‘I would die before I would
let this man beat me.’ He never fought an opponent like that. All the great
heavyweights have fought guys like that. Until Tyson fights a heavyweight who
says, ‘I want to beat you and there is no way in the world I will not beat you’—
when he gets knocked down, when he gets a cut eye, when he gets a bloody nose
in the third or fourth round and he struggles, his greatness remains a question
mark.’

“Buster Douglas started Tyson’s downward spiral. Cus D’Amato once told me,
“Buster Douglas started Tyson’s downward spiral. Cus D’Amato once told me,
‘Every time one of my fighters walks in the ring he has an 80 percent chance of
winning. I don’t gamble. If you were my fighter every time you would have
walked into the ring you’d have an 80 percent chance of winning.’ And that’s
the same pattern he followed with Mike Tyson. He knocked out nearly everyone
he fought. In one year he had three 90 second KO’s. That was supposed to
happen. But that did not prepare him when he fights a Buster Douglas, or he
fights a Holyfield, or a Lennox Lewis, and he’s hurt and its not in his system that
‘I’ve got to fight, fight, fight.’ That’s what I am referring to.”

Unacceptable All-Time Ratings

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “Roy is not in the same area of quality as some of the
people we’ve spoken about, certainly not the quality of an Archie Moore, Lloyd
Marshall, Jimmy Bivins or Gus Lesnevich. My goodness! Jones as one of the
greatest light heavyweights of all time? Let him box Floyd Patterson at 170
pounds. Patterson would beat him both as an amateur and as a pro. Victor
Galindez and John Conteh would have beaten him. Archie Moore would have
banged him around. In a fight between Roy Jones, Jr., and Saad Muhammad, I’m
betting Saad.

“To be great you have to go through the killers—provided you survived and
were not damaged too badly. Look at Moore’s opponents. I mean this is
ridiculous! There is no way you can rate the fighters of today with the fighters of
that era. I don’t care what they do or how many title defenses they put up.

“You can’t blame Roy Jones for not having the competition for proving himself
when he was at his peak. There were no Lloyd Marshalls or Carlos Monzons
around to test him. I’m not blaming the fighters. I’m blaming the guys that rate
them. I wouldn’t characterize the fighters as being at fault for being overrated.
It’s the people that come up with these ‘all-time rankings’ who are at fault. The
guys that rate the all-time great fighters don’t have the understanding, they don’t
have the exposure. It’s their problem, but their ratings are not to be accepted
because they’re wrong, they’re fallacious. There is no doubt about it. Absolutely
no doubt about it. They haven’t seen the great fighters and they don’t know what
to see when they do see the great fighters [on film].

“It’s similar to the trainers who don’t know what to tell their fighter because they
haven’t experienced that situation. They haven’t been up all those stairs, right to
the top, and recognized the learning methods that the great fighters were
fortunate to have. You just can’t give these current guys that kind of rating,
fortunate to have. You just can’t give these current guys that kind of rating,
absolutely not. It’s ridiculous. Just a few years ago they were making Shane
Mosley another Robinson. Then he fought Forrest and is beaten twice. There are
no Robinsons, no Armstrongs, no LaMottas.”

Will the Real Contenders Please Stand Up

While there are no fighters today who are comparable to a Sugar Ray Robinson,
Henry Armstrong or Jake LaMotta—it is also evident there are no fighters who
compare to their toughest competition either.

You will not see the likes of Bernard Docusen, a brilliant boxer who gave Sugar
Ray Robinson one of his most difficult fights at welterweight. Nor will you see
fighters resembling middleweights like Georgie Abrams or Jose Basora, two
master craftsmen who never won a title yet extended Robinson in hard fought
decisions when the Sugar Man was still in his prime.

During the 1930s “Hammerin” Henry Armstrong won titles in three separate
weight classes (featherweight, lightweight and welterweight) in one ten month
span. Armstrong is universally ranked among the greatest of the great. Yet a
forgotten iron man named Baby Arizmendi went to the post with Armstrong on
five different occasions and not only did the tough little Mexican last the
distance every time, he whipped Armstrong in their first two fights. Davey Abad
and Willie Joyce, two outstanding boxers, also gave a prime Armstrong all he
could handle in multiple fights.
Holman Williams campaigned in both the welterweight and middleweight
divisions in the 1930s and 1940s. Legendary trainer Eddie Futch called
Williams the greatest pure boxer he ever worked with.

Can you imagine any of today’s world champions extending a prime Sugar Ray
Robinson or Henry Armstrong? Can you imagine any of today’s top
middleweights extending Jake LaMotta?

In 1993 I asked Mike Capriano, Sr., the trainer who discovered, taught and
managed Jake LaMotta, to name The Bronx Bull’s toughest opponents. He
named Sugar Ray Robinson, Jose Basora, Jimmy Reeves, Tommy Bell, Lloyd
Marshall, Fritzie Zivic, Bert Lytell, Marcus Lockman and Holman Williams.

Aside from Robinson, the best of the lot may have been Detroit’s Holman
Williams, a stable mate of Joe Louis. How good was Williams? The legendary
Eddie Futch, who trained hundreds of fighters and 17 world champions from the
1930s to the 1990s, said Holman Williams was “the greatest pure boxer I ever
worked with.”6

The Era of the Dominant Middleweight

During the Golden Age of talent and activity, the middleweight division was
considered the toughest of all the weight classes. A 160-pound fighter was light
enough to move with extreme speed, yet heavy enough to punch with significant
power. Some middleweights were capable of dropping heavyweights. But no
matter how great the fighter, the depth of talent and competition made it
extremely difficult, if not impossible, for any active middleweight to remain
champion for more than three years.

The deterioration of boxing’s infrastructure during the 1950s resulted in a

gradual decline in both the quantity and quality of boxers. Every weight division
was eventually affected. By the early 1960s only a handful of Golden Age
middleweights was still active. They included Joey Giardello, Gene Fullmer,
Dick Tiger, Henry Hank and George Benton. Other top middleweights of the
period were Emile Griffith, Joey Archer, Luis Rodriguez and Rubin “Hurricane”
Carter. Such stiff competition precluded any one fighter from establishing
dominance over the division. This was the last decade the middleweight division
was capable of fielding a similar grouping of world-class fighters.

It was not until the 1970s that a middleweight was able to establish dominance
It was not until the 1970s that a middleweight was able to establish dominance
and hold onto the title for more than three years. That fighter was Carlos
Monzon, an arguably great fighter, who won the title from Nino Benvenuti in
1970. Monzon held the title for seven years and defended it a record (up to then)
14 times. No other middleweight champion had ever come close to those
numbers.

Carlos Monzon retired in 1977, at the age of 34. Three years later, in 1980,
Marvin Hagler won the championship. Hagler also dominated the middleweights
for seven years, defending the title 11 times. He retired in 1987, at the age of 32,
after being outpointed by Sugar Ray Leonard.

It is no mere coincidence that two boxers, less than a decade apart, dominated
the middleweights for seven years. The key to their longevity—aside from their
obvious talent—was the middleweight division’s almost total lack of top tier
challengers. Once Monzon and Hagler had dispensed with the two or three
fighters who posed the greatest threat, they ran out of serious competition. This
had never happened before.

After defeating Benny Briscoe and an aging Emile Griffith, Monzon’s toughest
opponent was formidable Rodrigo Valdez. Monzon strengthened his claim to
greatness by outpointing Valdez, a genuine throwback fighter, in two closely
contested title fights. The rest of his defenses involved ordinary club fighters
such as Jean Claude Bouttier, Tom Bogs, Tony Mundine, Fraser Scott and Tony
Licata.

Marvin Hagler’s top challengers included Vito Antuefermo, Alan Minter, and
Tommy Hearns, whose decision to slug it out with Hagler resulted in one of
boxing’s most spectacular first rounds. His other challengers—“Caveman” Lee,
Mustafa Hamsho, Tony Sibson, Wilford Scypion, Juan Roldan—were all tough
but ordinary fighters.
Archie Moore named Charley Burley (above) the greatest fighter he ever
faced. But even the prodigiously talented Burley could not remain
undefeated in the torrid middleweight division of the 1940s (The
International Hall of Champions).

The quality of fighters turned back by Hagler and Monzon, in all but a few of
their title defenses, pales in comparison to the many great and near great
middleweights who populated the division four decades earlier. These fighters
gave the division the fearsome reputation it justly deserved: Jake LaMotta,
Charley Burley, Archie Moore, Jimmy Bivins, Lloyd Marshall, Holman
Williams, Ezzard Charles, Jose Basora, Cocoa Kid, Marcel Cerdan, Bert Lytell,
Tony Zale, Al Hostak, Eddie Booker, Freddie Steele, Fred Apostoli, Teddy
Yarosz, Georgie Abrams, Ken Overlin, Alabama Kid, Nate Bolden, Billy Soose,
Steve Belloise, Jack Chase, Allen Mathews, Solly Krieger, Ceferino Garcia, Kid
Steve Belloise, Jack Chase, Allen Mathews, Solly Krieger, Ceferino Garcia, Kid
Tunero, Coley Welch, Jock McAvoy and dozens of additional fringe contenders
and first-rate journeymen boxers who were a test for any middleweight in the
world.

Archie Moore fought ten of the fighters mentioned above. He often stated that
Charley Burley was the greatest fighter he ever faced. Eddie Futch was in awe of
Burley, calling him “the finest all around fighter I ever saw.”7 In 1991 Futch
described the way Burley fought to author Ronald K. Fried: “He was really
something to see. He was a master at slipping punches, counterpunching. He
walked to you with a good jab, feint and make you miss. He didn’t move his legs
too much, he’d just slide over, make you miss a punch and he was right there on
top of you with either hand punching.”8

But even a fighter of Burley’s astonishing talent could not establish complete
dominance in the torrid middleweight division of the 1930s and 1940s. During
his prime Burley lost to Jimmy Bivins, Bert Lytell, Ezzard Charles, and Holman
Williams, and boxed draws with Cocoa Kid and Georgie Abrams. One has to
wonder how Marvin Hagler and Carlos Monzon would have fared against these
outstanding middleweights?

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “Marvin Hagler would have been too good for the
middleweights of today. Yet the people we knew in the 1940s and early 50s
would outbox Marvin Hagler. From our experienced eye, the people that we saw
looked better, were better, and had an understanding of what to do. And they
were all better inside fighters. They knew how to drop four or five punches on
the inside and tie the opponent up to prevent him from getting his own punches
off.”

Emanuel Steward: “I think Ray Leonard, Tommy Hearns and Marvin Hagler
would have been strong with any era. Marvin would have been a problem,
regardless of what people think, for a Ray Robinson or a Carlos Monzon. He
was a solid and fundamentally sound fighter.”

Tony Arnold: “If a fighter dominates his division he’s the best of his time. But
if he’s dominating a piss poor division with third-rate fighters that, only means
he was better than them. It does not mean he was great. Look at the type of
opposition Jake LaMotta, Ike Williams, Sugar Ray Robinson and Kid Gavilan
faced year after year. Hagler never fought anybody like that. He could have been
a great fighter but he has yet to prove it to me.
“Hagler had defenses against the likes of Roldan, Obelmejias, Hamsho and
Sibson. They were ordinary. Hagler was a good enough fighter to dominate
ordinary opposition. Does that make him great? I don’t know. He had a lot of
ability. But there was no excuse for his loss to Sugar Ray Leonard. No top-notch
middleweight rated as great as Hagler would be able to lose to a Sugar Ray
Leonard who was throwing flashy but very weak combinations. And he barely
beat an over the hill Roberto Duran. Can you imagine Tony Zale having trouble
with an over the hill Roberto Duran at middleweight? He would crush him in
three or four rounds.

“Hagler could not beat Rocky Graziano. And believe me, Graziano was no great
fighter. I think Rocky would have knocked Duran out as a middleweight. Duran
couldn’t face a real middle. I’m not blaming Hagler. What I’m saying is I don’t
think you can truly rate him as a great fighter because he never proved himself to
me as a great fighter. He proved that he was a very good fighter against third-
rate opposition. Does that make him a great fighter? I don’t know. In my opinion
I say no. I’m not saying he wasn’t a great fighter. I know I’m contradicting
myself. What I’m saying is he might have had greatness in him because he was a
damn good fighter but whether or not he could have been great I don’t know.
There’s no way to answer that because he never fought the type of fighters that
would have proved to me that he was great.

“I think Monzon had greatness in him also. He showed real ability against
certain fighters. Monzon showed against Benny Briscoe that he could really box.
But neither fighter ever faced opponents of the caliber of Freddie Steele, Solly
Krieger, Ken Overlin, Fred Apostoli and Teddy Yarosz. How good were those
guys? Look at their records.”

Erik Arnold: “My dad and I were watching films of Sugar Ray Robinson’s
1950 European tour the other day and then took a look at some of Hagler’s
fights. You could see that Hagler didn’t have that flow. A great fighter has a
certain flow in his style that appears completely effortless. Hagler didn’t quite
have that effortlessness. It was one punch followed by another punch in
automatic sequence. He was mechanical and couldn’t deal with movement. This
is one of the reasons Leonard defeated him, and it’s also why Duran gave him
trouble.”

Dan Cuoco: “Marvin Hagler was another fighter who didn’t perform at his best
when he gave certain fighters too much respect. That’s what happened when he
fought Roberto Duran. It resulted in Duran going the distance with him and
giving him a much tougher fight than it should have been. If Hagler fought
somebody like Carlos Monzon I think the fact that he would have given Monzon
that same respect would have taken Marvin’s best attributes away from him
because he would have been a little too cautious and would not have let his
punches flow the way they normally would flow. I think they both had great
chins so I see the fight going the distance. I’m picking Monzon over Hagler by
decision.”

Solid Contenders—But Not Dominant

Whether one considers Carlos Monzon and Marvin Hagler great, near great, or
just very good, there is no arguing that both were highly evolved seasoned
boxers; Monzon fought 81 times before he won the title. Hagler took the title in
his 54th pro bout. Had they fought in the Golden Age, both would have been
ranking contenders and perhaps even won the title, but they would never have
been as dominant as they were in their own time. Until the early 1960s the
middleweight division was just too damn tough.

Bernard Hopkins

By the time Bernard Hopkins became middleweight champion in 1995, the

division’s talent base was even thinner than it had been during Monzon and
Hagler’s era. Bernard Hopkins was 30 years old and a “veteran” of 29
professional fights when he won the title. Over the next ten years he defended
his laurels a record breaking 20 times. Nine of his defenses came after his 35th
birthday. Hopkins was 41 years old when he finally lost the title to Jermain
Taylor in 2005.

The faux experts point to Hopkins’ unprecedented run of 20 straight title

defenses as proof of his greatness. It is a number they can understand. What they
fail to understand is boxing. Taken out of historical context, 20 title defenses is
quite impressive—not unlike the record-breaking number of gold medals U.S.
boxers won in the 1984 Olympic Games in the absence of their toughest
competition.

When cold statistics replace balanced and informed analysis, all perspective is
When cold statistics replace balanced and informed analysis, all perspective is
lost. Do the people assigning greatness to Hopkins consider that 18 of those 20
defenses were against fighters who would have been prohibitive underdogs if
matched against the weakest challengers of Monzon and Hagler?

Great middleweight champions such as Sugar Ray Robinson, Mickey Walker,

Freddie Steele, Harry Greb, Marcel Cerdan and Jake LaMotta could never have
defended their titles 20 times over 10 years against the kind of brutal
competition that populated the middleweight division from the 1920s to the
1950s. It is even more ridiculous to think any of these fighters—no matter how
great—could have been “dominant” in their eras as they approached their 40th
birthday.

Using the Wrong Criteria to Judge

Tony Arnold: “I never saw a sport deteriorate in every way that boxing has. The
fact that Bernard Hopkins can remain champ for 10 years and make 20
successful defenses doesn’t show how good Hopkins is—it shows how bad the
sport has become.

“Hopkins is an ordinary talent who is a little better than the talent that’s around
him. He is a decent fighter for today. Fifty or sixty years ago he’d be considered
an ordinary fighter. Maybe he would have been a main event club fighter in the
small clubs.

“Ordinary fighters dominate today because their opponents are less than
ordinary. That’s the key. These so called “experts” rate Hopkins among the top
ten middleweights of all time, but how can they evaluate great fighters if they
don’t recognize the quality of their opposition? All they know is Hopkins was
champ for ten years and he had 20 successful defenses. That makes him great?

“They are using the wrong criteria for judging a fighter. Today’s boxers, after
they turn pro, get a little bit better, and a little bit better, and then their ability
reaches a certain level and it stays the same because they are fighting mostly
third-rate club fighters for the rest of their careers. Even though some of today’s
talent may well have developed into terrific fighters if they had fought during the
Golden Age, they can never really improve because the quality of their
competition does not improve.

“Years ago you fought progressively better opposition, so when a guy got to the
top you knew he was beating better and better fighters. They had so many fights
top you knew he was beating better and better fighters. They had so many fights
against so many good fighters that after a while they had the answer to
everything. They fought fighters with every different style—but fighters with
skills. Hopkins is fighting other club fighters his whole career. How is he ever
going to develop?

“I saw Hopkins on the way up and I never thought he looked that good. In his
first title fight against Segundo Mercado he was dropped twice. He made
excuses about the height of his opponent but that was no excuse. The fact is that
a very ordinary fighter held him to a draw. A great fighter, in any division, even
if he’s off, doesn’t have trouble with someone like Mercado. Even if he doesn’t
look good he still whips these guys. It was just a poor performance by a fighter
who himself is just a glorified club fighter.

“You used to see fighters with certain skills. Where are middleweights like Joey
Giambra, Willie Troy, Bobby Boyd, Spider Webb, Florentino Fernandez or
Georgie Benton? You don’t see anyone on that level today. The top fighters of
today, if matched against the really good fighters of years ago, would look like
rank amateurs because the things they are able to get away with they would not
get away with against the old timers. Could you see De La Hoya at 145 pounds
with any of the good fighters of the past? I do not see him beating any of the
major contenders. It’s not even close with a Luis Rodriguez or Emile Griffith in
their primes … or Billy Graham … or Gil Turner. I also cannot see Shane
Mosley, at his best, defeating championship caliber fighters from the 1930s, ’40s
or ’50s.”

Teddy Atlas: “Hopkins does get a little too much credit in certain areas, but the
things that I do like about him are that he has learned how to fight. He is a well-
rounded boxer. I’ll give him credit for that. But there’s so much missing
nowadays that he can get away with calling himself ‘old school’ because people
don’t even know what ‘old school’ is.

“I like Bernard, and he probably is ‘old school’ for what’s around today. Except
don’t go to the old school because—and it’s not a knock on him—what he
doesn’t understand is that all those guys knew how to fight in those days. And
the temperament that he brags about? Having a fighter’s temperament. Well
guess what? The old school fighters didn’t brag about it because they all had that
quality.
“Look, as I’ve said, for today Hopkins is a well-rounded fighter. He can fight
inside and he can fight outside. He times guys. Hopkins was a much better
fighter than Felix Trinidad, who was much more one-dimensional. Trinidad was
made to order for Hopkins. But, having said what I said, he still doesn’t come up
to all those other things. It’s more a matter of the game being so depleted of real
fighters today that if a guy tells us he’s just like an old school fighter and he
shows us a little something, we automatically close our eyes and say ‘yes.’

“But the reality is that he’s not beating a Holly Mims or a Joey Giardello, or a
Gene Fullmer. He’s not beating any of the top middleweights from the 1940s
and 1950s. When he would start to move around and do his stuff and they started
hitting him in the body, and they started stepping to him and suddenly they were
three inches out of range, and then they were six inches into range before he
even knew it and he wouldn’t know how to get rid of them. It would have been a
different story.

“If Bernard were fighting back then he would have to find a way to create more
offense. He would not have been allowed by those guys to win with only
defense. That is what he is known for. Defense is his forte. That’s what separates
him and he gets moved to the front of the class by being defensively responsible.
But in those days that would not have been enough, because those guys would
have been those things too but they would have been aggressive, and they would
have forced him to find a way to either be more aggressive or lose.

“Bernard is put on a pedestal today for being smart and cautious. People say he
is a good defensive fighter, which he is. In today’s landscape he can get away
with being 90 percent defensive. In those days that wouldn’t have gotten him on
a subway—not with these guys—because that would only have been part of the
solution. He would have to have found a way to be more offensive minded to
win fights with these guys—not just fence with them.

“Bernard is a good fighter, but in the era that we are talking of he doesn’t stand
out. He becomes just another one of those guys that can’t get it on that level.”

Erik Arnold: “After Bernard Hopkins knocked out Felix Trinidad, Larry
Merchant said that Hopkins “is one of the best middleweights of all times.”
Merchant actually said this. It’s on the tape. I say based on what? Hopkins didn’t
show any real ability in that fight.”
Dan Cuoco: “I think Hopkins’ skills would have allowed him to compete in any
era. I see him fighting competitively because Hopkins has, over the years,
learned the tricks of the trade. He knows how to slip punches, he knows how to
fight and conserve energy and he knows how to defend himself. I also think he’s
a good counter puncher. But Hopkins’ style of fighting is probably more
effective today than it would have been in the ’40s, ’50s and ’60s. Bernard often
leads with his head. The fighters of the ’40s, ’50s, and ’60s learned how to angle
their bodies to a point where opponents were not going to butt them as often as
you see in today’s era.

“Today’s fighters seem to come in with their head before their gloves. I
remember reading how the old timers trained day after day to properly position
their bodies, learning how to lean forward so that if they were butted they always
got hit on the side of the head and not directly head on. So I don’t think one of
Hopkins’ most effective weapons—his head—would be as effective against the
best fighters of previous decades. He is skilled enough to at least be competitive,
but I don’t see him having an edge over them.”

“Bernard Hopkins was very effective when he fought guys that were flawed,
such as a Felix Trinidad. He owned them. But we’re talking about guys that
weren’t flawed, contenders and champions who continuously fought the best of
their era. Hopkins, in his lifetime, may have gotten in the ring with only seven or
eight guys who were skilled fighters.”

Bill Goodman: “Bernard Hopkins is a good fighter in today’s market. But

compared to the better middleweights of the past he is not a great fighter.”

No Proof

Are these experts being too hard on Bernard Hopkins? Let’s start with Bernard’s
record. As of July 2007 he has had 54 fights in 18 years as a pro. That averages
out to only three fights a year. Reviewing tapes of his fights reveals to the
knowing eye that Hopkins is an intelligent yet unremarkable boxer possessing
decent defensive skills, a professional attitude and a solid punch. While these
qualities are more than enough to make him a dominant world champion today,
fifty years ago such skills would have been considered commonplace.

The fact that a 38-year-old middleweight was still dominating what used to be
considered boxing’s toughest weight class says far more about boxing’s decline
than it does about Hopkins’ alleged greatness. His impressive victories over the
than it does about Hopkins’ alleged greatness. His impressive victories over the
talented but robotic Felix Trinidad and an overweight and under motivated Oscar
De La Hoya are not, by themselves, proof of greatness.

Boxing’s Barren Landscape

Teddy Atlas: “People say Bernard’s got an attitude like the fighters of the old
days. The only difference that I would say about that, to argue it or contest it a
little bit, is that if he really had the attitude of those other guys he would have
taken advantage of his position after he defeated Felix Trinidad and shown more
eagerness to fight.

“It looked like Hopkins was really going to miss his opportunity after he beat
Trinidad because he only had two fights against ordinary opponents over the
next two years. The old time guys in that same position would have found a way
to fight…. I don’t know how many fights … but they would have made sure
their dance card was filled a lot more than he filled it.

“Maybe he was lucky, but things did work out his way because in the end he
made money and he’s still making paydays. There’s no denying that. But he
could have paid a price had the times not been fortunate for him. Years ago, with
the abundance of fighters that were around in those days, his boat would have
sailed without him. But there is such a shortage of marquee names nowadays
that he was able to still get plugged into lucrative fights.

“Bernard was opportunistic. He was picking his spots—which I’m not knocking
him for. I think he should be given as much credit for being a good manager as
he is for being a slick fighter because he wound up making a lot of money. But
Hopkins benefited from boxing’s barren landscape. There are so few guys that
you can sell to the public nowadays. The public doesn’t have any faith or trust in
knowing there is going to be just solid fights. Other than the few big marquee
names they are skeptical about how many good fighters are out there, and
rightfully so. But in the old days you could sell 20 guys in one division to fight
the champion. If Carmen Basilio or Gene Fullmer all of a sudden said, ‘Hey, I
just won the title, I ain’t fightin’ nobody,’ everybody would move on without
them. There’d be 20 other guys to consider and they’d be left at the freakin’
curb. But nowadays it’s almost like the inmates are running the asylum. The
fighter can say ‘Hey, freak you. Who are you going to sell?’ And in reality
they’re right. There’s nobody to sell. So Hopkins benefited from boxing’s barren
landscape more than he benefited from good judgment.
Again, I’m not knocking him, but he did not match the actions and attitudes of
the old timers in terms of his eagerness to fight after defeating Trinidad. He can
argue and say that during that period he was smart. And, luckily, it did turn out
well for him. But if the boat had sailed because people had other choices, then
how smart would it have been? So that bragging about his temperament rings a
little hollow. Not that I’m perfect, but I’m looking at it with a little more earnest
eye. I’m not just going along with what he’s telling me. I’m going along a little
bit with what I’m actually seeing. And I’m going along a little bit with a
comparison of what it could have been and what it was.”

Kevin Smith: “I think Bernard Hopkins can be thrown back into the 1950s,
maybe even the 1920s, and he’d be semi-successful. He does a lot of things well,
it seems. He is well schooled, by today’s standards. But today’s standards are far
lower than they were in the 1920s or the 1950s. There were great fighters in
every era. There are even great fighters today. Are they as great as the 1920s or
1950s? No.”

Rollie Hackmer: “Bernard Hopkins would be a good journeyman with some of

these fighters from the past. He had average boxing skill. A fighter like Joey
Giardello would have taken him apart. There were so many good fighters at that
time. What do you think Tony Zale would do with these fighters today … what
do you think he would do with Roy Jones, Jr.?”

Hank Kaplan: “Hopkins has a lot going for him. He’s got great determination
and a lot of heart. At the beginning he was not that skilled a boxer, but as he
matured and slowed because of age, he developed good defensive techniques.
But a good boxer, like the early 1960s middleweight contender Joey Archer,
may have been a little too busy for him with his skilled use of a left jab and great
footwork. Henry Hank, another top middleweight of that era, had a persistent
offensive attack that may have nullified Hopkins’ defensive skills.”

Good—But Not Great

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “Bernard Hopkins and Roy Jones Jr. are good but not great
fighters. Sam Baroudi, a contender from the late 1940s, would have beaten both
of them. Fighters who were not even considered outstanding during that time
would have beaten Bernard Hopkins. Middleweight contender Herbie
Kronowitz, a good boxer, tough and experienced, with an excellent jab and
footwork, would have beaten Hopkins. In his prime Ralph “Tiger” Jones would
have beaten him as well.

“The best fighters of recent years would also not have fared as well against the
old timers. Tommy “Hit Man” Hearns won five world titles. Jake LaMotta
would stop him. Rocky Graziano would stop him also because Hearns couldn’t
take a punch and Leonard and Hagler stopped him. Hearns would not have stood
up to the killer welters, middles and certainly not the light heavyweights of the
1940s.

“Styles make fights. All of the dangerous old time contenders were “Hit Men,”
and they could take a punch and were crafty. Hearns had guts but could not take
these killers. The old super middleweights of the 1940s such as Lloyd Marshall,
Bert Lytell, Jimmy Edgar, Eddie Booker, would have KO’d him. Hearns’s
record is 61 wins out of 67 fights, with 48 KOs. The record is misleading. It’s a
toss up between Hearns and De La Hoya, as to who would have won.

“There was a much better level of fighter in the old days. You can win seven
titles today because of the alphabet soup organizations and all the added weight
classes. Maybe the good fighters of today would have developed better had they
fought in the old days, but the way they are now, it would not happen.”

Carlos Ortiz: “Bob Foster would knock out any light heavyweight today. They
couldn’t compete with a Bob Foster. Are you kidding? Who could beat Archie
Moore today? Nobody. Nobody! They don’t have the quality. Harold Johnson?
Forget it. Those were good fighters. I would bet all my money on yesterday’s
fighters against today’s fighters.”

On the Shoulders of Pygmies

In their primes Roy Jones, Jr., and Bernard Hopkins were talented fighters
surrounded by a sea of mediocrity. They never reached the skill level or
experience of Carlos Monzon or Marvin Hagler—the last arguably great
middleweights of the 20th century—but they didn’t have to. Both Jones and
Hopkins benefited from the worst assortment of challengers ever faced by a
middleweight or light heavyweight champion since the advent of boxing gloves.
Is it any wonder they stood out as giants in a land of pygmies?
 12
The Dominance Factor, Part Two: Roberto Duran, Pernell
Whitaker and Floyd Mayweather, Jr.

