Light a Candle for Diego Corrales

Diego Corrales as he appeared shorty before his untimely death in May 2007.

It was springtime in the desert and Diego “Chico” Corrales simply wanted to drive his new motorcycle and be free from his troubles. He had just become the proud owner of the suped up machine - and like every day of his own life - he was anxious to push the iron horse to its limits. It didn’t matter that his license had been revoked for nearly a year. Diego Corrales was going for a ride.

He couldn’t have known it then, but that was going to be his final spin on the highway of life and that day was going to be his last among the living.

His marriage was not going the way he wanted it to go and his boxing career was on the rocks, too. But Diego Corrales, only 29, was trying to make some sense of it all. He was a father to five children and his current wife, Michelle, was six months pregnant.

He had tried to wash the rancid taste of the fight game out of his mouth earlier that day with a few drinks, and he hopped on the back of that stallion of a bike to let the wind carry his worries away. As he sped down Fort Apache Road in Las Vegas, you can imagine that even in his haze, Diego Corrales was thinking about how he could put all the broken pieces of his life back together.

“Diego lived life to the fullest,” said his friend Pat Lamparelli, who used to go on father-son outings with his son, Corrales, and Corrales’ son. “He lived life as if every day was his last day.”

He was just the type of fighter that the people loved to see because he was willing to leave all of himself in the ring. In a professional boxing career that spanned eleven years, Corrales won world titles at 130 and 135 pounds, as well as legions of fans from around the world. At just over six feet tall he was a stick figure with freakish punching power and he won forty pro fights with thirty-three knockouts.


Corrales became a hero who always made time for fans from all walks of life.

“I think he wore his emotions on his sleeve, if you will, when he was in the ring,” says Showtime boxing analyst Al Bernstein, who called many of Corrales’ final fights. “And I think fans really related to that. Every one of his fights was like a passion play. He was always one step away from either triumph or disaster. And neither he, nor us, nor the fans knew which it was going to be.”

His first fight against Jose Luis Castillo, the one Diego won by knockout in the 10th round, will go into the history books as perhaps one of the greatest fights in boxing history, and also as the last fight that Corrales would ever win. It would be exactly two years later, to the day, that his life would end.

“He fought recklessly and he lived recklessly,” said his promoter, Gary Shaw. “That was his style.”

Regardless of how he lived his life, the first fight against Castillo made him a legend.

Both he and Castillo inflicted heavy punishment on each other’s bodies all night long and as the fight wound its way toward the final rounds it was Corrales who seemed to be wilting. In the 10th round, with his left eye just a slit and his right eye threatening to close, Corrales was felled by a Castillo left hook. He would get up, eat two more left hands and go down again from another hook. Again, though, Corrales would rise.

Castillo, sensing certain victory, lunged in to administer the coup de grace, but it was Corrales who would strike back, pin Castillo’s back to the ropes and flail away until the referee was forced to rescue a suddenly helpless Castillo.

“I’ve never seen anybody come back like that, from those knockdowns,” said Corrales’ trainer Joe Goossen. “We were very worried in the corner. But I remember Diego telling me, ‘If you ever stop one of my fights, I’ll kill you.’

Those who witnessed the fight called it the greatest fight they had ever seen and some have even called the fight the greatest in all of boxing history.


In victory over Jose Luis Castillo, Corrales became a legend for the ages.

Corrales was the type of all action warrior that made himself famous because of the images that he left in the minds of the people that were lucky enough to see him perform. In some fashion or other every one of his performances seemed to be a struggle.

There was the afternoon in 2001, when he very nearly failed to make weight the day before he would fight Floyd Mayweather, Jr. in Las Vegas. Corrales always had to sweat to get his weight down to the limit and on this day in particular he missed the 130 pound limit on his first trip to the scales. After heading to the sauna he came to the scales an hour and half later and he had to strip naked in order to make the weight. His skin had a gray pallor and his dark brown eyes looked huge inside his sunken cheeks. He had the look of a prisoner of war.

The next night, he was no match for Mayweather as “Chico” had left every last ounce of himself on the scales the day before. And although Mayweather knocked him down five times, Corrales’ heart enabled him to struggle to his feet every time. After his father stopped the fight, Corrales yelled and screamed at him and didn’t speak to him for weeks.

“I'm better than being stopped,” said an extremely disappointed Corrales, who was a 5-4 favorite going into the Mayweather fight. “I worked damn hard all the way around. No way that should have been stopped. I kept getting back up. I was clear every time I got back to my feet. Nobody has the right to stop that fight. Nobody. I don't care what their concern was.”

Then there was the night in his first fight with Joel Casamayor, when, after having his mouthpiece driven through his upper lip, the ring doctor stopped the fight because Corrales was swallowing too much of his own blood. He was pleading as he sat on his stool, “Give me one more round! Just one more round!”

When asked to give his thoughts on Corrales the fighter, Al Bernstein, who has been calling fights for over a quarter century had this to say: “There were boxers with more skills than him, though he had a lot of skills. Boxers that were more powerful, and certainly boxers that fought better strategic fights. But there were no boxers with more grit or courage than him. And I think that courage and that fortitude, ultimately, is his legacy.”

