Tommy Gallagher trained Yuri Vaulin, a tall, light-hitting Russian cruiserweight. Vaulin was matched with Tommy Morrison, who was on track for a title fight, in a main event on national TV. It was supposed to be no more than tune-up for Morrison. From round one through four, the Russian surprised everyone, out jabbing and out boxing Morrison. The crowd and Gallagher sensed an upset -- the big money for Vaulin was in grasp. Suddenly, in the 5th round, Morrison caught the Russian with a left hook to the body. He crumpled to the canvas and couldnt beat the count. The TV commentator jumped into the ring and shoved a mic in Gallagher's face while he ministered to the Russian. "Tommy, Tommy, your kid was so close to being a contender. What happened?" "The cocksucker quit!" Gallagher said coast-to-coast.
You go to the gym, you get to know the fighters and trainers. One trainer in particular, a flinty, former Eastern Bloc Olympian, impressed me. Never ingratiated himself with anyone. Even when handed glowing write-ups in the morning about one of his boxers, he brushed them aside with a tight smile, barely nodding to the other trainers and went about his business. He had Tony Zales cheekbones, a military brush-cut, Charles Bronsons squint, steel in his spine and fixed disappointment on his face. He knew his stuff no towel carrier -- a tyrant as conditioner. Brooked no nonsense. Discipline! Discipline! Discipline! he pounded home in Russian, Armenian, Bulgarian and Cyrillic-cadenced English, working tirelessly on balance, mechanics, correcting mistakes and demonstrating, with the precision of a watchmaker, how to exploit weaknesses, re-running sparring videos. He even earned the trust of the gifted enfant terribles - always testing, quick to lash out never pulling punches and gloving-up and showing how easily they could be picked apart. Maybe twenty pounds heavier then when he competed as a middleweight, but not hard to imagine how accomplished he was in his youth. When there was any hoopla in the gym say, a press conference with two big-name fighters -- promoters, publicists, reporters and photographers hogging every inch of space, yelling for attention, he ignored it -- kept his charges focused, grunting only Whatever you having, when a trainer passed him a deli menu for lunch. We had long talks about boxing greats and tactics. His observations were razor sharp -- knew the game inside out. Like most trainers, to scrape by -- aside from his own boxers -- he worked corners in the gym, did pads, and seconded main-eventers and prelim kids on cards all over California and Vegas at a moments notice. So, when I received an e-mail from a film producer asking me to play a cornerman in a TV promo for the Tyson-Etienne fight for a healthy payday, I told him a conflict prevented me, but I had just the guy. I'd pose it to him. Handing the trainer the offer at the gym, I was bursting for his reaction, repeating over and over how perfect hed be for the commercial and how good the money was, pointing to the paragraph. He studied it carefully -- pored over every word, then looked up, shook his head, returned the offer and smiled that same tight smile: "It's not for me," and went back to working with a fighter on the heavy bag. Puzzled, didnt begin to cover it: The money was fantastic, the hours were good, he wouldnt have to say anything, do only what he did normally, and it was being shot on a stage just blocks from the gym. It didnt add up. Fight jobs weren't falling out of trees...and they weren't asking him to wear a ski mask and carry a gun. So, why not? A gig was gig. I kept turning it over in my head driving home: Why would he say no? He needed the money. What possible reason could he have? Then it dawned on me sadly: the shunting aside of favorable write-ups, never looking at a menu, not a flicker at the money in the offer...this proud man couldn't read.
I'm late for every !#%?*% appointment I've had over the last few days because I can't help but turn on the computer and check this particular thread to see any additions from one particular poster -JG. Thanks, J, for keeping boxing where it belongs -on the ground and as personal as it gets, and a true reflection of the human condition.
Couldnt be prouder of making you miss appointments, S. Putting a face on the game is all Im interested in.