R.I.P. Eric Griffin, One of the Greatest Amateur Boxers of All Time

Published

2 years ago

October 16, 2023

RIP-Eric-Griffin-One-of-the-Greatest-Amateur-Boxers-of-All-Time

Eric Griffin passed away a week ago Saturday (Oct. 7) at age 55 at a hospital in Lafayette, Louisiana. Griffin was no great shakes as a pro, but the longtime resident of Broussard, Louisiana, was quite simply one of the greatest amateur boxers of all time.

That’s not one man’s opinion.

In 2000, a USA Boxing publication came out with a list of the top ten U.S. amateur boxers of the twentieth century. (USA Boxing, headquartered at the U.S. Olympic & Paralympic Training Center in Colorado Springs, Colorado, is the governing body of amateur boxing in the United States.)

All of the boxers on the list were former Olympians. No attempt was made to rank-order them. Listed alphabetically, here they are:

Mark Breland (1984, Los Angeles)

Cassius Clay (1960, Rome)

Oscar De La Hoya (1992, Barcelona)

Eddie Eagan (1920, Antwerp)

George Foreman (1968, Mexico City)

Joe Frazier (1964, Tokyo)

Eric Griffin (1992, Barcelona)

Roy Jones Jr. (1988, Seoul)

Sugar Ray Leonard (1976, Montreal)

Floyd Patterson (1952, Helsinki)

All but three of the boxers on this list are enshrined in the International Boxing Hall of Fame. The outsiders are Eddie Eagan, Breland, and Griffin. (FYI, Eddie Eagan never turned pro. The U.S. representative in the light heavyweight class at the 1920 Games in Belgium, he went on to earn a law degree from Yale, attended Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar, won a second gold medal at the 1932 Winter Games in Lake Placid, New York, as a member of the U.S. four-man bobsled team, and was the chairman of the New York State Athletic Commission from 1945 to 1951.)

All but two of the top-ten won Olympic titles. Eric Griffin’s name pops up again. Roy Jones Jr. is the other who returned home without a gold medal.

Eric Griffin, who grew to be five-foot-three, won his first amateur tournament at the age of 13. He weighed 80 pounds. In 1988, he suffered one of his rare losses when he was out-pointed by Michael Carbajal in the Olympic Trials. Regardless, Griffin was headed to the Olympic Summer Games in Seoul, Korea, either as the U.S. entrant in the light flyweight (106-pound) class or as an alternate in the event that Carbajal defeated him again in the Olympic Box Offs.

The Box Offs were held at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. The Griffin-Carbajal rematch never materialized. On the eve of the match, Eric was sent home when the results of his drug test were made known. He had tested positive for marijuana, one of three boxers ousted from the Box Offs without throwing a punch. The others were Lavelle Finger and William Guthrie, both from St. Louis, who tested positive for cocaine.

Griffin protested his innocence but fessed up when his coach and sponsor Bob Jordan, an executive with a Houston company that manufactured computers, threatened to sue the UCLA lab that performed the test. Griffin wouldn’t let Jordan, a surrogate father to him – Eric never knew his biological father – go off on a wild goose chase.

Eric Griffin was then 20 years old. In addition to being kicked off the team, he was slapped with a six-month suspension. His next move, logically, was to turn pro, but he was more interested in repairing his image. Money would not wipe away the damage. So, he elected to stay the course in hopes of competing in the next Olympics, the 1992 games in Barcelona.

His relationship with Jordan was ruptured when he confessed to having smoked marijuana. As Sports Illustrated writer William Nack noted, Bob Jordan had grown up in a small town in the 1950s in a place and time where it was thought that anyone who tried marijuana was destined to become a dope fiend. Without Jordan’s financial assistance, Eric took a job washing dishes at a Houston restaurant to make ends meet. The two eventually reconciled and Griffin followed Jordan when Jordan returned to his hometown of Jasper, Tennessee, where Eric lived in a trailer with his wife and their young son.

During the years between the 1988 and 1992 Summer Games, Eric Griffin just kept winning and winning. He won four world titles and was twice a finalist for the Sullivan Award as the top amateur athlete in the United States. (No boxer has ever won this prestigious annual award which was first issued in 1930.)

Griffin not only made the 1992 U.S. Olympic boxing team but was named a co-captain along with Fort Worth bantamweight Sergio Reyes. The team’s head coach, Joe Byrd, said of Griffin, “he’s our heart, our backbone.”

Heading into Barcelona, the U.S. boxers accorded the best chance of winning a gold medal were Griffin and 19-year-old Los Angeles lightweight Oscar De La Hoya. Griffin was accorded far less ink in the U.S. press than De La Hoya who was more photogenic and had a better back story.

Barcelona 1992

This was the first Olympiad in which a computerized scoring system was used to determine the winner of each boxing match. The impetus was Roy Jones Jr, or rather the judges that ruled against Jones in the gold medal round four years earlier in Seoul, awarding the contest to his South Korean opponent. There have been controversial decisions in every Olympiad, but none aroused more indignation.

In Barcelona, there were five judges plus five alternates in the event of an electronic malfunction. Each of the judges had a metal box with two buttons, one for each fighter. When a punch landed, they pressed the appropriate button. For a punch to count on the master sheet, at least three judges had to hit the button within one second of each other. The boxer that landed the most punches was deemed the winner.

Griffin won his opening match comfortably. In his second bout, he was pit against a local man, Rafael Lozano, against whom he would be credited with landing 31 more punches. But not all of them registered on the official master sheet; only those that satisfied the one-second criterion. In round two, one of Griffin’s punches so buzzed Lozano that the referee issued a standing 8-count, but this punch did not register. At the end, the fight was awarded to the Spaniard by the ludicrous score of 6 to 5. “My stomach sank to the floor [when Lozano had his hand raised],” Griffin told a reporter at the press conference the next day, adding that it felt as if he had swallowed a bowling ball.