When the inevitable finally happened on that lonely Las Vegas road, the end came as a surprise, but not the manner in which it happened. It’s easy to imagine that after he was flung off his motorcyle and onto the pavement -in an episode of carelessness that took no more time to happen than it does to blink your eye - that Diego Corrales was likely trying to rise up for one more round.

He was a man that forever clung to the coattails of life. And as a fighter and a human being, he was something that even the dark hand of death will never eclipse.

Diego Corrales’ candle is out now, but his light still shines.


December 2007

Larry Holmes’ Long Fight for Respect is Finally Over

Larry Holmes (right) battles Ken Norton for the heavyweight title, June 1978.

He was never who we wanted him to be. But that wasn’t Larry Holmes’ fault.

In June 1982, minutes after he dealt Gerry Cooney a thirteen round beating in the sweetest victory of his long career, Holmes stepped through the ring ropes in the sweltering heat of the Las Vegas night and said to the boxing beat writers, “I’m sorry I’m not what you guys in the press want me to be. I’m not Muhammad Ali. I’m not Joe Louis. I wasn’t born to be those people. I was born to be myself, Larry Holmes.”

He did everything that was asked of him, and then some, in a boxing ring. But he was the heavyweight champion of the world at a time when no man could have stood outside the long, dark shadow cast by a retired Muhammad Ali. As a result, for most of his years in boxing, a bitter Larry Holmes battled for the respect he felt he deserved - and to quell the voices of his many critics.

Not long after Holmes dispatched Cooney in what was, up until then, the largest grossing money fight in boxing history, Joe Gergen, a sportswriter with Newsday newspaper put it best. “There is a deficiency in Holmes that virtually guarantees he will never be accorded the acclaim he feels his accomplishments warrant,” wrote Gergen. “The man simply is dwarfed by the title he carries.”

And so it was for Larry Holmes. But last week that view changed when he was elected to the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

“It’s a tremendous honor because so many great athletes are already in the Hall of Fame and it’s an honor to be among that group,” said Holmes upon notification that he had been chosen for one of boxing's highest honors. “It’s a pleasure for me to be among the greatest fighters of our world.”

Larry Holmes didn’t have the high quality of opposition that Ali had, but that wasn’t his fault either. Instead of names like Sonny Liston, Joe Frazier and George Foreman – Holmes was relegated to facing no names like Lorenzo Zannon, Leroy Jones and Lucien Rodriguez in early title defenses.

But it also didn’t help that Holmes was abrasive and ornery toward the boxing press. He wore a hard and sharp edge on his sleeve and his reputation paid for it. As a result, the public never warmed up to him and they never saw the man for who he truly was because they were simply too pre-occupied in comparing him to Ali and not seeing Holmes the individual.

“I am arrogant,” Holmes says, in an attempt to explain himself. “But I always thought I could get along with people by telling ‘em where it’s at from the beginning.”


Holmes was and is a man of strong character and deep convictions, but when he was champion he didn’t possess the charm and charisma that would endear him to a fickle public. He was simply his own man - a maverick in boxing trunks - and his rags-to-riches journey is perhaps more compelling than that of any other boxing champion.

He was the fourth of twelve children born to John and Flossie Holmes in Cuthbert, Georgia in November 1949. His parents were sharecroppers who resided in a small shack with a tin roof and a dirt floor that was situated next to a set of railroad tracks.

After the family moved to Easton, Pennsylvania, where he still resides, Holmes quit school in the seventh grade to help provide for his brothers and sisters. He took jobs washing cars for a dollar-an-hour and he eventually found his way behind the wheel as a truck driver.

“I’ll never forget how people used to make fun of us when my mother took us over to Northampton Street, the nice part of Easton,” said Holmes, who managed to save and invest his millions wisely. “They snickered when we went to the Salvation Army rummage sale to get our clothes. I always felt humiliated when I had to go with her to the welfare office, even though welfare was the only way we could have survived as a family.”

But Holmes forged on and he turned pro in 1972 against Rodell Dupree in Scranton, Pennsylvania and the rest, as they say, is history. He was paid $63 for his pro debut, served as a sparring partner for Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier and fought on several of Ali’s undercards as he learned his craft with the help of his then trainer, Richie Giachetti.

The bombastic Don King promoted Holmes throughout much of his career. It was a dysfunctional union of the self proclaimed “world’s greatest promoter” and for a while at least, the world’s best heavyweight boxer. Holmes was never happy with King and Don did skim money from Larry’s purses. After a fight, King would shave hundreds of thousands of dollars from Holmes’ announced purse if a fight did poorly at the gate. Holmes and King often got into heated shouting matches and confrontations regarding compensation and King's creative accounting methods.


Holmes and Don King had a long, yet tumultuous, relationship over the years.

But for a myriad of reasons, Holmes never seemed able to muster the courage to break free from King until many years after he had lost his titles. And King even promoted Holmes’ ill-fated fight with Mike Tyson in 1988 - helping himself to $300,000 of Holmes’ $3.1 million purse - before Holmes eventually sued King and got $150,000 in a settlement. But Holmes also had to agree not to speak badly of King in the future. When their relationship was finally all said and done, Holmes said of King, “That man is the devil, that’s why he combs his hair that way, to cover the horns.”

