Larry Holmes Challenged Me to a Fight (I Declined)

Published

3 years ago

May 26, 2022

Larry Holmes Challenged Me to a Fight (I Declined)

“Mama always said, life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get,” said the Tom Hanks character Forrest Gump in the movie of the same name. I always think of that famous line when I pop into a local boxing gym and chance upon an interesting person I had never formally met and never expected to find there. It actually happens quite frequently. For a boxing writer, it’s one of the nice little perks about living in Las Vegas.

The Bones Adams gym is the closest gym to my house. I could walk there, if need be, but prefer to detour there on one of my daily bicycle rides. The gym sits deep behind an iron gate that is almost always locked, but for those that are privy to the entrance code it is the most welcoming gym in the city.

I popped in yesterday afternoon and who should I find there but none other than Larry Holmes. He was there at the behest of Don King and King’s chief lieutenant Stacey McKinley to size up Trevor Bryan who defends his WBA secondary heavyweight title against Daniel Dubois on June 11.

“No cheering in the press box” is the admonition that is writ large in the canon of sports journalism. In other words, don’t get emotionally attached to the athletes that you cover. But that’s easier said than done and my favorite boxer of all time is Larry Holmes.

Larry Holmes turned pro in 1973 at age twenty-three and captured the world heavyweight title five years later with a razor-thin decision over Ken Norton. He needed a big 15^th round to pull that fight out of the fire and the expectation was that his reign would be brief, but he fooled us; he just kept winning and winning. Holmes’ final record, 69-6, included a 21-6 mark in bouts sanctioned as world title fights. The first two of those six setbacks, coming at the hands of Michael Spinks after Larry had advanced his record to 49-0, were controversial.

Larry Holmes wasn’t flashy in the ring; he was methodical. To say he was my favorite boxer misses the point. He was my favorite ring personality; the person that I most admired among those that happened to box and do it well.

When I first started covering boxing, I was very conscious of the fact that I wasn’t in the same league as the reporters from the major metropolitan dailies. I was deemed worthy of a press badge only because the PR people at the hotels took care of the local guys and I was a local guy with a small footprint in radio and in one of the weekly rags.

The fighters at the top of the food chain had their own PR people who culled the herd, so to speak, giving a small cadre of “A list” writers access to their clients in settings more intimate than a formal press conference. The fighters themselves came to know which members of the media were most useful to them and acted accordingly.

And that is why I became a big fan of Larry Holmes. He didn’t compartmentalize; he treated everyone the same. He wanted to vent after his first fight with Spinks and invited everyone crowding around him up to his suite in the Riviera Hotel. In that cramped space we were all “A list” guys.

As is common with folks in other lines of work, boxers tend to change when the money starts rolling in and they become increasingly more well-known. In the vernacular of old friends left behind, they start to put on airs.

Larry Holmes never changed. He could have purchased a mansion in Beverly Hills and hobnobbed with the Hollywood elite, but after each fight he returned to Easton, an old industrial town in Pennsylvania’s Lehigh Valley where the workforce is still primarily blue-collar. Throughout his long career there was never a whiff of scandal.

Larry Holmes didn’t have his clothes customized by a tailor on Rodeo Drive. The duds he wore yesterday – well-worn blue jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, a ball cap – were of the sort a man would wear on a tractor. There were two fancy rings on his fingers but otherwise no bling.

Inside Bones Adams’ gym, Holmes moved at a slow gait; almost, but not quite, shuffling. Every boxing gym has a full-length mirror where preening boxers shadow-box, and there was a precious moment when Holmes stood before it, peppering an invisible opponent with his inerrant jab, his signature punch.

It had been many years since I last talked with Larry Holmes. It was a call-in interview arranged by the producer of our radio talk show. Larry was in a happy mood that night. The Easton Police Department had just leased one of the buildings that he owned. “I believe I’m the only black guy in the country that owns a police station,” he said.

Holmes was in a convivial mood again yesterday and I’m happy to report that although his gait was slow, his mind was clear. There was nothing in the words that came out of his mouth that betrayed a hint of incipient dementia. He could re-visit old fights with vivid recall, a marvel considering that he answered the bell for 579 rounds during the course of those 75 pro fights while trading blows with some of the biggest punchers of his era.

“I must be older than you,” he said after we made eye contact. I corrected him: “No, I’m older than you.”

“Well,” he said, “one of us has to be right and I know how we can settle it.” He gestured toward the door, a mischievous look in his eye.

One of the quotes ascribed to Larry Holmes was a line about Don King: “I knew he was ripping me off, but I also knew I wouldn’t have made more money with any other promoter.” Holmes says he never said it; a reporter was taking liberties. “Sure, Don and I had our differences, but I have my differences with her too,” he said, playfully nudging his wife Diane, the pleasant woman seated on his left scrolling through her iPad. “If I could have made more money with someone else, why didn’t they come and see me?”

Holmes was pleased when I reminded him that his 1982 bout with Gerry Cooney – we’re approaching the fortieth anniversary – still holds the record for the largest attendance at a boxing event in Nevada. A crowd of 30,000-plus (29,214 paid) that included an international press contingent of eight hundred, squeezed into the makeshift outdoor arena at Caesars Palace to witness the conflagration.

“What I remember is that everyone there was rooting for Cooney,” he said, which wasn’t that far from the truth. When I told him that I wasn’t one of those cheering for Cooney because I had bet against the lantern-jawed Irishman, he said, “Where’s my cut?” while extending his open palm.

