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Articles of 2009

Brute Pt. 3-The Day Of The Fight He Died



The forthcoming book “Brute” follows two Sacramento boxers: Mike Simms, a cruiserweight who trained with the Olympic team in 2000, who when I found him had lost five successive fights; and Stan Martyniouk, a young, Estonian-born featherweight, who when I found him had just fought and won his professional debut by decision, despite breaking his right hand in the first round.

Over the next few months I look forward to sharing the stories of these two fighters with the readers of the Sweet Science, and I look forward to hearing from any and all of you. –KS

Otis Griffin walked towards the dressing room carrying his bag. Simms waved him over and said, “This is—” but he had apparently forgotten my name. “What's your name, again?”

“Kaelan,” I said. Griffin nodded, but did not look interested in shaking hands.

“Who do you write for, again?” asked Simms.

“The Sweet Science,” I said.

“He's doing an article on the fight,” said Simms. Griffin did not seem particularly interested, and went in to change.

“Do you need to get ready to spar?” I asked.

“Probably,” said Simms. He did not get up. The advent of Griffin had, it appeared, interrupted Simms' train of thought, but it had not spoiled his desire to talk. That passion, unlike perhaps his energy for training in the gym, was inexhaustible. “Like I was saying,” he said, “I never abused myself throughout my whole career as far as drugs and alcohol or the party life. Only time I do drink, I maybe a beer or a glass of wine on Christmas. Like right now I think the last time I had a drink was two years ago at Christmas.”

I myself have been sober for almost three years, and I considered informing him of this, to cement the camaraderie we were developing, but I decided that I didn't need to establish a deeper trust. He was already very open.

“I keep myself focused training,” Simms was saying, “and I try to stay strong-minded. But like I said, I'm on a little downhill right now, with my career.”

Griffin came out of the dressing room and walked past us. He sat down on one of the weight benches in the corner and began wrapping his hands. Simms was looking out the front window of the gym into the parking lot. “The last fight I had,” said Simms, “was about a month and a half ago over in Russia. The guy I fought, I think for the first time, was really prepared for me.” Even as he recounted this he still sounded surprised. “I found out after the fight that this guy had been studying tapes of me, because everything I did in that ring he was a split second ahead of me, like he was waiting for everything I did. They told me after the fight that, yeah, he'd watched my New York fight, the last fight I'd had in Russia, and the fight I'd had in Germany. So he knew everything I was capable of doing. On the ropes he'd come in, throw a combo, and then back away. He said after the fight he knew I was trying to set him up, hoping that he would stay there. And he stayed one time, for a split second, and I caught him with a hook to the body and a hook to the head, and I maybe hurt him, and he backed off me.” Simms laughed here, remembering this minute victory encapsulated in the larger loss. “And he stayed away from me.”

“He wasn't letting you fight off the ropes?” I asked. Earlier, Simms had touted this as one of his tactics.

“No. He wouldn't let me fight anywhere where he felt that I might be comfortable.” Simms saw this almost as unfair, as if his opponent were obliged, at least for a round or two, to engage in his territory. “He came out boxing,” Simms continued, “and he was trying to out-box me. Then when we got on the inside, he knew I could bang, so he would stay to a certain side where he knew I'd have to turn southpaw to throw right hooks. He wouldn't go nowhere near my right side.

“I told my trainer, 'Any time we fight internationally, we get a good heads-up notice. I want tapes on the guys I'm going to fight so I know what I'm walking into.' I never believed in studying opponents because I had 164 amateur fights, been around the world, fought every type of style, height, and everything else, so I'm like fighting these guys in the pros, I don't care what they got. Ain't nothing he can do in that ring that's going to surprise me.” It had, apparently, taken Simms five consecutive losses to realize that he could be surprised.

“Only thing that's been my downfall,” Simms said suddenly, “is my conditioning and my mental state.” By my arithmetic that left him with only natural talent. “If you look at my record, up to the time my first manager, Sid Tenner—when he died, that's when everything went downhill for me. Financially, he was taking care of a lot of things for me. Whatever bills I had he had them coming to his house. He got me a sponsor, and for the months I didn't fight he'd give me some money to get through or whatever.” As he said this he tried to act as if it didn't bother him any longer, and perhaps enough time had passed that it didn't affect him daily.

“When did he die?” I asked.

” 2003, I think it was. Hey, Eric,” Simms called across the gym. Eric Regan, who was still leading a class of kickboxers, walked a few steps towards us, still watching over his flock. “What year was that when Sid passed? 2003?”