In June 1978, Holmes won the WBC heavyweight title from Ken Norton in a fifteen round classic and for the next seven years he ruled the heavyweight division and defended the championship 20 times, second only to Joe Louis’ record of 25 heavyweight title defenses. It was not until 1985, when his record reached 48-0, would he lose to Michael Spinks in a squeaker of a decision that cost Holmes his heavyweight championship and his quest to surpass Rocky Marciano’s legendary record of 49-0.

After the fight, a bitter Holmes further alienated himself from the public when he uttered the now infamous line, “If you want to get technical about it, Rocky Marciano couldn't carry my jockstrap.”

Asked about that comment a few years later, an apologetic Holmes simply said, “It was a poor choice of words at the time. But it was too late. They didn’t let me take it back.”


Holmes, pictured in training camp during his younger days and in his prime.

But to focus on those types of outbursts, and there were many, would be overlooking all that Larry Holmes really accomplished during a professional boxing career that spanned 29 years. While he was never comfortable in social settings and could never seem to say the right things in front of a room full of boxing reporters, in private he was a man who was deeply introspective and who always counted his family as his most important asset.

Holmes had a great sense of humor and he eventually acquired a taste for the finer things in life, such as Rolls Royce cars and the indoor swimming pool at his home that was shaped like a boxing glove. But during his years in boxing, Holmes never lost the chip on his shoulder, nor could he forget the foul taste that being the son of a poverty-stricken sharecropper had left in his mouth.

He was eventually forced into fighting his idol, the comebacking Ali, in a farce of a fight that took place in October of 1980. It was a match that Holmes didn’t want to take because he knew that Ali, at age 38, was damaged goods and a shell of his former self. But Holmes was philosophic about his plight in the days leading up to the fight and about what he had to do and why. “I’m not fighting to defend my championship,” Holmes said. “I’m fighting for my identity.”

He dispatched Ali in ten one sided rounds and even showed compassion in not emptying his full arsenal upon the faded former champ. “I loved the man, I really did,” said Holmes. “Ali was everything to boxing, a real hero. But that fight was something that would shake me free from the monkey on my back, from the shadow he cast. I did what I had to do, and that was it.”


"The Greatest" was no match for Holmes when they met in Las Vegas in 1980.

“The Easton Assassin” possessed perhaps the best left jab in the history of heavyweight boxing. He once said of his stinging jab, and his propensity to use it, “When in doubt, stick it out.” The punch was a rapier-like weapon that he used to dismantle a host of the world’s top heavyweights and he defeated eight fighters that were or would become heavyweight titlists.

At 6’3” tall with an 81” reach, Holmes was the perfect specimen of a heavyweight with underrated punching power and unmatched mental toughness. He was quick on his feet and could take a punch and he was knocked out only once in 75 professional fights – against Mike Tyson in a hastily arranged comeback fight in 1988 when he was 38 years old. Holmes fought on and faced Evander Holyfield in 1992 and Oliver McCall in 1995 for cracks at the title, but he came up short in losing competitive decisions. He eventually called it a career and retired in 2002 with a career mark of 69-6 (44) KO’s.

Now 58 and a multi-millionaire, Holmes owns two restaurants in Easton, Pennsylvania, has several real estate ventures, his own cable television show and he has settled into a comfortable life as a great-grandfather and philanthropist.

When asked what he would like his epitaph to read, Holmes simply says, “I would probably call it ‘The Truth of the Man,’” as he smiled. “The reason why is because I’m a man that tells the truth and that’s the way I would like to go with it. I’m The Truth of the Man.”

And he was a pretty darn good fighter, too.


December 2007

Eating Your Own Words is Never Tasty

Trainer Billy Graham tends to Ricky "The Hitman" Hatton in his fight against "Pretty Boy" Floyd Mayweather, Jr. on Saturday night at the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas, Nevada.

I was one of the ones that had it all figured out. I had it down as a sure thing that Manchester, England’s own Ricky “The Hitman” Hatton was going to beat “Pretty Boy” Floyd Mayweather, Jr. into submission on Saturday night in Las Vegas.

I was one of the ones drinking the Kool-Aid mixed up by the Manchester faithful and I was gulping down every mug of it. I couldn’t be wrong (or so I figured) as I’ve been on a good run lately and I can’t remember the last time I was wrong about the outcome of a big fight. I pegged Kelly Pavlik by knockout over Jermain Taylor and I said that Joe Calzaghe was a sure bet over Mikkel Kessler.

But hey, I wasn’t the only one telling you all that Hatton was going to win. There were thousands that made the trek across the pond from England to cheer on “Our Boy Ricky” and as they sang “Walking in a Hatton Wonderland” I was singing right along with them. They bet thousands of pounds on Hatton at the parlors in Vegas. In fact, the amount wagered on Hatton was the most for any British fighter in boxing history. And truth be told, about 20% of us so-called expert boxing writers were picking Hatton to win too.

Heck, a couple of weeks ago, even Oscar De La Hoya was on record as saying, “A lot of people are going to lose a lot of money betting on Mayweather. Trust me.” And just before the fight, even Bernard Hopkins said that he, too, was expecting Hatton to win.

