Rusty Rosenberger drugged before nino gonzalez fight

If the mods want to check my IP against the OPs to prove i didnt create an alt to this brain dead ****ing idiot bum who never amounted to **** and had to lie about his career to sell his 120 page life story then go ahead. But ask yourself this: why does this dip**** find it to be a leading question when someone posts a question about the one story in this book which would peak anyones interest? The one part of his book that he feels the need to repeat ad naseum. He wrote the ****ibg book and anyone asking about it or questioning it has an agenda? Who has the ****ing agenda here? Who keeps lying to puff up his own story? Who doesnt want the questions asked and when they are asked and the story falls apart who flys off the handle and acts like a butthurt little ***** because nobody is stupid enough to buy his bull**** out of hand?? **** this ham and egg hobo who never amounted to jack **** to the point he couldnt beat his smaller less experienced stablemate, who himself wasnt that good. Nothing changes the fact that all of Rustys bull**** conspiracy story is checkable and not one iota of it holds up. If his stupid ass cant handle that then dont shoot the messenger. But I dont need to hide behind a ****ing alt because everyone here knows my name and where to find me "james" which is how you James/Rusty found me over a decade ago and got turned down for me to review your "book" which was/is less substantial than the toilet paper i wiped my ass with this morning and flushed.

 

I must say I've enjoyed reading this thread and this debate even though I've never heard of Rusty Rosenberger. Hopefully he's not off somewhere playing the ole' Rusty Trombone...

 

No way.. After all this entertaining bickering this thread should be made a sticky.

 

:finger

 

That Guy... now he says look it up.. check his computer IP # ... any idiot can get around that...just use another computer...duh.. But the unexplainable truth is... right after artie posted this thread.. the man with the cape flew in with his Rusty bashing... how convenient .. and artie.. where is he? Guess he really wasn't that interested after all.. Why? He posted the question...then never returned.. Why? Then the thread gets posted on google.. Who did that? The cape crusader is my guess... Hey.. look up Unclaimed Destiny buy a copy.... Be the first to get an autographed copy... As we speak.. Sylvester Stallone has a copy.. is he considering making a movie based on it..? youneverknow...they are talking ... Just what would Mr. big mouth say then? It's on Amazon...:deal

 

wow. I didn't know they had that emoticon. It should be used more often.

 

So are you Rusty Rosenberger ? Might as well tell us if you are. Won't hurt anything.

 

It was being reserved for a special person... feel free to use it folks.. just hit the more button to the left... :bbb

 

I am not Rusty Rosenberger... It's funny,I think I'm the only one in here using his real name, yet Mr ******* implies I'm Rusty himself. All of you in here use made up screen names...(understandable) Like you said.. it wouldn't hurt anything if I was Rusty.. But I'm not.. He's a friend of mine.. and I stick up for my friends.. wouldn't you.. it's that ******* who doesn't have a stake in this ... except for his bull**** ego...he's just and ******* pure and simple... Rusty has read all this.. I have sent him the link to the site.. He's not a member...he is very hurt by the remarks made about him by this *******, did I mention him again, sorry...dozens of Rusty's friends and family have read this ****bucket's remarks.. on this outhouse of a thread, and they're pretty ****ed off at this *******... looking this ******* up...here.. His son in particular is super mad.. and he is nobody to mess with.. :fire None of them are members that I know of for sure... but, youneverknow...the ******* is asking for trouble.

 

:boohoo

 

Unless you are the Golden Boy or won gold at the Olympics, the sport of boxing is the only sport that sacrifices the many to enrich the few, with no unified body to represent, educate, or protect them from the vultures that has permeated the sport from day one.. Boxers have no retirement, no medical insurance, no nothing. ultimately. Many are wide eyed youngsters with big dreams and hopes of a better life for themselves and their families.. It's a path to escaping a poverty and lower life standard. It's a rocky road. Rusty's story, or movie, typifies the plight of every boxer who is used, abused, lied to, cheated, screwed, blued, glued and tattooed, or otherwise taken for a ride by selfish, self serving pimps of boxing.. Boxing is like one big *****house.. with pimps lined up around the block... It just ****es me off!!!