“Yeah,” said Regan. “'02 or '03. Man, that was a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” said Simms. (Later that afternoon I researched Sid Tenner, and discovered that he'd died in the summer of 2004, but perhaps their imprecise recollections of the date suggested how long they really felt they'd been without him.)

“He wouldn't take nothing from me when I fought,” Simms said. “His whole thing was, why take something from nothing? Financially in his life he was cool. He knew that I was the one that needed finances to make sure everything was okay. He wanted me to focus completely on boxing. That's what you're supposed to do: eat, sleep, and box. Try to have no mental problems at all. He passed away. He was on dialysis. He had kidney failure. I was in Chicago for a fight and I found out the day of the weigh-ins that he was in the hospital. And then the day of the fight he died—that morning.”

“What happened in that fight?” I asked.

“Lost a close decision to Felix Cora, Jr. One judge had it for me, one judge had it for him, and one judge had it a draw. But the judge that had it for him gave him a couple more rounds. Plus, the fight was in Chicago, Cora's promoter's hometown, and all the judges were Chicago judges.” That majority decision loss was only the second of his career.

Simms didn't appear interested in dwelling on the Cora loss, and I didn't want to press him. “I look at my career,” said Simms, changing the subject, “and I'll tell you: I'm nineteen and nine now, and I done lost five in a row. And I can say honestly a few of the losses I fought for the wrong reasons. The reason I fought on 'em was for finance. It was kinda like, I know I wasn't quite ready to step into the ring for that kind of a fight, but that kind of money, I couldn't pass it up. It ain't like I got money in my bank account, or money at home, where I can say, 'That fight? $10,000? Nah. I'm not ready yet.' I'm broke, so I gotta take whatever I can get just to keep these bills off me. Since Sid passed away, I haven't had a fight I'm happy going into. Now, every time I get paid, all the money I make goes back to make up for the months that went by when I didn't fight. I get two or three months when I ain't fought, and I get like a $10,000 fight purse, the money's gone before I even get it. 'Cause I got to go back and make payments on this, payments on that, and try and keep myself on the good side of the law. I mean, with child support and everything, it's a killer.”

On the floor the kickboxers were finishing their workout. The two women were already sitting on the bench, unwrapping their hands. A few of the men were punching and kicking the heavy bags. Regan walked over to the ring where I sat with Simms.

“You could write a book on this guy,” Regan said. “I was gonna go get you another pad of paper.” Simms laughed at this.

“Win some, lose some,” Simms said as he stood up. “One thing about boxing, you can't please everybody. I gotta please myself first.” He added after a pause, “It's crazy. I'm gonna get some sparring in.”

Unlike in a champion's camp, or even a strong contender's, where a trainer can acquire at whim any species of sparring partner, the lowly ranked boxers, of which Simms is still included, must fill up their time in the ring fighting with whomsoever they can. In Simms case, the only other orthodox pugilist at Niavaroni's (the others were all as accustomed to using their knees and elbows as their fists) was Otis Griffin. Griffin is a light heavyweight, shorter and, obviously, lighter, but more muscular, faster, and as he proved later in the sparring rounds, more aggressive.

After the two men had climbed into the ring, Eric Regan, who was standing on the edge of the mat, leaning on the ropes, helped the fighters on with their gloves. They had on their sparring headgear, which, because of the thick padding on the temples and jaws, lends the head an almost humorous frame. It diminishes the intensity of a scowl, and Griffin, who was “mean mugging,” as Simms might have said, looked much more benign than he might have had he been stripped for real battle. Simms was also frowning, but his face is rounder, and therefore kinder, and the protective pads only exaggerated his apparent docility.

Articles of 2009

UFC 108 Rashad Evans vs. Thiago Silva



Former champion Rashad Evans meets Brazil’s venerable Thiago Silva in a non-title belt that can lead to a return match with the current champ, but first things first.

Evans (15-1-1) and Silva (14-1) meet in Ultimate Fighting Championship 108 in a light heavyweight bout on Saturday Jan. 2, at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. A win by either fighter could result in a world title bid. The fight card is being shown on pay-per-view television.

Events can change quickly in the Octagon and anybody can beat anybody in the 205-pound weight division. Just ask Silva or Evans.

Silva and Evans are both experienced and can vouch firsthand about the capriciousness of fighting in MMA and especially as a light heavyweight. On one day this man can beat that man and on another day, that man can beat this man. It can make you absolutely daffy.

Evans, 30, is the former UFC light heavyweight world champion who only defended his title on one occasion and lost by vicious knockout to current champion Lyoto Machida of Brazil. It’s the only defeat on his record.