The fight, which lasted into the thirteenth round, ended when Cooney’s trainer Victor Valle bounded into the ring to save his man from taking any more punishment. The bout was tight on the scorecards through the completed rounds notwithstanding the fact that Cooney had three points deducted from his score for low blows. After the bout, Holmes said, “Gerry was in my pants so often tonight that I thought he wanted to marry me.”

The fight was fought against a sinister shadow. In their pre-fight screeds, some pundits contorted the match into the reincarnation of the 1910 bout between Jack Johnson and James J. Jeffries that stoked the flames of racial discord, America’s first Fight of the Century. The Cooney camp took pains to downplay the racial subplot which only made it louder.

It’s common knowledge that Larry Holmes and Gerry Cooney have become fast friends. “I see Gerry a lot,” he says, noting that they will be getting together again early next month at a public appearance in Miami. “Gerry had nothing to do with all that rubbish. He’s a nice guy. But,” he continued impishly, “if he gets out of line, I may have to whip his ass (he paused for dramatic effect)…again!”

As for Trevor Bryan, Holmes, who has five grandchildren and five great-grandchildren, avers that he likes what he sees. “He needs to get more extension on his jab,” he says, “but he’s almost there.”

When Trevor Bryan had finished his workout, Stacey McKinley, his face dripping with sweat, joined our conversation and the talk turned to old fights, old fighters, and old trainers which is what old salts talk about when the subject turns to boxing. McKinley, born in the same year as Larry Holmes, has a bone to pick with Gervonta “Tank” Davis who fights this Saturday in Brooklyn. Davis, who represents Baltimore, has apparently never heard of the immortal Joe Gans, the greatest Baltimore fighter of them all. Young boxers today, laments McKinley, are ignorant of their forefathers. It is a lamentation that has redounded through the generations.

And so, I happened to duck into Bones Adams’ gym on a Wednesday afternoon and found myself shooting the breeze with none other than Larry Holmes. It was as if we were sitting in a barbershop, two guys from the neighborhood chatting about this and that as we awaited our turn in the chair.

Yes, Holmes is still my all-time favorite fighter, but please keep that under your hat. There is to be no cheering in the press box.

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Arne K. Lang’s latest book, titled “George Dixon, Terry McGovern and the Culture of Boxing in America, 1890-1910,” will shortly roll off the press. The book, published by McFarland, can be pre-ordered directly from the publisher (https://mcfarlandbooks.com/product/clashof-the-little-giants) or via Amazon.

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Arne K. Lang

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Sam Goodman and Eccentric Harry Garside Score Wins on a Wednesday Card in Sydney

Published

8 hours ago

May 14, 2025

Arne K. Lang

Sam-Goodman-and-Eccentric-Harry-Garside-Score-Wins-on-a-Wednesday-Card-in-Sydney

Australian junior featherweight Sam Goodman, ranked #1 by the IBF and #2 by the WBO, returned to the ring today in Sydney, NSW, and advanced his record to 20-0 (8) with a unanimous 10-round decision over Mexican import Cesar Vaca (19-2). This was Goodman’s first fight since July of last year. In the interim, he twice lost out on lucrative dates with Japanese superstar Naoya Inoue. Both fell out because of cuts that Goodman suffered in sparring.

Goodman was cut again today and in two places – below his left eye in the eighth and above his right eye in the ninth, the latter the result of an accidental head butt – but by then he had the bout firmly in control, albeit the match wasn’t quite as one-sided as the scores (100-90, 99-91, 99-92) suggested. Vaca, from Guadalajara, was making his first start outside his native country.

Goodman, whose signature win was a split decision over the previously undefeated American fighter Ra’eese Aleem, is handled by the Rose brothers — George, Trent, and Matt — who also handle the Tszyu brothers, Tim and Nikita, and two-time Olympian (and 2021 bronze medalist) Harry Garside who appeared in the semi-wind-up.

Harry Garside

A junior welterweight from a suburb of Melbourne, Garside, 27, is an interesting character. A plumber by trade who has studied ballet, he occasionally shows up at formal gatherings wearing a dress.

Garside improved to 4-0 (3 KOs) as a pro when the referee stopped his contest with countryman Charlie Bell after five frames, deciding that Bell had taken enough punishment. It was a controversial call although Garside — who fought the last four rounds with a cut over his left eye from a clash of heads in the opening frame – was comfortably ahead on the cards.

Heavyweights

In a slobberknocker being hailed as a shoo-in for the Australian domestic Fight of the Year, 34-year-old bruisers Stevan Ivic and Toese Vousiutu took turns battering each other for 10 brutal rounds. It was a miracle that both were still standing at the final bell. A Brisbane firefighter recognized as the heavyweight champion of Australia, Ivic (7-0-1, 2 KOs) prevailed on scores of 96-94 and 96-93 twice. Melbourne’s Vousiuto falls to 8-2.

Tim Tsyzu.

The oddsmakers have installed Tim Tszyu a small favorite (minus-135ish) to avenge his loss to Sebastian Fundora when they tangle on Sunday, July 20, at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.

Their first meeting took place in this same ring on March 30 of last year. Fundora, subbing for Keith Thurman, saddled Tszyu with his first defeat, taking away the Aussie’s WBO 154-pound world title while adding the vacant WBC belt to his dossier. The verdict was split but fair. Tszyu fought the last 11 rounds with a deep cut on his hairline that bled profusely, the result of an errant elbow.

Since that encounter, Tszyu was demolished in three rounds by Bakhram Murtazaliev in Orlando and rebounded with a fourth-round stoppage of Joey Spencer in Newcastle, NSW. Fundora has been to post one time, successfully defending his belts with a dominant fourth-round stoppage of Chordale Booker.

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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.

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Argentina’s Fernando Martinez Wins His Rematch with Kazuto Ioka

Published

4 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.

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