In the biggest fight of his career, he [Mayweather] showed up with no

definite plan and could not dominate the only first rate fighter he’s
ever faced.1
Allen Barra

Robert Duran

The most dominant champion of the past 35 years (1972–2007) was Roberto
Duran. “Manos de Piedra” (Hands of Stone) was in a class by himself during his
spectacular reign as lightweight champion of the world from 1972 to 1980.

Duran had one of boxing’s most storied careers. He fought professionally for 33
years before finally retiring in 2000 at the age of 49. While lightweight
champion, he defended his laurels a dozen times and knocked out all but one of
his challengers. His boxing skills and punching power transcended eras. Duran
was the last great fighter trained by Ray Arcel and Freddie Brown, two wizened
Golden Age gurus who between them had over 100 years of experience.

What a treat it was to see this charismatic fighter perform. Just watching him
shadowbox was like entering a time warp. He was a genuine throwback to the
era of great lightweights. Duran boxed, feinted, slipped and rolled like an old
time fighter. He pressured like an old time fighter. And he ranks with the
greatest lightweight punchers of all time.

But the faux experts, as usual, went completely overboard concerning Duran’s
placement among the all time greats. It is now fashionable to rank Duran the
number one lightweight of all time, eclipsing perennial favorites Joe Gans and
Benny Leonard.

In 1980 one of the sport’s most respected journalists, Jack Fiske, interviewed 17
boxing experts who were old enough to have seen in person the greatest
boxing experts who were old enough to have seen in person the greatest
lightweights of the previous 50 years. The interviews were conducted shortly
after Duran’s signature victory over welterweight champion Sugar Ray Leonard,
which many people still consider the greatest fight of his career. Fiske asked
each interviewee to compare Duran to the best lightweights they had ever seen.
Following are a few selected excerpts.

Teddy Brenner, matchmaker and president of Madison Square Garden Boxing

Department, 1959–78: “I don’t think Duran could have beaten a Billy Petrolle or
a Sid Terris and they never became champions…. Duran, to me, was an exciting,
colorful hard punching charismatic fighter but I think he suffered from a genuine
lack of competition. While he held the title, the fighters in the lightweight
division were at the lowest caliber in the division’s history, and he smartly
avoided some of the better mediocrities.
Roberto Duran (right) pressures lightweight champion Ken Buchanan to
the ropes in 1972. Duran went on to dominate the lightweight division for
the next seven years (AP/Wide World Photos).

“The best lightweights I ever saw—and their great records against great
opposition will bear me out—are: Canzoneri, Armstrong, Williams, Ross, Beau
Jack, Montgomery, Ambers, Jenkins and Duran. I doubt whether Duran could
have survived their competition. Look at their opposition….”

Cus D’Amato, legendary trainer of Floyd Patterson, Jose Torres and Mike
Tyson. D’Amato saw every great fighter from the 1920s to the early 1980s:
“While Duran may have been outstanding in his time, there is no comparison
with the type of opposition he faced as compared to the others. He had much
fewer top class fighters to box.”

D’Amato listed his top nine choices of all-time lightweights, “not necessarily in
order,” as Jack Blackburn, Charley White, Benny Leonard, Tony Canzoneri,
Henry Armstrong, Barney Ross, Jimmy McLarnin, Joe Gans, and Kid Lavigne.
In D’Amato’s opinion, Charley White and Barney Ross would have been a “toss
up” with Duran. The other seven, he felt, would have beaten him.

Ray Arcel, 81 years old at the time of his interview (1980). He was Duran’s co-
trainer for eight years. The dean of American trainers had worked with Benny
Leonard during his comeback in the early 1930s. Duran was his 18th world
champion.

“Duran could have been right on top of any lightweight division. If he were not
the champion—he would have been a leading contender. Benny Leonard, in my
opinion, was the greatest boxer, pound for pound, that I ever saw. He was the
champion of the best lightweight division anybody has ever seen since 1917.
Any of the leading contenders of that period could have been champion if
Leonard was not there.

“I feel Duran could have fit into that group and proven his ability with the
outstanding stars of that period. His strength and punching powers could have
made it possible for him to more than hold his own with all the champions who
followed Leonard. Ross, Canzoneri, Ike Williams, Lew Ambers, Jimmy Carter,
Charley White, Billy Petrolle, Beau Jack are dream matches—but Duran would
have proven his ability with every one of these fine champions…. He can box as
well as fight.”
well as fight.”

Chris Dundee managed boxers from the 1930s to the 1950s and was a major
promoter from the 1950s to the 1980s. He is the older brother of Angelo
Dundee: “Duran was a great lightweight, but I cannot compare him with
Canzoneri, who was the best lightweight I ever saw. I knew (Benny) Leonard,
but never saw him box, but I did see Tendler, as I’m from Philly: Ross, Williams
and Armstrong would have to be rated over Duran in my book.

“Duran boxed for me three times; Saoul Mamby gave him hell. Ordinary
Vilomar Fernandez almost went the 15 round distance with him. Can you picture
Vilomar going as many as ten rounds with Lew Jenkins, Brown or Beau Jack?
Duran beat nobodies.”

Lou Gross, former trainer and cut man, worked with many world champions
and contenders during the course of a 50-year career: “Duran is the best
lightweight of the last ten years. (Benny) Leonard was the best champ that I saw,
number one in my book. Next comes Ross, Canzoneri, Armstrong, White,
Tendler, Petrolle, Ortiz, Williams and Beau Jack. Duran would be number 11.”

Jack Fiske, who covered boxing for over 40 years with the San Francisco
Chronicle, threw in his own two cents: “When I try to place Roberto Duran in a
one-to-ten listing, I can never wipe out the memory of his title defenses against
Lou Bizzaro, Leonico Ortiz and Vilomar Fernandez. Bizarro lasted 14 rounds,
Ortiz went the 15 round limit and Fernandez was in there until the 13th.
“Bizarro, without a doubt, was the most pathetic lightweight challenger in
history, although a great runner. Ortiz, at the time he met Duran, had a 22–5–1
record. Fernandez, 19–5–1, had only knocked out five men. “Ike Williams
would have knocked out all three in one night with none of the fights going
beyond three rounds. Ortiz may have taken longer, but not much longer.

“The best (lightweight) fighter Duran ever met was Esteban DeJesus, who beat
him one out of three. Probably on a par with DeJesus was Ken Buchanan, from
whom Duran won the title on a controversial blow (fair or foul?) in the 13th
round. Duran’s manager would never honor a commitment for a return bout
contract with Buchanan after that.

“None of the old-timers participating in the poll gave DeJesus or Buchanan a

call on their all-time lists. Think about it.”2
None of Roberto Duran’s challengers approached the greatness of Ike
Williams (above). Williams held the lightweight title from 1947 to 1951
(Sports Legends Photos).
Lightweight Competition

Of the 17 people Fiske interviewed, six did not submit a list, four left Duran out
of the top 10 completely, and six others rated him no higher than sixth in their all
time ranking of lightweights. Only one person, Freddie Brown, Duran’s co-
trainer, put him among the top five.

While acknowledging Duran’s extraordinary talent, 10 of the interviewees

unequivocally believed he benefited from the weakness of the lightweight
division in the 1970s. They had personally witnessed the type of competition
typical of the lightweight division from the 1920s to the 1950s. Their opinions
were not meant to denigrate Duran. Quite the contrary; by placing him in such
close proximity with the greats of old, one can appreciate not only how good
Duran was, but also how tough the competition was during the Golden Age.

Sal Rappa: “Anyone who has seen the fighters from previous decades would
agree that for every two or three guys who are considered good today there were
hundreds in the 1920s, ’30s, and ’40s. This hasn’t been the case in the last 20
years. Only a few fighters since the 1970s, such as Ali and Duran, could have
successfully competed with the top ten of those days, when we had only eight
divisions and eight champions. The older fighters proved themselves over and
over again by meeting other great fighters.”

Teddy Atlas: “The era of Barney Ross, and Benny Leonard, Tony Canzoneri,
Lou Ambers, Jimmy McLarnin, Kid Chocolate—of course, I’m leaving many
other names out—to me that era, the 1920s and 1930s, was one of the greatest
eras for lightweights because there were so many good fighters at that weight
who fought each other. It was also one of the most competitive eras. Those guys
stick out in my mind because there were so many of them. I’d be hard pressed to
find a division of one particular era that had as many terrific boxers fighting each
other. And further on you had others like Henry Armstrong, Bob Montgomery,
Ike Williams, Beau Jack, and all those guys. That division had a longevity of
tremendous fighters, tremendous talent, tremendous professionals, and
tremendous competitiveness.”

Mike Capriano Jr.: “I don’t like to use the word ‘great.’ The greats to me are
nonpareil fighters like Jack Johnson, Jack Dempsey, Joe Louis and Sugar Ray
Robinson. Roberto Duran was a standout. He had another dimension in that he
was a good puncher.
“But Duran is not who we are talking about today. People who had knowledge
trained him. He was durable and a terrific puncher. Duran also understood the
method of how to defeat somebody. He knew where to be at the right time and
hit you with those hard punches. Having said that, I believe that Carlos Ortiz
would have beaten Duran as a lightweight. Ortiz was an excellent boxer and
puncher who knew how to maneuver, as did another outstanding lightweight of
the 1950s, Joe Brown.

“If you saw Duran in the Garden when Estaban DeJesus outpointed him, it
showed that he was beatable by a good boxer. The good boxers are not letting
the punchers knock them out. And there were many excellent boxers in the
lightweight division in the old days. If Duran had turned pro 20 years earlier,
he’d have to fight Bob Montgomery, Ike Williams and Beau Jack. Look at the
records of these three champions and the types of fighters they beat. Duran never
met fighters of this caliber. He wasn’t as good as these fighters and he’s not
knocking them out. They could out box him. He’s not beating a Henry
Armstrong either.

“I like Duran. He was a very good boxer. He had fine ring generalship. He was
better than Davey Day and Bobby Ruffin, who were contenders in the late 1930s
and early 40s. He also would have beaten Paddy DeMarco. With Jimmy Carter
it’s a close fight, but I like Duran over Carter.

“Is Duran a top ten all time lightweight? I don’t think so. I think there are too
many great lightweights … Benny Leonard … Tony Canzoneri … Ike Williams.
Duran is overrated. And I cannot imagine fighters of that ink ever uttering the
words ‘no mas’ under any circumstances. He is a very, very good fighter. But
top ten? No.”

Erik Arnold: “Duran was frustrated by Edwin Viruet, a speedster who lasted 25
rounds in two fights without ever being seriously hurt. I give Duran standing
because he beat Estaban DeJesus in return matches. He is a great lightweight but
I don’t think he is close to being the greatest. Jimmy Carter and Carlos Ortiz
would have beaten Duran. I think Enrique Bolanos, who gave Ike Williams a
very tough time, would have whipped him. I mean I would probably put Duran
in the top 20 lightweights but he would not rank very high. He would not beat
Beau Jack. I think he would have his hands full with Lauro Salas.

“I saw the tape of the Duran vs. Ray Lampkin fight a few years ago. It was
supposed to be one of his greatest wins. I thought Duran looked awful in that
supposed to be one of his greatest wins. I thought Duran looked awful in that
fight. They had whole exchanges where not one shot landed. It was much ado
about nothing. Mando Ramos, who was lightweight champ in the late 1960s,
would have given Duran life and death. Mando was not great but he was very
talented. And Duran did not fight many guys with Mando’s ability.”

Hank Kaplan, the dean of American boxing historians, grew up in New York
City. He saw his first professional fight in 1932: “Fighters like Eddie Cool, Wes
Ramey and Eddie Ran—among numerous other lightweight contenders of the
1930s—would have given Duran highly competitive fights. Ike Williams had the
ability and natural skills to outscore Roberto Duran. A fight between Duran and
Beau Jack would have packed Madison Square Garden. It would have been a
very interesting fight.”

Respectable

I can hear the cries of outrage coming from Roberto Duran’s army of admirers.
But keep in mind this is not an attempt to deny Duran a place among the greatest
lightweight boxers of all time. Nobody is calling him ordinary. That would be
ridiculous. Duran would have been a dangerous foe to any great champion or
contender of any era. What I am attempting to do is clarify Duran’s dominance
of the lightweight division in relation to the type of competition he faced.

The people quoted in this chapter are not casual observers or dilettantes. They
not only know history but also have an insight into the technical side of boxing
as well. The fighters they are comparing to Duran are among the greatest to ever
lace on a glove, with or without a title.

The bottom line is that Roberto Duran’s impressive victories over Sugar Ray
Leonard and Esteban DeJesus earned for him the respect of the old school
cognoscenti. But none of these experts believe he would have stood out as a
dominant champion—if indeed he could have won the title—during the Golden
Age of great lightweights.

Pernell Whitaker

After Pernell Whitaker won a gold medal in the 1984 Olympics, everyone in
boxing knew it was only a question of time before he captured the lightweight
championship. In 1988 the elusive southpaw with the confusing style confirmed
the predictions and won the title in his 17th pro fight. He quickly established
himself as one of the best boxers of his era and a dominant presence within the
himself as one of the best boxers of his era and a dominant presence within the
sport.

Tony Arnold: “A lot of people who look at the old films would think today’s
top fighters would kill the old timers, because they cannot recognize what the
old timers were capable of doing. That lack of understanding translates into
looking at a fighter like Pernell Whitaker and rating him as a great boxer.

“I think Whittaker is tremendously overrated. In his fight with De La Hoya I saw

him do a lot of amateurish things that seemed to confuse De La Hoya. Whittaker
was considered highly skilled but the moves that he made were strictly amateur
and I couldn’t understand how a guy squatting almost to the floor, totally off
balance with both feet even with each other, confused De La Hoya. Whittaker
did not have one foot behind for balance. Both feet were even. At that point a jab
to the forehead would have dropped him right on his backside.

“I think the reason he got away with all that stuff is that his opponents did not
know what to do with an unorthodox southpaw who had a lot of speed.
Whittaker’s speed combined with his amateurish moves was enough to confuse
them. And that shows how bad the fighters are today, because a smart fighter of
years ago wouldn’t fall for that. A guy like Beau Jack, for instance, even though
he wasn’t a skilled boxer, would have walked right through Whittaker. He would
have chased him right out of the ring.

“Whittaker’s way of confusing other fighters by squatting down were major

flaws. The minute he squats down like that you just pop him a jab on his
forehead and he’ll go right over on his ass. That confused fighters? That won
him fights? He’d get killed using those moves in the old days because if I’m a
top fighter you won’t be able to punch me back, you wont be able to keep your
balance. Every time you squat I’m going to flatten you. His opponents played
right into his hands by getting all confused and not knowing what to do and
saying, ‘Oh this guy is doing something strange, so I’ll just watch him and wait
till he does something normal so I can figure out what to do.’ So the ‘experts’
say, ‘Look at those masterful moves, he’s got the guy all confused.’ But what
they don’t see is that he’s fighting a guy who doesn’t have the basic skills to
understand when his opponent is making a mistake.”

Teddy Atlas: “I like Whittaker. I’m not going to give myself enough credit to
say he’s a crossover guy. I’m not going to say that. I’m judging him on the basis
that he fought the best guys around for his era, in all his weight classes. He
wasn’t a guy who was navigated. He is a guy who had a lot of amateur
experience and because of that amateur experience they made a choice, and a
confident choice, to fight pretty good fighters early on. He was technically
sound. He had the temperament of a fighter and showed it by fighting the best
guys of his time. I give him the best compliment I can give a guy; a real solid
fighter that you can put in with anybody.

“It’s safe to say he stood out in our generation. Would he have stood out in
previous generations? Would he have stood out in those days? Probably not. No,
he wouldn’t have. But I still give him his due because he learned the sport for
the times that he had to learn it. That’s all I can say. For his time he learned the
sport. And he was able to learn a style that he used, not only in an effective way,
but also in a very consistent way. And I think part of what affected his longevity
in a negative way at the end—and we can say this about a lot of guys—was his
living habits.

“Would I rank Pernell Whitaker among the ten greatest lightweights of all time?
No. I mean I like Whittaker a lot. But when you start looking at the guys from
those days, starting with Benny Leonard and Tony Canzoneri, and you look at
those other lightweight stars, just forget about it. People unfortunately never
heard of a Joe Gans. Whittaker would not have stood out in that era in the same
way. He would not be on the same pedestal that people have placed him for the
last two decades.”

Hank Kaplan: “Pernell Whitaker, in his time, had competition which suited his
skills, and he became one of the leading lights of the boxing community. In an
earlier era he would have been in the mix. But I think Lew Ambers, Ike
Williams and Tony Canzoneri were out of his class. Pernell was a good fighter
for his time. In the 1950s a fighter like Joe Miceli would have given him a very
interesting, competitive battle.”

Chuck Hasson: “Whittaker in almost 20 years had only 45 fights. Guys like
Robinson and Pep had over 200 fights. Fighters of their era had so many fights,
and they had to prove themselves every three weeks, whereas today the focus is
on being good twice a year. I think some of today’s fighters are good but they
just don’t hold up when you scrutinize the records. I think a guy like Sammy
Angott would have beaten Pernell Whitaker to death, he would have been on
him bending backwards.
“I mean even Ali didn’t know how to clinch. All he knew how to do was grab
and put his arm on the back of a guy’s head and push him down. It was effective
but it was a foul. And he was never called for that foul in his whole career. Of
course he generated all the income so he was allowed to get away with a lot of
things. When you generate the income you get the breaks.”

Tony Arnold: “It’s laughable to think of Pernell Whitaker in the same ring with
Lew Ambers. A lot of people don’t even remember Lew Ambers anymore.
Ambers was a tremendous fighter. If you watch the film of his fight with
Canzoneri you see a fast moving, highly skilled boxer. When you watch his fight
with Henry Armstrong you see one of the best infighters you’ve ever seen in
your life. Talk about looking good on the inside against a Henry Armstrong!

“Study that fight sometime and you will see Ambers cut Armstrong’s mouth to
ribbons with uppercuts. Ambers stayed inside the swarming Armstrong attack
and landed uppercuts in close and was able to generate the force as he punched
Armstrong on the inside. Of course he was punished himself. But you watch this
guy on the inside, how he kept his hands about shoulder height and he kept
twisting and turning inside Armstrong’s punches and countered with short hooks
and uppercuts—mainly uppercuts. He fought so beautifully on the inside. At the
end of the fight Armstrong was pretty banged up and Ambers wasn’t.

“Ambers was a great, great fighter. He had durability, he had skill, he had speed,
and he could fight at long range and on the inside. And that’s another thing. A
lot of guys today if they’re a boxer they box, but as far as infighting skills go,
there is something lacking.”
Lew Ambers (right) used skillful infighting techniques to win back the
lightweight title from the great Henry Armstrong in 1939.

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “Pernell Whitaker was able to take liberties with his
opponents and clown around because he was superior to most of them, and he
knew it.”

Rollie Hackmer: “Whittaker was one hell of a fighter. He was off balance some
of the time but some fighters could get away with that and do all right. They
made the appropriate matches for him. But no way would he have stood up to an
Ike Williams. No way. Do you know what Sandy Saddler would have done with
these guys?

“Oscar De La Hoya was one of your best fighters in recent years because he is a
scientific boxer and he does make good moves. He beat the best of his time. But
there is no way he would have stood with an Emile Griffith or the top
welterweights of the 1940s and ’50s. No way. Lester Felton would have beaten
him.”

Bill Goodman: “Roberto Duran, Sugar Ray Leonard, Marvin Hagler, Oscar De
La Hoya and Pernell Whitaker were the best of that period. They stood out for
the era they fought in. But they weren’t good enough to stand up—for my
money—with the great fighters of previous years. They would have been around
but we wouldn’t have been raving about them. They’d win a few, they’d lose a
few. They’d be ordinary contenders. Good prospects. All good prospects. It’s the
same with Mike Tyson, although I don’t think he would get that far. Mike Tyson
was a built up guy. He was around at the right time.”

Floyd Mayweather, Jr.

The latest owner of the “dominant champion” title is Floyd Mayweather, Jr. As
of December 2007, Floyd is undefeated in 39 fights, including 25 by knockout.
He has won titles in five separate weight divisions from junior lightweight (130
pounds) to junior middleweight (154 pounds). Most fans and boxing
commentators consider Floyd the best pound for pound boxer in the world today.

Tony Arnold: “From what I can see Floyd Mayweather does not have what they
used to call ‘ring guile’ or ‘ring generalship.’ He uses speed and quick hands to
defeat opponents that are slower moving. He dominates with his speed, which is
enough to overcome fighters with third-rate skills. But years ago you needed
more than speed to dominate really good fighters.
“The old time fighters were cagey. They used head and shoulder feints to draw
leads. They would have done the same to Floyd. That’s a lost art; drawing leads
to make a guy throw the kind of punches you want him to throw so you know
what you’re going to counter with. If you look at the film of one of the Lew
Ambers vs. Tony Canzoneri fights you could see where Ambers would try to
force Canzoneri to jab at him by lowering his head and moving his shoulders
side to side. He was enticing Canzoneri to throw the kind of punch that he
wanted. Little moves like that. And they did it so quick and so subtle you had to
really watch for it.

“Canzoneri would do the same thing to Ambers. He tried to sucker Ambers into
throwing a right hand or a left jab. They could actually almost read what the
other guy was going to throw just by the moves they made. Floyd Mayweather,
Jr., is so totally removed from that kind of skill because he never learned it.

“Mayweather doesn’t capitalize on an opponent’s mistakes—he just bewilders

them with speed and throws a lot of fast punches and moves around quick.
That’s enough to win the fight. Mayweather wouldn’t know how to make a
fighter do what he wants him to do. If he met a fighter who was crafty enough
not to be bewildered by his speed, I don’t think he would know how to handle
him. Against third rate opponents Mayweather’s speed is enough to make him
look like a defensive genius.

“I was not very impressed by Mayweather’s recent performance against Zab

Judah. Supposedly great fighters don’t beat ordinary fighters unimpressively.
They dominate them. I didn’t see Mayweather really dominate Zab Judah. Ray
Leonard fought his share of second raters and he’d bomb them out in no time.
He’d totally destroy them. Second raters don’t belong in the same ring with great
fighters and it shows. So how good can these current guys be when they beat
ordinary fighters in ‘ho hum’ fights? I think Zab Judah wouldn’t have lasted
three or four rounds with either Sugar Ray Leonard or Tommy Hearns.

“If Judah was a more motivated fighter he could have won his fight with
Mayweather. Almost every time he stepped inside he was able to hit
Mayweather. I don’t care how good a boxer is, he’s going to get hit with
punches. But Mayweather got hit too often. If Judah was more motivated and
was able to hurt Mayweather—which he didn’t seem able to do—I think he
could have won the fight.

“Mayweather is quicker than the other guy, he throws faster punches, he

“Mayweather is quicker than the other guy, he throws faster punches, he
maneuvers around, but he doesn’t show any real skills. I didn’t see any real
feinting or good head movement. I never saw him slip and counter. Not once. I
didn‘t see any skill in that area at all. He’s got so many flaws.”

Floyd Mayweather, Jr., vs. Oscar De La Hoya

In May 2007 Floyd Mayweather Jr. met his toughest challenge in the person of
Oscar De La Hoya, the most talented and experienced opponent he had ever
faced. Mayweather won their highly anticipated mega fight, for De La Hoya’s
154-pound title, on a split 12 round decision.

Teddy Atlas: “In the old days there were fighters who were good defensively,
but the difference was they had the attitude, and the wherewithal, to go and find
a way to create an offense that would make it possible to take control of the
opponent in a more meaningful way, in a more dominant way, and in a much
more productive way.

“Even a recent fighter like Sugar Ray Leonard, who I think was a terrific fighter,
would find a way to be aggressive and get to his opponent while at the same time
maintaining a responsible defense. He would not just find a way to do enough to
just get by. If you want proof of that in a contemporary setting—about as
contemporary as I can get—you can go back to the first Sugar Ray Leonard vs.
Tommy Hearns fight in 1981.

“In that fight Leonard hurt Hearns early and Tommy made an adjustment to stay
on the outside and use his reach more. He started using his legs and instead of
becoming a ‘Hit Man’ he became a ‘Moving Man.’ He decided to move and use
his longer arms, superior height, and fast hands. This created some problems for
Leonard. He was dropping a lot of rounds trying to deal with Tommy’s sudden
change of style and the way he was using his physical assets. If Ray had been
inclined to just stay defensive and say, ‘I’m not going to be hit with these long
punches, I’m just going to take the jab away by not standing there or by stepping
out’—or whatever—he would have lost that fight. But he had to make a decision
then. Ray had to make an adjustment to be more aggressive and take chances,
but at the same time he had the responsibility of dealing with all these physical
things that were in front of him—the speed of Hearns, the power of Hearns. But
he had to make a decision at that point in the fight and say to himself, ‘If I don’t
find a way to create offense in a different way now, and be aggressive, I’m going
to lose this fight.’”
Floyd Mayweather, Jr. (left), won a close decision over Oscar De La Hoya in
their 2007 mega fight. Floyd's overwhelming speed compensates for his lack
of boxing technique (AP/Wide World Photos).

“In his fight against Oscar De La Hoya, there didn’t seem to be an ability shown
to you by Mayweather to create another way to get to him—other than when De
La Hoya made it easy for him and just opened the door for him by walking in
with no jab and not offering up the answers and the resistance that he should
have. The only offense that was created by Mayweather was actually given to
him by his opponent. It was served up on a silver platter. He didn’t have to go
and find it. He didn’t have to create it. And he didn’t have to do what you’d
think a fighter at that kind of level could do. It was given to him by De La Hoya
not doing what he needed to do and by just walking in and making himself really
available.

“And I think that’s one of the big differences. You cannot get intoxicated to the
point where you are comparing Floyd Mayweather, Jr., to one of the great
fighters of all time. I’m not taking anything away from Floyd, but I think it’s
fighters of all time. I’m not taking anything away from Floyd, but I think it’s
insulting to the great fighters and to the great history of the sport to make that
comparison.

“As for Oscar De La Hoya, part of his legacy—in addition to all the money he
has made and all the good he has done for the sport—has to be that he found a
way to lose almost every one of his big fights. In the Mosley and Trinidad fights
he did not make adjustments that would have made a difference in winning or
losing those fights. He chose the wrong fight plan or strategy just about every
time going into those fights. Against Mayweather the way to go about it was to
find out what advantages he had that could take away whatever strength he could
from Mayweather. De La Hoya’s advantages over Mayweather were his
experience and reach. If used properly those advantages would have taken speed
out of the equation.

“I remember somebody asking me before the fight if De La Hoya could deal

with the speed of Mayweather. I said, ‘No, but he can win the fight.’ He thought
that sounded pretty contradictory. I said, ‘No, it’s not contradictory—it’s boxing.
Haven’t you heard of boxing before?’

“Boxing means using your head, using geometry, using the science of angles, the
science of adjustments. And all you have to do is make it a kind of landscape
where the other guy can’t use what he has. You fight in a place where speed
doesn’t come into play. You use your reach to keep your opponent at a certain
distance where you can time him. Timing can always get the better of speed
when it’s used properly and understood properly. You time your opponent and
keep him at the end of your punches. And if you use your reach properly you are
not giving him anything to counter. Whenever De La Hoya used his left jab this
‘great’ fighter Mayweather looked like he had no answers. But when Oscar
didn’t use his jab and just walked in, it looked like Oscar had the problem.

“There were inconsistencies in Oscar that you just shouldn’t see in a fighter of
that seasoning and that ilk. And you wouldn’t have seen it in the old days. I’m
not knocking the guy. I mean, how can you knock a guy that’s made this much
money and been the face of boxing for so long. I’m just saying to put things in
perspective in a fair way. De La Hoya did not use his jab consistently enough.
When he didn’t jab it was easy for Mayweather to pot shot him, to out speed
him, and to counter punch him coming in. It was very cooperative and friendly
of De La Hoya when he didn’t use his jab, but whenever he did Mayweather had
no answer.
“When De La Hoya forced Mayweather to the ropes he flailed away instead of
placing his punches in the right way. You would expect a fighter at that level to
find the right places and to know what the right places were, and where they
were. De La Hoya threw his punches almost in a hopeful way. Real top guys
don’t throw in a hopeful way. They throw their punches in a defined way—in a
way that their experience and judgment tells them they need to throw.”