CHRONO SPORTS

Tuesday, April 25, 2000
Rusty's rocky road
By MICHAEL TALBOT -- SLAM! Boxing
Someone once told me that you can play hockey, you can play soccer and you can play baseball....but you can't play boxing. In a world that far too often seems cold and cruel, boxing is reality's sport.

And for every Oscar De la Hoya or Shane Mosley that graces a magazine cover with a million dollar smile, there is a man like Rusty Rosenberger, an ex-fighter, long forgotten, light years away from fleeting glory, struggling to put a sentence together, unable to play catch with his children because he sees two of everything. You don't hear about the Rusty Rosenberger's, but they exist. They are what is harsh and what is real about the gloriously violent, magnificiently brutal world of pugilism.

I received an email from Rusty Rosenberger quite some time ago. I skimmmed through it, not quite sure what to make of it. The gist of what I got out of it was that he was a promising contender who had been wronged, been exploited and battered, left with a permanantly damaged brain, double vision and a bad taste in his mouth. But mostly, he was left with the frustrating thoughts of what could have been--had things been different. But they weren't different and life is cruel. I thought about deleting that email and in doing so adding a little muscle to a collective sweep under the carpet, but something prevented me from doing so.

I emailed Rusty back and we agreed to a phone interview. He seemed excited that I had responded. He closed out his email with a p.s. : "I do talk like a punch drunk fighter."

I called Rusty the next day. A woman answered. A child was burning energy in the background. I taped our conversation. I tried my hardest to listen to his story but after a minute or two I realized it was futile. I felt truly sorry for Rusty Rosenberger and I hope he understands that I am in no way mocking him when I say I had a difficult time understanding him that day. When I got off the phone with him I felt a blast of coldness. The world seemed cruel and unforgiving. I couldn't understand what Rusty was telling me but I could hear the hurt in his voice and the embarassment. I could sense the fighers pride and I knew he was living with a cruel fate.

I didn't think I had much of a story. Rusty emailed and apologized for his slurred speech. Like his previous email, the little tiny tape of our phone conversation layed dormant for quite a few days. Everynight when I wrote at my desk in my basement apartment, I looked at it and wondered: Just a tiny little tape, I thought, but someone's story. Someone's life. I was tempted to sweep it all away again, do the easy thing and let it rot under a cowardly carpet. Chalk it up to hard luck and frigid reality. But instead I listened to it. For hours. Rewound it and listened to it again until I understood every word that he was saying. And when I did I sat with eyes wide and my mouth gaping as a fantastic story unfolded, word by labourious word. I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

It was a story about boxing, and bad luck. About being ripped off by the vultures he trusted. It was about organized crime and gambling. About being drugged before fights. About missed opportunities and beatings. About being set up and pummelled. About being forced to lose ridiculous amounts of weight on short notice. About regrets. And anger. About a well-known figure in the boxing world who was in debt with the wrong people and used Rusty like a piece of bloody meat to dig himself out of a hole. It was about greed and evil. Violence and betrayal.

But more than anything it was about not giving up. It was about a man named Rusty Rosenberger, 1979 NJ State Middleweight Champion who took the hardest knocks the world could throw and stayed on his feet. A man who told me, "Mike, I live everyday walking around this world with my head ****ed to the right. The reason I do this is so I see one object in front of me instead two". But Rusty didn't lay down and die. He claims to have invented boxercise but didn't have the money or the backing to patent it. Unphased, he invented body boxing, a safe alternative to boxing in which opponents target only the area between the shoulders and the waist. Three two minute rounds in a regulation size ring with 18 oz gloves. No brain damage. No double vision.

And in the end I was inspired and extremely interested in his tragic story. When I listened to that tape, I realized that Rusty was a brave warrior, and I realized that the fight was not knocked out of him when he was allegedly drugged and took a savage beating at the hands of Nino Gonzalez. His language may be slurred but his mind works just fine. He is a man with ideas and ambitions and I'm glad I got to know him. It makes me wonder how many times we've taken the easy road and swept a guy like Rusty under the carpet because we couldn't be bothered or didn't have the time. No matter, a true fighter like Rusty Rosenberger can't be held down. Not when the heart of a champion pounds inside his chest. Not when you were born to fight. Order Unclaimed Destiny from Amazon ...

