REST IN PEACE, STUART SCOTT, A HALL OF FAMER OF A HUMAN BEING

Published

10 years ago

January 4, 2015

They used to write in, the knuckleheads, and try and bust his chops.

They’d bust on his lazy eye…or try to take him down a notch by noting that he’d sit on a fence too often, not make that hard call and take a side.

The haters, I guess you call them today, never got under the thick skin of Stuart Scott when I’d call his cell, and inform him it was time to do his online chat with his rooters and non-rooters, who’d ask him about this college basketball game, or that sports star busted for this infraction or another…or what he had for breakfast.

Over the course of the couple of years I facilitated the chat, from the then-office of ESPN The Magazine in NYC, because we’d run some of the best questions and answers in a column called “Stuart Scott’s Two Way” in the Mag. So every couple weeks, I’d gather and pick questions from the pack of queries we’d get over the span of time since the last chat…and in all those years, I do not recall anyone getting under the skin of Stu.

I thought back to this frame of time, which spanned maybe 2006 to mid 2011, when the suits declared it time for all to gather at the mothership in Bristol, to save money on rent and, I don’t know, follow McKinsey style wisdom, or whatever. Basically, I’d look forward to the time spent with Stuart, over the phone, not because he was particularly illuminating as a chatter, or dropped wisdom nuggets with much frequency, or what have you…but more so because he impressed me as a human being.

I could have really cared less about Duke basketball, or 99% of the stuff people wrote in about. My beat was and is boxing, though I’d cherry pick fight questions to Stu now and again.

Hey, I guess now it can be told, I might have once or twice dropped in my own question, such as ‘Who do you think is to blame for the Floyd Mayweather-Manny Pacquiao fight not happening?, under the nom de fake “Tommy from Arlington, Mass,” or something, if and when the query box was on the light side.

Yes, fair to say the questions and the answers weren’t a heavy draw for me. The man’s optimism, his exceedingly sunny disposition, and his attitude as he weathered storms like a split from his missus, and then his public fight with cancer, were what made him special to me.

I’d try and sway him from that mindset, sort of play that devil’s advocate, stir the pot, manufacture some drama, when a ninny would write in with maybe a lazy eye comment.

Now, Stu wasn’t always the ultra cheerful and uncommonly upbeat dude you saw on SportsCenter, not with me, anyway. Maybe he’d been traveling too much, and was burnt out from the road, and was missing his girls, then a teen and a preteen. He was never curt with me, but that “on” switch wasn’t energizing him as much on some days then others. So a back and forth might go something like this:

“Stu, you wanna hammer this deebag from Texas?”

“What’s he saying, Woodsy,” Stu would ask, with a chuckle.

“Eh, made a crack about your eye.” Stu would chuckle…pause…“Uh, should I? I don’t know….Maybe the guys’ girlfriend just broke up with him or something…Eh, should I? Naw, we let it go. Let’s do another one…”

I’d frown, the devil in me unsated, and I’d fire him a query about the latest basketball game I knew nothing about. Yep, he’d often hop onto a fence, and see both sides of an issue, and veer away from any sort of journalistic skepticism and fact finding and spin-free analysis, and right towards the lane of kindness and decency and not making waves. That niceness, as niceness often is, wasn’t appreciated by all; stop kissing asses, someone would invariably post to me, the moderator, during the chat. But that wasn’t Stuart’s way. He was not put on this earth to make those sort of waves. But there is no shortage of folks willing to do that. I now fully realize, on this day I learned that my man Stuart died, the cancer which he battled with the zest and fury of the very best fighters we’d sometimes talk about, in the worlds of pugilism, and MMA, which he practiced, even when chemo left him at less than fifty percent of energy, what his role was on this earth.

You too, I bet, now fully understand, if you check Twitter, or turn to ESPN’s SportsCenter, the immensity of the legacy Stuart Scott, born in 1965, died in 2015, to live on forevermore, what the man’s imprint will be.

Great God, the strength he imparted in people. The courage he helped instill in poor souls pondering their imminent fate, when the chemo and the radiation and the pills and the prayers ran their course, and fate’s ugly, bony hand loomed just over head, readying to pluck another good one from our midst. That legacy kicks ass on the legacy of all those sports titans people wrote in to talk about. I have no problem saying that, shouting it to the rafters, where the retired jerseys wave in the wind. Michael Jordan, sorry; Tom Brady, not even close; pick your All-Star and I will tell you no dice, your man or woman didn’t and will not leave behind what Stuart Scott did.

