Destiny Played Role Reversal With the Careers of David Reid & Floyd Mayweather Jr.

Published

10 years ago

March 3, 2015

There is a scene in “Rocky II” in which Rocky Balboa’s crusty old trainer, Mickey, tries to talk the retired heavyweight from Philadelphia out of attempting a comeback in a rematch against champion Apollo Creed. Demonstrating that Rocky’s left eye is too badly damaged for him to consider entering the ring against such a dangerous opponent, which could only end with Creed completing the demolition project he had so advanced in their previous slugfest, Mickey lands a couple of open-hand slaps to the left side of the plucky journeyman’s face.

“If I can do that, what do you think Creed would do to ya?” Mickey asks.

“I don’t know, hurt me bad, I guess,” Rocky mumbles.

“No,” Mickey says. “He’d hurt you permanent.”

By the time the closing credits rolled, of course, Rocky had upset Creed, swinging open the celluloid door for four more sequels in which “The Italian Stallion’s” bad eye never again was a hindrance to his performance, or even mentioned. Boxing’s longest-enduring movie hero will be onscreen again in the near future as “Creed,” the seventh installment in the movie series that not only goes the distance, but keeps extending it, is currently filming in Philly. In this one, Rocky is the trainer of Apollo Creed’s grandson, who hopes to step into his late Pop-Pop’s large shoes.

I can’t help but think of another Philadelphia fighter, 1996 Olympic gold medalist and former WBA super welterweight champion David Reid, whenever that I watch the aforementioned scene. I also think about an unscripted but indisputably accurate quote from still another Philly fighter, former middleweight and light heavyweight Bernard “The Alien” Hopkins, who made this astute observation after Reid had defended his newly won 154-pound title on a tougher-than-expected unanimous decision over Australia’s Kevin Kelly on July 16, 1999, in Atlantic City Boardwalk Hall. Kelly, a 30-1 underdog, kept circling to his right and scoring with overhand rights to Reid’s perpetually drooping left eyelid, which had already been operated on three times in unsuccessful attempts to fix a problem that would plague Reid throughout the remainder of his career, and beyond.

“If I was fighting David Reid next week or next month, what do you think I’m going to go for?” Hopkins asked, saying out loud what was already becoming common knowledge. “I think everybody he fights between now and the time he retires will go for a target that is so, so obvious.

“There’s two things you must have in this game: legs and headlights. You have to see what’s coming, and David Reid has problems seeing.”

But each of us sees what we want to see and hears what we want to see, at least occasionally, which explains in part why avoidable accidents continue to happen. In no sport is capricious misfortune more prevalent than in boxing, which is frequently described as a “hurt business.” Although no one can predict when a blossoming career takes a dramatic and sudden turn for the worse, there sometimes are telltale signs of slippage that those who should know better, if you’ll pardon the expression, turn a blind eye to. One fight, one round or even one punch can bring a prodigious talent suddenly to ruin. Even a seemingly minor injury, one that would not affect individuals in 95 percent of all other occupations, can be devastating if it impairs or restricts a fighter’s field of vision. Inside the ropes, a drooping eyelid can be tantamount to a career-killer.

He’ll hurt you permanent.

March 3 marks the 15^th anniversary of the day that Felix Trinidad mortally wounded David Reid’s professional hopes and dreams with a one-sided, title-lifting unanimous decision at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, a brutal beatdown in which the Puerto Rican superstar overcame a third-round knockdown to register four of his own, including three in the 11^th round. Although the ventilator to which Reid’s once-towering aspirations were attached continued to function for four more bouts, he was, in effect, fighting with a pirate’s eye patch covering that left orb forever set at half-mast. Thus the young man whom some considered a brighter prospect than Floyd Mayweather Jr. coming out of the 1996 Atlanta Olympics quickly faded from view into a darker, more disturbing world mostly inhabited only by himself.

So here we are, 18½ years after Reid had vaulted to global prominence with a lightning-bolt right hand that put Cuba’s Alfredo Duvergel down and out in the final round of the light middleweight gold-medal bout. Under Olympic rules then in effect, scoring was done by computer, with judges at ringside pressing buttons to register legal punches landed within a specified time frame. Reid was 10 points behind entering that last round, and he was still insurmountably behind, 15-5, when he came in over the top with a parabola that landed with the concussive force of a runaway locomotive.