Silva, 27, is a well-rounded MMA fighter from Sao Paolo, Brazil who is versed in jujitsu, Muy Thai and boxing. He can end a fight quickly in a choke hold just as easily as with a kick or a punch. His only loss came to who else: Machida.

Evans and Silva know a win can push open the door to a rematch with current UFC light heavyweight champion Machida.

“A win against Rashad would put me in the track against Lyoto,” said Silva, in a telephone conference call. “That's what – what I want to do.”

When Silva fought Machida the two Brazilians were both undefeated and feared in the MMA world. The fight took place in Las Vegas and with one second remaining in the first round a perfectly timed punch knocked Silva unconscious.

“I was humbled big time, man,” says Silva who fought Machida in January 2009. “I learned a lot from that fight.  I think I can correct the mistakes from that fight, not overlooking anything else right now, but just I want to get the chance to fight him again.”

For Evans it was a different circumstance. The upstate New Yorker held the UFC title and was defending it after stopping then champion Forrest Griffin by knockout. Still, many felt Machida was far too technically versed. Evans was stopped brutally in the second round.

“I've made it a point to not – to not get distracted on what I want to do, because you know Thiago (Silva) is a very hungry fighter,” said Evans who has not fought since losing the title to Machida last May. “My focus is just on Thiago so much.  You know I don't want to overlook him, you know, not even a little bit.”

Dana White, president of UFC, says the winner of this fight could conceivably fight Machida in the near future. Evans and especially Silva are motivated by the open window.

“I learned a lot from that fight. I think I can correct the mistakes from that fight,” says Silva. “Not overlooking anything else right now, but I just want to get the chance to fight him again.”

What a prize. The winner gets to face the man who beat him: Machida.

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Articles of 2009

Ten Boxing Wishes For 2010



As 2009 comes to a close, one reflects on what went well and what went wrong during the year in boxing. There were many highlights. Pacquiao vs. Cotto and Showtime’s Super Six tournament were part of the best that boxing had to offer. But there were some low points too therefore the industry has some work to do in order to keep generating fans. Here are some suggestions for 2010:

10. Better pay per view cards

Paying 40 to 50 bucks to watch the main event gets old real quick. Why do we have to sit through a horrible under-card to get to the main course? It’s like being fed spam appetizers before the Thanksgiving turkey. It seems that the pay per view promoters just don’t get it. Are they watching what they put on or do they only watch the “big fight” as everyone else is slowly being conditioned to do so?

9. Time to make Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. fight

Okay, I understand he’s the son of one of the greatest fighters that ever lived. But he’s had 42 fights against low to mid level competition and has never managed to look spectacular. It’s time to throw the 23 year old out of the nest to see if he can fly. My suggestion is a fight against Sergio Mora or maybe even Yuri Foreman. Neither of these guys can punch. They may outbox Junior but they won’t totally humiliate him.

8. No more ridiculous Pay Per View mismatches

Floyd Mayweather Jr. vs. Juan Manuel Marquez should’ve never been made. It was a ridiculous fight when it was announced and it was more ridiculous when it took place. Unable to bring Manny Pacquiao to the bargaining table for a third match against Juan Manuel Marquez, someone figured that pairing up the 135 pound champion against a natural 147 pounder like Mayweather would be a great idea. The pay per view generated over a million buys but the fact that millions of people were treated to an incredibly boring mismatch is what’s truly worrisome. I can guarantee you one thing about this card. The sport of boxing lost fans once the show was over and done with. Talk about short term thinking.

7. Chris “The Nightmare” Arreola shows up for a fight in amazing shape

It was painful to see Chris Arreola take a beating from the Ukrainian giant, Vitali Klitscho. The champion certainly earned his “Dr. Ironfist” moniker as he plowed his powerful shots into the former #1 WBC heavyweight contender’s face. He reddened and bloodied the young Mexican American with an assortment of weapons and foot movement seldom seen on a six foot seven inch heavyweight. Arreola was brave and unrelenting in battle. He never stopped coming forward and took chances when he could. His work in the ring at the Staples Center in downtown Los Angeles wasn’t the problem. Where Arreola let himself down was outside the ring. His unwillingness to condition himself into a finely tuned athlete cost him certain immortality as the first ever heavyweight champion of Mexican descent. Arreola has the heart and skills but it was his mental fortitude that broke down. Anyone who’s followed the Riverside fighter knows that his best weight is somewhere in the 230 pound range. It certainly isn’t at the 252 pounds he registered on the scale at the Staples Center.  Those fifteen to twenty extra pounds might have made all the difference in the world. Maybe he would’ve been a little quicker, maybe he could’ve sustained a faster pace in order to tire out the champion. In his most recent fight against Brian Minto, Arreola weighed in at a career high 263. It looks like “The Nightmare” isn’t willing to change for anyone. At this pace, the only nightmares he’ll be providing will be to the management of Hometown Buffets all across Riverside.  Just kidding “Nightmare”!