Some tears are forming as I type this, because I’m sitting next to my girls, ages 4 1/2 and 7 1/2, on the sofa of our Brooklyn apartment. They have no idea, they are watching Tom and Jerry, and eating frozen peas out of a bag, even though they are not supposed to eat on the couch. LOL. I just about always find myself thinking about my girls when I’d think about Stuart, because we’d always chat about them, his Taelor and Sydni, my Annabelle and Juliette, ask the other how they were doing, when we shot the shit for a minute or two before the chat barrage commenced.

I last interacted with Stu on Nov. 11. I’d seen a Tweet which referenced him being in hospice. I have the record of texts between us from March 12 onward, after I’d told him I was thinking of him, rooting for him, hoping he’d be able to get off the canvas yet again, and pull off a Hail Mary upset win.

“Thank you brotha, means a lot,” he wrote to me March 12. “Handle yo bizness out there…Take care of those lil angels.” You see that? He’d steer it away from himself, from a pity or self pity zone, and back at me. That is a real skill, that is an attribute a thousand times more laudable than a dead-on jumper from 20 feet, or the ability to fire a fastball at 95 MPH. On Aug. 15, I checked in again, saying hi, sending good vibes, as I’m not a prayer guy. He answered: “Hey brotha. A buddy sent me this for this shit I’m goin thru…Works for any battle…”For now, lie in the bushes and rest. Gain strength. When the time is right, we’ll rise up and kill them all.”

LOL, I like the ferocity of that saying, the candid recognition that many of us see life as much battle as anything else. “Take care of your kids,” he ended with.

On Nov. 11, I told him I was thinking of him. That’s all..I didn’t want to pry, ask for an update. “Thanks brotha. Take care of those 2 adorable kids, brotha. Thanks for the HOLLA.”

“You got a full helping and then some on your plate,” I responded, “and then some! And along the way, you are lifting countless folks up, to help them face their trials. #PROPS,” I texted.

“Thanks Bruh…Means a ton!!”

Two exclamations points…a communication of heartfelt and intense goodwill, from a man who had every reason to be morose, or indulging in meditative isolation…and that was it.

Today, I got the word, news I didn’t want delivered.

Brotha Stu, the world is down one great dude today. The sting of the loss will linger for a spell…but the gargantuan nature of the positivity you spread around so selflessly, and the salve you provided to people facing the darkness of terminal illness, those things will linger far longer…

You made me a better man, just a bit, and I thank you, and I will miss you.

Peace, brotha.

Follow Woods on Twitter. https://twitter.com/Woodsy1069

Post Views: 0

Share The Sweet Science experience!

Michael Woods

Thomas Hauser’s Literary Notes: Johnny Greaves Tells a Sad Tale

Published

3 days ago

May 11, 2025

Thomas Hauser

Johnny Greaves was a professional loser. He had one hundred professional fights between 2007 and 2013, lost 96 of them, scored one knockout, and was stopped short of the distance twelve times. There was no subtlety in how his role was explained to him: “Look, Johnny; professional boxing works two ways. You’re either a ticket-seller and make money for the promoter, in which case you get to win fights. If you don’t sell tickets but can look after yourself a bit, you become an opponent and you fight to lose.”

By losing, he could make upwards of one thousand pounds for a night‘s work.

Greaves grew up with an alcoholic father who beat his children and wife. Johnny learned how to survive the beatings, which is what his career as a fighter would become. He was a scared, angry, often violent child who was expelled from school and found solace in alcohol and drugs.

The fighters Greaves lost to in the pros ran the gamut from inept local favorites to future champions Liam Walsh, Anthony Crolla, Lee Selby, Gavin Rees, and Jack Catterall. Alcohol and drugs remained constants in his life. He fought after drinking, smoking weed, and snorting cocaine on the night before – and sometimes on the day of – a fight. On multiple occasions, he came close to committing suicide. His goal in boxing ultimately became to have one hundred professional fights.

On rare occasions, two professional losers – “journeymen,” they’re called in The UK – are matched against each other. That was how Greaves got three of the four wins on his ledger. On September 29, 2013, he fought the one hundredth and final fight of his career against Dan Carr in London’s famed York Hall. Carr had a 2-42-2 ring record and would finish his career with three wins in ninety outings. Greaves-Carr was a fight that Johnny could win. He emerged triumphant on a four-round decision.