“We’d been through this plenty of times,” said U.S. Olympic coach Al Mitchell, who, ironically, had developed a father-son relationship with Reid since first working with him as an 11-year-old at a North Philadelphia recreation center, and would serve as his manager-trainer in the pros. “I told Dave, `Just go for the knockout. You can’t go any other way.’”

Said Reid: “I was going for the home run. I was down by 10 points. It’s hard to score 10 points in a round.”

The suddenness of his victory, so fraught with drama, was so … so … Rocky. Reid leaped in exultation, tears of joy forming at the corner of his eyes, and shortly after the he mounted the victory stand and the national anthem played, he was introduced to none other than the great Muhammad Ali.

“He told me, `You’re a bad boy,’” Reid said at the time, beaming a wide smile.

Just like that, the ghetto kid who had grown up with nothing appeared to be on the verge of having everything. Big-time promoters lined up to make lucrative offers, which in one instance included a veiled promise that his image would soon appear on boxes for Wheaties, the “Breakfast of Champions.”

“David is a national hero,” said Top Rank CEO Bob Arum, whose company initially seemed the favorite to land the man of the moment. Toward that end, Arum brought along one of his big guns, Oscar De La Hoya, to a meeting with Reid in New York a few days after Reid toppled Duvergel. De La Hoya had won the only American gold medal in boxing at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics, and the carrot dangling at the end of the Top Rank stick was the possibility of a megabucks Oscar-Reid match somewhere down the road.

“It’s going to happen,” De La Hoya told reporters after he had met and posed for photos with Reid. “I really believe that Bob Arum can see the big picture. I see the big picture, too. David Reid and I will fight someday. The only gold medalist from ’92 vs. the only gold medalist from ’96. Man, wouldn’t that be something? It won’t happen soon, but it will happen.”

Perhaps it would have, had Reid, then 22, gone with Top Rank. He instead chose to accept a larger deal from a newly formed promotional company, America Presents, that included a $1.5 million signing bonus and a reported $14.4 million over the five-year life of the contract.

America Presents president Dan Goossen predicted that Reid would make “at least $50 million” in the first five years of his pro career, which began on March 21, 1997, with an HBO-televised four-round, unanimous decision over Sam Calderon at the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. Now dubbed “The American Dream,” Reid was, most agreed, on the fast track to superstardom, even if his left eyelid was already beginning its slow descent into the danger zone.

Top Rank’s consolation prize for missing out on Reid, however, turned out to be better than gold. Floyd Mayweather Jr., the bronze medalist in the featherweight division, had dropped a disputed 10-9 decision to reigning world amateur champion Serafim Todorov of Bulgaria in the semifinals, an outcome so odious that USA Boxing officials filed a formal protest to have it overturned (it wasn’t). And in the Olympics, gold always trumps bronze insofar as initial attractiveness to the pros is concerned.

“Mayweather got the shaft. I still can’t believe they screwed him like they did,” fumed U.S. coach Al Mitchell, who had deemed the Grand Rapids, Mich., native as the “best defensive fighter” on the American squad.

In retrospect, you have to wonder how things would have turned out for Reid and for Mayweather had Floyd won the gold he probably deserved and Reid not landed the thunderous shot some called the luckiest of lucky punches, and thus had to settle for the silver. In all likelihood, the vastly talented Mayweather would have gone on to the same incredible professional career he has achieved in posting a 47-0 record with 26 knockouts. At last look, he had a net worth of $280 million, which figures to be considerably boosted after his May 2 welterweight unification showdown with Manny Pacquiao, which could gross him upwards of $120 million. He is a surefire first-ballot inductee into the International Boxing Hall of Fame and, to hear him tell it, the best fighter ever to lace up a pair of padded gloves.

Reid’s high profile as an Olympic gold medalist no doubt contributed to his fighting for a world title in just his 12^th pro outing, in which he outpointed WBA super welterweight champ Laurent Boudouani on March 4, 1989, in Boardwalk Hall. To all outward appearances, this was the same ebullient, chatty Reid as always as he yapped throughout the bout to a Frenchman who probably didn’t understand a world he was saying.

“I think it’s my confidence coming out,” Reid said of his in-fight verbosity. “Sometimes it’s good to talk trash. It shows I’m having fun doing what I do.”