I couldn’t be on the scene in Vegas, so I was watching it on the screen, here in cold and snowy Maine. We’re buried under more than a foot of snow up here but I was still hot for the action in the ring.

As the fight unfolded, I was in constant telephone contact with my fistic mentor, a bearded, wise old sage of a boxing genius whose name is Kenny. He’s the lone voice that I have trusted all of these years and he’s an elder that has seen all the fights and all of the fighters that have come down the pike over the past five decades. When I’m hedging on a bet or on the outcome of a big fight, he’s the first number that I dial.

I dialed Kenny’s number just as the first round was getting underway.

“Hatton’s looking pretty good, Tom,” said Kenny through the phone. I could hear his smile and I imagined he was stroking his beard. “The Pretty Boy looks like he might be in for it tonight.”


"The Hitman" had some early success, though fleeting, against "Pretty Boy"

And things were looking pretty good for Hatton early on. He was working his way in and roughing Mayweather up on the inside and he even had Floyd stumbling backwards before the first round was over.

It was Hatton who was the busier man and who seemed to be landing the harder punches. I figured Hatton was going to run right over “Money” Mayweather. The words of Hatton’s trainer, Billy Graham, were ringing through my ears; “I know what Ricky Hatton can do and what he’s capable of,” said Graham. “And I know he’ll beat Floyd Mayweather.”

But as the rounds wore on I was getting concerned, and so was Kenny. Every now and then, Floyd would land a flush shot, just enough to keep Hatton honest.

“I don’t know, Tom,” said Kenny. “Mayweather is tricky, tricky, tricky in there, ain’t he?”

I didn’t want to hear any of that. And though I could see things were not exactly going Hatton’s way, I refused to believe what I was seeing. It couldn’t be. Ricky was cut over the right eye from a punch and then referee Joe Cortez, who I didn’t think was being “fair” - was being way too “firm” with my guy. Cortez was in the middle of the action all of the time and he was, as usual, hollering some sort of illiterate command. At age 64, he didn’t look like he was going to make it out of the third round. Why couldn’t he just be more like Carlos Padilla the night in Montreal when Duran was allowed to rough up Leonard on the inside? That’s all I was asking for.


Hatton never stopped his forward march, but Mayweather handled the rushes.

But, as usual, Kenny was seeing things as they are, and he brought me back to reality.

“Mayweather looks so much bigger than he used to,” said Kenny. “Man, would you look at the chest and shoulders on him now. He’s really grown into 147 pounds. He’s a true welterweight now, ain’t he?”

“I suppose, so,” I sheepishly said.

But Kenny was on a roll now. “Heck, Hatton looks skinny next to him. You know, looking at Mayweather tonight, I think he would have hung right in there with some of them boys from back in the day - from the ‘80’s. You know what I’m saying? Jeez, he’s good.”

The last comment struck me as unusual. Surely to God, Kenny, the man who knew so much about so many fighters, didn’t mean that Mayweather could have hung in there with Duran and Leonard and Hearns and Benitez. Or did he?

“I don’t know, Tom. He’s just so tricky and slick and slippery. And jeez, would you look at those combinations! When he decides to open up he is just vicious! Listen to them shots why don’t ya’? Pop! Pop! Pop! Man, those shots have got hurt written all over ‘em.”

But I needed more of answer than that, so I pressed the old man further. “Well, maybe with Leonard and Benitez,” I said. “But I think Hearns was way too big and powerful for him. And as far as Duran goes, well…I mean…”

“I don’t know, Tom,” Kenny cut in. “Floyd has a way or warping guys into fighting the way he wants ‘em too, you know what I mean?” he asked. “I mean, sure, Zab had him for a few rounds and Hatton was doing O.K. with him early, but now look. I think Floyd would have been a tough night for anybody.”

After Cortez took a point away from Ricky for a supposed illegal rabbit punch (that never landed) and Floyd got momentarily hung up in the ring ropes, things seemed to go downhill. Hatton was getting too careless and he was just walking in on Mayweather and getting nailed flush with head shots. Floyd was emptying his quiver. Jabs, hooks, right hands. Mayweather was warming up and things were getting stormy.

“God, I don’t see why he walks straight in like that,” wondered Kenny aloud about Ricky’s tactics. Meanwhile Hatton was getting pasted repeatedly. “You’d think he’d have learnt to move that head of his a little bit wouldn’t ya’?” Kenny asked.


Floyd Mayweather got all twisted up in the ring ropes during the sixth round.

By now, I was becoming very uncomfortable. My jaw was clenching and my hands were getting fidgety. My heart was racing as Hatton was nearly washed aground in the eighth before avoiding the rocks. I breathed a sigh of relief.

But Kenny’s mind was made up on how this night was going to go for Ricky. Kenny had been here enough to see the writing on the wall.

“He ain’t gonna’ make it, Tom. I don’t see how he can turn it around now. He’s just walking into them shots and he can’t stop Floyd from doing what he wants anymore. Jeez, Floyd is even starting to handle Ricky on the inside now.”