The Johnny Greaves Story, told by Greaves with the help of Adam Darke (Pitch Publishing) tells the whole sordid tale. Some of Greaves’s thoughts follow:

* “We all knew why we were there, and it wasn’t to win. The home fighters were the guys who had sold all the tickets and were deemed to have some talent. We were the scum. We knew our role. Give some young prospect a bit of a workout, keep out of the way of any big shots, lose on points but take home a wedge of cash, and fight again next week.”

* “If you fought too hard and won, then you wouldn’t get booked for any more shows. If you swung for the trees and got cut or knocked out, then you couldn’t fight for another 28 days. So what were you supposed to do? The answer was to LOOK like you were trying to win but be clever in the process. Slip and move, feint, throw little shots that were rangefinders, hold on, waste time. There was an art to this game, and I was quickly learning what a cynical business it was.”

* “The unknown for the journeyman was always how good your opponent might be. He could be a future world champion. Or he might be some hyped-up nightclub bouncer with a big following who was making lots of money for the promoter.”

* “No matter how well I fought, I wasn’t going to be getting any decisions. These fights weren’t scored fairly. The referees and judges understood who the paymasters were and they played the game. What was the point of having a go and being the best version of you if nobody was going to recognize or reward it?”

* “When I first stepped into the professional arena, I believed I was tough. believed that nobody could stop me. But fight by fight, those ideas were being challenged and broken down. Once you know that you can be hurt, dropped and knocked out, you’re never quite the same fighter.”

* “I had started off with a dream, an idea of what boxing was and what it would do for me. It was going to be a place where I could prove my toughness. A place that I could escape to and be someone else for a while. For a while, boxing was that place. But it wore me down to the point that I stopped caring. I’d grown sick and tired of it all. I wished that I could feel pride at what I’d achieved. But most of the time, I just felt like a loser.”

* “The fights were getting much more difficult, the damage to my body and my psyche taking longer and longer to repair after each defeat. I was putting myself in more and more danger with each passing fight. I was getting hurt more often and stopped more regularly. Even with the 28-day [suspensions], I didn’t have time to heal. I was staggering from one fight to the next and picking up more injuries along the way.”

* “I was losing my toughness and resilience. When that’s all you’ve ever had, it’s a hard thing to accept. Drink and drugs had always been present in my life. But now they became a regular part of my pre-fight preparation. It helped to shut out the fear and quieted the thoughts and worries that I shouldn’t be doing this anymore.”

* “My body was broken. My hands were constantly sore with blisters and cuts. I had early arthritis in my hip and my teeth were a mess. I looked an absolute state and inside I felt worse. But I couldn’t stop fighting yet. Not before the 100.”

* “I had abused myself time after time and stood in front of better men, taking a beating when I could have been sensible and covered up. At the start, I was rarely dropped or stopped. Now it was becoming a regular part of the game. Most of the guys I was facing were a lot better than me. This was mainly about survival.”

* “Was my brain f***ed from taking too many punches? I knew it was, to be honest. I could feel my speech changing and memory going. I was mentally unwell and shouldn’t have been fighting but the promoters didn’t care. Johnny Greaves was still a good booking. Maybe an even better one now that he might get knocked out.”

* “Nobody gave a f*** about me and whether I lived or died. I didn’t care about that much either. But the thought of being humiliated, knocked out in front of all those people; that was worse than the thought of dying. The idea of being exposed for what I was – a nobody.”

* “I was a miserable bastard in real life. A depressive downbeat mouthy little f***er. Everything I’ve done has been to mask the feeling that I’m worthless. That I have no value. The drinks and the drugs just helped me to forget that for a while. I still frighten myself a lot. My thoughts scare me. Do I really want to be here for the next thirty or forty years? I don’t know. If suicide wasn’t so impactful on people around you, I would have taken that leap. I don’t enjoy life and never have.”

So . . . Any questions?

****

Steve Albert was Showtime’s blow-by-blow commentator for two decades. But his reach extended far beyond boxing.

Albert’s sojourn through professional sports began in high school when he was a ball boy for the New York Knicks. Over the years, he was behind the microphone for more than a dozen teams in eleven leagues including four NBA franchises.

Putting the length of that trajectory in perspective . . . As a ballboy, Steve handed bottles of water and towels to a Knicks back-up forward named Phil Jackson. Later, they worked together as commentators for the New Jersey Nets. Then Steve provided the soundtrack for some of Jackson’s triumphs when he won eleven NBA championships as head coach of the Chicago Bulls and Los Angeles Lakers.