But although not the first to follow what proved to be a familiar script, Boudouani added details to the plan as to how to fight Reid as he, too, kept stepping to his right to try to find a fuzzy or blind spot in the celebrated Olympic star’s questionable field of vision. The steady stream of wide rights that found the mark wiped the grin off Reid’s face soon enough, and convinced Mitchell that his guy’s coming-out party would include its share of popped balloons and limp streamers.

There also was continuing friction between Reid and Hopkins, who had appeared in separate bouts of an “HBO Boxing After Dark” show at the Taj Mahal on Jan. 31, 1998. Asked a few days beforehand if Reid might soon be ready to fight him, Hopkins, then the IBF middleweight champion and an America Presents stablemate of Reid’s, had offered his opinion that the 24-year-old was “on Similac” and needed to “get on whole milk” before he should even consider stepping up to fight him.

After Hopkins had stopped former world champion Simon Brown in six rounds and Reid had scored an eight-round unanimous decision over Robert Frazier, Reid, no longer smiling, vented his anger toward his fellow Philadelphian.

“Simon Brown is a bum,” Reid said. “Bernard beat up a bum. Every second of that fight, I could beat (Hopkins). He makes too many mistakes. It looks like when he swings, he closes his eyes and he’s scared. The man’s got no heart. He can’t fight. They say he’s the best middleweight, but, to me, he can’t fight.

“He said I was a little baby. This little baby would beat the drawers off him.”

A few days later, Hopkins tried to defuse the situation, at least a little.

“You want to know how I feel about David Reid?” he asked. “I think he’s a great-looking prospect, a future world champion. He has speed and power and he can go as far as he wants to in this game. David Reid is the future, but I am the present. This is my time; his time is coming. When I said he was a baby, all I meant is that he’s young and has to grow up in this sport a little. I didn’t mean nothing derogatory. It was all meant in good fun. If he took it wrong, what can I say?”

The “great-looking prospect” did win a world title, and defended it twice with points nods over Kelly and Keith Mullings before his management team decided it was time to roll the dice and put Reid in with an unbeaten and highly bankable fighter, Felix Trinidad, who was moving up from welterweight.

Prior to the welterweight unification matchup of Trinidad and De La Hoya, Goossen, in a bold mood, took out print ads that had Reid basically calling out both men.

“It had one of those surgeon general warnings: `Gaining weight will be hazardous to your health,’” Goossen said of the layout, in which a menacing Reid was flanked by smaller images of Trinidad and De La Hoya.

Were Goossen and Mitchell that confident that Reid – with just 14 pro bouts – was ready for an experienced champion like Trinidad, who at the time was 36-0 with 30 KOs? Or were they just going for a major financial score for their guy while the going was good? Reid was to receive a career-high $3 million for testing himself against Trinidad, a quantum leap up from his previous high of $450,000?

“In a year or two, if Dave does what I think he can, he’ll be ready for delivery to the (International Boxing) Hall of Fame,” Mitchell predicted. “He could walk away from this game at 30 financially secure for life and with no regrets. He’ll have fought everybody and done everything he possibly could.”

But Mitchell said something else before Reid defended his title against Trinidad, something more troubling, a tale of a 44-year-old grandmother from Philadelphia who had just lost the seventh member of her family – all under the age of 20 – to street violence. It was another reminder of the netherworld with which he and Reid were more than familiar.

“So many sad stories,” Mitchell said. “The same thing happens over and over, and you keep asking yourself why. I don’t know how to end crime and poverty and desperation. I wish I had that answer.”

Reid had his moments against Trinidad, the foremost of which was when he floored “Tito” with an overhand right in the third round, the kind of punch that had put away Duvergel. But Trinidad, who had been dropped six times previously as a pro but always come back to win, beat the count. And what followed for Team Reid was not pretty. Reid was all but gone in the 11^th round, floored three times, with a grotesquely swollen right eye matching his constantly drooping left eyelid. But Reid attempted to fight back just enough that he was granted a chance to finish on his feet, which he did.

“As a man, as a fighter, the referee saw I could continue,” said Reid, both eyes nearly hammered shut, with the cut above his right eye requiring 10 stitches to close. “I wasn’t going to quit.”

The quitting came four fights later, when Reid was stopped in nine rounds by a moonlighting St. Louis cop named Sam Hill on Nov. 11, 2001, in that noted boxing hotbed of Elizabeth, Ind. The HBO cameras weren’t there to record the moment for posterity, Reid’s star power having dimmed to the point of darkness following his thrashing by Trinidad.