Hatton was also beginning to look weary and whatever success he may have had with certain tactics early were clearly not working now. He resembled a fish flopping around in the sand. Helpless. Of course, I thought that Mayweather was fouling my guy all night with his left elbow, but that was of minor importance now.

And then the tenth round came. Ricky never saw the “check hook” - a left - that ended his night, and sent the “Hatton Express” careening off the tracks for the first time ever. It was a beautiful shot that ended Hatton’s night and just the type of shot that only a talented and serious fighter could throw.

“Oh, no!” wailed Kenny into the phone as we both watched the carnage unfold on our television screens.

I was too shocked to say anything. ‘This can’t be happening’ I thought to myself as Cortez counted away.

“Well, he made it up, Tom!” said Kenny, who had seen this type of thing a million times before. “But he don’t look good.”

And then down went Hatton again. Over and out for the night. Cortez waived it off without a count and it went into the books as a TKO. But old Joe could have counted to a hundred; there was no way Hatton was going to do another thing on this night.


After the fight had concluded, Hatton and Mayweather showed mutual respect.

I could hear Kenny breathing into the receiver on the other end of the line. He wasn’t saying anything. He could hear that the room full of people that I was watching the fight with had suddenly gone hopelessly silent. It was like the moment after that second plane crashed into the towers. Shock and awe. You could have heard a pin drop.

“Tom, you still there?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I weakly responded.

“Jeez, I knew that Mayweather was good,” said Kenny in a low voice. “But I never thought he was that good.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I said back. He could hear the despondent tone in my voice.

“Man, I don’t see nobody that’s going to be able to shut Mayweather up, now,” said Kenny, thinking about all of the possibilities.

“What about Cotto or Mosley or how about that Hearns clone - Paul Williams?” I asked. Clearly I was a desperate man grasping at straws.

“Tom! C’mon,” Kenny said, trying to coach some reality into me. “There ain’t no one around whose gonna’ touch Mayweather. He’d eat Cotto for breakfast and Shane ain’t got the goods no more to handle what I just saw. Floyd ain’t gonna’ fight Williams or Margarito because there ain’t no money in it for him.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “He’ll probably really retire this time.”

“Oh, jeez, he might as well,” said Kenny. “There ain’t no one out there that can beat that man I saw in there tonight.”

And with that, the phone went dead and Kenny’s voice was replaced by the dull hum of a blank dial tone.

It was just as well. After having told every friend I have that Hatton was assured of victory, the rancid aftertaste of my own words smacked me in the mouth like a “check hook” from the “Pretty Boy”.


December 2007

Ricky Hatton Has Heard Enough

Ricky Hatton dons a set of ear muffs to block out Floyd Mayweather's taunts.

Floyd Mayweather, Jr. lives in a mansion in the land of neon lights and he haunts the late hours of the Las Vegas night. He talks non-stop about himself, often in the third person, and he tells you that he’s the greatest fighter that has ever lived. Better than “Sugar” Ray Robinson and better than Muhammad Ali. Or so he claims.

Ricky Hatton still lives in the same gray neighborhood outside Manchester, England where he grew up. He is the doting father of Campbell and the loving son of Ray and Carol. He’ll talk about himself too, but only if you ask. He would much rather be shooting darts at a dartboard or swilling back a pint of ale with the blokes at the local pub instead of explaining to you what he can do inside a boxing ring and what he is going to do to Floyd Mayweather, Jr.

For the past four months, “Pretty Boy” Floyd Mayweather, Jr. has been doing a lot of talking and Ricky “The Hitman” Hatton has been doing a lot of listening.

On Saturday night, these two personalities from different worlds are going to meet in the ring at the MGM Grand Garden and millions will be watching. Will it be Mayweather, the abrasive, trash talking, hip-hopper that will make everything he says about himself come true? Or will it be Hatton, the everyman, the underdog and the working class hero that will leave the ring with the ability to brag?

Whoever wins, one thing is certain: Floyd Mayweather, Jr. has been talking about himself for a long time. For over a decade now he’s been undefeated and he’s won titles in five different weight classes while amassing a fortune in prize money.

And for the past four months, Ricky Hatton has been forced to listen to the blather and he doesn’t want to hear another word.

Hatton says he can see right through the façade that Mayweather has carefully erected around himself. “I think he's an insecure person,” says Hatton of his antagonist. “I think that's why he surrounds himself with five or six bodyguards and they always seem to be ‘yes’ men. He always needs people whispering in his ear; ‘You're the man, you're number one, you're going to do this, your're going to do that.’


Hatton in heavy training under the ever watchful eyes of strength and conditioning coach Kerry Kayes (rear) and trainer and Billy Graham.

As the promotional roadshow for this fight worked itself across the United States and ultimately across the pond to England, Hatton got a better chance to assess Mayweather as a person. During the press tour, Mayweather chastised Hatton’s boxing skills, his quality of opposition and he derisively called him “Vicky Fatton” - among other things.

For his part, Hatton traveled with a skeleton crew made up primarily of long-time trainer Billy Graham and conditioning coach Kerry Kayes. Mayweather, on the other hand, cruised with a posse of oversized bag-men whom he employs to sack around his jewelry, carry thick wads of cash and hold aloft his championship belts when they are commanded to do so.

