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BACKUS IS ALWAYS `CANASTOTA’S OWN,’ BUT HE IS STILL WITHOUT A HALL PASS

The 27th annual International Boxing Hall of Fame induction class will be announced on Dec. 16, and again none of those to be enshrined next June will be named Billy Backus.
It is a curious case of inclusion and exclusion for a native of the picturesque central New York village of Canastota, where the IBHOF opened its doors in 1989 and welcomed its 53-member inaugural group of inductees in 1990, primarily because it is the hometown of the late, great Carmen Basilio and, to a lesser extent, his former world welterweight champion nephew, Backus.
But Basilio, who was 85 when he died on Nov. 7, 2012, is regarded as ring royalty everywhere, a tough-as-nails former welterweight and middleweight titlist who was a participant in THE RING magazine’s Fight of the Year five years running (1955 through ’59), a record that almost certainly never will be matched, much less broken. Whenever he returned to his hometown for the IBHOF induction ceremonies, Basilio, who had relocated to Rochester, N.Y., was the pugilistic equivalent of a rock star. The “Upstate Onion Farmer’s” annual appearances in Canastota were as much a cause for celebration as Elvis Presley coming back to his birthplace in Tupelo, Miss., to relive old times with the locals.
Backus, now 72, also is something of a prodigal son – since January 2006 the retired New York correctional department employee has lived in Pageland, S.C. – but his status on those occasions when he shows up in Canastota is not so much that of cherished civic treasure as of nice local boy who had his moment of glory in the ring, but not one so lasting as to assure him of immortality in the form of a plaque hanging on an IBHOF wall.
And while Backus isn’t really accepting of the situation, at least he’s come to grips with it.
“I usually come in on Wednesday (the day before the first events in the four days of official activities on Hall of Fame weekend) to see family and friends,” he said. “I come in early because I can, and before the rush (of fight fans) comes in. When the rush does come in, of course I don’t get to see my family as much. But I stay over to the next Wednesday, when I leave to go back to South Carolina.”
Backus – who almost always is introduced as a former world champion and, of course, as the nephew of Carmen Basilio – admits to being disappointed that he is not an inductee and, in fact, again wasn’t even on the ballot. There were 30 fighters on the list of “Modern” candidates (three newly eligible and 27 holdovers) for the electorate (full members of the Boxing Writers Association of America and a panel of international boxing historians) that determines which three will be part of the Class of 2016.
The IBHOF has drawn some flak in the past for having inducted fighters (Ingemar Johansson in 2002, Arturo Gatti in 2013 and Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini just this year are three that come to mind) who were well-known former world champions but, critics say, failed to attain the threshold of greatness that should be the standard for entry into any sport’s Hall of Fame. Those who believe the bar for joining the club should be set very high have argued that the voting process is flawed, especially in years when there are no cinch candidates to be considered, and that it has become something of a popularity contest in any case.
With a career record of 48-20-5 that includes 22 victories inside the distance, Backus is generally considered to be someone who falls into the category of the very good, but not indisputably great. But he figures his accomplishments are the equal of some who have been inducted, or at least those who made it onto the ballot, and it stings that he has been on the outside looking in on his June visits to a place that otherwise holds nothing but fond memories for him.
“I’ve questioned it in the past,” Backus said of his failed quest to be even be considered for induction. “I’ve given it up now. The guy in charge of the Hall of Fame, (executive director) Ed Brophy, was my neighbor in Canastota, right next door. In fact, I was the one who got him interested in boxing. From what I understand, talking to sports writers from all over, my name never even comes up. I asked Ed about it and he said, `Well, we have to put this guy up first, this other guy’s going to be eligible soon.’ They keep handing me a bunch of bull.
“But if that’s the way it’s going to be, I just have to let it go. I’ve given up on it. I probably should have been inducted five or 10 years ago. But now … if it happens, it happens. My oldest son – he’s 54 – told me, `When they do induct you, Dad, I’m not even going.’ He’s upset about it. But I don’t hold any grudges. It is what it is.”
With or without the Hall’s stamp of approval, however, nobody can ever take away or diminish Backus’ signal accomplishment, which is his stunning, fourth-round stoppage – as a 9-to-1 underdog – of intimidating welterweight champion Jose Napoles on Dec. 3, 1970, in War Memorial Auditorium in Syracuse, N.Y., just 20 miles or so from the house in which Backus grew up.
Forty-five years later, Backus said his upset of Napoles, a 1990 charter inductee into the IBHOF who was born in Cuba and based in Mexico City throughout much of his career, is the most indelible memory of his boxing career. The only thing that might have made it better is if he had actually been paid for that dream shot at the title.