Spanish philosopher/poet George Santayana once wrote that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Reid, a cousin of noted Philadelphia fighters Jimmy Young and Bobby “Boogaloo” Watts, was 26 when Trinidad basically ended his career, an outcome very much like what had happened to Meldrick Taylor, another Philly Olympic gold medalist (in Los Angeles in 1984) and world champion who had his prime beaten out of him in a super lightweight unification bout with Julio Cesar Chavez in 1990. Reid would never fight De La Hoya, or Hopkins, or his Olympic teammate, Fernando Vargas. Nor would he receive anywhere close to the $14.4 million his contract with America Presents reportedly was worth over five years, and certainly not the $50 million that Goossen had once so optimistically predicted. As it turned out, America Presents also was kayoed, the money man behind Goossen, Mat Tinley, cut off from funds for his cash-losing operation by the executors of his late billionaire uncle Bill Daniels’ estate.

Reid’s delivery to the IBHOF was canceled, as were his prospects of financial security for life. But Mitchell was right about one thing: “The American Dream” did indeed retire by the time he was 30. Broke and prone to bouts with depression and far-ranging mood swings, he now spends most of his time in his modest two-bedroom apartment in Marquette, Mich. He no longer has much, if anything, to do with the sport that made him an important figure on the world stage.

As always, the wheel goes round and round in boxing. And, as always, where it stops, nobody knows.

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Bernard Fernandez

Avila Perspective, Chap. 323: Benn vs Eubank Family Feud and More

Published

2 days ago

April 24, 2025

David A. Avila

Avila-Perspective,-Chap.-323:-Benn-vs-Eubank-Family-Feud-and-More.jpg

Next generation rivals Conor Benn and Chris Eubank Jr. carry on the family legacy of feudal warring in the prize ring on Saturday.

This is huge in British boxing.

Eubank (34-3, 25 KOs) holds the fringe IBO middleweight title but won’t be defending it against the smaller welterweight Benn (23-0, 14 KOs) on Saturday, April 26, at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium in London. DAZN will stream the Matchroom Boxing card.

This is about family pride.

The parents of Eubank and Benn actually began the feud in the 1990s.

Papa Nigel Benn fought Papa Chris Eubank twice. Losing as a middleweight in November 1990 at Birmingham, England, then fighting to a draw as a super middleweight in October 1993 in Manchester. Both were world title fights.

Eubank was undefeated and won the WBO middleweight world title in 1990 against Nigel Benn by knockout. He defended it three times before moving up and winning the vacant WBO super middleweight title in September 1991. He defended the super middleweight title 14 times before suffering his first pro defeat in March 1995 against Steve Collins.

Benn won the WBO middleweight title in April 1990 against Doug DeWitt and defended it once before losing to Eubank in November 1990. He moved up in weight and took the WBC super middleweight title from Mauro Galvano in Italy by technical knockout in October 1992. He defended the title nine times until losing in March 1996. His last fight was in November 1996, a loss to Steve Collins.

Animosity between the two families continues this weekend in the boxing ring.

Conor Benn, the son of Nigel, has fought mostly as a welterweight but lately has participated in the super welterweight division. He is several inches shorter in height than Eubank but has power and speed. Kind of a British version of Gervonta “Tank” Davis.

“It’s always personal, every opponent I fight is personal. People want to say it’s strictly business, but it’s never business. If someone is trying to put their hands on me, trying to render me unconscious, it’s never business,” said Benn.

This fight was scheduled twice before and cut short twice due to failed PED tests by Benn. The weight limit agreed upon is 160 pounds.

Eubank, a natural middleweight, has exchanged taunts with Benn for years. He recently avenged a loss to Liam Smith with a knockout victory in September 2023.

“This fight isn’t about size or weight. It’s about skill. It’s about dedication. It’s about expertise and all those areas in which I excel in,” said Eubank. “I have many, many more years of experience over Conor Benn, and that will be the deciding factor of the night.”

Because this fight was postponed twice, the animosity between the two feuding fighters has increased the attention of their fans. Both fighters are anxious to flatten each other.

“He’s another opponent in my way trying to crush my dreams. trying to take food off my plate and trying to render me unconscious. That’s how I look at him,” said Benn.

Eubank smiles.

“Whether it’s boxing, whether it’s a gun fight. Defense, offense, foot movement, speed, power. I am the superior boxer in each of those departments and so many more – which is why I’m so confident,” he said.