 

Default Re: Rusty Rosenberger drugged before nino gonzalez fight
BOXING IN HIS OWN WORDS “UNCLAIMED DESTINY” BY RUSTY ROSENBERGER

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Atlantic City, NJ– Lou Duva, a famous boxing manager & promoter, and a retired, 25 year Teamster President, from the state of NJ. Since 1979, I know for a fact, he has at least one skeleton in his closet he’s kept hidden for over 30 years, me. After years, and numerous attempts to vindicate my dilemma, I’m about ready to initiate a drastic, even a criminal event/act, if need be. Finally getting the attention my story should of have created back in the day, after all, time is running out.

Lou Duva

I’m Rusty Rosenberger, the 1979 NJ State middleweight (160 lbs) champion, and the author of my boxing autobiography titled, “Unclaimed Destiny, The Heart of a Champion,” published in 2003, by Zumaya Publications. After a very accomplished amateur career, when in 1976, fighting in the, National Golden Gloves Tournament in Las Vegas, Nevada, I was matched up in a semi-final bout against the #1 amateur middleweight in the world, Thomas Brooks. He’d competed, and beaten all the world’s top amateur middleweights. He’d won the 1975 All-Service Military middleweight championship, and beat Micheal Spinks (1976 Olympic Middleweight Gold Medallist) for the Pan-American Championship Games title.

As I waited at ringside, the winner to the previous fight was being announced, I stood facing the ring, someone walked up behind me an spoke in my ear, I listened. The person said, “Be careful Rusty, Brooks has a good right hand.” Without turning, I nodded my head, saying “Thank you,” and proceeded to the ring to fight the proven, best amateur middleweight in the world. As I crawled through the ropes, entering the ring, our eyes met. We glared at each other momentarily, and then I started dancing, loosening up. Called to the middle of the ring to receive prefight instructions from the referee, Mr. Brooks never looked directly into my eyes. Instead, he moved his head from side to side, making it appear to all the on lookers, as though I weren’t even there.

The bell rang initiating the boxing match. I danced toward him, and I when I got into his punching range, he threw a jab at me. Seeing it coming at my face, I bent slightly to my right, allowing his jab to miss it’s intended mark, my face. I then stepped back making room between us. I danced to him again, as he attempted to hit me with another jab, seeing it traveling in my face’s direction, I again bent slightly to my right, making his punch miss me, as I countered with a jab of my own, to his abdomen. While I was slipping his jab, and throwing my punch, I noticed he flinched his right hand, as though he wanted to throw it, but didn’t. Instantly, I thought to myself, I bet the next jab he throws, he’ll throw that good right hand he’s known to have. Sure enough, as I danced into his punching range, he fired another jab, which I saw coming, and slipped it again, anticipating that right hand, I saw it coming, and slipped it also, while throwing my own right hand to his stomach. The body punch I threw, landed with a thud, and power, driving him back into the ropes. I stepped to him throwing four punches directly to his facial area. The force of my combination of four punches, drove Mr. Brooks deep into the ropes.


Boxing ring ropes are tightened prior to every show, giving the ropes tension. After I delivered my four punch combination, driving him deep into the ropes, I stepped back, making room between us. As Mr. Brooks came off the ropes, being propelled by the tension of the ropes, I stepped towards him. As I stepped to him. I bent my knees and looked directly at his stomach area. He saw my eyes, and my bent knees, making him believe I was about to throw a body shot. That’s when Thomas Brooks, made a fatal boxing mistake. He dropped his left hand that was protecting his chin, to cover his stomach area. In a flash, I reacted, instead of throwing my powerful right hand to his abdomen, I reverted my right hand to the tip of his chin. He went down, like right now, and didn’t move. You could have counted to 100, he wasn’t moving, or didn’t move until he was carried out of the ring, back to the locker room. I knocked out the best amateur middleweight in the world in less than two minutes of the very first round.