“Napoles got $62,000, which was a lot of money at that time,” Backus recalled. “I got nothing. The five members of the Canastota Boxing Club had guaranteed Napoles so much to bring the fight to Syracuse, there was literally no money for me after Napoles got paid. Those guys had to take up a collection – remember, this was around Christmas – to put together $800 so I could buy presents for my kids.”
How Backus even got the title shot is a story unto itself. He was a pedestrian 8-7-3 after his first 18 bouts, more than a few of which he took on short notice and against fighters more experienced than himself. It seemed he was going nowhere fast, and when he lost an eight-round decision to Rudy Richardson on March 5, 1965, his third straight defeat – and, ironically, on Backus’ 22nd birthday – he decided to call it quits.
“I was working construction at the time,” Backus said. “I’d get a call from Tony (Graziano, his manager and first trainer) and he’d say, `I got you a fight on Friday night.’ I either had to leave work early or beg out entirely for that day. But I could pick up $50 or $60, and that was my motivation for staying in it – to get some extra money for my family. I wasn’t in it to get ahead in the boxing game.”
But then Backus got laid off from his construction job, which more or less forced him to devote himself more fully to boxing. And a funny thing happened. He began to win, slowly building up his own credibility to go with the distinction of being Carmen Basilio’s nephew. Name recognition doth have its privileges.
“If I performed really well, it was always noted that I was the nephew of the great Carmen Basilio,” Backus said. “But the more I looked at it, I realized it meant more publicity for me, more things for (the media) to write about. So eventually I was, like, `OK, I’ll go along with it.’
“Even Carmen laughed about it. He’d say, `I know, I know, they have to put it in there.’ He understood. I understood. What are you gonna do?’”
After Napoles stopped Pete Toro in nine rounds in a non-title bout in Madison Square Garden on Oct. 5, 1970, three possible candidates for the WBC/WBA champion’s next bout, an optional defense against someone in the top 10, and their representatives met in New York City to meet with Napoles’ management team. It was at that meeting that one of those fighters would be selected to challenge the champ.
“It was me, Eddie Perkins (whom Napoles had outpointed over 10 rounds on Aug. 3, 1965) and I can’t remember the name of the third guy,” Backus said. “I think he was from Hawaii or California, or maybe it was Michigan or Chicago.
“As far as records go, mine at that time wasn’t really that impressive (29-10-4, 15 KOs), even though I’d beaten some good fighters. Remember, I was working construction in the early part of my career so I was taking fights on short notice, when I wasn’t in great shape. I’d only be able to go hard for five or six rounds, then sort of glide through the last four. I lost a few decisions that way. Did Napoles (whose record then was 63-4, with 43 KOs) take me lightly? Oh, without a doubt.”
But for this fight, the most important of his career, Backus would have a not-so-secret weapon: his uncle Carmen.
“After I signed for the Napoles fight, Carmen came to me – he was working at LeMoyne College, as the physical ed director – and asked, `Do you need my help?’ I said, `Yeah, if you have the time,’” Backus recalled. “So it happened that we got to work together.
“Carmen had a lot of words to say, and I listened to them because I knew what he had gone through, what he had accomplished. He gave me the best way to get things done in the ring, to be the best that I could be.
“Now, as far as styles, his was a lot different than mine, even though we were both infighters. I stood back a little bit more and looked for the jab. Carmen always wanted to dig to the body and throw as many punches as he could. He made me more of a combination puncher. I think I hit with a little more power, but he threw punches in bunches. It makes a difference.”
If Napoles expected Backus to be a pushover, he learned soon enough that was not the case. And Backus just as quickly determined that Napoles, his pristine reputation notwithstanding, was a human being, not some indestructible god of the ring.
“Napoles was the Superman of the welterweights. He scared a lot of guys, but he didn’t scare me,” Backus said. “I’d been in the ring with my share of tough guys, and, of course, I’d studied films of him. He was a very good puncher, a sharp puncher. But how was he going to react when I punched him back?
“I gave him a couple of shots to the ribs and I heard him (groan). That’s all you need to hear when you hurt somebody a little bit. I don’t think he expected to get some real punishment back. He probably thought he was the superstar and I wasn’t supposed to be a threat to him.
“When you find out the other guy hits back hard enough to hurt you, then it’s a different program, and it’s not your program.”
After a terrific, back-and-forth third round, Backus, a southpaw, stung Napoles with a right hook. A bit later in the round, another right hook opened a laceration above Napoles’ left eye that was severe enough for referee Jack Milicich to step in and stop the bout.
Basilio went over to Napoles’ corner to have a look and was startled by what he saw. “He told me, `Wow! You can see the eyeball through the cut,’” Backus said.