Supporting Bout

Former world champion Liam Smith (33-4-1, 20 KOs) tangles with Ireland’s Aaron McKenna (19-0, 10 KOs) in a middleweight fight set for 12 rounds on the Benn-Eubank undercard in London.

“Beefy” Smith has long been known as one of the fighting Smith brothers and recently lost to Eubank a year and a half ago. It was only the second time in 38 bouts he had been stopped. Saul “Canelo” Alvarez did it several years ago.

McKenna is a familiar name in Southern California. The Irish fighter fought numerous times on Golden Boy Promotion cards between 2017 and 2019 before returning to the United Kingdom and his assault on continuing the middleweight division. This is a big step for the tall Irish fighter.

It’s youth versus experience.

“I’ve been calling for big fights like this for the last two or three years, and it’s a fight I’m really excited for. I plan to make the most of it and make a statement win on Saturday night,” said McKenna, one of two fighting brothers.

Monster in L.A.

Japan’s super star Naoya “Monster” Inoue arrived in Los Angeles for last day workouts before his Las Vegas showdown against Ramon Cardenas on Sunday May 4, at T-Mobile Arena. ESPN will televise and stream the Top Rank card.

It’s been four years since the super bantamweight world champion performed in the US and during that time Naoya (29-0, 26 KOs) gathered world titles in different weight divisions. The Japanese slugger has also gained fame as perhaps the best fighter on the planet. Cardenas is 26-1 with 14 KOs.

Pomona Fights

Super featherweights Mathias Radcliffe (9-0-1) and Ezequiel Flores (6-4) lead a boxing card called “DMG Night of Champions” on Saturday April 26, at the historic Fox Theater in downtown Pomona, Calif.

Michaela Bracamontes (11-2-1) and Jesus Torres Beltran (8-4-1) will be fighting for a regional WBC super featherweight title. More than eight bouts are scheduled.

Doors open at 6 p.m. For ticket information go to: www.tix.com/dmgnightofchampions

Fights to Watch

Sat. DAZN 9 a.m. Conor Benn (23-0) vs Chris Eubank Jr. (34-3); Liam Smith (33-4-1) vs Aaron McKenna (19-0).

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Floyd Mayweather has Another Phenom and his name is Curmel Moton

Published

4 days ago

April 22, 2025

Arne K. Lang

Floyd Mayweather has Another Phenom and his name is Curmel Moton

In any endeavor, the defining feature of a phenom is his youth. Philadelphia Phillies outfielder Bryce Harper was a phenom. He was on the radar screen of baseball’s most powerful player agents when he was 14 years old.

Curmel Moton, who turns 19 in June, is a phenom. Of all the young boxing stars out there, wrote James Slater in July of last year, “Curmel Moton is the one to get most excited about.”

Moton was born in Salt Lake City, Utah. His father Curtis Moton, a barber by trade, was a big boxing fan and specifically a big fan of Floyd Mayweather Jr. When Curmel was six, Curtis packed up his wife (Curmel’s stepmom) and his son and moved to Las Vegas. Curtis wanted his son to get involved in boxing and there was no better place to develop one’s latent talents than in Las Vegas where many of the sport’s top practitioners came to train.

Many father-son relationships have been ruined, or at least frayed, by a father’s unrealistic expectations for his son, but when it came to boxing, the boy was a natural and he felt right at home in the gym.

The gym the Motons patronized was the Mayweather Boxing Club. Curtis took his son there in hopes of catching the eye of the proprietor. “Floyd would occasionally drop by the gym and I was there so often that he came to recognize me,” says Curmel. What he fails to add is that the trainers there had Floyd’s ear. “This kid is special,” they told him.

It costs a great deal of money for a kid to travel around the country competing in a slew of amateur boxing tournaments. Only a few have the luxury of a sponsor. For the vast majority, fund raisers such as car washes keep the wheels greased.

Floyd Mayweather stepped in with the financial backing needed for the Motons to canvas the country in tournaments. As an amateur, Curmel was — take your pick — 156-7 or 144-6 or 61-3 (the latter figure from boxrec). Regardless, at virtually every tournament at which he appeared, Curmel Moton was the cock of the walk.

Before the pandemic, Floyd Mayweather Jr had a stable of boxers he promoted under the banner of “The Money Team.” In talking about his boxers, Floyd was understated with one glaring exception – Gervonta “Tank” Davis, now one of boxing’s top earners.