“And that's all a sign of insecurity,” says the amiable Hatton who is down to earth and matter of fact. “You don't need anybody whispering in your ear to tell you you’re the best. If you believe that, if you believe you're the best, then you don't need anybody reminding you or reassuring you.”

Certainly Mayweather and those around him utter incredulous claims regarding his prowess inside the ropes and his place in boxing history. “He’s won six world championships and never lost,” says his excitable uncle, trainer and former world champion, Roger Mayweather. “Right to this day, if he quit, he'll go down in history as the greatest fighter ever put on them (expletive) gloves.”


As for Hatton, he lives a simpler life and doesn’t think of himself in such grand terms. His father acts as his manager and he lives a few doors down from his Mom and Dad in a modest home. Hatton counts his brother Matthew, also a boxer, as his best friend. Rather than making his own declarations of greatness, Hatton thinks there may be a simpler way to figure it all out.

“Well, the people will make their own minds up of how good they actually think I am, or how good they think I am in the standings of boxing champions, past and present,” he says. “I’m not going to go out and say I think I'm the best.”

But what really rankles Hatton, and those that work with him, are not the caustic words of Mayweather, but the fact that many pundits give him no chance to unseat Mayweather from his perch. Despite his own undefeated record which stands at 43-0 (31) KO’s and despite the fact that he has won titles in two separate weight divisions, Hatton remains a heavy betting underdog. One Las Vegas based boxing reporter has even gone so far as to say, “Hatton won’t win a round.”

But Billy Graham, once a fighter and Hatton’s trainer since he was a 15 year old amateur, obviously views this match in a different light. When asked to comment on what some boxing writers are terming a mismatch, Graham turned the tables.

“Well, to be honest with you, it just takes an awful lot of pressure off me,” said Graham in between drags on a cigarette. “Victory will be sweeter when Ricky beats him, so I don't let them bother me so much. But I think some of the stuff that has been written, I mean if I had written it, all of a sudden I'd be embarrassed at my lack of knowledge of boxing.”

Pressed further about how he thinks the fight will play out, Graham broke it down. “At some point in the fight, he will have to sit down and meet Ricky, that's for sure,” said the deep-voiced and heavily tattooed Graham of Mayweather. “He won't be able to get on his toes and move for twelve rounds against Ricky Hatton. Ricky can beat Floyd because I know Ricky Hatton better than anyone on the planet, I know what he's got. He's not just a pressure fighter, he's an awful lot more. He's blessed with all of these attributes that Floyd’s blessed with like fantastic peripheral vision, great variety, fantastic balance and reflexes. Coupled with his amazing strength and ferocity I think that he’s going to be able to beat Floyd.”

Surely Hatton’s chances against Floyd are much better than the recent collection of what Mayweather has called “C-level” fighters that he has gone up against. And even Mayweather’s trusted advisor, Leonard Ellerbe, admitted that Mayweather’s recent competition has been weak. “These other fighters out there aren't even challenging Floyd, he said. “Because, you know, with all due respect to all of the other fighters out there, you know, the fighters are basically, as he puts it, A, B, C, 1, 2, 3.”


Hatton knocked out Mexico's Jose Luis Castillo with this left hook bodyshot.

So after all of the talk, the fight, as they say, is finally at hand.

Hatton has been in Las Vegas since just after Thanksgiving and he’s been whittling away at his skills and honing his body to a fine point. Predictably, Mayweather has used the press to lash out at Hatton with his forked tongue in the days leading up to the fight. But this is the fight that Ricky Hatton has dared to think about only in his dreams, and in spite all of the words, it all comes together on Saturday night.

So the final word goes to him.

“I think a lot of people in Vegas are going to lose money because I think everybody has picked Floyd to win this and everyone has expected him to win,” says Hatton. “I think very few people are picking me to beat him, which really suits me fine. In fact, I wouldn't give two shits if everybody picked Floyd Mayweather because I know what a sweet victory it’s going to be when I do it. And the last time nobody gave me a chance was against Kostya Tszyu, and we made him quit, and I think I'm going to make Floyd quit.”

And if that happens, maybe all the talking will stop.


December 2007

Three Up, Three Down at Foxwoods Tripleheader

WBC 154-pound titlist, Vernon "The Viper" Forrest, right, tees off on Italian challenger Michele Piccirillo at Foxwoods Resort and Casino in Connecticut.

MASHANTUCKET, CONNECTICUT - It was an evening of knockouts last night in the Bingo Hall at Foxwoods Resort and Casino as Antonio Tarver, Vernon Forrest and Nonito Donaire called the numbers of their opponents with emphatic stoppage wins.

The story of the night, of course, was the resurgent Vernon Forrest. “The Viper” will turn 37 years old next month and he was away from boxing for a two-year stretch from 2003-2005 during which time he had several surgeries to repair various arm ailments.

The promoter of last night’s show, Gary Shaw, put it best when he said that Vernon was away from boxing with a “bad wing.” However, Forrest demonstrated to all in the first defense of his WBC Super Welterweight title that he is getting back to form and is ready to take flight against the best there is.