“But I wasn’t looking to stop him on a cut,” Backus continued. “I wanted to knock him out with a right hook, like the one that caused the cut. I wanted to put him down and out.”
After winning two non-title bouts, against Bobby Williams and Robert Gallois, Backus’ first defense was a rematch against Napoles, on June 4, 1971, at the Forum in Inglewood, Calif. This time “Mantequilla” took back his title on an eighth-round technical knockout.
There would be more good nights for Backus, and some not so good. He got three more shots at the welterweight championship, losing twice to Hedgemon Lewis for the New York State Athletic Association version of the title and, in his final bout, by second-round stoppage to WBA ruler Pipino Cuevas on May 20, 1978.
Perhaps, had he had a few successes like his first meeting with Napoles, Backus would now be finding the closed door to the inner sanctum of the IBHOF at least somewhat ajar. But if he didn’t rise to the level of his uncle Carmen, at least he did enough to make the older man proud.
“Billy winning the world title is the best thing ever to happen in my life, even better than me winning the world title,” Carmen gushed after Backus had surprised Napoles.
It might not be as tangible a testimonial as his own plaque in the IBHOF would be, but for Billy Backus, earning his uncle’s seal of approval stands as an affirmation that is nearly as good.
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Arne’s Almanac: The First BWAA 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.
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Gabriela Fundora KOs Marilyn Badillo and Perez Upsets Conwell in Oceanside

It was just a numbers game for Gabriela Fundora and despite Mexico’s Marilyn Badillo’s elusive tactics it took the champion one punch to end the fight and retain her undisputed flyweight world title by knockout on Saturday.
Will it be her last flyweight defense?
Though Fundora (16-0, 8 KOs) fired dozens of misses, a single punch found Badillo (19-1-1, 3 KOs) and ended her undefeated career and first attempt at a world title at the Frontwave Arena in Oceanside, California.
Fundora, however, proves unbeatable at flyweight.
The champion entered the arena as the headliner for the Golden Boy Promotion show and stepped through the ropes with every physical advantage possible, including power.
Mexico’s Badillo was a midget compared to Fundora but proved to be as elusive as a butterfly in a menagerie for the first six rounds. As the six-inch taller Fundora connected on one punch for every dozen thrown, that single punch was a deadly reminder.
Badillo tried ducking low and slipping to the left while countering with slashing uppercuts, she found little success. She did find the body a solid target but the blows proved to be useless. And when Badillo clinched, that proved more erroneous as Fundora belted her rapidly during the tie-ups.
“She was kind of doing her ducking thing,” said Fundora describing Badillo’s defensive tactics. “I just put the pressure on. It was just like a train. We didn’t give her that break.”
The Mexican fighter tried valiantly with various maneuvers. None proved even slightly successful. Fundora remained poised and under control as she stalked the challenger.
In the seventh round Badillo seemed to take a stand and try to slug it out with Fundora. She quickly was lit up by rapid left crosses and down she went at 1:44 of the seventh round. The Mexican fighter’s corner wisely waved off the fight and referee Rudy Barragan stopped the fight and held the dazed Badillo upright.
Once again Fundora remained champion by knockout. The only question now is will she move up to super flyweight or bantamweight to challenge the bigger girls.
Perez Beats Conwell.
Mexico’s Jorge “Chino” Perez (33-4, 26 KOs) upset Charles Conwell (21-1, 15 KOs) to win by split decision after 12 rounds in their super welterweight showdown.
It was a match that paired two hard-hitting fighters whose ledgers brimmed with knockouts, but neither was able to score a knockdown against each other.
Neither fighter moved backward. It was full steam ahead with Conwell proving successful to the body and head with left hooks and Perez connecting with rights to the head and body. It was difficult to differentiate the winner.
Though Conwell seemed to be the superior defensive fighter and more accurate, two judges preferred Perez’s busier style. They gave the fight to Perez by 115-113 scores with the dissenter favoring Conwell by the same margin.
It was Conwell’s first pro loss. Maybe it will open doors for more opportunities.
Other Bouts
Tristan Kalkreuth (15-1) managed to pass a serious heat check by unanimous decision against former contender Felix Valera (24-8) after a 10-round back-and-forth heavyweight fight.
It was very close.
Kalkreuth is one of those fighters that possess all the physical tools including youth and size but never seems to be able to show it. Once again he edged past another foe but at least this time he faced an experienced fighter in Valera.
Valera had his moments especially in the middle of the 10-round fight but slowed down during the last three rounds.
One major asset for Kalkreuth was his chin. He got caught but still motored past the clever Valera. After 10 rounds two judges saw it 99-91 and one other judge 97-93 all for Kalkreuth.