When Floyd took to praising Curmel Moton with the same effusive language, folks stood up and took notice.

Curmel made his pro debut on Sept. 30, 2023, at the T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas on the undercard of the super middleweight title fight between Canelo Alvarez and Jermell Charlo. After stopping his opponent in the opening round, he addressed a flock of reporters in the media room with Floyd standing at his side. “I felt ready,” he said, “I knew I had Floyd behind me. He believes in me. I had the utmost confidence going into the fight. And I went in there and did what I do.”

Floyd ventured the opinion that Curmel was already a better fighter than Leigh Wood, the reigning WBA world featherweight champion who would successfully defend his belt the following week.

Moton’s boxing style has been described as a blend of Floyd Mayweather and Tank Davis. “I grew up watching Floyd, so it’s natural I have some similarities to him,” says Curmel who sparred with Tank in late November of 2021 as Davis was preparing for his match with Isaac “Pitbull” Cruz. Curmell says he did okay. He was then 15 years old and still in school; he dropped out as soon as he reached the age of 16.

Curmel is now 7-0 with six KOs, four coming in the opening round. He pitched an 8-round shutout the only time he was taken the distance. It’s not yet official, but he returns to the ring on May 31 at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas where Caleb Plant and Jermall Charlo are co-featured in matches conceived as tune-ups for a fall showdown. The fight card will reportedly be free for Amazon Prime Video subscribers.

Curmel’s presumptive opponent is Renny Viamonte, a 28-year-old Las Vegas-based Cuban with a 4-1-1 (2) record. It will be Curmel’s first professional fight with Kofi Jantuah the chief voice in his corner. A two-time world title challenger who began his career in his native Ghana, the 50-year-old Jantuah has worked almost exclusively with amateurs, a recent exception being Mikaela Mayer.

It would seem that the phenom needs a tougher opponent than Viamonte at this stage of his career. However, the match is intriguing in one regard. Viamonte is lanky. Listed at 5-foot-11, he will have a seven-inch height advantage.

Keeping his weight down has already been problematic for Moton. He tipped the scales at 128 ½ for his most recent fight. His May 31 bout, he says, will be contested at 135 and down the road it’s reasonable to think he will blossom into a welterweight. And with each bump up in weight, his short stature will theoretically be more of a handicap.

For fun, we asked Moton to name the top fighter on his pound-for-pound list. “[Oleksandr] Usyk is number one right now,” he said without hesitation,” great footwork, but guys like Canelo, Crawford, Inoue, and Bivol are right there.”

It’s notable that there isn’t a young gun on that list. Usyk is 38, a year older than Crawford; Inoue is the pup at age 32.

Moton anticipates that his name will appear on pound-for-pound lists within the next two or three years. True, history is replete with examples of phenoms who flamed out early, but we wouldn’t bet against it.

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Arne’s Almanac: The First Boxing Writers Assoc. of America Dinner Was Quite the Shindig

Published

6 days ago

April 20, 2025

Arne K. Lang

Arne's-Almanac-The-First-Boxing-Writers-Assoc-of-America-Dinner-was-Quite-the-Shindig

The first annual dinner of the Boxing Writers Association of America was staged on April 25, 1926 in the grand ballroom of New York’s Hotel Astor, an edifice that rivaled the original Waldorf Astoria as the swankiest hotel in the city. Back then, the organization was known as the Boxing Writers Association of Greater New York.

The ballroom was configured to hold 1200 for the banquet which was reportedly oversubscribed. Among those listed as agreeing to attend were the governors of six states (New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, and Maryland) and the mayors of 10 of America’s largest cities.

In 1926, radio was in its infancy and the digital age was decades away (and inconceivable). So, every journalist who regularly covered boxing was a newspaper and/or magazine writer, editor, or cartoonist. And at this juncture in American history, there were plenty of outlets for someone who wanted to pursue a career as a sportswriter and had the requisite skills to get hired.

The following papers were represented at the inaugural boxing writers’ dinner:

New York Times

New York News

New York World

New York Sun

New York Journal

New York Post

New York Mirror

New York Telegram

New York Graphic

New York Herald Tribune

Brooklyn Eagle

Brooklyn Times

Brooklyn Standard Union

Brooklyn Citizen

Bronx Home News

This isn’t a complete list because a few of these papers, notably the New York World and the New York Journal, had strong afternoon editions that functioned as independent papers. Plus, scribes from both big national wire services (Associated Press and UPI) attended the banquet and there were undoubtedly a smattering of scribes from papers in New Jersey and Connecticut.