Speed Masquerading as Cleverness

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “I think the critics have a misunderstanding of the

difference between speed of movement and speed of attack. Those fast and
elusive old time boxers we saw always were involved in maintaining the attack.
They were always looking for spots to land effective punches. They weren’t
runners doing nothing and then jumping in and throwing a flurry of punches.
They were different.

“Ali never ran away like Mayweather. Ali was fast but he was moving left to
right and looking to hit you with punches. Sugar Ray Robinson was also
extremely fast. He was up on the soles of his feet bouncing and moving left to
right. But he wasn’t running here and running there. He was interested in making
contact with his punches. And Robinson was a very hard puncher.

“Mayweather just wants to punch and run. But against those old time
welterweight and middleweight fighters you are not going to do that because
they’re going to keep you on the ropes and hit you with clean punches. He could
run all he wants but sooner or later he has to come in to make contact with his
opponent and then those guys are going to tie him up and grab him, push him
into the corner, push him up against the ropes and start ripping punches up.

“When De La Hoya had Mayweather on the ropes he was unable to hurt him or
keep him there. You’ve got to be able to slide and move in. De La Hoya doesn’t
know how to do that. He doesn’t know how to move under punches. He’s in that
crouch but he doesn’t bend under and really get down. He’s slapping
Mayweather 100 times with that left hand when he’s got him on the ropes and
it’s ineffective.

“What De La Hoya should have done when he had Mayweather on the ropes was
to stay right in his middle. He should have had his head right in the middle of his
chest. You then take a step back to get leverage and throw an uppercut or hook.
De La Hoya did not know how to keep him on the ropes. Neither fighter landed
De La Hoya did not know how to keep him on the ropes. Neither fighter landed
any terrific punches; no right cross combinations or left hooks underneath and
over … real punches that dug in. They also did not appear to know how to step
in with their punches.

“This fight wasn’t any kind of test that establishes the credibility of greatness.
They both looked like a pair of ordinary ten round fighters. They traveled the
distance well but, as I’ve said, they are not getting hit by guys that are going to
hurt you. The better old timers would feel they’re opponent out for a couple of
rounds and then, all of a sudden, ‘bing, bang’ you’d see some dynamite punches
coming in.

“Carmen Basilio would have beaten both De La Hoya and Mayweather. They
are not in Emile Griffith’s class either. And how about Kid Gavilan? I mean
Gavilan’s going to fire punches that make a difference. And he’s strong and he’s
pushing you. Gavilan would have Mayweather on the run, up against the ropes.
He’d be throwing that bolo and other shots and he’s hurting Mayweather. It’s a
different kind of fight.

“Fighters like Joey Archer and Billy Graham are going to box Mayweather.
They’d have that left hand out in front and throwing combination punches. They
are going to box him. And when Mayweather jumps in to deliver his quick
punches he’s not going to hit anybody because they’re going to tie him up and
put him back out there. It’s going to be a boxing match. The old pros are looking
at him and arranging for where they’re going to attack and they’re setting him
up.

“The old timers came to fight. He could do all the running, but they wouldn’t get
caught up in his evasive movements. Mayweather has speed, but it is not
combined with cleverness. They’d just wait until he’s in position where they
could hit him. He’s going to have to fight sometime. The referee is going to tell
him, ‘Look, you’ve got to engage this guy.’ We’ve seen fighters run all night
and people began booing and carrying on. So he can run around but when he
fights a superior pro you’d see a different fight. You won’t see it today because
no one knows how to do that. Fighters like Fritzie Zivic gave people college
educations. There’s no one around like that today.”

Tony Arnold: “Oscar De La Hoya was the first fighter Mayweather fought that
was about equal to his ability and he couldn’t do anything with him. If De La
Hoya had used the right strategy, his strength and his punching power would
have won the fight for him. I’m not saying he would have knocked Mayweather
out, but he would have kept control of the fight and won. But the fact is De La
Hoya was too tentative. I know he was ring rusty and all that but he had the tools
to beat Mayweather. I don’t know why he stopped, or slowed down to wait for
Mayweather to finish jabbing before he moved forward again. De La Hoya
should have used his own jab more often to break up Mayweather’s rhythm. But
when De La Hoya did use his jab, he threw the punch without stepping in. Never
once did I see either fighter step in with the jab so they could set up some power
shots.

“Mayweather’s jab is so tentative and ineffective I can’t even call it a jab. His
right foot was already going back as he threw it. He was backing off because
he’s very cautious and he was worried about a counter punch. The jab was just
keeping distance between him and De La Hoya. It wasn’t being used to out box
De La Hoya, it wasn’t controlling the fight and it wasn’t even a good defensive
move because he wasn’t able to do anything. He just jabbed and backed off. But
that tentative jab was enough to keep De La Hoya at long range for much of the
fight.

“Mayweather’s strategy was to hit De La Hoya with quick pot shots and dance
away and just pile up enough points to stay ahead, which he barely did. I mean
the fight was practically even as far as I’m concerned. Mayweather did not set
anything up. He didn’t make De La Hoya miss and then counter. He was relying
on his speed and luck to land punches. They were just flailing at each other. I
didn’t see any smart combinations. I did not see any good calculating counter
punching. I never saw either fighter throw a two or three-punch combination.
There was no taking advantage of mistakes. There was no looking for
opportunities. I don’t think they would have known an opportunity if it fell on
them. Mayweather and De La Hoya are not thinking fighters with the skill or
experience to know what to look for.

“Both fighters should have looked at films of the third Jersey Joe Walcott vs.
Ezzard Charles fight [1951]. Walcott, an expert counter puncher, was looking for
an opportunity to get past Charles’ left jab. They had fought twice before and
Charles was beating him easily. After the first few rounds the fight was going
pretty much the way the first two fights went. But in the seventh round Charles
threw out a lazy left jab. He was only allowed one lazy jab because Walcott was
waiting the whole night for something like that—and he slipped inside that left
jab and banged home a left hook and it was all over. And that’s what a thinking
fighter does. He looks for opportunities. I never saw De La Hoya look for an
fighter does. He looks for opportunities. I never saw De La Hoya look for an
opportunity or, better yet, create an opportunity, because he doesn’t have the
skill. He’s not the type of fighter that thinks along those lines. I can’t really say
this for sure—I haven’t seen his whole career—but De La Hoya is probably the
same fighter he was when he first started fighting, other than getting a little more
experience.

“When De La Hoya had Mayweather against the ropes he threw weak,

ineffective punches. He never hurt Mayweather. He’d pound away with
meaningless shots to the body or try to chop his shots to his head but he couldn’t
get any leverage. All De La Hoya had to do was take a short step back and move
in with two, three shots. He needed to give himself a little room to get leverage
on those punches. Mayweather was tying up Oscar’s right hand and Oscar was
banging away with lefts to the ribs. But he was in so close to Mayweather that it
was just like somebody slapping you in the side. There was no real power. De La
Hoya needed more room to wind up with that left and dig it. He needed room to
pivot and move his shoulders and get his hips into those punches. De La Hoya is
an experienced fighter and it was surprising to see him flailing away like an
amateur. I know he was rusty and the layoff affected his timing, but there is no
excuse for the tactics that he used. When you get inside you are supposed to
know how to move and maneuver so you can get leverage on your punches. The
art of infighting is totally gone.

“These are supposed to be great fighters, but there was no strategy by either
Mayweather or De La Hoya. Two of the hottest fighters of this era in the biggest
monetary fight in boxing history and what you see are ordinary performances by
ordinary fighters. There was no real display of skill or strategy. What did
Mayweather do with his speed? He made De La Hoya chase him. That’s all. He
didn’t use his speed like a Willie Pep to maneuver around an opponent’s
defenses and hit him with sharp combinations and then move out of the way. I’m
talking about using speed in a clever way. Mayweather just used his speed to
keep himself from getting hit. And that’s supposed to be great.”

Unskilled Labor

Carlos Ortiz: “It wasn’t an exciting fight. It was a mediocre fight. Mayweather
and De La Hoya didn’t show anything to prove they were great fighters. They’re
good fighters who fought like two mediocre fighters. But that’s what you have
today. Do you understand? They couldn’t compete with the great fighters of the
past.

“You are talking to an ex-lightweight and junior welterweight champion that

held the titles for over six years and fought 72 times. I am not going to say there
are many fighters better than me. It’s impossible. Can you name any lightweight
of the past 20 years that could beat me? I’m a proud fighter and I say I can beat
everyone. That says it all.

“Mayweather is just a regular fighter with great speed. He would have a lot of
trouble in my time because every fighter that you fought in my time was a good
fighter and was trying to get to the title. There was only one champion per
weight class and there were three to four thousand fighters looking for that title.
Today you don’t have that competition.

“De La Hoya doesn’t impress me. He is a good fighter for today. In my time De
La Hoya would just be considered mediocre. If I got 20 million dollars for a
fight I would have retired from boxing. I don’t need fighting after making that
kind of money. You know boxing is the roughest, toughest and most dangerous
sport. You only get into boxing when you really, really need the money and you
cannot go out and get a good paying job. The champions of today never had it so
good.”

Bill Goodman: “What comes to mind when I watch today’s fighters are the
words ‘unskilled labor.’ Floyd Mayweather, Jr., and Oscar De La Hoya are the
best of the unskilled labor. They stand out because there’s nobody around. They
also stand out because they resemble more of what we used to see. But when
compared to the top welterweights and middleweights that I saw years ago,
Mayweather and De La Hoya are just better than average second rate fighters.
That’s the way I look at both of them.

“I know that many fans will vehemently disagree with me. But you have a
different caliber of individual watching fights today than you did in bygone eras.
Years ago you had fighters who were more knowledgeable and more skillful, so
the fans knew to look for certain things. Most boxing fans today are between 20
and 40 years old, so what do they remember? They don’t know.

“Floyd Mayweather, Jr., has a great deal of natural ability. But it hasn’t been
brought out the way it was with the fighters of years ago. I don’t think he jabs
enough. And he doesn’t take advantage of opportunities. He ducks and slips
punches but instead of taking advantage of what he just did, he lets it go by. He
punches but instead of taking advantage of what he just did, he lets it go by. He
doesn’t follow up. He makes some pretty moves, and looks nice doing it, but
nothing happens. He doesn’t fire. Mayweather throws one left hand and he stops
punching. He doesn’t follow it up with 2–3–4 left jabs like they did years ago.
Consequently, he doesn’t get a barrage going, he doesn’t get any momentum.
Like I said—it’s unskilled labor.

“Oscar was trying to put him away but it didn’t happen. He was looking to throw
those left hooks to the body and slow him down, which is the right thing to do,
but to do that you’ve got to work your way in with your left jab in order to get
close enough, which he wasn’t doing.

“Mayweather is very fast, but he does not compare to those better welterweights
that were around years ago. How can you compare him to a guy like Tommy
Bell from the 1940s? It’s night and day. Of course someone who doesn’t know
Tommy Bell would see a number of losses on his record and not be impressed.
But look at who he fought! Bell fought anybody and everybody. Like most
fighters he stayed around a lot longer than he should have, but in his prime he
would have licked both Mayweather and De La Hoya with one hand tied behind
his back.

“Even a guy like Gil Turner, who was a 1950s welterweight contender, wouldn’t
have any trouble with either Mayweather or De La Hoya. Isaac Logart and Gene
Burton wouldn’t have any problem with them either. Not only were these
contenders well educated; they put their education to use. They fought frequently
and kept busy—and they were better fighters.

“They talk about Mayweather’s speed, but he isn’t as fast and as skillful as
Bernie Docusen, who fought Sugar Ray Robinson for the title in 1948 and gave
him plenty of trouble. Would you say Mayweather’s going to give Ray Robinson
as a welterweight plenty of trouble? There’s no comparison. But you go and tell
that to a young boxing fan today and they think you’re a psycho.”

Athletically Gifted

Floyd Mayweather, Jr. is an exceptionally talented athlete. He possesses

outstanding hand speed and the unique ability to quickly turn and twist his upper
body to avoid punches. These are athletic and instinctive skills. Floyd continues
to win fights without strategizing because his mostly third rate opponents
haven’t a clue as to how to counter his whippet speed. The faux experts praise
his “technical skill” because they cannot differentiate between extreme speed
his “technical skill” because they cannot differentiate between extreme speed
and sophisticated boxing technique. The fact is no skilled boxer would be as
easy to hit with a left jab as Mayweather proved to be in his fight with De La
Hoya.

In his prime Oscar De La Hoya would have gained the edge and beaten
Mayweather. But that’s not saying much. Any top welterweight contender of the
1950s and 1960s would have either pressured Mayweather into defeat or out
boxed him. And you can throw in about half a dozen-welter champs from the
1970s and 80s as well.

It is right that Mayweather is today’s “pound for pound” champ because in a

pugilistic population lacking both seasoning and ring savvy, fighters with
superior athletic prowess automatically rise to the top and Mayweather just
happens to be the most athletically gifted fighter currently active.

Floyd Mayweather, Jr., vs. Ricky Hatton

The December 2007 mega-fight between Floyd and Ricky Hatton will attest to
these opinions. If Floyd Mayweather, Jr., is the great fighter he professes to be,
he should have dominated Ricky Hatton from the start. Hatton relies almost
solely on conditioning and pressure to win. By Golden Age standards he is a
crude but decent club fighter who always puts on a good show. Yet this game
but ordinary fighter was able to give the world’s best boxer a tough and
competitive fight for nine out of ten rounds. Mayweather himself said that
Hatton “was definitely the toughest competitor I’ve ever faced.”3

I am not discounting Floyd’s solid left hook that ended matters in the tenth
round, but if Hatton had known how to pace himself and if someone had taught
him some basic defensive moves, or even how to use a left jab, he could have
lasted the distance and made the fight even more uncomfortable for Mayweather.
Floyd’s inability to dominate a fighter as limited as Hatton emphasized his own
limitations. The same weaknesses displayed in the De La Hoya fight were seen
in the Hatton fight, but deserve greater criticism because Hatton is not in De La
Hoya’s class as a fighter.

Hatton charged like a bull, but Mayweather, instead of playing matador and
stepping to either side, was forced straight back to the ropes, where he and
Hatton spent much of the fight ineffectually wrestling with each other. It was
fortunate for him that the Manchester Mauler did not know what to do with
Mayweather once he had him on the ropes. What if the fighter pressuring
Mayweather once he had him on the ropes. What if the fighter pressuring
Mayweather was a seasoned pro who knew how to fight on the inside, knew how
to time and set up punches behind a strong jab, and who knew how to pressure
and feint Mayweather into mistakes?

Floyd Mayweather, Jr., is not to blame for his less than stellar performances
against Ricky Hatton and Oscar De La Hoya. The best fighters of today are a
product of their time. Every fight is a reflection of the type of inadequate
instruction and experience they are exposed to.

If Floyd was born 50 years earlier his athleticism and natural ability would be
the foundation—not the end product—for his development into a seasoned and
technically proficient fighter. Under the watchful eye of a master trainer Floyd’s
physical gifts would have been supplemented with the footwork, moves, strategy
and overall ring generalship that is missing from his repertoire. He also would
have gained the experience and seasoning needed to compete with the top
fighters of the Golden Age of talent and activity. But even then his success
would not have been guaranteed in that fierce competitive jungle. What is
certain is that without those added dimensions, Floyd’s athleticism and natural
ability would not have been enough to establish a claim of greatness.

Professor Archie Moore on the Subject of Dominance

I’ll leave the final word on the relative aspects of dominance to that wise old
boxing sage, Archie Moore. “The Methuselah of the Prize Ring” is unfortunately
no longer with us but his amazing career speaks volumes.

Moore fought professionally from 1935 to 1963. He recorded a total of 229

fights, of which he won 194, including 141 by knockout. Moore is the all time
KO king, having knocked out more opponents than any other fighter. This
remarkable athlete was almost 40 years old when he won the light heavyweight
title in 1952 from another aging old pro, Joey Maxim. It was Moore’s 177th pro
fight.

In the decade prior to winning the championship Moore was rated among the top
five middleweights and light heavyweights. He fought other great African-
American fighters who were similarly frustrated in their attempts to lure a
champion into the ring. Several of these fighters were as good as—or better than
champion into the ring. Several of these fighters were as good as—or better than
—Moore. In the 1940s they kept him from establishing a dominant position in
the middleweight and light heavyweight divisions. During his prime Moore lost
to Charley Burley, Eddie Booker, Ezzard Charles and Aaron (Tiger) Wade. He
also split wins and losses with Jack Chase, Jimmy Bivins and Holman Williams.

By the mid–1950s the handful of great fighters that had bedeviled Archie during
his prime had all retired. The younger post-war generation of boxers moving into
the light heavyweight ratings were less experienced and ring savvy. The great
old pro was not the athlete he once was but he could still use his vast experience
and potent punching power to dominate a diminished light heavyweight division.
Over the next nine years he also made many successful forays into the
perennially weak heavyweight division, eventually fighting for that title
(unsuccessfully) on two occasions. In other words, because of the lesser quality
of his competition, the 1950s version of Archie was able to achieve the type of
dominance that had eluded him during his prime.

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “If Archie Moore were fighting today, as he was in the
1940s and 1950s, he’d probably be heavyweight champion.”

No More Great Fighters

It is high time for boxing’s overused words “dominant” and “great” to be given a
rest. Since the 1990s both words have been used to wretched excess. Let’s be
perfectly clear: there are no great fighters today, and under the present
circumstances it is impossible to produce one.

One can argue which decade of the 20th century was most prolific in producing
the world’s best boxers, but I am confident, as is every expert interviewed for
this book, that professional boxers were never better than those who fought from
the 1920s to the 1950s—boxing’s Golden Age of talent, activity … and true
greatness.
 13
The Bigger They Are—The Harder They Fall

Ruslan Chagaev outpointed Nikolai Valuev yesterday to take the 7-

foot Russian’s World Boxing Association heavyweight title….
Chagaev gave away 11 inches in height and 90 pounds to Valuev.
Associated Press, April 15, 2007

All a heavyweight’s got to be is over 200 pounds. Any guy that weighs
210 is big enough. Joe Louis, in his best day, he was 205 and he was
knocking out giants. Look at Rocky Marciano, he was under 190 in all
his fights.1
George Benton, renowned trainer and former top middleweight
contender

For most of the 20th century, fighters weighing between 190 and 210 pounds
dominated the heavyweight division. This appeared to be the ideal weight range
for a heavyweight. However, over the past 20 years most heavyweight
contenders and champions have weighed between 230 and 260 pounds. The
disappearance of the “small” heavyweight was due to the creation of the
cruiserweight (also known as junior heavyweight) division in 1980 for fighters
weighing between 175 and 200 pounds. The new weight division effectively
eliminated competition between small and large heavyweights. This has led to
the false impression among many fans and sportswriters that today’s huge 250
pound dreadnoughts would have been too big and strong for the smaller
heavyweight champions and contenders of yesteryear—legends included.

Although the appearance of so many “super sized” heavyweights seems to be a

recent phenomenon, the species is not new to boxing. There have always been
giant heavyweights roaming the boxing landscape. Two of them even won the
title in the early decades of the 20th century. Interestingly, both Jess Willard, 6' 6
¼", 245 pounds, and Primo Carnera, 6' 5 ¾", 265 pounds, won their titles in
bouts whose authenticity is still in question.

While not as bad as many critics claim, Jess Willard and Primo Carnera are rated
among the lower echelon of heavyweight champions. They also lost their titles
to much smaller men. Actually, lost is not the right word. They were annihilated.

In 1919 Willard was savaged in three rounds by 6' 1", 187 pound Jack Dempsey.
In 1934 Max Baer, 6' 2 ½", 210 pounds, bounced Carnera off the canvas 11
times in 11 rounds before the bout was mercifully stopped. Both Dempsey and
Baer were outweighed by 60 pounds.
At 6' 5 3/4" and 265 pounds, Primo Carnera (heavyweight champion 1933-
1934) would have been right at home among today's dreadnoughts. Left to
right: Gus Martel, former amateur champion, Carnera and co-manager
Leon See (The International Hall of Champions).

The ferocious Dempsey was a genuine “giant killer.” He took out Carl Morris (6'
4", 235 pounds) in less than a round, stopped the aforementioned Willard in
three, and flattened Fred Fulton (6' 4", 220 pounds) in 18 seconds of the first
round. In his famous title defense against the Argentinean contender Luis Angel
Firpo (6' 3", 220 pounds), Dempsey dropped the “Wild Bull of the Pampas” nine
times before knocking him out in the first minute of the second round.

Other notable “giant killers” included early 1900s light heavyweight champions
Bob Fitzimmons and Kid McCoy, both of whom knocked out opponents
weighing 300 pounds. In 1914 Joe Jeanette, 5' 10" and 197 pounds, easily
outpointed 240-pound “Battling” Jim Johnson in 10 rounds. Two years later Kid
Norfolk—8 inches shorter and 50 pounds lighter than his opponent—
convincingly beat 6' 6 ½", 225 pound Bill Tate in a 20 round fight. In a return
match Norfolk knocked Tate out in the seventh round. A film of their first
contest exists. It shows the very powerful Norfolk chasing his much larger
opponent all over the ring. Norfolk solved the problem of height by actually
jumping up to reach Tate with his left jab.

By the early 1930s there were enough “super sized” heavyweights for the New
York State Athletic Commission to briefly consider creating a separate
“dreadnought” division. Fighters such as Carnera, Jose Santa (6'6 ½", 250
pounds), Ray Impellitiere (6'7", 270 pounds), Vittorio Compolo (6'9", 230
pounds) and George Godfrey (6'4", 240 pounds) were thought to be too big for
average sized heavyweights weighing less than 200 pounds. The necessity for a
dreadnought division was short lived. It quickly became apparent that virtually
all of these hulking heavies, with the exception of Godfrey, were harmless
giants. Every one of them ended up losing to normal size boxers.

Ray Impellitiere, despite a 70 pound weight advantage, was knocked out by 183
pound Bob Pastor in seven rounds and outpointed three times by 185 pound
Tommy Loughran. Jose Santa lost to 200 pound “KO” Christener. Vittorio
Compolo lost to 196 pound Johnny Risko. Carnera was KO’d twice by 200
pound Leroy Haynes.

In 1931 the irrepressible “Toy Bulldog,” Mickey Walker, former welterweight

In 1931 the irrepressible “Toy Bulldog,” Mickey Walker, former welterweight
and middleweight champion, slapped on ten pounds and challenged any
heavyweight in the world. He fought a 15 round draw with ex-champ Jack
Sharkey (198 pounds) and won a decision over “Bearcat” Wright (6' 4", 210
pounds). Standing 5' 7" and weighing 170 pounds, the solidly built Walker was
considered more of a title threat than any dreadnought.

My intention is not to minimize the difficult task of defeating a much heavier

opponent. Contemporary dreadnoughts—such as 6' 3", 255 pound Sam Peter, 6'
7", 260 pound Vitaly Klitschko and the giant 7', 320 pound Russian, Nikolai
Valuev—present formidable physical obstacles to smaller opponents. But we are
talking heavyweight vs. heavyweight. A 50 pound weight disadvantage would
pose an insurmountable problem for a 110 pound flyweight against a 160 pound
middleweight. No boxing commission would dare sanction such a match. On the
other hand, a fighter weighing in the vicinity of 200—give or take 10 to 15
pounds—has enough body mass to be physically competitive against another
heavyweight, no matter his size. It is a simple matter of physics.

As the following list reveals, a 30 to 100 pound weight advantage does not
automatically insure victory for the heavier heavyweight (winners are listed
first).

1930s:

Max Baer 6' 2 ½" 204 KO-10 Jose Santa 6' 8 ½" 244; Joe Louis 6' 1 ½" 199 KO-
6 Primo Carnera 6' 5" 264; Tommy Loughran 6' 184 W-10 Victorio Campolo 6'
9" 232; Mickey Walker 5' 7" 175 KO-1 Arthur De Kuh 6' 3" 228

1940s:

Joe Louis 6' 1 ½" 207 ½ KO-6 Abe Simon 6' 5" 255; Jack Coggins 5' 10" 183
KO 4 Blimp Williams 6' 5" 270; Lem Franklin 6' 196 W-10 Abe Simon 6' 4 ½"
250; Lee Q. Murray 6' 192 KO-2 Elza Thompson 6' 4" 239; Gunnar Barlund 6'
1" 202 KO-5 Gil Stromquist 6' 8" 247; Gunnar Barlund 6' 1" 200 ¼ KO-7 Buddy
Baer 6' 6" 242; Tiger Jack Fox 5' 11" 184 KO-9 Eddie Blunt 6' 4" 220; Curtis
“Hatchetman” Sheppard 5' 11" 185 KO-11 Big Boy Brown 6' 1" 245; Curtis
“Hatchetman” Sheppard 5' 11" 183 W-12 Al Hart 6' 2" 228; Doug Ellison 190
KO-5 Robin “Tiny” Lee 6' 7" 263; Pat Valentino 6' 178 W-10 Big Boy Brown 6'
1" 255; Lou Nova 6' 2" 209 KO-7 Ben Moroz 6' 8" 289; Tommy Gomez 6' 185
KO-6 Ben Moroz 6' 8" 295 (Moroz was one of the biggest fighters in
heavyweight history; his record was 21–17–1 [17 KOs]. Ten of his 17 losses
heavyweight history; his record was 21–17–1 [17 KOs]. Ten of his 17 losses
were to fighters weighing less than 200 pounds)

1950s:

John Holman 6' 3" 203 W-10 Ewart Potgeiter 7' 2" 323; Rocky Marciano 5' 10
½" 183 KO-1 Jerry Jackson 254; Ted Lowry 5' 10" 174 W-10 George
Parmentier 6' 6" 225

1960s:

J.J. Woody 6' 197 W-10 Jim Beattie 6' 8" 240; Joe Frazier 5' 11" 211 KO-11
Buster Mathis 6' 3" 242; Cassius Clay 6' 2 ½" 194 ½ W-10 Kolo “Duke”
Sabedong 6' 7" 230

1970s:

Jerry Quarry 6' 196 W-10 Buster Mathis 6' 3" 235; Howard Smith 6' 3" 197 W-
10 Jack O’Halloran 6' 6" 247; Joe Roman 5' 10" 197 W-10 Jack O’Halloran 6' 6"
241; Larry Holmes 6' 3" 205 W-10 Roy Williams 6' 5" 238

1980s:

Marvis Frazier 6' 198 W-10 James “Bonecrusher” Smith 6' 4" 234; Marvis
Frazier 6' 202 W-10 Phil Jackson 6' 5" 244; Larry Holmes 6' 3" 211 KO-8 Leroy
Jones 6' 5" 254

1990s:

Evander Holyfield 6' 3 ½" 208 KO-3 Buster Douglas 6' 4 ½" 246

2000s:

Roy Jones, Jr. 5'11'' 193 W-12 John Ruiz 6'2'' 226; Ruslan Chagaev 6' 1" 228 W-
12 Nikolai Valuev 7' 319; Sultan Ibragimov 6' 2" 221 W-12 Shannon Briggs 6'
4" 273

Bigger in Weight—Smaller in Skill

 Bigger in Weight—Smaller in Skill

Prior to the 1980s very few fighters weighing over 210 pounds were able to
achieve a top ten rating in the heavyweight division. This was not due to any
shortage of big heavyweights. It was because those pesky “small but tough”
heavyweights kept knocking them off. Of the 28 fighters who won the
heavyweight championship from 1882 to 1982, 19 weighed less than 210
pounds. Only two weighed in excess of 220 pounds (the aforementioned Willard
and Carnera). From 1983 to 2007 there have been 46 fighters recognized as
heavyweight champion by the various sanctioning organizations. Only four have
weighed less than 220 pounds [Weights are at time of winning the title].

Twenty-five years ago fighters such as James “Bonecrusher” Smith (6' 4", 235
pounds) and James Broad (6' 5", 240 pounds) foreshadowed the rise of the super
sized heavyweight. “Bonecrusher” Smith was a talented athlete who briefly held
a portion of the fragmented heavyweight title in 1986–87. James Broad showed
some initial promise but was undisciplined and eventually ate his way out of
contention.

Marvis Frazier (Joe’s son) wasn’t interested in being cruiserweight champion of

the world. He wanted his dad’s old title. Marvis was a “small” heavyweight at 6'
1" and 198 pounds. But he was a fine boxer and had his father’s pedigree.
Despite giving away over 40 pounds, he easily outboxed both Smith and Broad.
Marvis did not fare as well in subsequent fights against Larry Holmes and Mike
Tyson. But weight had nothing to do with his knockout losses to Holmes and
Tyson. They were just better fighters.

