Not a lot of people know this but...

Jimmy Carruthers after defending his newly-won title against Vic Toweel in Johannesburg, and then against the American Henry "Pappy" Gault in Sydney, it was found that Carruthers was carrying a 30-foot-long tapeworm.

 

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smallest world champion baby jake matlala

4'10

 

All your recent nuggets have been pure gold, V_W.

 

This might surprise many folks, but believe it or not Wilfredo Gomez favourite fighter was none other than Fighting Harada.

 

I don't believe you


A few years back, Ricky Hatton was just about getting a name for himself in our town, him being a local boy his wins were suddenly noticed. I doubt anyone in the rest of the country knew of him, except the biggest boxing fans and those who followthe amateurs.

Me and a couple of friends were in the local pub, it was early afternoon and we were sat in the pool room. One friend was reading the Manchester Evening News.

There was a couple of lads sat next to us and noticing something on the back pages, one of them asked my mate if he wouldn't mind letting him have the article. My mate allowed this and looked at the piece before handing it over, it was about Hattons latest win, or "Hatton ready to go pro", or "Hatton ready for the big fights" or something like that.

"Ohh, do you know Ricky then?" Asked my mate, the other lad smiled politely and said that he did before my mate began to regail him with stories of how he also knows him, that they went to the same school and were best friends, how they used to play football together etc etc.

Looking slightly bemused but feigning interest and polite as ever, the stranger with the paper nodded his acknowledgment, smiled a bit, thanked him for the paper, downed his pint, made his excuses and said goodbye to us.

As soon as they were out of the room, another mate we were with turned to my storytelling mate, looking embarrassed and stifling a giggle, said, "Keith, you dick! Do you know who that was?". Keith, looking surprised but typically still not realising what he had done said he didn't. "That was Ricky, you ****ing cretin!"


Oh, just thought of another one but I can't remember the story well as I was pretty wrecked. We had been to a party in Sheffield, that night we decided to paint up the above mentioned gobshite, while he slept. The usual stuff, blushing cheeks, nail varnish and "love" and "hate" on the knuckles.

The next day it wouldn't wash off, he was pretty used to this though, so didn't think twice when we all decided to go to the local snooker hall to waste some time before we got the train.

The snooker hall was a proper Yorkshire man's place, big burley Yorkshire men with silly accents, all looking like they have to have a knife fight with their wives every morning to decide who get's to use the bathroom first.

My mate hadn't gone unnoticed by these rough looking fellers, nor by the group of Asian lads on a near by snooker table. Every now and again these lads would crack a gag at my mates expense, especially the one who seemed like the leeder of that gang. One Prince Naseem.

I can't remember what he said now but I will find out if anyone is interested, I know that it was a very funny situation.

 

Terrific stuff, T, and colorfully told -- just the kinda stories I devour. The one with Ricky Hatton's priceless. I've seen that same scenario in gyms and bars since I was a kid -- always pathetic, but funny as hell.

 

It was those wars that convinced me that Donald Curry was definitely better than Milton, not the other way around.

 

Former amateur sensation Clint Jackson had to put a young Michael Dokes in his place for his cocky behavior.

Two of Greg Page's uncles fought Muhammad Ali in the amateurs.

 

At Gleason's Gym in N.Y.C. Only two fighter's hit hard enough to break the metal brackett on the speed bag. One was George Foreman. & The other Pipino Cuevas.

 

michael gomez the irish/manc/gypsy/mexican was orignally called michael armstrong. goign pro the bbbc asked him for anther name. he called himself gomez after wilfredo (even though wilf was purto rican....sorry for my countries shortsightedness)

wont be long before somone copies him like mike before hand. maybe a certain manchester fighter will come out to a marinachi band wearing sombrero's :roll:

 

zarate ripped the bag of it's hinges in california.

not really the same thing

 

At the gym i train at there were three english gypsy brothers who were a bit loud mouthed and acted up. Neither of them did much training and we're premadonnas. They used to come down for a few weeks then stop for a while before they came back. The two younger ones weren't particuarly good and all of them were overweight. The oldest one had good boxing ability and stayed long enough to have a few fights. He was a superheavyweight amatuer and had a record of 2-1. In his last fight he'd lost to an undefeated novice in a fight which we all felt he had won. He was offered a rematch 2 months later on the home show of the other guys club. It was to be top of the bill and the heavyweights were both to recieve £100 purse. They had about a months notice and the week before the fight the gypsy hadn't been seen at training. Eventually my coach phoned him the night before the fight to see what was going on

Coach "What the ****s goin on? You're top of the bill tomorro"

gypsy - I've got an absess in my mouth i don't think i should fight"

coach " You can't pull out this late its the main event!"

So my coach phoned me to explain the situation and ask for my mum's advice (my mum is a dentist). She declared that he should be fine if he wears a mouth guard.
So my coach phoned back the gypsy 5 minutes later to tell him;

"I've just spoke to a dentist, she says you're okay to fight"

.............. (long pause)

"I've broke me hand"

As big as they guy was, and as much as he could fight and talk, he had no bottle.

 

Not sure how many will understand this, but I'll tell it anyway...think it's funny as hell. (Those that get it, explain it to the others)

In the '70s, Tommy Gallagher and I used to take our amateur boxing team to compete in smokers all over New York.

We had one mouthy, black light heavyweight with a blown-out fro who dressed like super-fly comin' into the gym -- girls on each arm--playah! written all over'm. But he not only could talk smack, he could back it up.

We took him to box on a card in Spanish Harlem. Even though we told him to cool it, he strutted in the corner before the fight, talkin' trash to the crowd, and it made them crazy. They waved their fists and chanted.

He turned to us, perplexed.

"They think I'm Jewish. They keep callin' me Marty Cohen."

 

Did you guys tell him what they were actually calling him afterwards?

 

To those who don`t get it, they were calling him maricon, which means ******/***** in spanish.