Back then, the event’s organizer Nat Fleischer, sports editor of the New York Telegram and the driving force behind The Ring magazine, had little choice but to limit the journalistic component of the gathering to writers in the New York metropolitan area. There wasn’t a ballroom big enough to accommodate a good-sized response if he had extended the welcome to every boxing writer in North America.

The keynote speaker at the inaugural dinner was New York’s charismatic Jazz Age mayor James J. “Jimmy” Walker, architect of the transformative Walker Law of 1920 which ushered in a new era of boxing in the Empire State with a template that would guide reformers in many other jurisdictions.

Prizefighting was then associated with hooligans. In his speech, Mayor Walker promised to rid the sport of their ilk. “Boxing, as you know, is closest to my heart,” said hizzoner. “So I tell you the police force is behind you against those who would besmirch or injure boxing. Rowdyism doesn’t belong in this town or in your game.” (In 1945, Walker would be the recipient of the Edward J. Neil Memorial Award given for meritorious service to the sport. The oldest of the BWAA awards, the previous recipients were all active or former boxers. The award, no longer issued under that title, was named for an Associated Press sportswriter and war correspondent who died from shrapnel wounds covering the Spanish Civil War.)

Another speaker was well-traveled sportswriter Wilbur Wood, then affiliated with the Brooklyn Citizen. He told the assembly that the aim of the organization was two-fold: to help defend the game against its detractors and to promote harmony among the various factions.

Of course, the 1926 dinner wouldn’t have been as well-attended without the entertainment. According to press dispatches, Broadway stars and performers from some of the city’s top nightclubs would be there to regale the attendees. Among the names bandied about were vaudeville superstars Sophie Tucker and Jimmy Durante, the latter of whom would appear with his trio, Durante, (Lou) Clayton, and (Eddie) Jackson.

There was a contraction of New York newspapers during the Great Depression. Although empirical evidence is lacking, the inaugural boxing writers dinner was likely the largest of its kind. Fifteen years later, in 1941, the event drew “more than 200” according to a news report. There was no mention of entertainment.

In 1950, for the first time, the annual dinner was opened to the public. For $25, a civilian could get a meal and mingle with some of his favorite fighters. Sugar Ray Robinson was the Edward J. Neil Award winner that year, honored for his ring exploits and for donating his purse from the Charlie Fusari fight to the Damon Runyon Cancer Fund.

There was no formal announcement when the Boxing Writers Association of Greater New York was re-christened the Boxing Writers Association of America, but by the late 1940s reporters were referencing the annual event as simply the boxing writers dinner. By then, it had become traditional to hold the annual affair in January, a practice discontinued after 1971.

The winnowing of New York’s newspaper herd plus competing banquets in other parts of the country forced Nat Fleischer’s baby to adapt. And more adaptations will be necessary in the immediate future as the future of the BWAA, as it currently exists, is threatened by new technologies. If the forthcoming BWAA dinner (April 30 at the Edison Ballroom in mid-Manhattan) were restricted to wordsmiths from the traditional print media, the gathering would be too small to cover the nut and the congregants would be drawn disproportionately from the geriatric class.

Some of those adaptations have already started. Last year, Las Vegas resident Sean Zittel, a recent UNLV graduate, had the distinction of becoming the first videographer welcomed into the BWAA. With more and more people getting their news from sound bites, rather than the written word, the videographer serves an important function.

The reporters who conducted interviews with pen and paper have gone the way of the dodo bird and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. A taped interview for a “talkie” has more integrity than a story culled from a paper and pen interview because it is unfiltered. Many years ago, some reporters, after interviewing the great Joe Louis, put words in his mouth that made him seem like a dullard, words consistent with the Sambo stereotype. In other instances, the language of some athletes was reconstructed to the point where the reader would think the athlete had a second job as an English professor.

The content created by videographers is free from that bias. More of them will inevitably join the BWAA and similar organizations in the future.

Photo: Nat Fleischer is flanked by Sugar Ray Robinson and Tony Zale at the 1947 boxing writers dinner.

A recognized authority on the history of prizefighting and the history of American sports gambling, TSS editor-in-chief Arne K. Lang is the author of five books including “Prizefighting: An American History,” released by McFarland in 2008 and re-released in a paperback edition in 2020.

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