It’s also a matter of record that Steve’s oldest brother, Marv, was arguably the greatest play-by-play announcer in NBA history. And brother Al enjoyed a successful career behind the microphone after playing professional hockey.

Now Steve has written a memoir titled A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Broadcast Booth. Those who know him know that Steve doesn’t like to say bad things about people. And he doesn’t here. Nor does he delve into the inner workings of sports media or the sports dream machine. The book is largely a collection of lighthearted personal recollections, although there are times when the gravity of boxing forces reflection.

“Fighters were unlike any other professional athletes I had ever encountered,” Albert writes. “Many were products of incomprehensible backgrounds, fiercely tough neighborhoods, ghettos and, in some cases, jungles. Some got into the sport because they were bullied as children. For others, boxing was a means of survival. In many cases, it was an escape from a way of life that most people couldn’t even fathom.”

At one point, Steve recounts a ringside ritual that he followed when he was behind the microphone for Showtime Boxing: “I would precisely line up my trio of beverages – coffee, water, soda – on the far edge of the table closest to the ring apron. Perhaps the best advice I ever received from Ferdie [broadcast partner Ferdie Pacheco] was early on in my blow-by-blow career – ‘Always cover your coffee at ringside with an index card unless you like your coffee with cream, sugar, and blood.’”

Writing about the prelude to the infamous Holyfield-Tyson “bite fight,” Albert recalls, “I remember thinking that Tyson was going to do something unusual that night. I had this sinking feeling in my gut that he was going to pull something exceedingly out of the ordinary. His grousing about Holyfield’s head butts in the first fight added to my concern. [But] nobody could have foreseen what actually happened. Had I opened that broadcast with, ‘Folks, tonight I predict that Mike Tyson will bite off a chunk of Evander Holyfield’s ear,’ some fellas in white coats might have approached me and said, ‘Uh, Steve, could you come with us.'”

And then there’s my favorite line in the book: “I once asked a fighter if he was happily married,” Albert recounts. “He said, ‘Yes, but my wife’s not.'”

“All I ever wanted was to be a sportscaster,” Albert says in closing. “I didn’t always get it right, but I tried to do my job with honesty and integrity. For forty-five years, calling games was my life. I think it all worked out.”

Thomas Hauser’s email address is thomashauserwriter@gmail.com. His next book – The Most Honest Sport: Two More Years Inside Boxing – will be published this month and is available for preorder at:

https://www.amazon.com/Most-Honest-Sport-Inside-Boxing/dp/1955836329

In 2019, Hauser was selected for boxing’s highest honor – induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

To comment on this story in the Fight Forum CLICK HERE

Post Views: 0

Share The Sweet Science experience!

Argentina’s Fernando Martinez Wins His Rematch with Kazuto Ioka

Published

3 days ago

May 11, 2025

Arne K. Lang

Argentina's-Fernando-Martinez-Wins-His-Rematch-with-Kazuto-Ioka

In an excellent fight climaxed by a furious 12^th round, Argentina’s Fernando Daniel Martinez came off the deck to win his rematch with Kazuto Ioka and retain his piece of the world 115-pound title. The match was staged at Ioka’s familiar stomping grounds, the Ota-City General Gymnasium in Tokyo.

In their first meeting on July 7 of last year in Tokyo, Martinez was returned the winner on scores of 117-111, 116-112, and a bizarre 120-108. The rematch was slated for late December, but Martinez took ill a few hours before the weigh-in and the bout was postponed.

The 33-year-old Martinez, who came in sporting a 17-0 (9) record, was a 7-2 favorite to win the sequel, but there were plenty of reasons to favor Ioka, 36, aside from his home field advantage. The first Japanese male fighter to win world titles in four weight classes, Ioka was 3-0 in rematches and his long-time trainer Ismael Salas was on a nice roll. Salas was 2-0 last weekend in Times Square, having handled upset-maker Rolly Romero and Reito Tsutsumi who was making his pro debut.

But the fourth time was not a charm for Ioka (31-4-1) who seemingly pulled the fight out of the fire in round 10 when he pitched the Argentine to the canvas with a pair of left hooks, but then wasn’t able to capitalize on the momentum swing.

Martinez set a fast pace and had Ioka fighting off his back foot for much of the fight. Beginning in round seven, Martinez looked fatigued, but the Argentine was conserving his energy for the championship rounds. In the end, he won the bout on all three cards: 114-113, 116-112, 117-110.