Forrest, 153, Atlanta, Georgia who is now 40-2 (29) KO’s turned back a tougher than expected challenge from the game former welterweight titlist, Michele Piccirillo, 152, from Puglia, Italy who drops to 48-4 (30) KO’s with the loss.

The end came at 2:21 of the eleventh round for Piccirillo who showed unbelievable guts as well as the ability to absorb tremendous amounts of punishment only to annoyingly strike back with stubborn, yet light punches.

With Forrest, however, Piccirillo was simply in with a fighter who had superior skills as well as the ability to execute his gameplan and impose his will.

Forrest was way up on the cards of the three official judges by identical scores of 98-90 when the end came. Piccirillo was knocked down in rounds six and nine before staying down for good in the eleventh when his right leg folded awkwardly underneath him as he was driven to the canvas.

The rumor at ringside was that Piccirillo might have broken his leg just above the ankle when he was knocked down, but that was not confirmed. The Italian was taken to a local hospital for further examination and observation and obviously did not make it to the post fight presser.

“He took some God-awful shots,” said Gary Shaw of Piccirillo. “That kid even surprised me. He is a game kid, he is skilled. He’s more than everybody thought that Piccirillo was,” continued Shaw. “You’ve got to give credit to fighters like that who really come to fight.”

For his part, Forrest says he feels great and is happy to be back and healthy. He wants what he terms “big name fights” and he brought up the names of Oscar De La Hoya, Miguel Cotto, Ricardo Mayorga and the winner of Mayweather versus Hatton as potential future opponents. He says, however, that they would all have to come to 154 pounds to see him. Of Mayorga, Forrest said, “He will always be on my radar because he’s the only guy I’ve lost to.”

Forrest had an all star cast in his corner last night with long-time trainer Al Mitchell, Buddy McGirt and Jimmy Glenn who all helped him take care of business. Forrest looks much thicker and stronger at 154 than he did when he was a 147-pound welterweight and his body has matured. With that maturity has come heavier punches all of which were on display last night.

Mitchell’s voice could be heard from the corner cutting through the roar of the crowd as he yelled instructions to his dutiful student. Forrest did a masterful job of mixing his shots and working effectively to the head and body. Forrest landed some hellacious shots to the head but he made Piccirillo feel it to the slats as well. On a few occasions the Italian grunted and moaned when Forrest landed heavy shots to the ribs.

Forrest said that he is now a better fighter than he was when he was a younger champion. “Once you’ve had to sit on the sidelines and you can’t get in the game and you’re forced to watch stuff - then I had to step back and watch what was going on,” said Forrest. “I came back and revamped everything. It’s like with Tiger Woods when he says he breaks his swing down and then rebuilds it and makes it even better. What I did, is I broke my style down and rebuilt it even better.”


"The Filipino Flash" Nonito Donaire, left, fires an uppercut at outgunned challenger Luis Maldonado during hand-to-hand combat for the IBF Flyweight title.

The IBF Flyweight titlist, Nonito Donaire, 111 pounds, from General Santos City, The Philippines, ran his record to 19-1 (12) KO’s after eight rounds of battering Luis Maldonado, also 111 pounds from Mexicali, Mexico, who dropped to 37-2-1 (28) KO’s with the loss.

His nickname is “The Filipino Flash” and Donaire, who speaks remarkably clear English, said that he showed again last night that his knockout win over Vic Darchinyan back in July to win the title proved, “That I’m no one-hit wonder, I’m here, I’m no flash in the pan.”

The referee in the Donaire vs. Maldonado fight was Charlie Dwyer and he gave Maldonado every opportunity to show him something - especially at the end. Maldonado absorbed a colossal bombardment of incoming shots throughout the night and his was face was a grotesque mass of blood from the first round on. Maldonado bled for the entire night from cuts over both eyes and his face was as purple as a grape as he tried to solve the puzzle that was Nonito Donaire.

Donaire was way ahead on the cards of the three official judges by scores of 70-62, 70-62 and 69-63 when the end came for Maldonado at 1:16 of the eighth. Before the bloodthirsty Charlie Dwyer finally decided that he had seen enough, some fans in the crowd were yelling and pleading with Dwyer to “Stop the fight!” It was only several seconds (but it seemed like an eternity) before Dwyer finally pulled the trigger on his sensitivity and saved Maldonado from further crushing.

Donaire was hit with a few flush shots along the way by the extremely determined Maldonado, but Nonito’s quicker hands and faster reflexes proved to be the real difference in the fight. At age 25, Donaire's greater one punch power, especially with the right hand to the head, was also a big factor.

A few things that I noticed about Donaire is that he does telegraph his shots and he does have a real tendency to try and load up with one big shot instead of setting things up with his left jab. His facial expression changes when he gets ready to throw a big power punch and on more than a few occasions the experienced Maldonado picked up on that and wisely moved out of the way. Also, Donaire does not close his hand when he throws his left as a jab and this takes a lot of pop off what would otherwise be a more powerful shot. However, at age 25, the sky is the limit for Donaire and he does seem to have a capable trainer in his corner who will make further refinements as time goes on.