The disappearance of the small but skilled 190 to 210 pound heavyweight is the
reason why mediocrities such as John Ruiz, Frez Oquendo, Shannon Briggs,
Jameel McCline and Nikolai Valuev continue to be ranked among today’s top
ten heavyweights. In other words, in a heavyweight division so devoid of talent,
what used to be found floating at the bottom of the barrel has now risen to the
top.

Today a fighter weighing around 200 pounds is faced with a choice; he can
either stay in the largely ignored and less lucrative cruiserweight division (175 to
200 pounds) or he can increase his calorie intake, lift weights and ingest various
supplements (natural and unnatural) in order to gain 20 to 40 additional pounds.

Many fighters are under the impression that added muscle and weight will
improve their punching power. But the hardest punching heavyweights of the
improve their punching power. But the hardest punching heavyweights of the
past 50 years (Sonny Liston, Joe Frazier, George Foreman, Earnie Shavers,
Cleveland Williams, Mike Tyson) all weighed under 220 pounds in their primes.

At a body weight of about 190 pounds both Jack Dempsey and Rocky Marciano
could deliver a higher volume of power punches with greater speed and accuracy
than any dreadnought—past or present. No 250 pounder has ever matched the
efficient knockout artistry of a hard punching heavyweight in the 190 to 210
pound range. This has been a constant fact throughout boxing’s history.

Hank Kaplan: “Weight is vastly overrated by today’s fans. Certainly it means

something, but when you observe all the notable punchers from lights to heavies
that I have seen over the past three-quarters of a century, you know adding
weight is overrated as far as true punching power is concerned. There have
always been more devastating punchers less than 200 pounds than above.”

Ted Lidsky: “When you compare the height and reach of heavyweights from
different decades it’s about the same. They are heavier today but not bigger in
height and reach. That fact tells us certain things. How common is it that a great
lightweight puncher moves up to welterweight and takes his punch with him?
Roberto Duran could take your head off as a lightweight. As a welterweight, and
then middleweight, he did not have the same effect on his opponents and scored
far fewer knockouts.

“Today’s big heavyweights are like smaller fighters who have purposely moved
up in weight. All the weight lifting and calorie loading they do today takes a
natural 190 to 210 pound heavyweight and builds him into a 250-pound
behemoth. But power doesn’t necessarily increase with added weight. If the
fighter grows naturally into his new weight it’s one thing, but if he puts the
weight on artificially he will not take his punch with him.

“Some of these huge heavyweights are just plain fat. They are not taller and they
don’t have bigger reaches, they are just heavier. I dispute the fact that
heavyweights have become naturally much bigger in such a short span of time.
They are heavier—not bigger. The reason they are heavier today is because they
have a lot of useless muscle on them and a lot of fat, which is certainly useless.
But beyond that, a good puncher of 180 to 200 pounds never had any problem
dropping someone over 200 pounds.”

Erik Arnold: “These guys are bigger in weight but they are not bigger in skill.
People mistakenly think because they have better body tone and are taller
somehow that translates into being more skilled or a harder puncher, but there is
no basis for that. Their theories are based on nothing, or probably on baseball,
basketball or football. But that is not a valid analogy. Boxing is so much
different than a team sport. They have all been fooled by flash over substance.”

A Truism Over Time

The big vs. bigger debate is not new to boxing. The November 1933 issue of The
Ring weighed in on the subject with an article entitled “Giants Not So Hot.” It
was written shortly after 270 pound Primo Carnera won the heavyweight title.
The careers of 20 boxers who weighed between 220 and 300 pounds were
reviewed. Among the fights discussed were the knockouts of two 300-pound
boxers by light heavyweight champions Bob Fitzimmons and Kid McCoy in the
early 1900s: “The three hundred pounds each of the big men carried meant
nothing against the speed and accuracy and power of these extraordinary smaller
fellows.” Also described was 184 pound Tommy Loughran’s easy victory over
the 6' 9", 235 pound Argentine champion Vittorio Compolo in 1931: “Vittorio
lashed away with terrific rights but succeeded in only punching the atmosphere
full of holes.”

The article concluded that normal sized heavyweights had a distinct advantage
over the bigger, slower and less skillful dreadnoughts: “What good did their size
do them? Not a thing. Almost stationary on their pedals … lacking in defensive
skill … they took what came until they passed out…. The really great fighters of
history seldom scaled over 200 pounds still holds true today…. All necessary
dynamite and power can be packed into that amount of muscle. More usually
slows the lads up.”2

The following is an account of a fight between two heavyweights in which one

of the fighters was outweighed by 37 pounds, as reported in the June 1948 issue
of The Ring.

“Turkey Thompson was too big for Jimmy Bivins! That is why Bivins beat
Thompson so handily. It really is! It is a matter of waistlines. Thompson is
tougher and a harder puncher than Jimmy, and if Turkey was of the same weight
as Jimmy, he would be a good bet to stop the Clevelander. Thompson might
kayo any of ’em weighing over two hundred, but he packs too much pork to tag
the lighter men.
“Bivins’ long, sneaky left arm and fleeting feet were too much for Thompson to
cope with in this ten-rounder at the Los Angeles Olympic. Turkey was able to
get in a few solid left hooks in the early rounds, but he missed so many punches
that he was slowed down to a walk by the end of the sixth…. Bivins dished out
some more punishment in the tenth, but Turkey was still moving forward at the
final bell. Bivins weighed 185, Thompson 222.”3

According to the correspondent’s ringside report, the bigger fighter would have
beaten his smaller opponent if he weighed less—not more. Thompson’s weight
was seen as a negative.

Once again superior skill and speed had trumped superior size and strength.
Notice that the word “masterpiece” was not used once in the article. This was
business as usual. A better small man had beaten a good big man. It was no big
deal.

A Bigger Target

Mike Capriano Jr.: “I love 190 pounds on a heavyweight. Who punches harder
than Marciano at 190 pounds? Maybe the 240 pounders of today are faster—and
that certainly is an assist to bigger fighters—but it also depends on the style of
the fighter. I have no doubt that Tommy Loughran at 185 pounds could outpoint
Mike Tyson. The difference was that Loughran was not a good puncher.

“Tami Mauriello at 190 pounds would go out and find Lennox Lewis’s chin. He
was a mediocre heavyweight in his day, but I think about that Joe Louis fight
and how Tami hurt Louis with his right cross. I like Max Schmeling—a scientist.
Jack Sharkey—195 pounds, fast hands, a hard puncher. They wouldn’t lay a
glove on him. He would have outboxed the huge heavyweights of today.

“They say that football players today are bigger and stronger and can still have
their speed. But boxing is not the same as football. There is more to it than that.
There is the chin factor, and the heart factor, and the boxing ability factor. The
big guys present a target. The smaller man is usually faster.

“Even suppose a big heavyweight was faster today—he still is not getting the
proper training, and the competition isn’t there. Today’s fighters may be more
coordinated than Abe Simon or Buddy Baer, but they don’t stand out because
coordinated than Abe Simon or Buddy Baer, but they don’t stand out because
they are not good boxers. Maybe they have a lot of qualities they could develop
but there is nobody around to develop them—the program is not there.”

Chuck Hasson: “The old time fighters wouldn’t see that huge frame as an
intimidation factor, they’d see it as a huge target. Everybody today thinks
Marciano would be too small for these big heavyweights. But Rocky Marciano
was a lot harder to hit than most people think. He was low and he was bobbing
and weaving.

“Another thing about Marciano; he had a fluidity about his punching that people
don’t see. They say, ‘Oh, he was a crude puncher.’ But if you watch films of
him, he throws volleys of punches. It’s one punch right after another, and its
fluid. It wasn’t a crude thing. A lot of these guys today throw three punches and
then they’ve got to stop and set up again.

“Marciano could hit from unbelievable angles where he looked like he was off
balance. That’s what some of those old timers could do. They could hit you from
unbelievable angles. They didn’t have to be in a perfect position, they could just
keep punching from unbelievable angles. It might not have looked like they were
balanced, but they were balanced.”

Bill Goodman: “The little guys do the damage. It’s how much you know, how
much you’ve been taught, how much guts you have. That’s what makes a
fighter. Look at the damage Dempsey did with a big overgrown guy like Jess
Willard.

“If he’s got the experience and knows how to fight, I’m not worrying about how
big the opponent is. Sure I don’t like it. I’d rather have someone closer to his
size and weight, but what can you do about it? Still, I’m not worried. Those
better fighters of years ago knew how to fight a much heavier opponent.”

Wilbert “Skeeter” McClure: “I remember two excellent heavyweight

contenders during the time I fought in the 1960s—Eddie Machen and Zora
Folley. Both weighed about 195 pounds. I have no doubt they would have done
very well against the huge heavyweights of today.

“Early in my career I fought a light heavyweight in Chicago—eight rounds. The

guy was supposed to be 168 and I weighed 160. He was three inches taller and a
big light heavyweight. By the third round he wouldn’t throw his jab anymore
because I parried his jab behind his elbow with my right hand. Every time he put
because I parried his jab behind his elbow with my right hand. Every time he put
his left jab out there I’d hurt him. So he quit throwing his left jab by the third
round. Do you know what I can do if a guy doesn’t have a left jab? What I am
saying is that at some point size becomes irrelevant. It’s your offensive skills,
your offensive options, and your defensive skills and your defensive options that
you bring into play.

“The small heavyweights of the past had lots of experience and lots of technical
skills and they would, in my opinion, just be far superior to guys who are just
big. The top guys in the past have been hit and hurt and survived. I see where a
lot of today’s fighters are being put into bouts with people who are almost
promising that ‘I won’t hurt your fighter.’”

Teddy Atlas: “I have three thoughts on the small heavyweight contender of

years ago vs. the big heavyweights of today. One: They’d have to hit the smaller
guy first. Two: When they did manage to hit him, I’m not so sure that wouldn’t
be a bad thing for the big guy hitting him, because after they hit him and the
smaller fighter didn’t respond—maybe cooperate is the better word to use—the
way most of their opponents usually respond nowadays, it might not have
worked out the way they thought it was going to work out. And there is the third
thing: While they were throwing that punch to land, it may never have landed
because they might have got caught first.

“In other words, I’m not so sure size would have been the telling factor,
especially if the smaller heavyweight had the ability to negate the size factor.
What of the other elements that we have been talking about? Are we forgetting
them? Consider just one element—mental toughness. You know what? I think
these big heavyweights today would be at a disadvantage in terms of mental
toughness. I’d feel sorry for them. And I mean that. I’d say, ‘Wait a minute—
you sure you want to go up against these guys?’

“I’ll tell you a funny story that illustrates the point I’m trying to make. Jimmy
Jacobs told me this story about my mentor, Cus D’Amato. One time Cus is
coming off the railroad. Cus was a very alert guy. He’s walking through Grand
Central Station and a pickpocket attempts to take his wallet. So Cus grabs the
guy’s arm and twirls him around and he’s got the guy’s arm in back and then he
pushes him off and says, ‘Watch it!’ Jimmy, who saw what happened, says,
‘Cus, I’m very upset. That could have been dangerous.’ Cus was older, but he
said, ‘Why Jimmy? I wasn’t going to hurt him.’ And that’s what I say when you
talk about these guys being too big and hurting these little guys. My answer, is
who’s going to get hurt here?
who’s going to get hurt here?

“So my question to the guys of today’s era that say the size is too much is, where
are these big heavyweights ever going to find a way to deal with that
experience? Where are they ever going to find a way to deal with that science?
Where are they ever going to find a way to deal with that mental toughness?
Because today’s fighters are depleted of these qualities. Depleted of it! The old
timers had all of those qualities in that earlier era. They had the experience and
knew how to deal with these things. So my question would be, who’s in danger
here?

“Before you talk about the 240 pounder vs. the 190 or the 205 pounder my first
question would be, before we could even sanction this match, to explain to me—
because I don’t think it would be fair to the bigger fighter—explain to me how
this 240 pound brat, this spoiled brat, is going to deal with this monster who has
160 fights, whose fought every good fighter in the world since he’s been
fighting, who knows every trick in the book, and who’s as mentally tough as a
piece of steel, explain that to me!”

Champion Size

In their primes the greatest heavyweight champions have all weighed between
185 and 215 pounds. Jack Johnson, Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier weighed
between 200 and 215; Joe Louis, Jack Dempsey, Gene Tunney, and Rocky
Marciano weighed less than 200 pounds. If a 6' 6" boxer weighing 250 pounds
could somehow acquire the combination of speed, skill, mental toughness and
power of these fighters, no “small” heavyweight would stand a chance against
him. But that has not happened yet.

Giants such as Lennox Lewis, Riddick Bowe, the Klitschko brothers and Sam
Peter may be physically stronger and better coordinated than the dreadnoughts of
the first half of the 20th century, but they are still not up to the quality of the
outstanding 190 to 210 pound heavyweight contenders and champions who
dominated the division from the 1920s to the 1970s.

The modern day mastodons should be thankful that giant killers such as Curtis
“Hatchetman” Sheppard, Jimmy Bivins, Tiger Jack Fox, Lee Q. Murray, Jack
Coggins and Jerry Quarry are not around to test their mettle. The dreadnoughts
have never had it so easy.
 Lennox Lewis: Best of the Biggest?

Of all the recent oversized heavyweights that have flourished since 1980,
Lennox Lewis has displayed the most talent. But during his prime Lennox was
flattened by two mediocrities (Oliver McCall and Hasim Rahman), barely
decisioned an overthe hill Evander Holyfield in their rematch, and had difficulty
outpointing 37-year-old Ray Mercer. Then, in his final fight, coming off his
highly praised demolition of Mike Tyson, he looked terrible against Vitaly
Klitschko. Lennox got a lucky break when Klitschko suffered a cut over his eye
and the bout had to be stopped in the sixth round. Can you imagine any of the
great heavyweights having the same difficulty with these fighters?

After Lewis defeated Tyson, one journalist wrote that Lewis would be “a tall
order for any heavyweight in history.” George Foreman, who announced the
Tyson-Lewis fight for HBO, called him “the greatest heavyweight champion that
ever lived.”

Maybe Big George was carried away by the moment, but his statement doesn’t
ring true in light of the facts. All Lewis had done was beat up a washed up ex-
champ who had only one competitive fight in the previous 10 years.

The Mike Tyson that Lennox Lewis whipped was an overweight and
overwrought hunk of muscle-bound flesh. Throughout the fight Tyson was a
stationary target.

He could barely put two effective punches together. It was the worst Tyson the
public had ever seen up to that point. Lewis dominated because he had nothing
in front of him. He went into the ring a 4-to-1 favorite over Tyson, but the odds
might as well have been 100-to-1. Any first class heavyweight from any era
would have beaten Tyson that night.

Twelve years earlier Buster Douglas looked better knocking out a prime Mike
Tyson than Lennox Lewis did beating up the pathetic shell of the former
heavyweight champion. In this writer’s opinion, the Buster Douglas who
knocked out Tyson in 1990 would have beaten the Lennox Lewis who knocked
out Tyson in 2003. Does that make Douglas the greatest heavyweight champion
of all time? Of course not.
But even before he fought Tyson it was apparent to the knowing eye that Lewis
was on the downslide. Over the previous seven years he gained more than 20
pounds. At 250 pounds, the added weight made him slow and ponderous.
Nevertheless, Lennox Lewis was unusually talented for an oversized
heavyweight. He displayed good boxing skills, a battering ram left jab and a
devastating right cross. He was the most smoothly coordinated of the super sized
set as long as he could keep his fragile chin out of range. Lewis was a refreshing
change of pace from the usual sludge populating the heavyweight division. But I
am sick and tired of hearing how Lewis and the other giant heavyweights of
today would have been too big and too strong for the Golden Age contenders
who weighed between 190 and 210 pounds.

Erik Arnold: “Lennox Lewis was a very ordinary fighter. Luis Firpo would
have destroyed him. He would have overpowered Lewis even though he is
cruder. Lewis’s heart is questionable and he has very ordinary skills. And there
is some glass in his chin.”

Unearned Status

Oblivious to the contextual frame of reference provided by 100 years of boxing

history, the faux experts remain convinced that the modern day Goliaths would
have beaten the small heavyweights of decades past simply by virtue of their
immense size. What they fail to realize is that the era of super sized
heavyweights exists in tandem with the era of super mediocrity. They have
granted today’s dreadful dreadnoughts a status they have not earned and surely
do not deserve.
 14
Boxing’s Snake Oil Salesmen

It’s like putting sand in the gas tank of a Ferrarri.

Edward Villella, former amateur boxing champion and world-
renowned ballet dancer, on the negative effect of weight training for
boxers and dancers.

It may sound strange, but I believe the movies Rocky III and Rocky IV influenced
the current weight training trend among boxers. The movies, produced in 1982
and 1985, came out about the same time new and innovative strength training
techniques were being developed for athletes in track and field, wrestling,
football, baseball and golf—but not for boxing.

For Rocky III, Sylvester Stallone trained with world famous body builder Franco
Columbu to fashion a physique that would have been the envy of any Mr.
America contestant. Stallone had obviously spent months pumping some serious
iron. He had the cut abdominals, wide lats, huge biceps and grapefruit sized
deltoids of your classic muscle bound body builder. During the training scenes
the movie showed him lifting heavy barbells, something that was missing from
the first two Rocky movies. But Stallone’s impressively sculpted body was not a
realistic depiction of what a fighter is supposed to look like. In the real world his
physique would be totally unsuitable for boxing.

In Rocky IV the villain is played by the even more impressively built 6' 5" Dolph
Lundgren. The movie depicts Lundgren’s character as an evil Russian
heavyweight (Rocky IV was released a few years prior to the collapse of the
Soviet Union) reaping the benefits of the latest “scientific” advances in physical
conditioning. The training has turned him into a super fighter of immense
strength and power. There are several scenes showing him cardio training and
lifting weights while connected to a bunch of wires and monitoring equipment
that looks straight out of Dr. Zharkov’s laboratory. He is also shown receiving
injections of what are presumably steroids.

It wasn’t long after these highly popular films were released that many boxers
began to appear with the oversized and out of proportion muscularity indicative
began to appear with the oversized and out of proportion muscularity indicative
of someone who has trained with heavy weights. Not coincidentally, a new type
of trainer was making his entrance onto the boxing stage—the “strength and
fitness coach.” Without the usual cadre of old school trainers—most were either
dead or retired—to bring this misguided trend to an end, weight training soon
became an accepted part of a fighter’s regular conditioning program.

In the late 1980s Evander Holyfield further popularized weight lifting for boxers
when his management decided to hire former bodybuilding champion Lee Haney
to increase the former cruiserweight champion’s strength and weight in
preparation for his entry into the heavyweight division.
By the 1980s Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky had morphed into a muscle bound
body builder (MGM/UA Entertainment).

In the ensuing years many of boxing’s biggest stars have gotten on the
bandwagon. Oscar De La Hoya, Fernando Vargas, Shane Mosley, Mike Tyson,
Jeff Lacy, Shannon Briggs and Arturo Gatti have all hired strength and fitness
coaches to help them fine-tune their bodies for ring combat. And judging by the
proliferation of barbells and weight machines commonly found in boxing gyms
these days, many other fighters are either employing strength coaches or lifting
weights on their own.

Most of the strength and fitness coaches have no experience working with
professional fighters. Their background and experience involves training athletes
in other sports. Aside from their lack of boxing expertise, what they all have in
common is an emphasis on weight lifting to increase the strength and power of
the athlete.
Prior to the 1980s the only weight training equipment seen in boxing gyms
were light wall pulleys and the 12 pound medicine ball, as in this 1920
photograph of former welterweight champion Ted Kid Lewis.

Old school boxing trainers always frowned on weightlifting for fear it could lead
to the dreaded “muscle binding.” Their fears were not unfounded. The muscles
of a properly conditioned fighter are highly refined and attuned to the unique
of a properly conditioned fighter are highly refined and attuned to the unique
requirements of his sport. Weightlifting was seen as counterproductive because
it slowed down reaction time and speed by creating unnecessary muscular
tension, thereby interfering with the finely coordinated motor-neuron skills
necessary for the split second moves in boxing.

Traditionally a boxer’s primary fitness goal was to attain the maximum in speed,
endurance and power. Muscular development and strength was a byproduct of
the normal training routine. However, not all weight-bearing exercises were off-
limits to boxers. Working out with two to five pound dumbbells, wall pulleys
(two to 15 pounds), or a 12-pound medicine ball was common.

If an underdeveloped boxer required additional strength, some trainers would

have him exercise with weights that rarely exceeded 25 to 50 pounds. When the
desired results were achieved the boxer would cease lifting and continue with his
normal routine. It was important not to sacrifice speed for strength.

Old school trainers understood that pumping up the size of arm, back, leg and
shoulder muscles with an aggressive weight-training program did not correlate to
an increase in power. Punching power is a function of balance, leverage,
coordination, speed and timing. A boxer has to be able to “snap” his punches.
The most effective punchers in the history of the sport—Joe Louis, Jack
Dempsey, Rocky Marciano, Sonny Liston, Jimmy Wilde, Bob Fitzimmons,
Stanely Ketchel, Sugar Ray Robinson, Sandy Saddler, Archie Moore, Henry
Armstrong, Bob Foster, Alexis Arguello, Roberto Duran—never included
weight training in their daily workout routines. None of these super punchers
had the type of unnatural bulging muscularity one often sees among today’s
boxers.

Mike Capriano, Jr.: “Old time fighters had a sleek shape. They were not
carrying extra weight through muscle. Fighters in the 1920s through the 1950s,
heavyweights included, were trimmed down. They had long, smooth muscles.
There was no need to oxygenate big muscles.”

Boxers and Dancers

A properly trained boxer is built more along the lines of a buff dancer than a
tightly knotted bodybuilder or beefed up football lineman. In terms of their
coordination, balance, footwork, flexibility, rhythm and timing, boxers have
much in common with dancers. Professional dancers never train with weights for
much in common with dancers. Professional dancers never train with weights for
the same reason that boxers in the past did not. In their primes, three of the
greatest boxers of the 20th century, Sugar Ray Robinson, Willie Pep and
Muhammad Ali, could have easily been mistaken for members of a professional
ballet troupe.
International ballet star and former amateur boxing champion Edward
Villella in 1958, displaying the type of muscularity suitable for dancing or
boxing (William Vassilov).

“Boxing’s appeal is its drama and grace, a blizzarding grace that amounts to an
impromptu, exigent ballet, especially in the lighter and nimbler weights,” wrote
essayist Edward Hoagland almost 40 years ago. “Hands, arms, feet, legs, head,
torso—more is done per moment than in fast ice hockey; and since there is more
motion, the athletes in other sports cannot surpass a consummate boxer for
grace.”1

In the mid–1950s Edward Villella was the welterweight boxing champion of

New York’s Maritime College, undefeated in 20 fights. Villella has since gained
international fame, first as a lead dancer for the New York City Ballet under the
direction of the legendary George Balanchine, and more recently as director of
the acclaimed Miami City Ballet Company. Having experienced both the boxing
ring and the ballet stage, Villella understands the unique training requirements of
both disciplines.

Edward Villella: “I have never asked my dancers to do weight training. As

dancers, we have long use of the muscle tone. We don’t want to short the muscle
tone. We want speed and elasticity. I don’t think that you have to dismiss all
weight training. You can exercise with four or five pounds, and you’d be
surprised what that will do for you. When I was a dancer I’d occasionally put a
one or two pound weight on either ankle. And then when I took them off my
speed was just terrific, and my feet moved so quickly. And that’s what we need
to do; we need our feet to move. Our feet are like a fighter’s hands. My great
mentor George Balanchine said, ‘The floor upon which we dance is the music,’
which is the timing … it’s the phrasing. The dancer does not stay in one rhythm.
You have to move in and out, in and out, up and down, slow, fast, set it up, go,
go, go.

“Without a comprehensive understanding of your muscle tone, and the purpose

of exactly what it is that you want to accomplish with a weight training routine,
you could end up training against yourself. You don’t want the training to go
against your talent. That is the thing you cannot do. You have to understand your
talent and know how to feed it. And that is why I don’t want our guys to do that
kind of thing. Guys are normally thicker muscle toned than women and I don’t
want them to bulk up because they will lose that agility. Boxers and dancers are
finely tuned instruments. Lifting weights would not be good for them. It’s like
putting sand in the gas tank of a Ferrari.

“What we seek is to eliminate tension. If you train against that purpose it’s not
going to work for you. For instance, if I were preparing our dancers for a style
that requires very quick and light footwork, their training would be different than
what is needed to dance in the much slower 19th century Russian Grand
Imperial style. There is heaviness to that style. The moves have a beginning and
an end, and then you start all over again. Whereas in neoclassicism, which
George Balanchine provides us with, the moment your heel got to the floor that
was your propulsion for the next step, therefore the continuity of it had terrific
natural connection. So you didn’t ‘stop, gesture, stop, gesture.’ It’s like when
you watch a heavyweight. They wind up and throw a big punch but they have no
combinations. These guys are huge and they have four yards of left jab but it’s
just hanging on ’em. They can’t go low, high, down. They can’t get that jab
working. Pump that jab. Work those combinations … boom, boom, boom
[demonstrates by shadowboxing and throwing combinations]. I relate to that
kind of attack and speed.

“There is a whole connection about the approach to any physical gesture that we
are about. It’s all totally connected and if you can be relentless in the way you
approach these rotations, so that they are there and available for you any given
second, you begin to dance instead of just doing a trick. And for me that is what
differentiates fine dancing and fine fighting. It’s not enough that you’ve got a
heavy right hand and a neat left hook and you throw two punches. There is more
to it than that.
Rock hard Jack Dempsey, pictured in 1919, possessed the perfect build for a
boxer—or dancer.

“My dancers have a repertoire where we have to dance in probably five, six,
seven different styles, seven different periods, seven different choreographic
approaches. They have the variety and they have the broader horizon. That was
the beauty of my growing up at the New York City Ballet, which had a
phenomenal repertoire. I danced everything from Swan Lake to tarantellas. You
can’t get further away from being Oberon in Midsummer’s Night’s Dream to
being the Prodigal Son, or Apollo. So unless you can counter and balance off all
of these other things, you become a one trick pony.

“Dancing, as George Balanchine said, is a conversation; I offer a hand,

somebody gives me their hand. Do I hold the hand, or do I just use what is
necessary? For instance, if we are having a conversation I’m not going to shout
at you the whole time. Nor am I going to talk like this [speaks haltingly]. So you
have to have all of those ups and downs, sideways, expansions, extensions, all of
this kind of flexibility that constitutes the purpose that you are about.

“But it’s really your mind driving your talent. So you need the talent and you
need the mind that comes with the talent. It’s not like you’re trying to be a brain
surgeon, but you need dance intellect just as you need boxing intellect if you are
going to reach your potential. You need the intelligence that relates to your
talent. And if you can combine that talent and that intelligence you are so far
ahead of the game. So it becomes this mental exercise. I’m fond of saying our
physicality is ‘mind driven.’ It’s not just the talent. It is the mind analyzing the
talent, and all of the nuances that are available can be used.

“Dancing, like boxing, is moving through balance. And the athlete that you
remember is the beautiful dancing athlete. I once took a bunch of athletes and
intercut them with dancers and made it into a whole one-hour show. It was
called “Dance of the Athletes.” Joe DiMaggio covering center field. His swing
when he was at bat. Ted Williams, Stan Musial, Frank Robinson. These, to me,
were the athletes who were the dancers. My favorite boxers are the ones who
move and are beautiful to watch. The way Sugar Ray Robinson executed his
combinations … the speed and accuracy … the timing aspect of it … the way a
good defensive fighter could stand in front of somebody and bob and weave and
pull their chin back, maybe just a quarter of an inch, and the punch would miss
them. To me, that is absolute talent, which is so practiced, so rehearsed, so
completely understood it becomes a conditioned reflex.

“Unfortunately, with my schedule, I rarely get to watch the fights today, and I
can’t follow them. There was a fight on the other night, but it was all one sided.
Let’s face it, a lot of the matches today are awful. They’re mostly mismatches,
and it’s all setting up for the big payday, and to me that’s not what it’s all about.

“My father ran a trucking business in the garment center and his two closest
buddies were former professional fighters. And they used to have poker games
every Friday night and in the middle of the poker games the Friday Night Fights
came on. Everybody stopped to watch the fights on TV and when it was over
they went back to the poker game. I remember seeing great fighters like Willie
Pep and Sandy Saddler, Tony Zale, Rocky Marciano, Carmen Basilio, Kid
Gavilan and his ‘bolo punch.’ I can’t even think of all the names now.

“When I was an amateur boxer in college I had a tremendous advantage because

I had trained as a ballet dancer for about seven years. Therefore, my legs were
mine. They were in terrific condition for boxing. I’d wait until the third round
and by then my opponent would be standing on spaghetti legs [laughs].”