Highly-rated prospect Ruslan Abdullaev (2-0) blasted past dangerous Jino Rodrigo (13- 5-2) in an eight round super lightweight fight. He nearly stopped the very tough Rodrigo in the last two rounds and won by unanimous decision.
Abdullaev is trained by Joel and Antonio Diaz in Indio.
Bakersfield prospect Joel Iriarte (7-0, 7 KOs) needed only 1:44 to knock out Puerto Rico’s Marcos Jimenez (25-12) in a welterweight bout.
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‘Krusher’ Kovalev Exits on a Winning Note: TKOs Artur Mann in his ‘Farewell Fight’

At his peak, former three-time world light heavyweight champion Sergey “Krusher” Kovalev ranked high on everyone’s pound-for-pound list. Now 42 years old – he turned 42 earlier this month – Kovalev has been largely inactive in recent years, but last night he returned to the ring in his hometown of Chelyabinsk, Russia, and rose to the occasion in what was billed as his farewell fight, stopping Artur Mann in the seventh frame.
Kovalev hit his peak during his first run as a world title-holder. He was 30-0-1 (26 KOs) entering first match with Andre Ward, a mark that included a 9-0 mark in world title fights. The only blemish on his record was a draw that could have been ruled a no-contest (journeyman Grover Young was unfit to continue after Kovalev knocked down in the second round what with was deemed an illegal rabbit punch). Among those nine wins were two stoppages of dangerous Haitian-Canadian campaigner Jean Pascal and a 12-round shutout over Bernard Hopkins.
Kovalev’s stature was not diminished by his loss to the undefeated Ward. All three judges had it 114-113, but the general feeling among the ringside press was that Sergey nicked it.
The rematch was also somewhat controversial. Referee Tony Weeks, who halted the match in the eighth stanza with Kovalev sitting on the lower strand of ropes, was accused of letting Ward get away with a series of low blows, including the first punch of a three-punch series of body shots that culminated in the stoppage. Sergey was wobbled by a punch to the head earlier in the round and was showing signs of fatigue, but he was still in the fight. Respected judge Steve Weisfeld had him up by three points through the completed rounds.
Sergey Kovalev was never the same after his second loss to Andre Ward, albeit he recaptured a piece of the 175-pound title twice, demolishing Vyacheslav Shabranskyy for the vacant WBO belt after Ward announced his retirement and then avenging a loss to Eleider Alvarez (TKO by 7) with a comprehensive win on points in their rematch.
Kovalev’s days as a title-holder ended on Nov. 2, 2019 when Canelo Alvarez, moving up two weight classes to pursue a title in a fourth weight division, stopped him in the 11th round, terminating what had been a relatively even fight with a hellacious left-right combination that left Krusher so discombobulated that a count was superfluous.
That fight went head-to-head with a UFC fight in New York City. DAZN, to their everlasting discredit, opted to delay the start of Canelo-Kovalev until the main event of the UFC fight was finished. The delay lasted more than an hour and Kovalev would say that he lost his psychological edge during the wait.
Kovalev had two fights in the cruiserweight class between his setback to Canelo and last night’s presumptive swan song. He outpointed Tervel Pulev in Los Angeles and lost a 10-round decision to unheralded Robin Sirwan Safar in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
Artur Mann, a former world title challenger – he was stopped in three rounds by Mairis Briedis in 2021 when Briedis was recognized as the top cruiserweight in the world – was unexceptional, but the 34-year-old German, born in Kazakhstan, wasn’t chopped liver either, and Kovalev’s stoppage of him will redound well to the Russian when he becomes eligible for the Boxing Hall of Fame.
Krusher almost ended the fight in the second round. He knocked Mann down hard with a short left hand and seemingly scored another knockdown before the round was over (but it was ruled a slip). Mann barely survived the round.
In the next round, a punch left Mann with a bad cut on his right eyelid, but the German came to fight and rounds three, four and five were competitive.
Kovalev had a good sixth round although there were indications that he was tiring. But in the seventh he got a second wind and unleashed a right-left combination that rolled back the clock to the days when he was one of the sport’s most feared punchers. Mann went down hard and as he staggered to his feet, his corner signaled that the fight should be stopped and the referee complied. The official time was 0:49 of round seven. It was the 30th KO for Kovalev who advanced his record to 36-5-1.
Addendum: History informs us that Farewell Fights have a habit of becoming redundant, by which we mean that boxers often get the itch to fight again after calling it quits. Have we seen the last of Sergey “Krusher” Kovalev? We woudn’t bet on it.
The complete Kovalev-Mann fight card was live-streamed on the Boxing News youtube channel.
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