I turned professional in 1978 with Lou Duva as my fight manager. By April of 1979, I’d compiled a record of 15-0-9 KOs. All of my fights had been for 6 rounds only, held in small arena’s in NJ & NY. I was known as a “Club Fighter,” never scheduled to fight more than a 6 round contest. While driving in Lou’s station wagon one afternoon, Lou told me, “If I continue winning and fighting well, and looking impressive as I have in my recent fights, I might get the chance to fight for the NJ State middleweight (160 lbs.) title against Reggie Jones.”

Lou told me, “First I’ll have to get you a couple 8, or 10, round fights, just to give you an idea of what it would be like to fight more than a 6 round fight.” He said, “The way a smart manager moves his prospect up the ladder, is to start him out fighting 4, then 6, then 8, then 10, then into a 12 round championship fight.” Less than a two week period of time, Lou contradicted himself. He advised me he’d signed a contract for me to fight for the NJ middleweight championship against Reggie Jones, boy was I in shock, and in disbelief.

April 27, 1979, was the date of my first of many I hoped would be many, professional championship boxing match. Held in Newark, NJ, at The Robert Treat Hotel, on a fight card promoted by a group of African-American’s, called Triangle Productions, of which Reggie Jones belonged. I met this group of businessmen on April 20, 1979, at a special press conference held in Reggie’s honor. A representative of Hugo Corro, (World middleweight champion), was present, also. He’d flown in from Argentina, to present Reggie with a fight contract to meet Corro. When they presented Reggie with the fight contract, I was asked to sign the contract on the witness line. The contract read, “If Reggie Jones beats Rusty Rosenberger, one week from the signing of this contract on April 27, 1979, Reggie Jones is guaranteed a world title fight against Corro.

All Reggie Jones needs to do is beat a six round club fighter, and he’s fighting for a world title. I was such an underdog, the “Bookies” wouldn’t even put odds on the up coming New Jersey middleweight championship. Guess who everyone, especially Lou Duva’s associates, (The Mob), bet all their money on? On April 27, 1979, on that date in history, because Lou Duva under-estimated my fighting ability, intensity, and heart, the “Mob” lost a lot of money, and Duva lost his respect with the organized crime in NJ, and I became the new, New Jersey champion. Lou had to make back the money lost, and his respect, by the Mob, when he advised them to bet on Jones, which Lou thought was a sure bet.

Lou Duva, had an idea to save his ass, and respect, by promoting, and matchmaking, while managing many of the fighters on the only fight card held in the NFL’s NY Giants Stadium on September 18, 1979, Lou Duva promoted this a fight card, billed as the “Cavalcade of Champions.” Featuring Rocky Lockridge-Gerald Hayes, for the New Jersey lightweight (135) championship, light heavyweight (175) champ of NJ, Mike Rossman-Ramon Ranquella, and heavyweight New Jersey champ Scott Franks-Bill Connell. I, Rusty Rosenberger, the New Jersey middleweight champion, was featured in the main event vs Mike “Nino” Gonzalez, the State’s welterweight (147) champion. I was originally to fight Reggie Jones in a title rematch, but that fight fell through.

At this point and time, I was considered the #1 drawing card in the state of New Jersey, with Gonzalez the #2 ticket seller. One day, as Lou Duva and I drove back to my hotel after a training session, Lou said to me, “We’re going to stop by my Teamsters office to pick up some fight posters to distribute to some of my business associates to display in the windows of their businesses.” As we entered the Teamsters office, the phone rang, Lou answered. He quickly became involved in an heated argument with the caller. Being just a few feet away, I heard every word Lou said. The caller was concerned about the low amount of pre-fight ticket sales. Lou promised the caller, he’d fix the problem, and hung up the phone. He immediately began to pace around his office, very fast, repeating over and over again, “Tickets aren’t selling, tickets aren’t selling, I’m going to lose my ass, what am I gonna do? I’ll end up in the East River, wearing cement shoes, what am I gonna do?”

PART II TOMORROW

Gregg “Rusty” Rosenberger

 

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PART II: BOXING STAR RUSTY ROSENBERGER SAYS “LOU DUVA DRUGGED ME”
August 31, 2011 Rusty Rosenberger

HORRIFIC BOXING STORY IN RUSTY’S OWN WORDS PICKS UP WHERE PART I ENDED!