6. More respect for the lighter weights

Real boxing fans know that the most exciting fighters in the sport are usually found toiling in weight divisions south of 154 pounds. Pacquiao, Cotto, Juan Manuel Marquez, Edwin Valero, Israel Vazquez, Juan Ma Lopez, Vic Darchinyan, Rafael Marquez and countless others have been the real driving force behind this sport. It’s those great fighters that have made boxing fanatics out of casual fans. The heavyweights may get all the money and glory but it’s the little guys who make the sport shine and it’s time they received greater compensation. It’s dismaying to think that a mediocre heavyweight can make three or four times as much as the great Rafael Marquez.

5. An American Heavyweight champion

Speaking of heavyweights, two Americans tried and failed at dethroning Vitali Klitschko this year. Both Kevin Johnson and Chris Arreola did their best to wrestle the belt away from “Dr. Klitschko” but came up short since they were easily outclassed. What happened to the great American Heavyweight? Where’s our new Joe Frazier or Ali? Even a new Gerry Cooney or a Ken Norton would do at this point. I’ve got a feeling that the only way we’re going to see an American champion is if Klitschko retires. My money is on Arreola. Although undisciplined and rough outside the ring, he’s got tons (no pun intended) of natural talent. He’s without a doubt the most talented American heavyweight on the scene.

4. More ShoBox

The Showtime Cable network gave us the best boxing on TV for the price of a cable television subscription. Their ShoBox series has been a proven hit for Senior VP of Sports Programming Ken Hershman. The concept is simple yet brilliant. Match up two up and comers with great records and let’s see what happens. Sometimes the results are surprising. Many have passed the ShoBox test and went on to bigger and better things. Others have been exposed as having padded records and eventually their careers stall and take a dive.

3. More safety in Mexico so I can attend a show without a gun battle breaking out

Having lived near the Tijuana border all my life I’m dismayed at the war zone that the city has evolved into. Every day there are reports of shootings fueled by the drug war trade. Believe it or not, there was a time when Tijuana was safe and most wouldn’t have thought twice about crossing the border for some seafood and nightlife. No more. Having covered several boxing cards on Revolucion Avenue many years ago, I got a taste of just how important the sport is to Mexican fans. It’s also important to me but not that important. For now I’ll stick to covering shows at the Pechanga Casino and in the less dangerous city of L.A. I never thought I’d say that.

2. Pac Man vs. Mayweather

This is the fight everyone wants to see. Seeing how Mayweather dominated Pac Man’s arch enemy, Juan Manuel Marquez, you have to wonder if the Filipino can handle Lil’ Floyd’s speed and size. One thing is for sure, betting against Pacquiao doesn’t usually work out for me. It never has. There’s no future in it. So if the fight gets done it’s Pacquiao by TKO in ten.

1. And finally

One final wish is reserved for all the readers of I wish you all a healthy and happy 2010. Thank you for your continued loyalty to the site. It’s very much appreciated.

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Articles of 2009

A Very Special New Year's Day Column



It has been just over four months since Nick Charles, the play-by-play announcer for Shobox: The New Generation, was diagnosed with stage IV bladder cancer and forced to take a medical hiatus from the monthly show that has aired since 2001.

Since then he has undergone grueling chemotherapy treatments that have resulted in him losing all of his hair as he forces himself to live as normal of a life as possible. Through sheer force of will, as well as the strength and support that he receives from his wonderfully loving family and his strong Christian faith, the 63-year-old Charles has managed to keep his weight up while not falling prey to the always lingering threats of depression, cynicism and negativity.

If one was unaware that he was battling such an insidious disease, you’d never know from talking on the phone to him that he has been to hell and back. He has lost none of the inspiring energy that has endeared him to members of the boxing community and legions of worldwide viewers.

“I’m doing great,” Charles said during a telephone conversation on December 30th. “I’ve been off the chemo for a month, and the doctors have told me that I’m 80 percent in remission. I’m going to see them again in three months. It may come back, but if it takes one year, or two years, or however long, I’m going to make the most of the good time.”

As physically and emotionally wrenching as the grim diagnosis and subsequent treatment has been, even for someone as perpetually positive as Charles, the longtime announcer said a lot of good things have come from it.