Choreography in the Ring

Speaking of dancers, anyone fortunate enough to have seen master boxer Carlos
Ortiz in his prime can attest to his beautifully coordinated and precise
choreography in the ring.

Carlos Ortiz: “I never lifted a two pound weight in my entire fighting career.
Weight lifting is not appropriate for fighters. It tightens your muscles. You
stiffen up and get muscle bound. A fighter needs loose muscles that unlock and
move. Weightlifting is something that shouldn’t be done. I never saw a fighter
lift weights in my time. There is no comparison between a fighter, a football
player, a baseball player or a golfer. Boxing is by itself. What you are trying to
do is not get hit. The guy is throwing punches at you. You have to be very smart
and fast to duck, shift and not get hit. Weight training doesn’t fit in.”

Mike Capriano, Jr: “I think using weights militates against the appropriate
training that is required to be a boxer. That does not mean that we never did
weight training. Boxers used light dumbbells of two to five pounds, and worked
out with the medicine ball and wall pulleys. But the scientific answer is that if it
develops muscles that slow down speed and negatively affects punching power,
then it’s not a good program.

“Build yourself up a bit,’” the old trainers would say. And of course there is an
element of strength involved. After all, you cannot be a weakling if you are
going to box. But I don’t know that the design of reaching strength is solved by
the methods being taken today by so many fighters. Up until about ten or fifteen
years ago barbells were never in a boxing gym.
“The fighters today need rounds in the gym more than they need weightlifting.
Doing presses, curls and other exercises with weights is not real conditioning for
boxers, even with light weights, because many fighters are naturally strong and
don’t need it. Few fighters were as muscular as Emile Griffith and Emile never
lifted a weight in his life. In those types of naturally muscular physiques you
didn’t want any more over development.

“Weight training increases the amount of oxygen required by the muscles. It also
limits the amount of punches thrown and slows down the speed of the punch.
We do not want bigger muscles if it comes at the expense of speed. Strength
training is not making the fighter better if he loses speed. It is just trying to take
shortcuts. And the fighters may actually be over straining their bodies with this
type of training. It is not natural. Light weights at the end of a pulley system are
OK, as is work with the medicine ball.”

Weights Unwanted

Three of the strongest Golden Age fighters—Jake LaMotta, Rocky Marciano

and Beau Jack—never lifted weights during their pro careers. (The information
on LaMotta comes directly from “The Bronx Bull” himself.) Charlie Goldman,
who trained and conditioned Marciano throughout his pro career, always
espoused traditional methods. Beau Jack told this writer in 1997, “I never trained
with weights because it slowed you up and tightened you up.”

In 1981 Salvador Sanchez, possibly the best featherweight champion of the past
35 years, told a reporter, “I don’t lift weights because it stiffens and slows the
arms.”2 The lean and wiry Sanchez was built like a ballet dancer. Two of his top
challengers, Wilfredo Gomez and Azumah Nelson, were both physically
stronger and more muscular. Sanchez stopped both of them.

Harold Johnson (light heavyweight champion from 1961 to 1963) possessed the
body of a Greek god. But he was quick to point out that weights played no part
in carving his outstanding muscular definition. “The only weights I lifted were
dumbbells for shadow boxing to put power in my punches. I was told I could
hurt myself lifting weights, so I didn’t. I didn’t want to get injured.

“It’s not good for fighters—it makes you slow, muscles you up. They might give
you power, but your opponent will see your punches coming. What’s the point in
having power if you can’t hit nobody? People were sure I lifted weights, but I
never did.”3

The Purple Liquid Cure

Teddy Atlas: “A lot of people who think that weight training was completely
taboo, that the fighters did not use any weights in the old days, are wrong. It’s
not true. The old time gyms had those light pulley weights. Almost all the gyms
had them. And here’s the funny thing; with all the genius, and all the technology,
and all the degrees that these strength coaches have, or whatever the hell they are
—and most of them are bullshit artists—with all that, whenever something goes
wrong they will tell you, ‘The fighter made a mistake and was put on too heavy
a weight and it bulked him up and he lost his flexibility. So we’ll adjust his
workout and put him on lighter weights.’ “A lot of these weight coaches are
driven by their egos, so when the fighter gets on TV they want to say, ‘Look
what I did to his body.’ But I notice that whenever there is a problem, the first
thing they will say is that the weight training ‘bulked him up, it stiffened him, he
lost his flexibility, he lost his speed. He should have been working with lighter
weights’—which is exactly what the guys did in the old days, where it was part
of their training regimen but with much lighter weights than what the fighters are
using today.

“I think the problem comes down to this: Nowadays, instead of putting your eye
on the ball, so to speak, and having to deal with what is going to make you a
better fighter, there are too many searches for that magic drink from the
fountain, that ‘purple liquid’ that you’re going to swallow and it’s going to make
everything okay. Without the fighter or his management realizing it, they are
undermining their own fighter. Instead of making him accountable in the areas
that he needs to improve, they go looking for shortcuts.

“I’ve had fighters who have gone looking for the magic formula. I tell them,
‘You need to save your money to take that plane trip.’ And they say, ‘What
plane trip? What are you talking about’? I say, ‘Tibet or Turkey, or wherever the
freak you’re going to find that root. You’ll climb over that mountain and walk
for about ten miles and then you’ll finally see this little tree and it’s going to be
glowing and you’re going to pull this root and you’re going to chew on it and it
will make everything go away. But you don’t understand. There is only one
place you have to look for the power and that’s right in that mirror. That’s where
you’ve got to start focusing on. Your problem is you’re looking for something
you’ve got to start focusing on. Your problem is you’re looking for something
else to make it for you but it’s right there. It’s you! Try to condition yourself
instead of bringing something else in to change the condition. Try conditioning
yourself.’ And that’s part of what’s happened.”

A Seeker

One of the fighters who went in search of the “purple liquid” cure Teddy Atlas
speaks of was Fernando Vargas. After winning a Bronze medal in the 1996
Olympic Games, Fernando Vargas took the professional boxing world by storm.
His aggressive style, engaging persona and fighting spirit won him a legion of
fans. Vargas was a brilliant prospect. If he had fought during the Golden Age his
career would have progressed in increments. After some 40 or 50 bouts, he’d be
a seasoned contender and ready for anything. Instead, less than two years after
turning pro, in his 15th fight, he won a Junior Middleweight title belt.

Unfortunately for Vargas, standing in his path was the equally talented but far
more experienced Felix Trinidad. Each owned a portion of the junior
middleweight title. Their mega fight showdown was set for December 2000.

Vargas’ management had good reason to be worried. On the plus side, Fernando
was physically stronger than Trinidad and possessed knockout power. But so did
Trinidad. They knew their undefeated tyro would be in for the toughest fight of
his life. The “purple liquid” beckoned. Why not take advantage of the latest
methods in conditioning and strength training for athletes in order to give Vargas
an edge? Why not do like the professional football players do and hire a strength
and fitness coach?

Enter John “Doc” Philbin.

Doc Philbin’s credentials were impressive—that is if you weren’t too concerned

that his background and training had absolutely nothing to do with boxing.
Philbin had worked for pro football’s Washington Redskins for seven years
(1993–2000) as an assistant to head strength coach Dan Riley. Prior to his work
with the Redskins, he was head coach for the 1992 winter Olympics bobsled
team, establishing the fastest push times in the world. Philbin also worked with
world-class sprinters and had written two books on strength and conditioning for
the elite athlete. He had an M.A. in physical education and was a former
collegiate decathlete. Yet nowhere in his curriculum vitae was there any mention
of boxing, a sport whose technical complexities and physical demands are very
of boxing, a sport whose technical complexities and physical demands are very
different from football, track and bobsledding.

Ironically, the one area that Vargas was clearly superior to Trinidad, even before
Doc Philbin entered the picture, was his strength. Vargas did not need the
services of a strength coach. What he did need (aside from more experience) was
an old school boxing coach who could instruct him how to make the best use of
his superior strength.

Felix Trinidad’s style is especially effective against aggressive boxers who

pressure him, which just happens to be the way Vargas fights. As expected, he
made a beeline straight towards Trinidad. Vargas came on strong, especially in
the early rounds, but Trinidad kept his cool and scored with accurate and
damaging counter punches. The fight turned bad for Vargas after the sixth round.
Over the next five rounds he took a severe beating. The fight was stopped in the
12th round. The next day Philbin and Vargas terminated their relationship.

Two years later, Vargas, on the comeback trail, challenged Oscar De La Hoya
for his version of the Junior Middleweight title. Time may have healed the
physical and psychic wounds of the Trinidad debacle, but it did little to add to
his experience. Vargas had fought just twice in the 21 months leading up to the
bout with De La Hoya.

At the weighin Vargas was brimming with confidence. He called attention to his
low body fat percentage and his impressively “cut” physique. He certainly
looked stronger than De La Hoya, who appeared almost soft by comparison. But
what no one knew at the time was that Vargas had surreptitiously taken illegal
steroids to enhance his strength. This fact was not revealed until he tested
positive for the drug after the fight. Obviously, Vargas felt that strength training
alone was not enough. He wanted the extra boost that steroids would provide.

It was apparent from the opening bell that an energized Vargas was attempting
to overpower De La Hoya and pressure him into a close quarter slugging match.
De La Hoya had to call upon all of his experience and strategic acumen to cope
with a physically stronger challenger who was intent on destroying him.

Although he was more aggressive than De La Hoya, Vargas was often wild and
inaccurate with his punches. De La Hoya used evasive footwork and punishing
left jabs to keep the fight at long range. He also managed to tie up Vargas on the
inside, thereby nullifying his greater strength.
In the sixth round an enervating fatigue seemed to overtake Vargas. Had the
tough Mexican punched himself out in his mad desire to destroy De La Hoya? It
certainly looked that way. Vargas, exhausted and nearly defenseless, was
knocked down in the 11th round by a powerful left hook. He beat the count but
upon arising took 16 unanswered punches before the referee stopped the fight.
Oscar De La Hoya had conceded strength to Vargas but not skill, experience or
toughness. Even with the illegal drug boost Vargas could not gain the edge he
needed to overcome a superior ring technician.
Fernando Vargas flexes his muscles prior to his showdown with Oscar De
La Hoya in 2002. Despite taking illegal steroids, Vargas could not gain the
edge he needed to overcome a superior ring technician (AP/Wide World
Photos).

Fernando Vargas had deluded himself into thinking he could somehow override
De La Hoya’s greater experience by ingesting steroids. Vargas and his
management forgot (or more likely never knew) that the name of the game is
boxing. Any old school trainer could have told them that muscles and machismo
will only take you so far in a boxing ring.

Chemical Confidence

Teddy Atlas: “Not too long ago I was very upset with a fighter I was working
with and I said to him, ‘You know what your problem is? It’s the same problem
with a lot of people, not just fighters. You are looking for someone else’s
weakness to be your strength. That’s the problem with all you guys.’ You see,
they don’t like to hear that. They don’t even know what the hell you’re saying at
first, but they sure as hell don’t like to hear it. This was true for Mike Tyson as
well. Tyson depended on others to be weak for him to be strong.

“Fighters take steroids not just for the physical advantages but because of what
we have been talking about throughout this whole book—what the old-timers
had and these young guys don’t have. They want to give themselves a way of
being confident and a way of saying ‘I’m okay’ instead of being okay. They are
seeking another way to be mentally together, confident, and ready to behave like
a pro. When these guys grab onto these things they’re feeding their weakness
instead of developing a strength. They don’t realize that because what they are
basically saying is, ‘I can’t depend on myself.’ That’s what they’re saying. And
that’s what I’m saying is at the essence of this whole argument: The greatest
strength that these old time guys had over these guys was the ability to depend
on themselves. That was their greatest strength—the ability to depend on
themselves.

“When these guys are grabbing the steroids, the creatine, the growth hormones
—or whatever—trying to get bigger what they’re basically saying is ‘I cannot
depend on myself.’ They are saying the one thing that the old timers never said.
The one thing that the old timers knew was at the forefront of anything they did
was, ‘I can depend on myself when I walk out of that locker room, and walk up
that aisle, and walk up those steps. That was the one thing that they embraced
and that they always brought with them. All of them. Using steroids is the
antithesis of that. They’re saying, ‘I cannot depend on myself. I cannot even get
myself in the ring without at least thinking that I have some help.’ Old time
fighters knew where the help was. It was in the development of them … in the
truth of them.”

Useless Elixir?
Useless Elixir?

The usefulness of steroids to enhance a boxer’s performance has not been

established. Unlike a baseball player whose steroid pumped muscles enable him
to smack a home run into the stands, or a juiced up sprinter who explodes out of
a starting block, the complex physical and psychological demands of
professional boxing appears to place limits on the drug’s ability to establish a
clear advantage when so many other factors are involved.

Perhaps it was the steroids that caused Vargas to fight so intensely and at such a
terrific pace in the early rounds of his fight with De La Hoya. He seemed unable
to slow down even if he wanted to. Over the last four rounds an exhausted
Vargas, his muscles depleted of oxygen, could only fight in spurts.

Shane Mosley, who started his career as a 135-pound lightweight, has admitted
lifting weights to increase his size and strength so he could compete in heavier
divisions, thereby accessing more lucrative fights. Before his second fight with
De La Hoya, in 2003, reporters were told that Shane was lifting weights to
develop a “deeper chest.” This made no sense whatsoever. Was Mosley in a
pectoral contest with De La Hoya? There is no correlation between a deeper
chest and boxing strength or power. Statements like this point to the ignorance
that is pandemic in boxing today. But with athletes in other sports benefiting
from weightlifting and drug supplementation, many fighters believe they are
missing out on something that could improve their performance. Fighters are
using these methods to gain unnatural weight in order to compete in divisions
their builds are not suited for.

Oscar De La Hoya started his pro career in 1992 after winning an Olympic Gold
Medal in the 130-pound junior lightweight class. Five years later, weighing 146
pounds, De La Hoya took the welterweight title from Pernell Whitaker. The
weight gain could have been natural, but a fighter moving to a heavier division is
always concerned that he will not be strong enough or powerful enough to
compete successfully at the new weight. Old school fighters compensated by
gaining a few pounds through diet and, most importantly, utilizing boxing
strategy and speed to win. They did not try to outmuscle the stronger fighter,
which, in the absence of quality instruction, is what most fighters are attempting
to do today.

In 1999 De La Hoya admitted to using creatine to increase his muscle size and
strength and “something else” to increase his testosterone levels in preparation
for his welterweight showdown with Felix Trinidad. “His body has changed, all
for his welterweight showdown with Felix Trinidad. “His body has changed, all
of the weight has moved to the top,” said Gil Clancy, the well-known boxing
trainer, who is not a proponent of weight training or drug supplementation for
boxers.

Creatine is a natural substance that mimics steroids. It is supposed to keep an

athlete exercising beyond his normal fatigue limits. Unlike steroids, the use of
creatine is not illegal. Scott Connelly is the owner of MET-Rx, a company that
manufactures creatine. Connelly said that De La Hoya came to his company
because he wanted to enhance his physical performance in terms of strength and
endurance and noted, “Within six weeks there was a major transformation in his
body.” According to Connelly, other boxers have come to him to use his
performance products, including Lennox Lewis, Evander Holyfield and Mike
Tyson.

Whatever De La Hoya was taking, it apparently failed him in his fight with Felix
Trinidad in 2000. He displayed a puzzling lack of stamina in the last three
rounds that cost him the fight. De La Hoya claimed it wasn’t fatigue. He told
reporters he made the mistake of coasting because he thought the fight was
already won. But the same thing happened to him in his second fight with Shane
Mosley in 2003.

Cus D’Amato, Mike Tyson’s original trainer, did not attempt to enhance Tyson’s
natural strength with weight training or steroids. Years later, with D’Amato long
gone, and nearing the end of his tumultuous career, Tyson began strength
training with Gunnar Petersen, a Los Angeles based strength coach popular with
show biz types.

Putting Tyson on a strength training regimen was about as necessary as

importing ice cubes to Alaska. In a few months Tyson had added 20 pounds of
unnecessary muscle to his stocky frame. The ex-champ was convinced the
“purple liquid” would enable him to recapture his prime and restore his
confidence.
Mike Tyson as he appeared just days away from his disastrous 2002 fight
with Lennox Lewis. Unnecessary strength training added superfluous
weight and muscle more suitable for pro wrestling than boxing (AP/Wide
World Photos).

The following description of Tyson appeared in the New York Post on October
12, 2001: “His upper torso cut like that of a bodybuilder and his waist trim and
taut, Tyson tipped the scales yesterday at 239 pounds for tomorrow’s 10 round
bout against Denmark’s Brian Nielsen.” It was pointed out that although Tyson
was at the heaviest of his career, he also “might be in the best shape.”

The 260-pound Nielsen—nicknamed “Danish Pastry” by the press—was

knocked out in the seventh round. Tyson was pleased with the result and
continued working with Petersen in preparation for his upcoming title fight with
heavyweight champion Lennox Lewis in June of 2002.
If Tyson had challenged Lennox to a bodybuilding competition instead of a
prizefight, he would have won in a walk. In a photo taken just days before the
fight, Tyson was shown sporting gargantuan pectoral and biceps muscles. He
was built more along the lines of Hulk Hogan than a serious challenger for the
heavyweight championship of the world. Not even Primo Carnera, the poster
boy for muscle bound fighters, had ever appeared so bulked up.

Tyson’s fearsome reputation had Lewis fighting very cautiously, even though
every punch Lewis threw found its mark. Iron Mike appeared about as flexible
as iron as he struggled in vain to mount an effective offense. His once vaunted
punches were thrown without speed, precision or knockout power. The few
punches that did land had no effect on Lewis. Tyson absorbed a frightful
beating. The mismatch finally ended in the eighth round with Tyson flat on his
back taking the ten count.

Mike Tyson (left) on the receiving end of a Lennox Lewis jab. Overweight
and over muscled, Tyson was stiff and slow. He took a brutal beating before
being knocked out in the eighth round (AP/Wide World Photos).

Mike Tyson was washed up before he ever stepped into the ring with Lennox
Lewis, but his absurd training methods dashed any iota of hope of his ever
winning back the title. He did not need additional weight and muscle. What he
winning back the title. He did not need additional weight and muscle. What he
needed was less weight and more speed.

Arturo Gatti is the latest big name fighter to succumb to the lure of the “purple
liquid.” Gatti, 35 years old and in the twilight of a colorful roller coaster career,
hired strength and conditioning coach Steve Cruz to help him prepare for his
welterweight title fight with Carlos Baldomir in 2006. In addition to having him
lift weights, Gatti’s strength trainer incorporated swimming into his routine. He
also had Gatti do a series of very fast push-ups in order to develop what he
called “explosive power.” Shades of Rocky Balboa!

Arturo Gatti was only deluding himself. The gutsy fighter had been to the well
once too often. No amount of “purple liquid” was going to turn back the clock.
In his prime Arturo Gatti would have been a good bet to outfight and out hustle a
fighter of Baldomir’s limited ability. The 2006 version of Gatti lost nearly every
round to Baldomir before being stopped in the eighth round. There was no
“explosive power.” The unusual training methods may have actually done more
harm than good. Gatti had never looked so bad.

Former heavyweight champion Evander Holyfield has had an on again, off again
relationship with his strength coaches. I cannot say for sure if it was strength
training, steroids, or something else that created Holyfield’s stamina problems.
This writer is of the opinion that weight training hurt Evander more than it
helped him. He was still able to win important fights thanks to his enormous
fighting heart and the weakness of the heavyweight division. In other words,
Evander succeeded in spite of, not because of, his work with strength coaches.

Erik Arnold: “Did the weight training improve Evander Holyfield’s stamina?
Did he become a harder hitter? What do I think of weight training for boxers?
Nothing. If anything it makes these guys slower and more ponderous because
they have these massive sculpted muscles, which really aren’t right for boxing.
Look at Bob Fitzimmons and Jack Johnson. They exercised using traditional
methods rather than a specific body-toning regimen and they were probably
stronger and tougher than any of these muscle men today. Take 1970s
heavyweight contender Mike “Hercules” Weaver. He was a hard puncher but
had no stamina and his chin was poor. All the muscles in the world didn’t help
him. Ken Norton had a great build but a fairly bad chin. Rocky Marciano would
have knocked all these guys out.”

Steve Lott: “The weight trainers are not addressing the real problem, and that is
that the fighters don’t know how to fight.”

No from Joe

In his recently published book on training for boxers, Box Like the Pros, former
heavyweight champion Joe Frazier expressed his aversion to weight training for
boxers: “I’m more from the old school. God hasn’t made better fighters yet than
Joe Louis, Henry Armstrong and Sugar Ray Robinson. And those guys never
lifted weights. Neither did Jack Dempsey or Jack Johnson. I never lifted weights
and I was plenty strong in there … fighters don’t need big muscles. Big muscles
don’t mean anything. You’ve got to be able to fight. If you can’t fight, no
weights and no strength in the world are going to help you in that ring. And if
you can fight—if you’re in shape and committed and do what your trainer tells
you—you don’t need big muscles. You already can fight. What do you need big
muscles for? Plus, even if them muscles make you stronger, they can slow you
down, too … I don’t tell my fighters to lift weights” [From page 46, Box Like
the Pros by Joe Frazier and William Detloff. Copyright © 2006 by Joe Frazier
and William Detloff. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers].

Despite Joe’s sage advice, the trend today is for boxers to copy athletes in other
sports by integrating weight training into their exercise programs. It is not
unusual to see boxers doing curls, squats and bench presses with 80 to 200
pounds. This is especially true in the heavier weight divisions.

Wilbert “Skeeter” McClure: “To me the idea of having a fighter lift weights to
increase strength is like messing around with something that’s not that critical …
not that important. I’m not saying that in all cases it’s not helpful, but for most
cases it won’t help a fighter become a better fighter. And it will not help him
become a better-conditioned fighter. You just have to look at boxing history and
compare today’s fighters to the fighters who did not use weight training and who
were tough and strong. Fighters like Joe Louis, Jack Dempsey, Rocky Marciano
and Jersey Joe Walcott would destroy any of today’s heavyweights. In fact, any
of the fighters I just named could probably fight each of the people in the top ten
in one night and do quite well against all of them. Really.

“I never lifted weights. I chopped wood, but that was minimal. I did not do it
every day. There needs to be a good justification for lifting weights. Running for
endurance and knowing how to keep from being hit are more important
priorities. Speed is probably the most important element in boxing. Most people
don’t understand the correlation between hand speed and power. It’s the punch
don’t understand the correlation between hand speed and power. It’s the punch
you don’t see that knocks you down, not the one you see.”

Emanuel Steward: “Many weight trainers and conditioners confuse the training
techniques needed for boxing with the strength training needed for football and
other physical sports in which strength training has been utilized for many
years.4

“I am very upset about having these strength coaches involved with professional
boxers. Shannon Briggs had a weight lifting coach that messed his shoulders up.
You can throw 95 percent of them in the alley as far as I’m concerned. When it
comes to boxing they don’t know what the hell they’re doing.

“Recently we were interviewing Fernando Vargas for HBO and he says, ‘Look
at me here, you never saw a Mexican cut like this.’ He was so excited talking
about his impressive looking physique and his strength trainer and nutritionist.
When we finished up interviewing I said to him, ‘Fernando, are you doing any
boxing?—Because this is all you’re talking about.’ And that is a perfect
example. He was so wrapped up into his strength training and nutrition program
that he totally lost focus that he was a boxer. I felt he definitely handicapped
himself.

“It gets to be where these guys get in the way. I’ll say to a fighter, ‘We got to
box some today and the fighter will tell me, ‘I’ve got to save some today. I’m
working out with my conditioning coach at 6 P.M. tonight.’

“Another time I’m working with Oscar De La Hoya and I get a call from Oscar
asking me what am I doing around 7:30. He asks me, ‘Can you come over’? I go
over there and this strength trainer has a whole bunch of weights that he’s
putting on his back and he’s got to do a squat with what looked about 300
pounds. I said, ‘What the fuck are you guys doing! Get these fucking weights off
his shoulders!’ As soon as I told him to take that shit off his shoulders, Oscar
jumped off and ran into the house like a little kid that was just rescued.

“Bob Arum, Oscar’s promoter, set up a meeting with myself and the strength
coaches. I told them they were harming the fighter and as far as I was concerned
they needed to get the hell out of training camp.

“To justify their existence at camp, and show that they were doing something,
the strength coaches were always writing in these thick pads, detailing all of the
stuff they were doing with the fighter, and then submitting the pages to Arum.
stuff they were doing with the fighter, and then submitting the pages to Arum.
They would say, ‘We were just reading a book and we realized that the “letoid”
muscle that’s in the thigh is where the fighter throws his punches from, and he’s
got to be able to propel the punches off of a quick pivot and a thrust from the leg
muscles and by using these weights to come down to the angle we were using,
we can then build up his thigh muscles and that way he can have much better
power.’ I asked them, ‘Where did you learn that? You read that in a book?!
What you are doing here is experimenting on a fucking top athlete!’ And that is
what most of them are doing—experimenting. That is all they are doing. I told
them, ‘No more fucking weights’!

“Look at Tommy Hearns, Bob Foster, Joe Louis and all those great punchers.
They are usually rangy guys. Even Foreman was a loose, naturally strong kid.
They didn’t have these tightly muscled builds that came from lifting weights.

“A heavily muscled boxer like Frank Bruno after a certain amount of rounds in
most of his fights nearly collapses from exhaustion. Even when he won the title
the whole crowd tried to cheer him on so he wouldn’t get knocked out the last
round, he was so tired. It’s because he lifts weights. When Michael Grant was
coming into the ring to face Lennox he looked at Grant and said to me, ‘Well, I
got me another one of my muscle babies.’

“Fighters like Grant and Bruno are so tight they can’t get their punches off
normally. And after about five or six rounds their muscles become fatigued. A
fighter also takes a chance tearing his muscles by weightlifting.

“I looked at Vargas after the sixth round of his fight with Oscar and realized he
wasn’t even reacting. He couldn’t even block punches, couldn’t even move his
arms to pick them off. When they ended up stopping the fight Oscar was pouring
it on and Vargas was up against the ropes with his hands up but he couldn’t
defend himself. And that’s what the weightlifting does. It gives you that
temporary feeling of being strong with your push punches.

“Weightlifters don’t have good punching power because they push their
punches. They may look strong but they don’t really punch hard. And they tire
very quickly. So as far as I am concerned they can give me my old methods
whereby a fighter gains physical strength by boxing with another guy his own
weight, exchanging punches, blocking punches, pushing each other, going to the
ropes. You develop the necessary strength from dealing with that.

“Most fighters are already naturally strong. Are you telling me the old method of
“Most fighters are already naturally strong. Are you telling me the old method of
beating on those heavy bags, skipping rope, hitting the speed bag and such—all
of a sudden that’s outdated?”

Ted Lidsky: “A lot of fighters today think that lifting weights will improve their
punching power. But no one has ever been able to figure out why some fighters
punch harder than others. So if it isn’t really understood what makes one fighter
punch harder than another, how can you use weights to work on particular
muscles to develop a skill that no one fully understands? There are boxers who
are strong enough to pick up a Volkswagen but they can’t crack an egg with
their punch. These things are more fads than they are science. It’s the same thing
with diet. For a while we had the carbohydrate loading craze. Everybody thought
that was the proper diet for endurance sports. Now the thinking is back to having
protein before an athletic event, and less carbo-loading. Well guess what? That’s
the way fighters used to eat in the old days.”

Freddie Roach: “If you work out correctly you don’t need to lift weights. I
think its bullshit. If you do your job properly, if you run hard, work hard in the
gym, do your exercises as a fighter, I think you are doing more than enough, as
long as you do your job correctly. I’m not just talking about going into the gym
and shadowboxing a few rounds and going home. I’m talking about working
hard, getting proper sparring and so forth.

“A big problem is that every strength coach in the world comes from a football
background and it’s just such a different sport. Muscles don’t create punching
power at all. I just don’t agree with it. I know Holyfield has been doing it. And
even my guy James Toney was doing it for a short time. When he first came
back into the gym he was tight and slow and I said, ‘James, what are you doing?
This isn’t you.’ He said he was lifting weights to get a better physique because
people were saying that he looked fat. I told him, ‘who gives a damn what you
look like as long as you can fight like you can fight! You are going to get rid of
all that bulkiness and tightness.’