Editor’s note: I suggest you read Part I which is a couple of articles below this here at RingTalk.com before proceeding to Part II
Atlantic City, NJ– According to Lou Duva, the upcoming fight card at the NFL’s NY Giants Stadium didn’t have a strong enough fight on the card, to draw in at least 9,000 fight fans, the amount of ticket sales needed to make enough money, to pay back a certain organization that loaned Lou the funds needed to produce/promote such a big fight show. Per usual, I began training for Lou Duva’s first major fight show production a month in advance, at Gleason’s Gym in NYC. Originally slated to fight Reggie Jones, in a non-title rematch, my weight at fight time Lou said, could be 164, no more than that. Without my consent or knowledge, Lou moved my training location from Gleason’s Gym in NYC, to a millionaire’s Mansion in Hopewell NJ, owned by John Zuccarelli. Mr Zuccarelli, a trash collector, for the entire southern region of NJ.

According to Lou, the Jones camp wouldn’t agree to a third match-up, in case Jones won the rematch. Then, five days before the fight at Giants Stadium, Lou Duva asked about my weight. I stepped on the scale, and the scale read 166 lbs. or two lbs. heavier than the limit for the fight that was in five days. I told him, “No problem, I’ll make 164 easily.” Lou, then informed me that there’s been a change in the contract, that I’m now going to fight, Mike “Nino” Gonzalez, the welterweight champion of Jersey, and you have to weigh in at 155. At first I protested, I can’t lose 11 pounds in 5 days, I’m already in elite physical condition, I don’t have any (more) weight to lose. Duva told me, “If you don’t make weight, you can’t fight, to just trust and believe in me, I’ll get your weight down, just trust me. I relented, and followed his directions. Lou put me on his special diet of one small bowl of dry lettuce for lunch, and the least amount of water in-take possible, while still running five miles in the morning, my lettuce lunch, with nothing to drink, and continuing to box eight rounds in the gym.

While at Giants Stadium for the official weigh, I ran into John Connell, and when he saw me, he “gasp.” Oh my God, Rusty, you look terrible, no you look like death. Rusty, you better be careful, it looks like Duva’s trying to kill you, or get you hurt real bad.” I just brushed off his comments, and proceeded to the scales to weigh in. I stepped on the scale, and the weigh in official calls out, Rosenberger, 155. I had lost 11 pounds of muscle in the five days leading up to the biggest fight in my career. Gonzalez stepped on the scale, he weighed in at 155 also. For his part, welterweight Gonzalez put on eight pounds. It just doesn’t make any sense, except when you realize the bookies had me a big favorite to win the fight, a 7 to 3 favorite, to be exact. What the “Bookies,” didn’t know was about the massive weight loss I’d was forced to do by Lou in the remaining five days before the fight.

It’s the day of the fight, September 18, 1979, and my wife, father, amateur boxing trainer, and two friends flew into Newark Airport. They came to give give me support that evening. I agreed to pick them up at the airport upon their arrival. I was standing at the off ramp they’d be deplaning from. I stood there in plain sight, and yet all five walked right by me, as if I weren’t there. They continued to walk past me, I said loudly, “Hey guys, were are you going?” They stopped, looking in my direction and replied, “Rusty, that’s you? Why are you so skinny, are you ill?” I had lost so much weight, my family members and close friends didn’t even recognize me.

Now it’s time to go to my pre fight dinner, at my favorite place to eat steak, while in NJ, Mr. Anthony’s on Rt. 46 in Tottowa, NJ. My entourage, Lou Duva, and myself had just finished placing our order. Lou gets up out of his chair, and proceeds to my location. As he is walking towards me, I notice him reaching into his front pants pocket. He pulls out what appears to be a cellophane wrapper from a pack of cigarettes. As he hands the package to me, I see two, small white pills inside the wrapper. As he hands me the wrapper, he instructs me to swallow the two pills about one hour before I fight. I questioned Lou Duva, “what the pills are,” he replied, “They’re blood clotting pills, just in case I would get cut in tonight’s fight, these pills will clot your blood, stop you from bleeding, so the referee won’t stop the fight.” I accepted the pills, and immediately handed them to my father. Without waiting for his ordered meal, Lou left the restaurant in a hurry, saying, “I’ve got to much to do, I don’t have time to eat today,” and out the door he walked. As he was exiting, he reminded me,”Make sure you take those pills, about an hour before you’re scheduled to fight.”