Up next for Fernando Martinez may be a date with fellow unbeaten Jesse “Bam” Rodriguez, the lineal champion at 115. San Antonio’s Rodriguez is a huge favorite to keep his title when he defends against South Africa’s obscure Phumelela Cafu on July 19 in Frisco, Texas.

As for Ioka, had he won today’s rematch, that may have gotten him over the hump in so far as making it into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. True, winning titles in four weight classes is no great shakes when the bookends are only 10 pounds apart, but Ioka is still a worthy candidate.

To comment on this story in the Fight Forum CLICK HERE

Post Views: 0

Share The Sweet Science experience!

Emanuel Navarrete Survives a Bloody Battle with Charly Suarez in San Diego

Published

3 days ago

May 11, 2025

David A. Avila

Emanuel-Navarrete-Survives-a-Bloody-Battle-with-Charly-Suarez-in-San-Diego

In a torrid battle Mexico’s Emanuel “Vaquero” Navarrete and his staccato attack staved off the herky-jerky non-stop assaults of Philippine’s Charly Suarez to win by technical decision and retain the WBO super feather world title on Saturday.

What do they feed these guys?

Navarrete (40-2-1, 32 KOs) and his elongated arms managed to connect enough to compensate against the surprising Suarez (18-1, 10 KOs) who wowed the crowd at Pechanga Arena in San Diego.

An accidental clash of heads opened a cut on the side of Navarrete’s left eye and forced a stoppage midway through the fight.

From the opening round Navarrete used his windmill style of attack with punches from different angles that caught Suarez multiple times early. It did not matter. Suarez fired back with impunity and was just as hungry to punch it out with the Mexican fighter.

It was savage.

Every time Navarrete connected solidly, he seemed to pause and check out the damage. Bad idea. Suarez would immediately counter with bombs of his own and surprise the champion with his resilience and tenacity.

Wherever they found Suarez they should look for more, because the Filipino fighter from Manila was ferocious and never out of his depth.

Around the sixth round the Mexican fighter seemed a little drained and puzzled at the tireless attacks coming from Suarez. During an exchange of blows a cut opened up on Navarrete and it was ruled an accidental clash of heads by the referee. Blood streamed down the side of Navarrete’s face and it was cleared by the ringside physician.

But at the opening of the eighth round, the fight was stopped and the ringside physician ruled the cut was too bad to continue. The California State Athletic Commission looked at tape of the round when the cut opened to decipher if it was an accidental butt or a punch that caused the cut. It was unclear so the referee’s call of accidental clash of heads stood as the final ruling.

Score cards from the judges saw Navarrete the winner by scores of 78-75, 77-76 twice. He retains the WBO title.

Interim IBF Lightweight Title

The sharp-shooting Raymond “Danger” Muratalla (23-0, 17 KOs) maneuvered past Russia’s Zaur Abdullaev (20-2, 12 KOs) by unanimous decision to win the interim IBF lightweight title after 12 rounds.

Both fighters were strategic in their approach with Muratalla switching from orthodox to southpaw at various times of the fight. Neither fighter was ever able to dominant any round.

Defense proved the difference between the two lightweights. Muratalla was able to slip more blows than Abdullaev and that proved the difference. The fighter from Fontana, California was able to pierce Abdullaev’s guard more often than not, especially with counter punches.

Abdullaev was never out of the fight. The Russian fighter was able to change tactics and counter the counters midway through the fight. It proved effective especially to the body. But it was not enough to offset Muratalla’s accuracy.

There were no knockdowns and after 12 rounds the judges scored it 118-110, 119-109 twice for Muratalla who now becomes the mandatory for the IBF lightweight title should Vasyl Lomachenko return to defend it.

Muratalla was brief.

“He was a tough fighter,” said Muratalla. “My defense is something I work on a lot.”

Perla Wins

Super flyweight Perla Bazaldua (2-0) eased past Mona Ward (0-2) with a polished display of fighting at length and inside.

Combination punching and defense allowed Bazaldua to punch in-between Ward’s attacks and force the St. Louis fighter to clinch repeatedly. But Ward hung in there despite taking a lot of blows. After four rounds the Los Angeles-based Bazaldua was scored the winner 40-36 on all three cards. Bazaldua signed a long term contract with Top Rank in March.

Photo credit: Mikey Williams / Top Rank

To comment on this story in the Fight Forum CLICK HERE

Post Views: 0

Share The Sweet Science experience!