“Speed is the asset, especially for a guy like James Toney. All these guys want
to look like bodybuilders but looks and muscles don’t create power or speed. My
trainer, Eddie Futch, was against weightlifting, my father was against
weightlifting. I did very little weightlifting. I’m a strong person physically
because I’ve been punching the heavy bag and working out my whole life.”
 They’ve Got Nothing Else to Offer

Bill Goodman: “Years ago you had fighters that never trained with weights and
they turned out to be great fighters. But the trainers can’t teach today. They can’t
show a fighter anything that would school him properly. So they compensate for
this lack of knowledge by making up new fangled ways to train. They have him
go out and run 15 miles and pick up weights and do all types of strength training
because they’ve got nothing else to offer the fighter. They bring the fighter to a
strength trainer. They did that with James Toney and he still lost. They’re full of
crap. Jack Dempsey didn’t go to a strength trainer. Benny Leonard didn’t go to a
strength trainer. It’s crap. The trainers don’t know what to do anymore. They
make this stuff up but it doesn’t help the fighter.

“Years ago they tried to concentrate their effort in improving the fighter. The
trainers schooled him boxing wise. Today they try to make up for that lack of
ability by concentrating on excessive physical conditioning. In many cases it’s
too much punishment for the body. They are putting too much effort in the
wrong direction. The real problem is they don’t have the skills to teach a fighter.
And who’s responsible for that? These amateurs that have come into the sport in
recent years. Like that guy in a Miami gym who had his fighters hitting bubbles.
It’s ridiculous. One old time trainer almost collapsed when he heard about it.”

Tony Arnold: “One of the reasons this is the worst era in the history of boxing
is because you have the wrong ideas on training. The fighters of today are all in
good condition for the type of fights they have. For example, Jermain Taylor
was in good condition for his fight with Winky Wright. But Taylor was not on
the go all the time. What I mean is none of these fighters have been put under
extreme pressure, which makes a lot of difference. If they had to fight at a little
harder pace I don’t know how they would react. Even De La Hoya and Holyfield
had trouble going a fast 12 rounds.

“I think the old methods encouraged stamina more. A lot of time was spent on
conditioning the legs and on stamina. A lot of fighters today spend too much
time on strength training with weights and bulking up. Ray Mancini, towards the
end of his career, was one of the first fighters to work with weights. He
depended on strength and aggression. But the training slowed him down. It was
completely contrary to the old style of doing things. The old time fighters proved
they could fight longer. I doubt if a lot of these guys could go a hard 15 rounds.”
 Body Fat Babble

If Sugar Ray Robinson, Muhammad Ali and Willie Pep were fighting today they
would be told by their strength trainers to add more muscle and weight to their
lean physiques in order to compete against bigger and stronger opponents. Jack
Dempsey, Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano, Jersey Joe Walcott, Ezzard Charles and
Joe Frazier would be considered “too small” to compete against the likes of
Shannon Briggs, Sam Peter and Wladimir Klitschko. After three months lifting
weights and taking various supplements, they’d all be looking like Mike Tyson
clones. Of course their speed, punching power and coordination would be
compromised, but they could at least take comfort in the impressive appearance
of their new physiques. And of course the idiot chorus of faux experts would
rave about how their impressively cut physiques proved they were in great
fighting shape.

What would Charlie Goldman or Ray Arcel have to say about the following
advice given by strength and nutrition expert Mackie Shilstone on how to
enhance the muscle endurance of fighters? “Consider utilizing a load based on
the ability to generate repetition somewhere between 10 and 30, depending on
the fighter’s history of punches per round”5 How would the old school trainers
react to conditioning coach Dave Honig’s belief that “fighters need to increase
leg strength, which will increase the explosive power that enables them to
deliver a more powerful punch.”6 No authentic boxing trainer ever talked like
this. The advice is indicative of a very limited knowledge of the type of
beneficial strength training required of a boxer.

Would training with weights have improved the performance or punching power
of Sugar Ray Robinson, Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano, Marvin Hagler, Roberto
Duran or Henry Armstrong? Could these fighters have possibly been in better
shape for boxing than they already were?

And what is this obsession with body fat percentages that all of the strength and
nutrition coaches seem to have? If a fighter is trained in the correct way there is
absolutely no need to measure his lean to fat ratio in order to confirm that he is
in top physical condition. A competent boxing trainer knows when his fighter is
ready without having to measure his body fat.
Measuring body fat is just another form of irrelevant “window dressing.” Yet
this useless information is often reported as hard news. Typical is this excerpt
from the boxing web site [Link] describing Roy Jones, Jr., on the eve
of his return match with Antonio Tarver: “Jones also came to camp at 190 and
worked with conditioner Mackie Shilstone for six weeks prior to the fight. When
they began their regimen, his body fat was 11.5 percent. By fight night, that
number had been cut in half.”7 As it turned out, Tarver was not the least bit
intimidated by his opponent’s impressive body fat percentage. He flattened
Jones in two rounds.

Boxing scribe Kevin Iole devoted an entire paragraph in the Las Vegas Review
Journal describing the history of Oscar De La Hoya’s body fat a few days before
his title fight with Bernard Hopkins: “De La Hoya went into camp for the Sturm
fight with 19.5 percent body fat and had 9.5 percent by fight time. By contrast,
he had only 4 percent when he fought Julio Cesar Chavez for the first time as a
super lightweight in 1996. De La Hoya vowed to have no more than 5 percent
when he faces Hopkins.”8

In a follow-up article a week later, the news concerned the aesthetics of De La

Hoya’s physique: “On Wednesday, De La Hoya’s midsection appeared cut and
he looked as if he were in fighting shape.”9 Unfortunately, Oscar was unable to
attack Hopkins with his impressive “six-pack” abs. Hopkins knocked him out in
the eighth round with—of all things—a body punch.

Boxing reporting often focuses on such irrelevancies because the writers have a
limited understanding of the sport. There is rarely any mention of possible
strategies, comparisons to past champions or even an intelligent prediction on
possible outcomes. Instead reporters cover for their lack of knowledge by
parroting the fitness-babble of the strength and nutrition gurus.

Another convenient obfuscation is for newspapers and Internet sites to re-print

the CompuBox “punch stats” that are announced at the end of every round of a
televised fight. Example: “Taylor out jabbed Hopkins 64 to 29. But Hopkins had
the edge in power punches connecting 101 to 60.” But why was Taylor able to
out jab Hopkins? And how does a fighter connect with 101 so called “power
punches” without having any effect on his opponent? For anyone who grew up
reading the outstanding boxing reportage of Red Smith, Jimmy Cannon, Dan
Parker, Ted Carroll, Frank Graham, Milton Gross, Lester Bromberg, Bob
Waters, and Marshall Reed, what passes for boxing writing today leaves one in a
profound state of despair. But in fairness to today’s reporters, their counterparts
profound state of despair. But in fairness to today’s reporters, their counterparts
of decades past had an unfair advantage. They were fortunate to have access to
knowledgeable trainers who could set them straight. Today’s boxing writers
have few such resources. As a result, not only is the quality of boxers at an all
time low, so is the quality of boxing reporting.

A Weightlifter Turned Boxer Speaks His Mind

Ray Elson is a former world-class weightlifter. In the late 1960s he won regional
and national amateur weightlifting titles and took first place in the Amateur
Athletic Union Senior Metropolitan competition. Looking for new athletic
worlds to conquer, Ray decided, at the age of 23, to become a professional
boxer. Elson boxed for eight years in the light heavyweight division. In 1978 he
made a decent showing against former light heavyweight champion Victor
Galindez before being stopped in the eighth round. Ray Elson is one of the few
people who can speak knowledgeably on weight training and boxing, having
experienced both at the highest levels of competition.

Ray Elson: “When I came into boxing as a 175 pound light heavyweight, I was
already very strong from my weightlifting. I had the strength of a heavyweight.
If anybody tried to match my strength in the ring I had the edge. But I quickly
learned that boxing was not about strength. And this is true of other sports, as
well. In a sport such as collegiate wrestling the thin guy can beat the guy filled
with muscles if he knows how to apply his strength and leverage. I also learned
that a lot of boxers are big and strong, have a lot of muscles, but they can’t
punch.

“Once I started boxing I had to retrain my muscles. You have got to become
more supple. It has nothing to do with weights. Just hitting the heavy bag teaches
your muscles. You strive for speed in boxing. While I was training as a boxer I
never lifted weights. It would have been detrimental to my boxing if I continued
to lift weights, especially heavy weights, definitely.

“I already had all the strength I needed. Doing heavy squats would have
constricted my leg muscles—and you had to be supple and be able to move
quickly on your feet. And this is what a lot of the strength coaches don’t realize
—that these guys need speed. But what they are doing is constriction exercises.
All this curling … you never do curls if you are boxing. Curling is a restriction.
That is a pulling motion that constricts the biceps muscles.

“Everything in boxing is an extension, which is a pushing motion … not a

pulling motion. If you are competing as an ‘Ultimate Fighter’ you can get your
arm around a guy’s neck and choke him out. But you can’t do that in boxing. I
never did any curls after I started fighting. I did them after I retired from boxing
as part of my normal fitness routine, but not while I boxed.

“A lot of these strength trainers are body builders. They don’t know what it takes
to be a boxer. If you are building yourself up using heavy weights your muscles
are getting bigger and larger, but what you are doing is constricting and that will
prevent you from extending your arm with suppleness and speed. Touch a
bodybuilder’s arm—it’s hard like a rock. It’s not an athletic muscle.

“When I was training as a weightlifter I injured every part of my body. Lifting

heavy weights puts a great strain on your muscles. There is a saying in lifting, ‘If
you don’t have time to warm up, you don’t have time to train.’ It was very
important to warm up. Even when I was training as a fighter I would loosen up
like I was lifting. I would loosen up for ten or fifteen minutes and stretch out.
And after my workout I would stretch out again … warm up and warm down.

“I believe weight training has a place in boxing but you have to know what you
are doing. If I was training a boxer and wanted to integrate weights into his
program, I would start out with ten-pound dumbbells and light squats. I would
show him a routine to build him up. But more than anything what you need in
boxing is ability, determination, and training. Strength isn’t as important as
ability, speed and conditioning. That’s how Ali beat Foreman and Liston. That
was speed and ability beating strength.

“I was fortunate to have a great boxing teacher in Rollie Hackmer. Rollie taught
me something that fighters and trainers today do not know how to do. He taught
me how to bob and weave and how to utilize my strength in the ring.”

A Voice of Reason

Terry Todd, Ph.D., is a well known authority on weight lifting and bodybuilding.
He is the publisher of Iron Game History and is professor of kinesthesiology at
the University of Texas in Austin. Terry Todd could, if he wished, easily join the
ranks of boxing “strength trainers.” His reasons for not doing so are both
admirable and informative.

Terry Todd: “I think I know why the world of boxing was slow to begin to do
what everybody else seems now to be doing. In boxing’s case it’s partly because
the sport existed as a sort of separate activity once it stopped being a college
sport in the late 1950s.

“When intercollegiate amateur boxing ended you no longer had the almost daily
interaction that coaches in other sports have with one another, in which their
having lunch together, or they pass one another in the hall, and they’d talk shop.
People who were separated from what I would call traditional academic sports
science didn’t hear as much, or talk about it, and therefore were not influenced
by their peers in the same way they would have been had they still been part of
it. Of course boxing was very active outside of the university setting for many,
many years. But I believe this is part of the reason why—and I’m sure it’s not
the only reason—but I suspect that it must play some role in why boxing was
slow to adopt weight training.

“I think what has happened is that some boxing trainers, or managers, are
reading about all of these changes that athletes have arrived at, from Tiger
Woods on down, and some of them have sought out a strength trainer to work
with their boxer. But I would be suspicious that a strength coach coming from
another sport might not know enough about boxing to know how to put the
fighter on a training program that would end up giving him what he needed
without giving him what he did not need, if you follow me. In other words, give
him something that would make him not just stronger but more powerful.
Stronger is immaterial in boxing. Power is everything.

“I know there are boxing trainers who believe weight training could slow the
speed of the boxer’s punch, and I am not prepared to say that such a view would
be nonsense. But to me, when we have so much evidence that weight training
appears to have improved speed … I mean there is a lot of raw data that doesn’t
have to do with high level athletes, just average people, showing that rather than
making a person slower, or losing flexibility, it appears that there is a slight gain
in flexibility and a slight gain in speed of movement.

“However, I do believe that when some of the body building techniques that are
“However, I do believe that when some of the body building techniques that are
popular now are done in combination with drugs—and particularly with drugs—
you can produce enough body mass in certain parts of the body that it can
actually lead to binding yourself in the way that historically people have argued
you would become ‘muscle bound.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if some of what you
see in boxing today, with the increased body mass and muscularity among
certain fighters, is probably driven by steroids as well as by lifting.

“If a strength coach was able to increase the boxer’s explosive power and do it
without adding enough body weight that would diminish his ability to throw
more punches in any given round, or in the overall fight, and would not in any
way cause him problems in terms of the defensive aspects of fighting, then you
would come out ahead of the game. But in attempting to do this it would not be
hard to put a boxer on a program—and I could write one out very quickly—that
would be hurtful instead of helpful. I could easily give a boxer a weight-training
program that has worked for other athletes. But I do not think it would be good
for him.

“If someone said to me, ‘Well, I don’t care if you have qualms about this, you’re
the guy, and we want you to give us your best thinking about strength training
for our fighter,’ I would have some theories and ideas to suggest, but the only
thing I’d feel pretty confident in was putting a boxer on a program that would
not be really ideal for him and perhaps do more harm than good. What I would
end up suggesting would only be by inference in that I would give him what has
been demonstrated to be helpful for baseball players, tennis players or wrestlers.
I know they are not the same sport but we do have a good bit of experience with
these individuals.

“It could be that in time, as they begin to understand the special needs of boxers,
the strength coaches will stay away from the type of resistance training that
would not be helpful, and might even be harmful, and focus on where there
could be benefits. What you don’t want to do is give up on any of boxing’s
traditional training methods that have proven to work in the past and continue to
be effective.

“One of the things that always interested me about boxing was how the athletes
used to train with the medicine ball. I know that type of training fell out of favor
in all sports but it was very popular years ago, along with light dumbbell
exercises, and lots of sportsmen, even non-boxers, did it. The medicine ball
workout built up the rotary muscles of the trunk and toughened up the
midsection for being hit. For a while it just fell out of favor, especially with the
midsection for being hit. For a while it just fell out of favor, especially with the
people who were training athletes with weights, but I’ve noticed lately that it has
gotten popular again.”

It Ain’t Broke

The saying “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” should apply to boxing. Traditional
boxing trainers—the few that are left—are not closed-minded. They are open to
new ideas, provided they work. Unfortunately, most of the people currently
training and managing boxers have no idea what’s broken and what isn’t.

Resistance training utilizing moderate to heavy weights has proven useful to

athletes in football, track and field, baseball, wrestling and golf. However, when
applied to boxing this type of training has not proven its worth and is, in fact,
detrimental to the boxer. Hiring strength coaches who do not understand or have
experience with the requirements and complexities involved in training
professional fighters bears witness not to the sport’s improvement but to its
continuing regression.
 15
Boxing’s Death by Alphabet

Every month, in this era of multi-million dollar purses, of cable

television and pay per-view, prizefights are legally fixed through
matchmaking. There are bogus champions in every weight division.1
Pete Hamill

Championship belts used to mean something. Now all they’re good for
is holding up your pants.2
Jim Brady

The classic movie On the Waterfront had Marlon Brando portraying the fictional
Terry Malloy, a once promising ex-pug whose career spiraled downward after he
agreed to take a dive for the mob. “I coulda been a contender, I coulda had
class,” laments Terry. When Budd Schulberg wrote the Oscar winning
screenplay for the film in 1954, the word “contender” still carried a certain
cachet. To be a ranking contender for the title earned instant respect for its
owner.

If Terry Malloy were fighting today, he could easily gain contender status with
one of the varied and sundry “sanctioning organizations” polluting boxing’s
schizoid landscape. But would Terry have achieved the class and self-respect he
so desperately sought? I don’t think so. How does one earn class and self-respect
in a sport that, at present, is so utterly bereft of both?

A Chronic Sickness

In 1981 Sports Illustrated magazine published a special investigative report on

professional boxing.3 The investigation focused on the behavior of boxing’s two
self-appointed sanctioning organizations, the World Boxing Council (WBC) and
the World Boxing Association (WBA). The report accused both organizations of
blatantly sanctioning ridiculous title fights and ranking fighters higher than they
deserved. Incredibly, 26 years later, nothing has changed. In fact, the situation is
even worse today with the addition of two clones, the International Boxing
Federation (IBF) and the World Boxing Organization (WBO), creating a
veritable alphabet soup of rival governing bodies. Derisively referred to as “the
Alphabet Soup Groups” by disgusted fans and cynical reporters, the four quasi-
official organizations have no legal authority yet wield tremendous power within
the sport. Adding to the general confusion are some half dozen minor
sanctioning groups seeking to establish a foothold within the sport.

In 2007 the WBA, WBC, IBF and WBO recognized 60 world champions. This is
five times the number of world champions in 1982, and more than seven times
the number in 1957. Each organization recognizes its own set of world
champions and contenders in 17 weight classes, resulting in a thin talent pool
stretched even thinner because the diverse ratings are never consolidated. The
damage the sanctioning groups have done to boxing is multi-tiered. One of their
most destructive accomplishments has been to demystify what it means to be a
world champion.

In his outstanding expose Boxing Confidential, author Jim Brady put the current
title situation in historical perspective: “In the 1950s, there were approximately
5,000 fighters worldwide. There were generally eight weight divisions, with one
champion in each. That breaks down to one champ every 625 boxers. Today,
with just the major sanctioning bodies and not counting the whackos, you have
about one ‘world champion’ for every sixty-nine pros. It’s ridiculous.”4

The heavyweight championship was once the richest and most important prize in
sports. The crowning of a new champion made headlines throughout the world.
It was a historic and newsworthy event. At present there are four heavyweight
champions. The average sports fan would be hard pressed to name one.

“The heavyweight division that Ali ruled is in intensive care,” wrote Dave
Anderson in the New York Times on January 25, 2007, on the occasion of
Muhammad Ali’s 65th birthday. “With four obscure heavyweight champions
decreed by four obscure governing bodies, there is no one familiar champion. If
those four supposed titleholders marched through Times Square, few, if
anybody, would recognize any of them or even know any of their names.”

The words “world champion,” like the words “great” and “dominant,” have been
so misrepresented and abused they have become meaningless. Imagine having
so misrepresented and abused they have become meaningless. Imagine having
four Kentucky Derby winners in the same year, or multiple World Series
champions, or four competing football leagues staging their own Super Bowls.
Having four heavyweight champions is just as absurd.

Professional boxing is out of control because it is the only sport without a

national commissioner or responsible centralized authority. Boxing is run like
Dodge City before Marshall Dillon showed up. The Alphabet organizations
wield far too much power. There is no effective oversight. They make up their
own rules and then break them when it suits their purposes. They place the needs
of a few powerful promoters ahead of the welfare of boxers and the sport.
Exploitation, incompetence and conflict of interest are standard operating
procedure. Even casual fans of the sport know the monthly ratings of the
Alphabet groups are not to be trusted.

“In baseball, the standings reflect a quantifiable reality,” wrote investigative

journalist Jack Newfield in 2001. “In boxing, the ratings (which supposedly rank
fighters according to ability, from one to ten with a number-one ranking
guaranteeing a lucrative fight for the title) are at best impressionistic and at
worst totally corrupt—sold for cash.
“I coulda been a contender,” laments Marlon Brando in the role of ex-boxer
Terry Malloy in the classic 1954 movie On the Waterfront. How times have
changed. Today Terry could easily become a ranking contender with the
half dozen “sanctioning organizations” polluting boxing’s schizoid
landscape (Columbia Pictures).

“Everyone in boxing knows that the three sanctioning bodies that issue the
ratings, the World Boxing Association, the World Boxing Council and the
International Boxing Federation, have no legitimacy. They force champions to
pay huge sanctioning fees for the right to defend their titles. They strip
champions of their titles if they don’t go along with the sport’s back-room
politics. They assign incompetent judges to fights. They are more like bandits
than regulators.

“A gangster doesn’t strut into the dressing room, a cigar in his teeth, and whisper
to the fighter, ‘Tonight isn’t your night, kid. You’re going down in the sixth.’
The corruption now is more subtle, sophisticated and systemic. It depends more
on fixing the rankings than fixing the fights.”5

What Price Greed?

When a promoter wants to insure that a popular champion under his control is
granted an easy title fight, the sanctioning organization cooperates by moving an
inferior opponent into the ranks of top challengers. The phony rating lends a
kind of “legitimacy” to the match and also makes it easier to sell the event to
television. A champion vs. a “rated” challenger is a better advertisement than
champion vs. unrated tomato can. Of course the general public is not privy to the
back room chicanery that grants an inferior fighter a top ten rating. But every
now and then the resulting fallout is so embarrassing it ends up putting the entire
corrupt system under a spotlight, as the following examples reveal.

In 2003 the WBC rated Morrade Hakkar as its number one middleweight
contender. Hakkar had never beaten anyone of note. His sudden and unexplained
status as the top middleweight challenger earned him a mandatory title shot
against one of boxing’s most respected champions, Bernard Hopkins.

The bout, televised by HBO, resembled a footrace more than a prizefight. The
terrified challenger refused to throw a punch. The referee threatened to
disqualify him several times if he didn’t stop running. The non-fight ended after
the eighth round when Hakkar’s corner threw in the towel to keep him from
being seriously hurt.

HBO executive Kerry Davis publicly apologized to the viewers, calling the bout
“an embarrassing mismatch.”6 Tim Smith, of the New York Daily News, called
the bout a “farce of a mismatch” and added that fans who paid to see it live at
Philadelphia’s Spectrum Arena “could probably make a great case for fraud….
How Hakkar, the WBC no. 1 contender, could rise to that rank should be the
subject of a congressional investigation.”7

The same year as the Hopkins vs. Hakkar debacle, popular featherweight
champion Erik Morales defended his WBC crown against a 33-year-old fighter
named Eddie Croft in Mexico City. The cable outfits rarely nix a title match
involving a high profile champion, regardless the quality of his opponent, but
even they couldn’t put a positive spin on this miserable mismatch. They declined
to televise the fight because Croft had not boxed in over three years and prior to
to televise the fight because Croft had not boxed in over three years and prior to
his layoff had suffered 3 consecutive knockout losses. Morales kept Croft’s
losing streak intact. The inept challenger was knocked out in the third round.

In 2005, after watching featherweight champion Marco Antonio Barerra flatten

unknown Mzonke Fana in less than two rounds at a San Antonio arena,
respected boxing writer Pat Putnam called for the arrest of those responsible for
the pay-per-view mismatch. “They took a human being,” wrote the outraged
Putnam, “a father of two who had never fought anybody in the top 40, who was
conned into thinking he had a chance to win a world title, and put him in harm’s
way, and except for Laurence Cole, a referee who had the good sense to stop
what was becoming a stark and senseless beating, Mzonke Fana might have
gone home to South Africa in a box. What price greed?”8

Barerra was one of the best pound for pound fighters in the world. He had
knocked out 41 of 64 opponents. Fana had a 22–2 record that, according to
Putman, “proved as phony as a three-rand bill.” In his previous fight, 11 months
earlier, he was dropped twice by an obscure fighter who was ranked 41st among
the world’s super featherweights. Fana barely won a split decision.

Jose Sulaiman, the unctious “President for Life” of the World Boxing Council,
approved the mismatch in order to give his Mexican compadre Barerra an easy
mandatory defense before his lucrative return match with former champion Erik
Morales. HBO agreed to televise the bout in deference to the fact that Barerra
always draws healthy pay-per-view returns.

Every time a boxer is plucked from obscurity to serve as an easy mark for a
popular champion, the potential for serious injury increases. Among the scores
of bogus title fights that have taken place over the past 30 years, one bout in
particular stands out because of its tragic aftermath. In 1983 an unknown South
Korean fighter named Duk Koo Kim was granted contender status in order to
justify a nationally televised bout with Bob Arum’s popular World Boxing
Association lightweight champion Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini.

Kim surprised everyone with his stubborn resistance. He was brave and tough
but had no defense or style. Kim took a terrible pounding and was beaten into a
coma in the 14th round. The South Korean fighter never regained consciousness
and died four days later.

Once again professional boxing came under withering criticism. The American
Medical Association called for its abolition. The New York Times editorially
denounced the sport. In an attempt at damage control, the sanctioning
organizations reduced title bouts to 12 rounds instead of 15. The change would
at least save fighters from an additional three rounds of punishment when they
were fatigued and vulnerable. In an age when defensive boxing skills are at a
premium, this was a good idea. But the ruling was really just a smokescreen.
Statistics showed that most ring deaths occurred before the 12th round. What the
Alphabets had done was divert attention away from the real source of the
problem—a corrupt ratings system that allows fights that should never have been
approved in the first place.

Ironically, the 12 round rule has since become a detriment to boxing safety. With
so many loopy titles up for grabs, virtually every televised bout is now scheduled
for 12 rounds. Defensively challenged boxers with only 12 to 20 bouts on their
resumes are engaging in punishing 12-rounders when they should still be
learning their trade and toughening their bodies in six or eight round preliminary
matches. It is irresponsible for state boxing commissions to permit a novice
boxer to participate in a 12 round bout. Until a boxer has accumulated a total of
at least 100 professional rounds, all matches should be contested at the four to
eight round distances.

It is the author’s opinion that all 12-round bouts should be banned. There is no
reason why title fights cannot be limited to 10 rounds. In the 1920s and 1930s
major boxing states such as California, Illinois and Pennsylvania limited title
fights to 10 rounds. Fight fans did not complain or feel cheated. Some of the
most historic title fights in history were limited to 10 rounds, including both Jack
Dempsey vs. Gene Tunney fights. Barney Ross and Henry Armstrong also
defended their titles in bouts limited to 10 rounds.

But it is doubtful any changes will take place as long as the promoter-Alphabet
cartels continue to be given free reign to run the sport. Television’s complicity in
all of this cannot be ignored. By agreeing to broadcast “title” fights based on a
fraudulent rating system, the networks continue to aid and empower the
authority of the Alphabet groups.

Rampant Revisionist History

Corrupting the sport and compromising boxing safety are not the only sins the
Corrupting the sport and compromising boxing safety are not the only sins the
Alphabet organizations are responsible for. Over the past three decades their
actions have contributed to a distorted view of boxing history as well.

When Roy Jones, Jr., relieved John Ruiz of his Alphabet title in 2003, The New
York Times reported that “by defeating John Ruiz, Jones became only the second
light heavyweight to win a heavyweight title.” But of the four heavyweight
champions at the time, only Lennox Lewis could trace his title lineage all the
way back to John L. Sullivan. Unlike the other belt holders Lewis had a
legitimate claim to the title. Ruiz’s title was a fabrication conjured up by his
promoter, Don King.

Media outlets also reported that Jones was “the seventh fighter to win
championships in four weight classes.” Totally ignored was the fact that prior to
the 1970s there were seven fewer weight divisions and therefore seven fewer
championships to win. And with at least four different sanctioning organizations
crowning their own champions a fighter has multiple opportunities to win a title.

From 1892 to 1980—a period of 88 years—only four fighters won titles in three
separate weight divisions: Bob Fitzimmons, Tony Canzoneri, Barney Ross and
Henry Armstrong—all bona fide greats. Over the past 25 years (1981–2006) 20
fighters have already accomplished this feat.

It is irresponsible for sportswriters to ignore boxing history while giving

approbation to every title claimant in this age of multiple sanctioning
organizations, multiple titles and superfluous weight divisions.

Tony Arnold: “All of boxing history is being distorted now because anybody, if
he has any ability at all, wins four or five titles. To people who don’t know
boxing history—and even to many who do—a guy who won two or three titles
years ago is no big deal. You won two or three titles back in the 1930s? So
what? The average guy today is wearing multiple title belts, it seems, almost
before he turns pro. So there is a lot of damage being done to boxing history.

“People don’t realize how hard it was years ago to become a top contender,
much less win a title when there were eight weight classes and eight world
champions. They have no idea what an accomplishment that was against the type
of competition they had to face.

“What’s amazing is that there are third rate fighters today who have won two or
three titles, or they’ve won the same title four times. And then, of course, it gets
three titles, or they’ve won the same title four times. And then, of course, it gets
more distorted when a guy like Roy Jones, Jr., beats a so called ‘heavyweight
champion.’

“It’s bad all around because a couple of years from now the conversation will go
something like this:

YOUNG FAN: “Roy Jones, Jr.? How can you compare anyone to him?
Don’t you know what he did?”

OLD FAN: “Did you ever see the guy he beat for the heavyweight title?”

YOUNG FAN: “No I never saw him, but I heard he was heavyweight
champion of the world!”