Having been married three times, Charles is the father of four children: Jason, 38, Melissa, 34, Charlotte, 22, and Giovanna, 3 ½.

While Charles is not big on regrets, he is the first to admit that he wasn’t always there for his older children. For many years he traveled the world as a CNN correspondent, often putting the demands of his career above all else, including those closest to him. Nowhere was the strain more evident than in his relationship with Melissa.

Having been divorced from Melissa’s mother since 1977, Charles said his relationship with that daughter has been especially “hot and cold, all of our lives.”

His illness has enabled them to forge a relationship that has been “based on a massive amount of forgiveness and understanding.”

“This has had a tremendous healing effect on both of us,” said Charles. “My illness has had a fortifying effect on a lot of things, the most important of which is my relationships with my family.”

That also includes his first wife, with whom he has had an often acrimonious relationship over the past three decades.

“It took a long time for the scab to become a scar, but we had lunch one day and it was so great to once again see the gentle, soft sides of each other,” he explained. “The whole divorce process creates a hardness that doesn’t always go away.”

Charles is also the grandfather to three children, some of whom are about the same age as his youngest daughter. He jokes that he has a “nuclear 21st century family” because of the similar ages of two generations of children. One of the hardest things for him has been the realization that he can’t always play with them in manner in which he would like.

“The hemoglobin is the fuel in your tank, so when it’s low you can’t will yourself to do things no matter how much you want to,” said Charles. “You can’t just sleep it off or work through it. I don’t want the kids to wonder why I can’t play in the backyard with them, or kick a soccer ball, or throw them in the air.”

Particularly difficult is when Giovanna reminds her father of how handsome he is, but then innocently asks him what happened to his hair, eyebrows and lashes.

“You try to keep things on a need to know basis, which is not easy when dealing with curious kids,” said Charles.

While Charles might look like the kind of guy that things have often come easy to, the reality is that his beginnings were far from auspicious. But, he says, his often challenging Chicago childhood blessed him with the steely resolve that has helped him so much during the arduous journey he is now on.

“I had it pretty rough growing up,” he explained. “I remember the lights and the heat being shut off and eating mustard sandwiches. I went to work at 13 and always had insecurities about the future. But I always expected and saw the best in people, so when I got sick, never once did I say 'Why me?”

Since taking a leave of absence from Shobox, the outpouring of support from the boxing community has warmed Charles’s heart. For a guy that is battling for his life, he actually considers himself fortunate to be surrounded by so much goodness in both his personal and professional lives.

“I always hear that boxing people are ruthless, but I couldn’t disagree more,” said Charles. “I’ve probably received about 1,000 e-mails, and people are always following in sending their best wishes. From the relatively unknown people in boxing to many of the more famous people, there has been an outpouring of true affection.”

Charles said that the Top Rank organization has been exceedingly kind and gracious. He was touched beyond description when he learned that officials in Oklahoma got special permission to have a seamstress sew “Keep Fighting Nick” onto their sleeves. He chokes up when talking about cut man Stitch Duran giving up an endorsement opportunity so he could put Charles’s name on his outfit. He never tires of hearing shout-outs from fighters on television.

Charles has always been a people person with an inordinate faith in the goodness of his fellow man. Battling this illness has only made his already strong faith in humanity even stronger.

“Adversity is a great teacher, and it really teaches you who your genuine friends are,” said Charles. “I have a lot of friends.”

He also has a remarkable wife, Cory, a CNN producer to whom he has been married for 11 years. She is the daughter of an electrician, a self-made woman who exudes all of the warmth of her native Brooklyn. She has reinforced her husband’s spiritual base by her love, optimism and strength of character.

“If I get down, she reminds me to not get too caught up,” said Charles. “I believe in eternity, and that has put me pretty much at peace.”

More than anything else, Charles wants to get himself back behind a microphone sooner rather than later, and hopefully on Shobox. He is the first to admit that viewers “don’t watch the series to see Nick Charles,” but he is proud of the fact that he was “part of the identity” of such a popular show.

“And people love comeback stories,” added Charles. “That’s the message I’m getting from the people out there.”

In boxing the word “champion” is often overused because it pertains only to winning belts and receiving worldwide recognition for being the best at your craft. The reality is that life’s real champions have other qualities, such as the innate ability to treat people well and always make them feel better about themselves, especially when the recipients of the goodwill are in no position to give them anything back.

By that standard of measure, Charles is as much, if not more of a champion than all of the boxers he has covered during the nine years that Shobox has been on the air.

I know I speak for scores of others when I say, “Happy New Year, Champ. We hope that you are the comeback story of the year in 2010.”

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