My supporters and I arrived at Giants Stadium, with thousands of people everywhere. It took me a good hour to finally get to my dressing room. I was signing autographs, shaking hands, having my photo taken with my fans, talking, and being sociable. I ran into a friend of my from Youngstown, Ohio by the name of Ray “Boom-Boom Mancini. He was in NYC, to sign a contact with his new fight manager Dave Wolf. When he saw me, the first words he said were, “Rusty, looks like you’ve lost a lot of weight, why?” I told him of the last minute opponent change, the special diet Lou put me on, and that I wasn’t feeling up to normal. He said, “Well, be careful,and good luck.” Then I see my father, he approached me and said Lou just told me to make sure you take those pills. I responded, “Dad, I won’t need those pills, I’m going to knock Nino out.” My father said to me, “Lou knows more about boxing than you and I put together, I think you should take the pills as instructed to do by your manager, Lou Duva.” Having respect for my father, and Lou Duva, I followed Lou’s instructions, and made the biggest mistake of my life, by following Lou Duva’s directive, when I swallowed those pills.


After swallowing those mysterious pills, I began to shadow box, and loosen up. I began to feel tired, lazy, not full of energy, I normally felt prior to all of my previous fights. My last recall was being seated by my amateur trainer, Bob Miketa, on a chair in the runway of Giants Stadium, in preparation for my fight. My next memory is sitting at the dinner table inside my parents home in Ohio. I looked up at my father setting across from me and asked him, “What happened, who won the fight, how did I get back here?” My father smiled, saying, “Ya, right, like you don’t know?” I replied, “No, for real, what day is it, and what happened in the fight, who won?”

As it turned out, the day was the first of May, but from the time I took those pills Lou Duva persuaded me take, I have no memory recall. Meaning, I fought a 10 round fight, drove five people back to Ohio from NJ in my car the day after the fight, all done on instinct. My head begins to hurt, sharp pains running through my head, and the pain was almost unbearable. I began actually crying, tears and all. My father took me to the Trumbull Memorial Hospital emergency room in ******, Ohio. As soon as the attending physician herd what had happened, that I was in a very recent boxing match, he ordered a CAT scan to be done. After the CAT scan has been completed, a nurse pushed me out into the hallway to wait for the results. While laying on the hospital cot, my head throbbing, I closed my eyes. What I saw then is a Miracle. I felt as though I flew very fast, at warp speed. In the distance I remember seeing a man in a white rob, with long hair and a beard. As I approached him, I could see him clearer, just as I arrived face to face with this figure, he spoke, “It’s not your time.” I opened my eyes, and waited for the nurse to return me to my hospital room.

The CAT scan results caused great concern for everyone. Apparently, all the fluid that keeps our brains from crashing into our skulls, had been forced out, and my case knocked out, my brain was swollen, pressing against my skull. The Neurologist, Dr. Reddy, told my father that if the fight would have lasted any more than it did, my brain would of had no more room to expand, it would have burst, and Rusty would have died. With time, rest, and medication, the swelling of my brain was reduced. Unfortunately, a muscle in my right eye was also torn. Torn so bad, that after 4 eye muscle surgeries to correct double vision I suffer with daily, they’ve all failed. The damage my brain endured left me with a speech impairment, or “Punch Drunk Syndrome.” I slur my words and studier, it’s terrible. My mind knows what it is I want to say, but for the life of me, it comes out distorted. Boy do I get funny looks from people when they first hear me speak. Every morning when I wake up, open my eyes and see two of what ever I look at, and when I say good morning for the first time that day, there is always a constant reminder of what Lou Duva did to me in the prime of my boxing career.

Rusty Rosenberger

 

Interesting,if in fact true.I have never heard of Rusty but I would love to hear what Lou Duva has to say about these allegations.He deserves a his day in the court of popular opinion.
Drugging,beaten and ripped off seems a pretty easy way to explain his miserable existance.

 

Yeah well its generally not a good idea to use your real name on a public forum. Screen names are typically the norm.