OLD FAN: “Yeah, but do you realize the guy Jones beat for the title
couldn’t fight, and 50 years earlier he wouldn’t even be worthy of a four
round preliminary in Madison Square Garden?”

YOUNG FAN: “Well, I don’t know about that, but he did win the
heavyweight title.”

“It is this type of mentality that fosters acceptance of Floyd Mayweather’s

comment as to why he would not fight Antonio Margarito. Floyd said Margarito
did not belong in the same ring with him because he didn’t have enough title
belts.

“In other words, everything is predicated on the number of titles you win. So if
you say to somebody that Tony Canzoneri won three titles, what is that
compared to a guy who wins five titles before his 20th pro fight? They don’t see
that with only four or five pounds between weight divisions, and at least four
different title belts in each division up for grabs, it’s no big deal to collect one
title after another. So everything is looked at in a different way. That’s why all
the great accomplishments of the old fighters are pooh-poohed or ignored today.

“Meanwhile people forget about a great fighter like Henry Armstrong who
‘only’ won three titles in the late 1930s. But the thinking is, ‘What are three
titles today? Big deal. Everybody I know has at least seven titles today.’ They
don’t know that Armstrong defended his welterweight crown 19 times in 23
months! And he was fighting guys like Pedro Montanez and other good fighters.
It boggles the mind. But it’s hard to get that across today.
It boggles the mind. But it’s hard to get that across today.

“The fans are not interested in boxing history. Baseball fans today talk about Ty
Cobb. They know who you’re talking about when you mention Cobb. A real-
dyed-in-the-wool baseball fan can say, ‘Pete Rose, he did this and just last week
this guy did that but he’s still got a couple of more seasons before he can catch
up to Rose.’ They have a basis for comparison, don’t you think? Every baseball
fan I know knows baseball history because it is a very important part of the
sport.

“Newspapers distort their coverage of fights in a way that never would have
been tolerated by fight fans years ago. For example, they made a big deal about
De La Hoya beating Ricardo Mayorga. This Mayorga is a third rate club fighter.
He is a wild swinging brawler. He would have been a six or eight round club
fighter, at best, back in the days when boxing was still boxing. He would never
have gotten near a title. De La Hoya beat him and everyone raved about it. So
what? An outstanding boxer is supposed to dominate a third rate club fighter.
But the problem is the reporters don’t know the difference between a third rate
club fighter and an outstanding boxer.

“What I’m saying is that a guy like De La Hoya, if he is to be ranked with the
great fighters, should have walked out and knocked Mayorga into tomorrow
before the first round was half over. “When Sugar Ray Robinson beat Joe
Rindone, a run of the mill journeyman, nobody said, ‘Boy Robinson really
looked great, he dominated Rindone,’ because it was expected. Robinson just
needed a quick payday and what was expected happened. What the papers
should have said about De La Hoya was, ‘Of course he could beat Mayorga, the
guy’s just a wild swinging club fighter. De La Hoya can box and he can punch
so it was expected that he would win.’ Instead they said, ‘Wow, he completely
dominated the fight.’

“Years ago if knowledgeable fight people saw that type of reporting in the
papers there would have been hundreds of letters coming into the sportswriters
saying, ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course he’s going to beat
this guy easy, what are you raving about?’”

Ted Lidsky: “When I first became interested in boxing in the late 1950s you
didn’t have all these different sanctioning organizations recognizing their own
champions and contenders. There was one champion per division. And you had
to beat other ranked fighters to get a shot at the title. After winning a title you
had to defend it against other good fighters who had earned their rating. It was a
natural selection process in which the best fighters fought each other.

“Nowadays good fighters rarely fight each other. They can become champions
without having to beat the best fighters. So it is no longer the survival of the
fittest in boxing. But when you eliminate natural selection from the evolutionary
process you’re also eliminating evolution and that’s what the present system
does. And that’s partly why fighters today look so inadequate when compared to
the old timers.”

Carlos Ortiz: “You have so many champions and so many weight classes today.
You don’t get a true champion because it’s all watered down.”

How the Alphabets Came to Power

The Alphabet “sanctioning” organizations have blighted the sport since the late
1970s. Their rise to power coincided with a resurgence of interest in televised
boxing. The success of the movie Rocky and television coverage of Sugar Ray
Leonard and other American gold medal winners at the 1976 Olympic Games
aroused public interest in the sport, rekindling memories of boxing’s glory days.

Don King, only five years out of prison but already one of the sport’s two major
promoters, convinced the ABC-TV network to bankroll a professional boxing
tournament that would culminate with the crowning of American champions in
six weight divisions. ABC agreed to pay King $2 million to provide 23 hours of
boxing programming.9

King was given carte blanche to run the tournament. But network executives,
wary of the ex-con’s reputation, had reservations. To insure the legitimacy of the
“ABC-TV United States Boxing Championships,” they insisted the ratings of
The Ring magazine be used to determine entry qualifications.

The tournament was mired in controversy from the outset. Fighters complained
of being blacklisted because they would not give King or his associates a portion
of their earnings under the table. Top contenders who refused to get rid of their
managers and turn over their careers to King were denied entry. Preference was
given to inferior boxers who were already under the promoter’s control. An
employee of The Ring responsible for compiling the magazine’s monthly ratings
accepted a $5000 payment from King. Mediocre fighters allied with the
promoter soon began to appear in the magazine’s contender listings, thereby
justifying their entry into the tournament. Charges of kickbacks, extortion,
phony records and payoffs were rampant.10 In response to overwhelming
evidence discrediting the tournament, and mounting pressure from the press,
ABC-TV suspended the scandal ridden “United States Boxing Championships”
in early 1977.

An in-house investigation conducted by the network discovered many instances

of “unethical behavior” but concluded that no laws had been broken. Television
executives and boxing figures were hauled before a U.S. Senate sub-committee
investigating the scandal but nothing came of it.

King got off easy. He was neither jailed nor banned from the sport. He was still
in the picture since he controlled the promotional rights to many fighters
attractive to television, including Larry Holmes, the heir apparent to aging
heavyweight champion Muhammad Ali.

Although the United States Boxing Championships was an embarrassment to

ABC-TV, the bouts that aired before the tournament was suspended received
high Nielsen ratings. The network was not ready to give up on professional
boxing, but it had to find a way to protect itself from direct involvement in any
future scandals.

Television executives, at the very least, needed the appearance of propriety.

They wanted the imprimatur of an independent and legitimate sanctioning
authority to certify televised title fights. With The Ring magazine’s credibility
destroyed, they turned to the only other organizations ranking fighters and
sanctioning title fights: The Mexican based World Boxing Council (WBC) and
the Panamanian based World Boxing Association (WBA).

Both Don King and his promotional rival, Bob Arum, realized the importance
television was conferring upon the WBC and WBA, so they began to vie for
influence with these organizations. King aligned himself with the WBC and
Arum with the WBA. “For years we told them to drop dead,” remarked Arum, a
former Park Avenue lawyer turned boxing promoter. “They begged for tickets to
fights. Nobody paid any attention to these amateurs until the networks forced us
to pay attention.”11
By 1980 all three networks (ABC, NBC, and CBS) were actively engaged in
televising professional boxing matches. With the WBC and WBA taking orders
from King and Arum it was inevitable that controversy would continue to hound
the sport. Much of the criticism involved the frequency of televised mismatches
involving popular champions taking on inferior opponents.

Jim Spence, vice president of ABC sports, admitted he was unhappy with the
WBC and WBA ratings. “I’d be less than candid if I didn’t say we have a lack of
trust in both organizations,” he told Sports Illustrated in 1981. “We feel however
that as broadcasters there should be a sanctioning body for a fight. It is not
proper for us to deem a particular fight a title fight.” Arthur Watson, president of
NBC sports, agreed with Spence. “Without a WBC or WBA sanction,” intoned
Watson, “we might not be able to advertise it as a title fight and to call it a title
fight you have to be very careful.” This was to be the mantra the TV suits would
use whenever it became necessary to rebuff criticism if a horrible mismatch or
unjust decision occurred on their watch.

Out of expediency, or perhaps coercion, the networks refused to open their doors
to smaller independent promoters who did not have the clout of King or Arum.
This exclusive status enabled both promoters to increase their power base and
influence over the sport. They exerted pressure on promising boxers and
established contenders to sign long-term contracts with their organizations.
Between them, King and Arum controlled 12 of 15 champions attractive to
television—and the list was growing.

Meanwhile, south of the border, the directors of the WBC and WBA were
commanding a lot of attention—if not respect. They lost no time in taking
advantage of their newfound status. Sanctioning fees were increased and seven
new weight divisions were created. Although both organizations claimed the
creation of so many new weight divisions was a safety measure, the real
motivation was to generate additional sanctioning fees. More weight divisions
meant more title fights, which translated into fees imposed on both champions
and challengers. The WBC even billed fighters for the huge cheesy title belts
they awarded to new champions.

The Alphabet groups have no interest in encouraging unification bouts that

would crown one world champion per weight division, as that would mean
sharing the booty. The confusion grows worse year by year as additional wacky
titles (“intercontinental,” “interim,” “emeritus”) are added to the mix.
From the 1920s to the 1960s there were never more than 35 title fights per year.
In 1978, one year after television gave the Alphabets credibility and status, 68
title fights were sanctioned. Five years later the number increased to 83. In 2005
the WBC, WBA, IBF and WBO sanctioned a total of 121 title fights. The boxers
involved in these fights were charged 3 ½ percent of their gross earnings for the
title bout and the right to fight for a sanctioning organization’s championship.

The Age of Gold

With pay-per-view mega fights bringing in huge sums of money, the fees
charged by the Alphabets add up to substantial amounts. In 1999 Evander
Holyfield and Lennox Lewis handed over a total of $900,000 in sanctioning fees
for just one title fight. The Alphabets have also raked in additional millions from
bouts involving Mike Tyson, Oscar De La Hoya, Roy Jones, Jr., Bernard
Hopkins, Shane Mosley and Fernando Vargas. It is estimated the WBC alone has
taken in $20 million in sanctioning fees.

Although the current state of boxing is not a “Golden Age” in terms of talent and
activity, it is an “Age of Gold” for the sanctioning organizations who rake in
millions of dollars off the blood and sacrifice of every fighter who contends for
one of their title belts. Yet, in spite of the millions of dollars collected, the rank
and file boxer is still without a union, pension plan or health benefits.

Unfortunately, sanctioning fees are not the only source of funds available to
these useless parasites.

Ratings for Sale

After learning that an under the table payment for a WBC rating cost $5,000,
Bob Lee, an ex–New Jersey cop, founded the International Boxing Federation
(IBF) in 1984 as an honest alternative to the WBA and WBC. Sixteen years
later, having been seduced by boxing’s rampant corruption, Lee was indicted for
accepting bribes in exchange for manipulating the ratings of his own
organization.

Lee was caught on an FBI surveillance tape accepting the money and was
Lee was caught on an FBI surveillance tape accepting the money and was
accused of taking a total of $338,000 in payoffs. The charges also included tax
evasion and money laundering. He was fined and sentenced to 22 months in
prison.

The FBI tapes also revealed why a mediocrity like Frans Botha and the inactive
Henry Akinwande were continually ranked among the top ten heavyweight
contenders. Both were under contract to Don King, who worked hand in pocket
with Lee. The tapes also revealed that fighters who left King, or sued him, were
dropped from the ratings. Not surprisingly, fighters who signed with King
moved up in the ratings.

“Watching these payoff tapes makes your heart go out to all the honest fighters
without any corrupt connections,” wrote Jack Newfield shortly after the trial.
“They kept getting excluded from the fraudulent listings. They train hard, fight
fair and then get cheated out of economic opportunities because they have no
bribe-payer in their corner. Boxing corruption is not a victimless crime. A
number-one ranking has an economic value because it eventually guarantees a
title fight as the ‘mandatory challenger.’12

The sanctioning organizations would quickly disappear if the world’s top boxers
banded together and declined to pay sanctioning fees, or state boxing
commissions revoked their right to operate within their jurisdiction, or television
simply refused to recognize their authority. But don’t hold your breath waiting
for this to happen.

Most boxers, especially those without any bargaining power, won’t buck the
system because they are unwilling to risk the wrath of dominant promoters, such
as Don King and Bob Arum. Neither promoter encourages changing the present
system since they cannot be sure of what might take the place of the Alphabets
groups. Maintaining the status quo works just fine for them. Passive state boxing
commissions are of little help. They kowtow to promoters who threaten to move
major fights to another state if their boxing commissioners get too nosy or
intrusive. Television executives accept any system of boxing supervision as long
as ratings and revenues remain strong.

Before he was elected governor of New York State in 2006, Elliot Spitzer had a
first hand look at boxing corruption when he represented former champion
William Guthrie in a lawsuit against Don King. “They [the sanctioning bodies]
serve no useful purpose,” said Spitzer. “Their only function is to sell title belts
and issue false rankings. All it would take to make them irrelevant is for the TV
networks to announce they no longer will recognize the ratings of these
groups.”13

Bill Goodman: “All these fragmented titles are meaningless and the ratings are
ridiculous. Prior to the 1920s there were no ratings. A fighter gained public
acclaim as champion after beating other top fighters. That is how the champions
were determined. You don’t need ratings. You make the matches that draw and
get the best fighters to fight each other. The one that stands out is your
champion. Just recognize who the best fighters are by who they beat.”

Boxing’s Last Round?

I have often wondered who did more lasting damage to my favorite sport. Was it
the gamblers and gangsters who contaminated the Golden Age? Or was it Don
King and Bob Arum working with obedient sanctioning organizations to
undermine and exploit the sport for all it was worth? What utter contempt these
people must have for the fighters they control, the fans they deceive, and for the
sport that has made them rich.

Certainly the greed and predatory behavior of the old style mobsters hastened
boxing’s demise as a mainstream sport in the 1950s. Of that there is no doubt.
But in spite of the damage they inflicted, boxing still managed to maintain its
traditional organizational structure. It was a structure that oversaw the orderly
succession of champions in eight or, at most, ten weight divisions. And it was a
structure that did not tamper with the ratings of boxers.
Nat Fleischer (left), legendary publisher of The Ring magazine from 1922 to
1972, presents Ring title belts to multiple champion Henry Armstrong in
1938. Joe Louis stands to the right of Armstrong.

From 1924 to 1962 there were only two organizations rating fighters: The Ring
magazine and the National Boxing Association. Once a powerful influence over
the sport, The Ring had a reputation for integrity that was jealously guarded by
its legendary publisher, Nat Fleischer. In the fifty years Fleischer ran the
magazine (1922–1972) he often spoke out against the ongoing corruption in
boxing. Fleischer’s magazine was an authoritative presence and a breath of fresh
air in a sport almost always in need of fumigation. He is sorely missed today.

The National Boxing Association was a loose confederation of state boxing

commissions that existed from 1921 to 1962. During that time it issued reliable
and unbiased monthly ratings. Its ratings committee was made up of unpaid
volunteers. The NBA did not interfere with state boxing commissions in
assigning judges to title fights. Occasionally the powerful New York
Commission and the NBA would recognize two different champions for the
same weight division. But such disputes were inevitably resolved for the good of
the sport.

Oh yes, there was a sanctioning fee levied by the NBA. At the height of its
power, in the 1930s and 1940s, the fee charged by the NBA was exactly one
dollar. And it was charged to the promoter, not the fighter.

In spite of extensive mob infiltration into big time boxing during the 1950s, the
ratings were never compromised or tampered with until the rise of the promoter-
Alphabet cartels beginning in the late 1970s. Over the past 30 years (1977–2007)
the cartels have done everything in their power to encourage the proliferation of
multiple titles, multiple weight divisions, phony ratings and outright mismatches.
They have become more powerful than any state boxing commission.

From a boxing fan’s point of view the Alphabet-promoter cartels have been the
greatest disaster to befall this disaster-prone sport. The unholy alliance helped
bring to an end a system—albeit imperfect—that at least encouraged competitive
matches between legitimately ranked contenders.

As soon as the cartels took over, the number of championship mismatches

increased dramatically. At first confined to contests involving fighters under
contract to either Don King or Bob Arum, the mismatch culture would
eventually permeate the entire sport at every level of competition. It is the
mismatch culture that facilitates the huge number of undefeated records and
mismatch culture that facilitates the huge number of undefeated records and
unrealistic knockout percentages among today’s boxers. The system has become
so entrenched it may be impossible to reverse at this point.

Tune Out

If professional boxing is allowed to continue in its present state it should be

abolished. Of course the likelihood of that happening falls somewhere between
slim and none. And attempting to help a sport that has no interest in helping
itself is a fool’s errand. Senators and presidential candidates have tried and
failed. As an alternative I suggest that fans simply turn off and tune out
professional boxing. Refusing to shell out money for pay-per-view fights will get
the message across to the greedy hucksters that fight fans aren’t going to be
suckered anymore. The whole rotten system needs to be overhauled and
revamped. If that doesn’t happen the sport of professional boxing is not worth
any intelligent person’s time or attention.

At the very least, sanctioning fees should be outlawed and the authority of the
Alphabet organizations and their ridiculous edicts ignored by state boxing
commissions and cable TV operators.

I’m not overly optimistic that any positive changes will actually take place.
Professional boxing, like Old Man River, will just keep rolling along. But I
won’t be following the dirge. With the completion of this book I hope to finally
wash my hands of this lifelong passion of mine. As Pete Hamill has written,
“You cannot love anything that lives in a sewer. And the world of boxing is
more fetid and repugnant now than at any other time in its squalid history.”14

Professional boxing has never been, and probably never will be, totally free of
corruption and exploitation. It’s the nature of the beast. Yet, despite the
prevalence of bloodsuckers, pimps and thieves who defiled the sport during the
Golden Age of talent and activity, boxing still managed to maintain its dignity
and self respect. It was—at the time—a sport worthy of attention. The skill,
character and professionalism of the contenders, champions, club fighters and
journeymen of that singular era provided the most redemptive aspect. I am also
grateful to the handful of post Golden Age great, and near great champions who
appeared on the scene during the 1970s and 1980s. Their welcome presence
gave us an all too fleeting reminder of the Golden Age of the sweet science.
Epilogue

This book is both love letter and lament to my favorite sport. I wrote it to revive
the memory of the greatest generation of boxers the world has ever seen and to
set the record straight. Whether it is read as a historical document, training
guide, or just out of curiosity, I hope the reader has gained a broader
appreciation for the art of boxing and for those who were its most accomplished
artisans. I also want to make clear that although at times I have been harsh in my
criticism it was never my intention, or the intention of anyone interviewed for
this book, to disrespect any of today’s champions or contenders. I have tried to
present my views fairly and honestly. Every fighter is deserving of respect who
takes that long walk from the dressing room and up those four steps into the ring.
 Appendix

Statistics for Reigning Champions

Graphs 1 through 4 (Chapter 4) were derived from the following statistics. All
numbers are at time of first title.

1925

H Jack Dempsey— # Fights: 73; # KOs: 45; # Rounds: 291; # Years: 5

LH Paul Berlanbach— # Fights: 27; # KOs: 21; # Rounds: 130; # Years: 2

M Harry Greb— # Fights: 234; # KOs: 35; # Rounds: 2078; # Years: 10

W Mickey Walker— # Fights: 59; # KOs: 18; # Rounds: 452; # Years: 3

LT Benny Leonard— # Fights: 108; # KOs: 29; # Rounds: 799; # Years: 6

F Louis Kid Kaplan— # Fights: 56; # KOs: 6; # Rounds: 453; # Years: 4

B Charley Phil Rosenberg— # Fights: 41; # KOs: 3; # Rounds: 378; # Years: 4

FL Pancho Villa— # Fights: 77; # KOs: 17; # Rounds: 577; # Years: 3

1935

H Jimmy Braddock— # Fights: 84; # KOs: 27; # Rounds: 565; # Years: 9

LH John Henry Lewis— # Fights: 58; # KOs: 37; # Rounds: 304; # Years: 5

M Marcel Thil— # Fights: 65; # KOs: 30; # Rounds: 533; # Years: 7

W Barney Ross— # Fights: 48; # KOs: 12; # Rounds: 306; # Years: 4

LT Tony Canzoneri— # Fights: 50; # KOs: 12; # Rounds: 312; # Years: 2

F Freddie Miller— # Fights: 110; # KOs: 21; # Rounds: 800; # Years: 6

B Baltazar Sangchilli— # Fights: 67; # KOs: 20; # Rounds: 391; # Years: 6

FL Benny Lynch— # Fights: 78; # KOs: 31; # Rounds: 617; # Years: 4

1945

H Joe Louis— # Fights: 34; # KOs: 28; # Rounds: 157; # Years: 3

LH Gus Lesnevich— # Fights: 61; # KOs: 16; # Rounds: 455; # Years: 7

M Tony Zale— # Fights: 61; # KOs: 24; # Rounds: 321; # Years: 6

W Freddie Red Cochran— # Fights: 103; # KOs: 21; # Rounds: 675; # Years: 8

LT Bob Montgomery— # Fights: 59; # KOs: 27; # Rounds: 399; # Years: 4.5

F Willie Pep— # Fights: 53; # KOs: 20; # Rounds: 306; # Years: 2

B Manuel Ortiz— # Fights: 49; # KOs: 18; # Rounds: 360; # Years: 4

FL Jackie Paterson— # Fights: 50; # KOs: 29; # Rounds: 340; # Years: 5

1955

H Rocky Marciano— # Fights: 43; # KOs: 37; # Rounds: 175; # Years: 5

LH Archie Moore— # Fights: 177; # KOs: 85; # Rounds: 1067; # Years: 17

M Sugar Ray Robinson— # Fights: 75; # KOs: 49; # Rounds: 431; # Years: 6

W Carmen Basilio— # Fights: 62; # KOs: 21; # Rounds: 463; # Years: 7

LT Wallace Bud Smith— # Fights: 47; # KOs: 18; # Rounds: 340; # Years: 7
F Sandy Saddler— # Fights: 93; # KOs: 56; # Rounds: 470; # Years: 5

B Robert Cohen— # Fights: 38; # KOs: 13; # Rounds: 294; # Years: 3

FL Pascual Perez— # Fights: 23; # KOs: 21; # Rounds: 96; # Years: 1.5

1965

H Muhammad Ali— # Fights: 19; # KOs: 15; # Rounds: 103; # Years: 3

LH Jose Torres— # Fights: 36; # KOs: 25; # Rounds: 212; # Years: 7

M Dick Tiger— # Fights: 60; # KOs: 21; # Rounds: 463; # Years: 10

W Emile Griffith— # Fights: 24; # KOs: 7; # Rounds: 186; # Years: 3

LT Carlos Ortiz— # Fights: 32; # KOs: 11; # Rounds: 226; # Years: 4

F Vicente Saldivar— # Fights: 26; # KOs: 20; # Rounds: 136; # Years: 3

B Fighting Harada— # Fights: 27; # KOs: 10; # Rounds: 164; # Years: 2.5

FL Salvatore Burruni— # Fights: 82; # KOs: 23; # Rounds: 707; # Years: 8

1975

H Muhammad Ali— # Fights: 19; # KOs: 15; # Rounds: 103; # Years: 3

LH John Conteh— # Fights: 26; # KOs: 20; # Rounds: 163; # Years: 3.5

M Carlos Monzon— # Fights: 82; # KOs: 46; # Rounds: 608; # Years: 7

W Jose Napoles— # Fights: 59; # KOs: 39; # Rounds: 354; # Years: 10.5

LT Roberto Duran— # Fights: 27; # KOs: 23; # Rounds: 115; # Years: 5

F Alexis Arguello— # Fights: 42; # KOs: 32; # Rounds: 182; # Years: 6

B Alfonso Zamora— # Fights: 20; # KOs: 20; # Rounds: 56; # Years: 2

FL Miguel Canto— # Fights: 46; # KOs: 12; # Rounds: 380; # Years: 6

1985

H Larry Holmes— # Fights: 27; # KOs: 19; # Rounds: 141; # Years: 5

LH Michael Spinks— # Fights: 16; # KOs: 11; # Rounds: 84; # Years: 4

M Marvin Hagler— # Fights: 53; # KOs: 40; # Rounds: 303; # Years: 7

W Donald Curry— # Fights: 15; # KOs: 11; # Rounds: 61; # Years: 2

LT Hector Camacho Sr.— # Fights: 27; # KOs: 16; # Rounds: 154; # Years: 5

F Azumah Nelson— # Fights: 20; # KOs: 14; # Rounds: 147; # Years: 4

B Jeff Fenech— # Fights: 6; # KOs: 6; # Rounds: 22; # Years: 1.5

FL Hilario Zapata— # Fights: 33; # KOs: 14; # Rounds: 341; # Years: 8

1995

H George Foreman— # Fights: 37; # KOs: 34; # Rounds: 116; # Years: 3.5

LH Virgil Hill— # Fights: 18; # KOs: 12; # Rounds: 81; # Years: 3

M Bernard Hopkins— # Fights: 29; # KOs: 19; # Rounds: 131; # Years: 6.5

W Pernell Whitaker— # Fights: 17; # KOs: 10; # Rounds: 100; # Years: 4

LT Oscar De La Hoya— # Fights: 17; # KOs: 15; # Rounds: 75; # Years: 2.5

F Tom Johnson— # Fights: 33; # KOs: 20; # Rounds: 183; # Years: 7

B Wayne McCullough— # Fights: 16; # KOs: 13; # Rounds: 84; # Years: 2

FL Danny Romero— # Fights: 23; # KOs: 21; # Rounds: 77; # Years: 3

2007

H Wladimir Klitschko— # Fights: 35; # KOs: 32; # Rounds: 116; # Years: 4

LH Bernard Hopkins— # Fights: 29; # KOs: 19; # Rounds: 131; # Years: 6.5

M Jermain Taylor— # Fights: 23; # KOs: 17; # Rounds: 119; # Years: 4

W Floyd Mayweather Jr.— # Fights: 17; # KOs: 13; # Rounds: 64; # Years: 2

LT Juan Diaz— # Fights: 22; # KOs: 11; # Rounds: 126; # Years: 4

F Chris John— # Fights: 33; # KOs: 19; # Rounds: 208; # Years: 5

B Hozumi Hasegawa— # Fights: 19; # KOs: 5; # Rounds: 137; # Years: 5

FL Pongsaklek Wonjongkam— # Fights: 40; # KOs: 23; # Rounds: 246; #

Years: 7
 Chapter Notes

Preface

1. Pete Hamill, “Blood on Their Hands,” Esquire (June 1996), p. 93.

Chapter 1

1. Nat Fleischer, Fifty Years at Ringside (New York: Fleet Publishing, 1958), pp.
274–275.

2. Elliot Gorn, The Manly Art: Bare Knuckle Prize Fighting in America (Ithaca
and London: Cornell University Press, 1986), p. 205.

3. Ibid., p. 204.

Chapter 2

1. David Margolick, Beyond Glory: Joe Louis vs. Max Schmeling and a World
on the Brink (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005), p. 10.

2. Nat Fleischer, Black Dynamite, Vol. 5 (New York: Ring Athletic Library,
1947), p. 245.

3. Author’s Interview with Ray Arcel, February 23, 1978.

Chapter 3

1. Nat Fleischer, Fifty Years at Ringside (New York: Fleet Publishing, 1958), p.
274.

2. Barry J. Hugman, British Boxing Board of Control Yearbook: 1987 (London:

Robson Books), p. 443.

3. Kevin Baker, “The Case for the Draft,” American Heritage magazine (July
2003), p. 16.

4. Stanley Weston. The Best of the Ring (Chicago: Bonus Books, Inc., 1992), p.
109.

5. John R. Tunis, “Sad State of the Boxing Business,” New York Times,
November 6, 1949, Sunday Magazine section, p. 26.

6. “Boxing Decline Shown: Massachusetts Reports Drop in Receipts, Licenses,”

New York Times, January 1, 1957, p. 33.

7. Commonwealth of Massachusetts, Dept. of Public Safety Report, April 23,

2007.

8. Association of Boxing Commission’s Annual Reports 1981–2006.

9. Jeffrey T. Sammons, Beyond the Ring: The Role of Boxing in American

Society (Urbana, IL.: University of Illinois Press, 1988), p. 149.

10. Ibid.

11. Arthur Daley, “Is Boxing on the Ropes?” New York Times, January 31, 1954,
Magazine, p. 25.

12. Ian Jeffrey, An Anthology of Writings on Boxing and Visual Culture: From
Joe Louis to the Sluggers (Cambridge, MA, MIT Press, 1996), pp. 52–53.

13. Murray Rose, “Farewell to Stillman’s,” Boxing Illustrated magazine

(October 1961), p. 19.