Donaire said he had to come down from 140 pounds to make 111 for the fight and that he felt sluggish in the ring. He said he didn’t really have his legs at any time during the night, maybe because of the 29-pound weight loss.

Promoter Gary Shaw is high on Donaire and said, “He is real, he’s as real as they come. He fights at 112 pounds; he’s a big 112. We would like to unify the titles if we can. Nonito is a fighter that I believe, and you can write down today’s date, that will be a champion at 112 pounds, he’ll be a world champion at 115 pounds and he’ll be a world champion at 118 pounds – for sure. He’s young, he’s fresh and he can really fight.”


Antonio "The Magic Man" Tarver,left, unloads another shot on Danny Santiago. The fight was stopped by referee Steve Smoger in the fourth round.

The main event featured a battle for bragging rights of the “Sunshine State” as Antonio Tarver, 175, Orlando, Florida, rose to 26-4 (19) KO’s versus Danny Santiago, 174, Ocala, Florida, who dropped to a still anonymous 29-4-1 (19) KO’s.

This fight was panned by many of the critics (that would be boxing writers) and it basically turned out like everybody said it would as the end came for the hapless and helpless Santiago at 2:53 of the fourth round.

The 39 year-old Tarver, a southpaw who still looks vibrant and healthy after all of these years in the fight racket, said he was first introduced to boxing in 1979 as a “snot-nosed kid.” Tarver showed much greater class and a higher level of skills in taking apart an eager Santiago in just under twelve minutes. Referee Steve Smoger called it off when Santiago went down from an accumulation of increasingly heavier shots thrown by Tarver, who took a little while to warm up.

The fight was fought at a slow pace in the early going and there were a fair amount of boos from a Connecticut crowd still thirsty for blood after having digested an appetizing feast of "Maldonado and Piccirillo" during the prelim menu.

Antonio did miss quite a few of his measured shots as Santiago, at only 5’9 ½” tall, ducked under the sweeping punches of the 6’2” tall Tarver. Santiago attempted to make a fight of it, he came forward and he did throw punches that had hurt written on them, but he was never able to deliver the envelopes. Santiago did manage to catch Tarver to the body a few times and he landed a few thudding kidney punches that Tarver had to have felt.

Tarver showed all of his experience and appeared to be in great shape and he fought the fight at a pace that he dictated. He showed some feints, moved around Santiago’s lunges and alternated between easy right jabs and harder straight lefts. Tarver also softened up Danny with a few shots to the body. One thing about Tarver is that his facial expression rarely changes and this fools his opponents, as they never know when the big punch is coming.

Indeed, Santiago never knew when the big punch was on its way and neither did his trainer Pat Burns. At 34, it’s tough to say where Santiago could possibly go from here, as at his age he will never be a force on the world stage.

At the post fight presser, Tarver’s wife Denise and their young daughter Taylor joined Antonio on the dais. Denise is a woman with striking good looks and she was dressed in a red satin dress that matched perfectly to Tarver’s boxing trunks and warm up suit. The pair faced the assembled press as a unified team and Mrs. Tarver seems quite protective of her husband.

Some hecklers in the crowd were chanting, “Stop ducking Dawson!” in reference to undefeated WBC 175-pound titlist Chad Dawson, who hails from down the road in New Haven, Connecticut. Dawson was in attendance. But Gary Shaw put a stop to the shenanigans and threatened to have the chanters removed from the premises. They then shut up immediately. In fact, they were quiet as church mice the rest of the evening.

Dawson was dressed in an oversized, maroon, fur vest and some sort of camouflage jumpsuit. The outfit was reminiscent of something not seen since the Joe Frazier and George Foreman wardrobes of the early 1970’s and it was certainly attention grabbing all on its own. Dawson never challenged Tarver verbally, or otherwise, but his presence loomed over the proceedings and clouded Tarver’s spotlight just a little bit.

Promoter and emcee Shaw said that Tarver “is not ducking Dawson” and that the best thing for this potential match is just to let the fight build into a bigger event. Shaw is Dawson’s promoter of record and he is angling to work with Tarver in the future and it is certainly a fight that could be built into a pay-per view show with the help of the Connecticut casinos and a television network. It was Tarver’s second straight fight in Dawson’s backyard and there was a healthy crowd in the bingo hall last night at Foxwoods, so the fight does seem to be simmering, albeit on the back burner.

As for Tarver, he is looking forward to 2008 and he was happy to be on a fight card again with Vernon Forrest. The previous time the two appeared together on the same card was over five years ago in 2002, at Indianapolis, when Forrest beat Shane Mosley a second time and Tarver gained revenge on Eric Harding.

Tarver alluded to that night and he seems eager to fight on the same card with Forrest again in the future. “We’re two and o’ baby on the same card!” said the jubilant Tarver as he turned to Forrest. “If we keep it together baby we could ride this thing until the wheels come off! Ha! ha! ha!”

And with that the hour was approaching one o’clock in the morning. After having spent the night in press row seated next to veteran fight scribe George Kimball, who is still smoking his Lucky Strike cigarettes without the filters, I decided to head for a warm hotel room on what was a dark, cold and blustery night in the Connecticut woods.


At ringside, December 1, 2007.