Griffin didn’t whine or curse the officials, but U.S. reporters were not so magnanimous. Griffin “traveled thousands of miles expecting to reconcile his sins, only to find that four years of sacrifice and commitment can be swept away in 9 minutes of incompetence,” fulminated George Diaz of the Orlando Sentinel. The judges, noted Bill Varner, a syndicated writer for the Gannett chain of papers, were all middle aged (the youngest was 42), but “were expected to have the reflexes needed to master children’s video games.”

Had Eric Griffin left Barcelona with a gold medal, he would have likely commanded a nice bonus from a major promotional group. But the sport’s heavy hitters – Bob Arum, Don King, and Dan Duva – had no interest in him; he was too small and too black. When he turned pro, it was with Philadelphia promoter Artie Pelullo who had a contract to promote a series of monthly shows at Las Vegas’ Riviera Hotel.

As a Pro

Fighting for Pelullo, Griffin won his first 11 fights. He lost the twelfth to Marcos Pacheco, a journeyman from Mexico, when he dislocated his left shoulder and was pulled out by his corner after six rounds. He avenged that setback in his next fight, winning a lopsided decision, and won three more fights before he suffered a loss that could not be explained away as a fluke. Against Carlos Murillo, a rough customer from Panama, both of Eric’s eyes were nearly shut when he was knocked down with a body punch in round nine and referee Steve Smoger waived it off.

Two more losses would follow, both to Jesus Chong, and they would write the finish to Eric Griffin’s boxing career. Chong stopped him in the seventh in their first encounter and in the second round of the sequel. The rematch at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas was for the WBO world light flyweight title vacated by Venezuela’s Leo Gamez who surrendered the belt when he could no longer make the weight.

Chong, from Durango, Mexico, packed a powerful punch – 28 of his 32 victories would come by knockout – but he was a wild swinger. Could it be that Eric Griffin, now only 29 years old and having answered the bell for only 102 rounds at the pro level, was already a shot fighter?

Yes. Davey Lee Armstrong, a two-time Olympian who fell victim to dementia before he died at age 64, was only 27 years old when his manager/trainer Emanuel Steward saw that his reflexes had dulled and urged him to retire. It wasn’t only that Armstrong had taken up boxing at a very young age, said Steward, but that as the best he was continually fighting the best and that compounded the wear and tear on his body.

After the Fall

When Eric left the sport, he returned to his hometown, Broussard, a city of about 10,000 situated a few miles down the road from Lafayette, the largest city and unofficial capital of Louisiana’s Cajun Country and worked on and off as a short order cook, the same occupation of his maternal grandmother, the woman that raised him. He had no conspicuous cognitive problems said his cousin Jason Papillion, with whom we spoke, but a clump of health issues that Papillion attributed to obesity. The picture of him that accompanied his obituary (the only useful picture that we could find for this story) is incongruent with that of a man who in his athletic heyday weighed less than 110 pounds.

In 1997, when Griffin was preparing for what would be his final fight, Michael Carbajal, his amateur rival, had already broken the glass ceiling for boxers in the smallest weight class, commanding a seven-figure purse for his first fight with Humberto “Chiquita” Gonzalez, and Oscar De La Hoya, Eric’s Olympic teammate, was already a multi-millionaire. Griffin’s last ring appearance was in a world title fight at Caesars Palace, home to some of the grandest boxing events of the era, but don’t be fooled. Griffin-Chong II wasn’t staged in the big outdoor arena under the stars, but in a ballroom. The fight wasn’t nationally televised; it aired exclusively on KCAL-TV in Los Angeles. The attendance, according to the Las Vegas Review-Journal, was 727, and Griffin’s purse, akin to that of Jesus Chong, was $20,000. That’s $20,000 gross before his manager and Uncle Sam got their cut.

Someone glancing at Griffin’s 16-4 pro record on boxrec, oblivious to his amateur exploits, would be surprised to find his name on a top-ten list with such legends as Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali, George Foreman, Joe Frazier, and Sugar Ray Leonard. But boxing can be a cruel mistress and even some who achieved great heights in the squared circle have life stories that read as cautionary tales.

Griffin was laid to rest Saturday, Oct. 14. He is survived by, among others, two children, five grandchildren and Ms. Junel Thomas of Opelousas, Louisiana, his companion the last 10 years of his life. We here at TSS send our condolences.

Griffin’s cousin Jason Papillion keeps the flame of boxing alive in Cajun Country. If you are ever down in that neck of the woods, drop by Papillion’s Boxing Club in Lafayette and tell him we said “hi.” Papillion had a solid, if unspectacular, pro boxing career of his own, competing against such notables as Winky Wright, and Jason’s son Keon Papillion is a promising super welterweight prospect with a 6-0-1 record.

We asked Papillion what he would remember about Eric Griffin the man. “He was full of love and got a lot of love in return,” he said. “He was a very humble guy who never forgot where he came from.”

In the grand scheme of things, perhaps that counts for more than an Olympic gold medal.

—

Arne K. Lang is a recognized authority on the history of prizefighting and the history of American sports gambling. His latest book, titled Clash of the Little Giants: George Dixon, Terry McGovern, and the Culture of Boxing in America, 1890-1910, was released by McFarland in September, 2022.

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

Published

18 hours ago

May 14, 2025

Arne K. Lang

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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

4 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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