14. Sammons, Beyond the Ring, p. 149.

Chapter 4
Chapter 4

1. Wilbur Wood, “Master Boxer Speaks,” The Ring (July 1933), p. 32.

2. “Harry Greb Whips Maxie Rosenbloom,” Cleveland Plain Dealer, July 17,
1925, p. 18.

3. “Yarosz Too Experienced, Wins Decision, Eastern Boxer Proves Master on

Defensive,” St. Louis Post Dispatch, p. 33.

4. Ibid.

5. John S. Radosta, “Five Fighters Who Hung on Discuss an Age-Old Problem,”

New York Times, September 29, 1980, Section C, p. 6.

6. Ibid.

7. Statistics compiled from Ring Record Book, 1959 and 1985 editions, and
[Link].

8. John D. McCallum, The Encyclopedia of World Boxing Champions (Radnor,

PA: Chilton, 1975), pp. 175–213.

9. Greg Beachum, “Revitalized Mosley Wants Big ’07 Bout,” New York Post,
July 17, 2006, p. 65.

10. Stephen Holden, “Sinatra’s Lasting Image: The Voice or the Vices,” New
York Times, May 17, 1998, Section I, 36.

Chapter 5

1. Statistics compiled from Ring Record Book, 1959 and 1985 Editions.

2. Statistics compiled from [Link].

Chapter 7
1. Everett M. Skeehan, Rocky Marciano: Biography of a First Son (New York:
Simon and Schuster, 1977) p. 145.

2. Russell Sullivan, Rocky Marciano, the Rock of His Times (Urbana and
Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2002) p. 41.

3. Ibid., p. 62.

Chapter 8

1. “Hopkins and Corey Spinks Seeking Big Money Bouts,” New York Times,
December 15, 2003, Section D, p. 7.

Chapter 10

1. Lester Bromberg, “Too Eager to Learn,” The Ring, Sept. 1956, p. 34.

2. International Boxing Hall of Fame interview, 1991.

3. Mike Casey, “Touching the Void: The Hawk and the Schoolboy in Late ’82,”
[Link], 2007.

4. Franz Lidz, “Uncommon Valor,” Sports Illustrated (June 16, 2003), p. 47.

5. Max Novich, M.D., presentation at the second National Conference on

Medical Aspects of Sports, November 27, 1960.

Chapter 11

1. Mike Marley, “Alexis Still Level Headed,” New York Post, July 9, 1979, p.
50.

2. William C. Rhoden, “Not Too Soon to Talk About Jones and Ali,” New York
Times, March 3, 2003, Section D, p. 7.

3. Phil Woolever, “Heavy Duty Jones Proves His Greatness,” Boxing Digest
(May-June 2003), p. 35.

4. Greg Willis, “Jones Will Play Heavy for a ‘Lotta’ Money,” New York Post,
March 2, 2003, p. 56.

5. W.C. Heinz, The Professional (Cambridge, MA, Da Capo Press, 2001), p.

110. Original publication date 1958.

6. Ronald K. Fried, Corner Men, Great Boxing Trainers (New York: Four Walls
Eight Windows Publishing, 1991), p. 329.

7. Ibid., p. 331.

8. Ibid., p. 330.

Chapter 12

1. Allen Barra, “Boxing Needs a Superstar, and Mayweather Isn’t It,” New York
Sun, May 7, 2007, p. 17.

2. Jack Fiske, “Duran: Was He the Greatest Lightweight Champion of All

Time?” The Ring (September 1980), pp. 17–25.

3. “Sports Briefing,” New York Times (AP), December 10, 2007, D-6.

Chapter 13

1. Dave Anderson, In the Corner: Great Boxing Trainers Talk About Their Art
(New York: William Morrow and Co., 1991), p. 99.

2. Stanley Weston, The Best of the Ring (Chicago: Bonus Books, 1992), pp. 33–
35.
3. Harry Winkler, “In Sunny California,” The Ring (June 1948), p. 48.

Chapter 14

1. Edward Hoagland, Violence, Violence, an Essay, 1969.

2. Alan Riding, “Salvador Sanchez: The 100 Percent Boxer,” New York Times,
July 19, 1982, Section C, page 1.

3. Mike Casey, “Harold Johnson: The Master Mechanic Haunted by Archie

Moore,” International Boxing Research Organization Journal (March 12, 2008),
p. 21.

4. Ringside and Training Principles (a publication of the Nevada Athletic

Commission, 2001), p. 18.

5. Ibid., p. 54.

6. Ibid., p. 44.

7. Tom Hauser, “A Superstar Grows Older,” [Link], October 2, 2005.

8. Kevin Iole, “Don’t Count Me Out in Hopkins Fight,” Las Vegas Review
Journal, July 3, 2004, p. 27.

9. Las Vegas Review Journal, July 10, 2004.

Chapter 15

1. Pete Hamill, “Blood on Their Hands,” Esquire (June 1996), p. 94.

2. Jim Brady, Boxing Confidential, Power, Corruption and the Biggest Prize in
Sport (Lytham Lancashire, U.K., Milo Books Ltd., 2002), p. 16.

3. Pat Putnam, “Time to Clean Up Boxing Again,” Sports Illustrated (March 16,
1981), pp. 36–37.
4. Ibid.; Brady, Boxing Confidential, p. 165.

5. Jack Newfield, “The Shame of Boxing,” The Nation (November 12, 2001), p.
14. Reprinted with permission from the November 12, 2001, issue of The
Nation.

6. George Willis, “Fight Game Takes It on the Chin Again,” New York Post,
March 31, 2003, p. 83.

7. Tim Smith, “Hopkins Mismatch Latest Fiasco for Boxing Rankings,” Daily
News, March 31, 2003, p. 74.

8. Pat Putnam, “Barrera-Fana and HBO PPV,” [Link] (April 15,

2005).

9. Jack Newfield, Only in America: The Life and Crimes of Don King (New
York: William Morrow and Co., 1995), p. 102.

10. Ibid., pp. 110–115.

11. Ibid., Putnam, Sports Illustrated, p. 37.

12. Newfield, Only in America; Newfield, The Nation, p. 18. Reprinted with
permission from the November 12, 2001, issue of The Nation.

13. Ibid., p. 20–21.

14. Ibid.; Hamill, Esquire p. 94.

 Bibliography

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Brady, Jim. Boxing Confidential: Power, Corruption and the Richest Prize in
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Bromberg, Lester. Boxing’s Unforgettable Fights. New York: The Ronald Press,
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Cannon, Jack, and Tom Cannon. Nobody Asked Me, But…: The World of Jimmy
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Century, Douglas. Barney Ross. New York: Schocken, 2006.

Dempsey, Jack, with Bob Considine and Bill Slocum. Dempsey, by the Man
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_____. Black Dynamite, Vol. V: Sockers in Sepia. New York: Ring Athletic
Library, 1947.

_____. Fifty Years at Ringside. New York: Fleet Publishing, 1958.

_____. Leonard the Magnificent. New York: The Ring Bookshop, 1947.

_____. Ring Record Book and Boxing Encyclopedia (numerous editions).

_____, and Sam Andre. A Pictorial History of Boxing. Secaucus, NJ: Citadel
Press, 1975.
Ford, John. The Age of Regency Boxiana. South Brunswick and New York:
Great Albion Book, 1971.

Frazier, Joe, with William Detloff. Box Like the Pros. New York: Collins, 2005.

Fried, Ronald K. Corner Men, Great Boxing Trainers. New York: Four Walls
Eight Windows Publishing, 1991.

Gorn, Elliot. The Manly Art: Bare Knuckle Prize Fighting in America. Ithaca
and London: Cornell University Press, 1986.

Grombach, John V. The Saga of the Fist: The 9000 Year Story of Boxing. New
York: Barnes, 1977.

Haislet, Edwin. Boxing. New York: A.S. Barnes and Company, 1940.

Heinz, W.C. The Fireside Book of Boxing. New York: Simon and Schuster,
1961.

_____. Once They Heard the Cheers. New York: Doubleday and Company,
1979.

_____. The Professional. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press, 2001 (original

publication date 1958).

Heller, Peter. In This Corner…!: Forty World Champions Tell Their Stories.
New York: Simon and Schuster, 1973.

Hugman, Barry J. British Boxing Board of Control Yearbook: 1987. London:

Robson Books, 1986.

Isenberg, Michael T. John L. Sullivan and His America. Urbana and Chicago:
University of Illinois Press, 1988.

Jeffrey, Ian. An Anthology of Writings on Boxing and Visual Culture: From Joe
Louis to the Sluggers. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996.

Kahn, Roger. A Flame of Pure Fire: Jack Dempsey and the Roaring ’20s. New
York: Harcourt Brace and Co., 1999.
Kram, Mark. Ghosts of Manilla. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2001.

Levine, Peter. From Ellis Island to Ebbets Field: Sport and the American Jewish
Experience. New York: Oxford University Press, 1992.

Lowry, “Tiger” Ted. God’s in My Corner: Portrait of an American Boxer.

Baltimore: PublishAmerica, 2006.

Margolick, David. Beyond Glory: Joe Louis vs. Max Schmeling and a World on
the Brink. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005.

McCallum, John D. The Encyclopedia of World Boxing Champions. Radnor, PA:

Chilton, 1975.

Moore, Archie. The Archie Moore Story. New York: McGraw-Hill Book
Company, Inc., 1960.

Nagler, Barney. James D. Norris and the Decline of Boxing. New York: Bobbs-
Merrill Co., 1964. Nevada State Athletic Commission. Ringside and Training
Principles. 2001.

Newfield, Jack. Only in America: The Life and Crimes of Don King, New York:
William Morrow and Co., 1995.

Oates, Joyce Carol. On Boxing. Garden City, NY: Dolphin/Doubleday, 1987.

Plimpton, George. Shadow Box. New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1977.

Roberts, Randy. Jack Dempsey: The Manassa Mauler. Baton Rouge: Louisiana
State University Press, 1979.

_____. Papa Jack: Jack Johnson and the Era of White Hopes. Free Press, 1983.

Rosenfeld, Allen S. Charley Burley: The Life and Hard Times of an Uncrowned
Champion. Bloomington, IN: 1st Books, 2000.

Sammons, Jeffrey T. Beyond the Ring: The Role of Boxing in American Society.
Urbana, IL, University of Illinois Press, 1988.

Skeehan, Everett, M. Rocky Marciano: Biography of a First Son. New York:

Simon and Schuster, 1977.

Sullivan, Russell. Rocky Marciano: The Rock of His Times. Urbana and
Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2002.

Weston, Stanley. The Best of the Ring. Chicago: Bonus Books, 1992.

_____, and Steve Farhood. Boxing: The 20th Century. New York: BDD
Promotional Book Company, Inc., 1993.

Periodicals

American Heritage

Boston Globe

Boxing and Wrestling

Boxing Digest

Boxing Illustrated/Wrestling News Boxing International

Boxing Monthly

Boxing News

Cleveland Plain Dealer

Esquire

International Boxing Research Organization Journal Knockout

KO

Las Vegas Review Journal

The Nation

New York Daily News

New York Post

New York Sun

New York Times

Philadelphia Inquirer

Providence Journal

Referee

The Ring

St. Louis Post Dispatch

San Francisco Chronicle

Sport

Sports Illustrated

Tonight’s Boxing Program

Wall Street Journal

Web Sites

[Link]

[Link]

[Link]

[Link]

[Link]
 Interviews

Erik Arnold, February 5, 2003. August 21, 2007.

Tony Arnold, January 12, 2003. August 17, 2007.

Teddy Atlas, May 7, 2003. July 21, 2007.

Mike Capriano, January 28, 2003. September 10, 2007.

Dan Cuoco, August 27, 2007.

Ray Elson, August 1, 2007.

Tony Fosco, May 14, 2003.

Bill Goodman, February 3, 2003. July 19, 2007.

Rollie Hackmer, February 10, 2003. March 7, 2007

Chuck Hasson, January 22, 2004.

Hank Kaplan, December 22, 2002. October 7, 2007.

Ted Lidsky, April 10, 2004. October 1, 2007.

Steve Lott, May 15, 2003.

Ted Lowry, February 5, 2003. January 16, 2005.

Wilbert McClure, May 8, 2003.

Carlos Ortiz, August 28, 2007.

Sal Rappa, May 12, 2003.

Freddie Roach, January 13, 2004.

Kevin Smith, December 16, 2003.

Emanuel Steward, February 17, 2003.

Terry Todd, March 12, 2003.

Edward Villella, January 27, 2004.

 Index of Terms

Abad, Davey

ABC television network

ABC-TV United States Boxing Championships

Abrams, Georgie

Akinwande, Henry

Alabama Kid

Ali, Muhammad

Alphabet soup groups

Amadee, Larry

Ambers, Lou

Ambrose, Jimmy

American Jazz

American Medical Association

Anderson, Dave

Angott, Sammy

Antefeurmo, Vito

Anthony, Tony

Apostoli, Fred

Arcel, Ray
Arcel, Ray

Archer, Freddie

Archer, Joey

Arguello, Alexis

Arizmendi, Baby

Armstrong, Henry

Arnold, Erik

Arnold, Tony

Arum, Bob

Aserio, Filberto

Atlas, Teddy

August, Jimmy

Baer, Buddy

Baer, Max

Bagley, Doc

Balanchine, George

Balboa, Rocky

Baldomir, Carlos

Bare-knuckle boxing

Barerra, Marco Antonio

Barlund, Gunnar
Barlund, Gunnar

Baroudi, Sam

Barra, Allen

Basilio, Carmen

Basora, Jose

Bass, Benny

Beattie, Jim

Bell, Bobby

Bell, Tommy

Belloise, Steve

Benitez, Wilfredo

Benjamin, Joe

Bentham, Teddy

Benton, George

Berg, Jackie Kid

Berle, Milton

Bernstein, Jack

Biesca, Pedro

Bimstein, Whitey

Bivins, Jimmy

Bizzaro, Lou

Black Murderers’ Row

Black Murderers’ Row

Blackburn, Jack

Blackwood, Joe

Blair, Frankie

Blaustein, Heine

Blunt, Eddie

Boardman, Larry

Bogs, Tom

Bojado, Francisco

Bolanos, Enrique

Bolden, Nate

Booker, Eddie

Boston Strongboy

Boston Tar Baby

Botha, Franz

Bouttier, Jean Claude

Bowe, Riddick

Box Like the Pros (book)

Boxing Confidential (book)

Boxing Digest

Boxing Illustrated

[Link]
[Link]

Boyd, Bobby

Brady, Jack

Brady, Jim

Brain damage in boxers

Brando, Marlon

Brenner, Teddy

Briggs, Shannon

Briscoe, Benny

Bristol, Kenny

Britton, Jack

Broad, James

Bromberg, Lester

Bronx Bull

Brooks, Panama Roy

Brouillard, Lou

Brown, Big Boy

Brown, Freddie

Brown, Joe

Brown, Panama Al

Bruno, Frank
Buchanan, Ken

Buffer, Michael

Burgess, Luther

Burley, Charley

Burns, Tommy

Burton, Gene

Burton, Phil

Byars, Walter

Calzaghe, Joe

Camacho, Hector

Cannon, Jimmy

Cantor, Hymie

Canzoneri, Tony

Capitol Hotel

Capriano, Mike, Jr.

Capriano, Mike, Sr.

Carbo, Frankie

Carnera, Primo

Carpentier, Georges

Carroll, Ted
Carter, Jimmy

Carter, Rubin Hurricane

Casey, Mike

CBS television network

Cerdan, Marcel

Chagaev, Ruslan

Chaney, George KO

Charles, Ezzard

Charnley, Dave

Chase, Jack

Chavez, Julio Ceasar

Cheatum, Willie

Chicago Stadium

Clancy, Gil

Clay, Cassius

Clemente, Al

Cleveland Plain Dealer

Cobb, Ty

Cobe, Pedro

Cocoa Kid

Coggins, Jack
Cohen, Irving

Cole, Laurence

Columbu, Franco

Compolo, Vittorio

CompuBox

Conn, Billy

Connecticut, boxing activity

Connelly, Scott

Conteh, John

Cool, Eddie

Cooney, Gerry

Corbett, James J. (Jim)

Coster, Jimmy

Costner, George Sugar

Cotton, Charley

Coulon, Johnny

Creatine

Croft, Eddie

Cruz, Steve

Cuoco, Dan
Daley, Arthur

D’Amato, Cus

Davey, Chuck

Davis, Bummy

Davis, Kerry

Day, Davey

DeForrest, Jimmy

DeJesus, Estaban

De Kuh, Arthur

De La Hoya, Oscar

Delaney, Jack

Dellicurit, Vic

DeMarco, Paddy

Dempsey, Jack

Detroit Olympia

Diduck, Harry

Di Maggio, Joe

Docusen, Bernard

Dodge City

Dollings, Dai

Douglas, Buster
Dumont Television Network

Dundee, Angelo

Dundee, Chris

Dundee, Johnny

Duran, Roberto

Durando, Ernie

Durelle, Yvon

Eatman, Eldridge

Eddie Ran

Edgar, Jimmy

Einstein, Albert

Ellison, Doug

Elson, Ray

England, boxing activity

ESPN

Fana Mzonke

Fargo Express

Farrell, Buddy

FBI surveillance tapes

Felton, Lester

Fernandez, Florentino

Fernandez, Vilomar

Ferrara, Chickie

Fight of the Century

Fight of the Week

Finish fights

Firpo, Luis Angel

Fiske, Jack

Fitzsimmons, Bob

Fleischer, Nat

Florio, Dan

Florio, Nick

Flowers, Tiger

Folley, Zora

Foreman, George

Forrest, Vernon

Fosco, Tony

Foster, Bob

Fox, Billy

Fox, Tiger Jack

Franklin, Lem

Franklin, Matt

Frazier, Joe

Frazier, Marvis

Friday Night Fights

Fried, Ronald K.

Fuller, Sammy

Fullmer, Gene

Fulton, Fred

Futch, Eddie

Galindez, Victor

Gans, Joe

Gans, Panama Joe

Garcia, Ceferino

Gatti, Arturo

Genaro, Frankie

Gentleman Jim

G.I. Bill of Rights

Giambra, Joey

Giardello, Joey
Gibbons, Mike

Gibbons, Tommy

Gleason’s Gym

Godfrey, George

God’s in My Corner: Portrait of an American Boxer (book)

Golden Age of Inventors

Goldfield, Nevada

Goldman, Charlie

Gomez, Tommy

Gomez, Wilfredo

Goodman, Bill

Goodrich, Jimmy

Gore, Bill

Graham, Billy

Graham, Bushy

Graham, Frank

Grant, Billy

Grant, Michael

Graziano, Rocky

Greb, Harry

Griffin, Andy
Griffith, Emile

Gross, Lou

Gross, Milton

Grunes, Willie

Guthrie, William

Hackmer, Rollie

Hagler, Marvin

Hakkar, Morrade

Hamid, Naseem

Hamill, Pete

Hammer, Ever

Hamsho, Mustafa

Hank, Henry

Hart, Al

Harvey, Sedgewick

Hasson, Chuck

Hatton, Ricky

Haynes, Leroy

HBO (Home Box Office)

Hearns, Tommy
Heinz, W.C.

Herman, Pete

Hill, Richie

Hoagland, Edward

Holden, Stephen

Holman, John

Holmes, Larry

Holt, Henry

Holyfield, Evander

Honig, Dave

Hopkins, Bernard

Horn, Randy

Hostak, Al

House, Bud

Hudkins, Ace

Hulk Hogan

Humez, Charley

Humphries, Joe

Hurley, Jack

I Love Lucy
Ibragimov, Sultan

Impellitiere, Ray

International Boxing Club (IBC)

International Boxing Federation (IBF)

Iole, Kevin

Italian Renaissance

Jack, Beau

Jackson, Hurricane

Jackson, Jerry

Jackson, Peter

Jackson, Phil

Jacobs, Jimmy

Jadick, Johnny

Janazzo, Izzy

Jeanette, Joe

Jeffries, Jim

Jenkins, Lew

Joe Walcott (original)

Jofre, Eder

Johnson, Battling Jim

Johnson, Glen

Johnson, Harold

Johnson, Jack

Jones, Doug

Jones, Leroy

Jones, Ralph Tiger

Jones, Roy, Jr.

Joppy, William

Joyce, Willie

Judah, Zab

Justice Department

Kaplan, Hank

Kaplan, Louis Kid

Kaplan, Phil

Kearns, Jack Doc

Ketchel, Stanley

Khan, Amir

Kid Chocolate

Kid Gavilan

Kid McCoy
Kid Norfolk

Kid Tunero

Kim, Duk Koo

King, Don

Kline, Izzy

Klitschko, Vitaly

Klitschko, Wladimir

KO Christener

Krieger, Solly

Kronowitz, Herbie

LaBarba, Fidel

Lacey, Al

Lacy, Jeff

Lambert, Jimmy

LaMotta Jake

Lampkin, Ray

Lampley, Jim

Lane, Kenny

Langford, Sam

Larkin, Tippy
Las Vegas Review Journal

Lavigne, Kid

Lebrun, Leo Lefty

Lee, Bob

Lee, Caveman

Lee, Robert Tiny

Leonard, Benny

Leonard, Sugar Ray

LeSane, Harry

Lesnivich, Gus

Levinsky, Battling

Lewis, Charley Caby

Lewis, John Henry

Lewis, Lennox

Lewis, Ted Kid

Licata, Tony

Lidsky, Ted

Lightweight Tournament of 1925

Liston, Sonny

Loayza, Stanislaus

Lockman, Marcus
Logart, Isaac

Loi, Dulio

London Prize Ring Rules

Lopes, Joey

Lott, Steve

Loubet, Nat

Loughran, Tommy

Louis, Joe

Lowry, Ted

Lundgren, Dolph

Lynch, Benny

Lynch, California Joe

Lynch, Joe

Lytell, Bert

Machen, Eddie

Madison Square Garden

Malloy, Terry

Malone, Jock

Mamby, Saoul

Mancini, Ray
Mandell, Sammy

The Manly Art: Bare-Knuckle Prizefighting in America (book)

Mann, Bobby

Marathon contests

Marciano, Rocky

Margarito, Antonio

Marquis of Queensberry rules

Marshall, Lloyd

Massachusetts, boxing activity

Mathews, Allen

Mathews, Len

Mathis, Buster

Maxim, Joey

Mayorga, Ricardo

Mayweather, Floyd, Jr.

McAvoy Jock

McCall, Oliver

McCarthy, Connie

McCline, Jameel

McClure, Wilbert Skeeter

McGirt, Buddy
McLarnin, Jimmy

McVey, Jack

Mello, Pete

Mercado, Segundo

Mercer, Ray

Merchant, Larry

MET-Rx

Methuselah of the Prize Ring

Miceli, Joe

Miller, Freddie

Miller, Pop

Mims, Holly

Minter, Alan

Mohr, Charles

Monday Night Football

Montanez, Pedro

Montgomery, Bob

Monzon, Carlos

Moore, Archie

Moore, Davey

Moore, Pal
Moorer, Michael

Morales, Erik

Moran, Owen

Moroz, Ben

Morris, Carl

Mosley, Shane

Muhammad, Saad

Mundine, Tony

Murray, Lee Q.

Musial, Stan

Mustafa, Eddie

Napoles, Jose

Nappa, Billy

National Basketball Association

NBC television network

Nelson, Battling

New England, boxing activity

New York City, boxing activity

New York Daily News

New York Herald Tribune

New York Post

New York State Athletic Commission (New York boxing commission)

New York State, boxing activity

New York Times

Newfield, Jack

Nielsen, Brian

Norton, Ken

Norwalk, Connecticut, boxing activity

Nova, Lou

Obelmejias, Fulgencio

O’Brien, Tommy

O’Halloran, Jack

Old Master

Old Mongoose

Olivares, Rubin

Olson, Bobo

Olympics

Oma, Lee

On the Waterfront (film)

Oquendo, Fres
Ortiz, Carlos

Ortiz, Leonico

Ouma, Kaseem

Overlin, Ken

Pacquiao, Manny

Palazzolo, Tony

Palermo, Frank Blinkie

Paret, Benny Kid

Parker, Dan

Parmentier, George

Pastor, Bob

Patterson, Floyd

Pavlik, Kelly

Pep, Willie

Perez, Lew

Perez, Pascual

Peter, Sam

Petrolle, Billy

Philbin, John Doc

Pittsburgh Windmill
Pompey, Yolande

Postwar boxing activity

Potgeiter, Ewart

President Hotel

The Professional (book)

Providence (Rhode Island) Journal

Pryor, Aaron

Punch Pads

Putnam, Pat

Putnam Building

Qawi, Dwight

Quarry, Jerry

Rahman, Hasim

Ramey, Wesley

Ramos, Mando

Rappa, Sal

Reed, Marshall

Reeves, Jimmy

Reid, Al
Reid, David

Reinfeld, Scootles

Rickard, George L. (Tex)

Riley, Dan

Rinaldi, Guilio

Rindone, Joe

Ring Magazine

Roach, Freddie

Robb, Doc

Robinson, Frank

Robinson, Sugar Ray

Rocky (film)

Rocky III (film)

Rocky IV (film)

Rodak, Leo

Rodriguez, Luis

Roldan, Juan

Rose, Charley

Rose, Murray

Rose, Pete

Roseland building
Rosenbloom, Slapsie Maxie

Ross, Barney

Roth, Al

Routis, Andre

Ruffin, Bobby

Ruiz, John

Runyon, Damon

Ruth, Babe

Ryder, Joe

Sabedong, Kolo Duke

Saddler, Sandy

St. Louis Arena

St. Louis Post Dispatch

St. Nicholas Arena

St. Nick’s Arena

St. Paul Phantom

Salas, Lauro

Sammons, Jeffrey

San Francisco Chronicle

Sanctioning fees
Sands, Dave

Santa, Jose

Savold, Lee

Schlaiffer, Morrie

Schoell, Frankie

Schulberg, Budd

Science of Self Defense (book)

Scott, Fraser

Scypion, Wilford

See, Leon

Seeman, Solly

Shade, Dave

Shapiro, Maxie

Sharkey, Jack

Shavers, Earnie

Shaw, Battling

Sheppard, Curtis Hatchetman

Shilstone, Mackie

Sibson, Tony

Simon, Abe

Sinatra, Frank
Singer, Al

Slattery, Jimmy

Smith, Harry

Smith, Howard

Smith, James Bonecrusher

Smith, Jeff

Smith, Kevin

Smith, Red

Smith, Tim

Smith, Wallace Bud

Smith, Walter

Soose, Billy

Spence, Jim

Spinks, Corey

Spinks, Leon

Spinks, Michael

Spitzer, Elliot

Sports Illustrated

Stallone, Sylvester

Starling, Marlon

Steele, Freddie
Steroid use in boxing

Steward, Emanuel

Stillman’s Gym

Stolz, Allie

Strand Building

Strength and fitness coaches

Stromquist, Gil

Sulaiman, Jose

Sullivan, John L.

Sullivan, Tex

Tarver, Antonio

Tate, Bill

Taylor, Bud

Taylor, Jermaine

Taylor, Meldrick

Teasdale Athletic Club

Televised boxing, 1950s and 1960s

Tendler, Lew

Terris, Sid

Thompson, Elza
Tibbs, Tommy

Tiger, Dick

Tiplitz, Joe

Todd, Terry

Toney, James

Torres, Jose

Towne, Artie

Trinidad, Felix

Troy, Willie

Tunis, John R.

Tunney, Gene

Turner, Gil

Tyson, Mike

University of Texas

University of Wisconsin

Valdez, Rodrigo

Valentino, Pat

Valero, Edwin

Valger, Benny
Valuev, Nikolai

Vargas, Fernando

Villa, Pancho

Villella, Edward

Wade, Aaron Tiger

Wagner, Eddie Kid

Walcott, Jersey Joe

Walker, Mickey

Ward, Mickey

Washington, George

Washington Redskins

Waters, Bob

Watson, Arthur

Weaver, Mike Hercules

Webb, Spider

Weight divisions

Weightlifting

Weill, Al

Welch, Coley

Whitaker, Pernell
White, Charley

Wilde, Jimmy

Willard, Jess

Williams, Blimp

Williams, Cleveland

Williams, Holman

Williams, Ike

Williams, Johnny

Williams, Roy

Williams, Ted

Wills, Harry

Wilson, Jackie

Wilson, Jimmy

Wolgast, Ad

Wolgast, Midget

Woodman, Joe

Woody, J.J.

World Boxing Association (WBA)

World Boxing Council (WBC)

World Boxing Organization (WBO)

Wright, Chalky
Wright, Ronald Winky

Yankee Stadium

Yarosz, Teddy

YMCA

Young, Terry

Zale, Tony

Zimet, Vic

Zivic, Fritzie