by Nigel Benn
Ray pointed out two famous TV actors to me: one from Coronation Street, and another who had been in the popular TV series The Avengers.
Ray was more used to these parties than me and had a good time with several ladies, one of them a publican’s wife. Her husband had approached him and said, ‘My wife really likes you,’ so Ray, ever the gentleman, obliged. However, he was a bit aghast when the husband invited him to their pub for Sunday lunch. Ray told him that would be too early in the day
The publican replied, ‘We have a football team. We all go and play football and then the whole team comes back to the pub and makes love to the missus. We do that every Sunday and you’re invited to join the team!’
I got home at about 6.30 the next morning, went straight to Mum and Dad’s and said, ‘Guess where I’ve been.’ I told them everything and they killed themselves laughing. I still hadn’t got over the shock of it all. Having said that, I was no novice to sexual adventure, providing, as I said, it wasn’t in front of an audience.
People tend to treat you differently if they think you are a celebrity. A lot of people thought that, as a boxer, I shouldn’t have as much fun as I did because I should concentrate on training. Well, they can think again. I like the attention from time to time, but I’ve given up trying to convince people that I am no different to them. So-called celebrities have just the same problems with wives, partners and mates as everybody else. I like to think that once outside the boxing ring, I’m Joe Bloggs, ordinary citizen.
Just because I train a lot doesn’t mean that I can’t have fun while I’m working. That’s a load of tosh. I spent my time mucking about and it didn’t seem to do me any harm in my career. As far as I’m concerned, it’s unhealthy to lock yourself away. Even when I was in the final six weeks of training for a fight and had stopped the partying, I still went out and had lots of fun. However, I was always mindful that there may be another young Nigel Benn lurking in the shadows ready to take over.
With the amount of press coverage I was getting, there were bound to be lots of ladies interested in meeting me, although I never had problems in that department before becoming a professional boxer. One of the nicest girls I met at the Ilford Palais was Mandy. She was tall and very thin with a lovely pair of breasts. I’ve always liked women dressing in sexy clothes and Mandy knew how to please. She wore tight fish-net stockings and a skimpy top.
The sexy garments sent out the right messages but Mandy wasn’t going to be a push-over. I was about 24 and she was 18. I was dying to see what was underneath those alluring clothes but when, eventually, I persuaded her to return to a mate’s apartment she refused to let me make love to her. I tried for five hours and when, at last, she relented, it was all over in a few seconds. The tension and wait had taken their toll.
We kept seeing each other for the next two years and she was one of the sexiest girls I knew. Once we got to know each other properly, she’d be happy to make love anywhere. I’m fairly nocturnal in my habits and sometimes it would be too late to visit my friends, so one night Mandy and I made love on the bonnet of my Porsche in a wrecker’s yard at 5.00am!
The setting may not have been the most romantic but it was fun and exciting and sexy. We were always doing dares. Once we made love down an alleyway and also in the ladies’ toilets at Jacqueline’s, a West End club.
It was run by my agent, Dave Simones, who insists on stealing food off my plate or from my kitchen at home. Maybe he just gets a bit hungry but he won’t buy his own food. Once I chased him with a knife and threatened to kill him if he opened my refrigerator door once more. Dave thought it was all a joke but I was deadly serious. When he was running the club, we’d have some really fun times, although there was always an element of danger with the beautiful girls who’d go there. Like the one on my stag night with whom I ended up in bed.
I don’t know how that came about because I was out of it — drunk as a lord. On this particular evening, I could have rewritten the fairytale of the frog and the princess. The standard version goes like this. The princess kisses a frog which then turns into a prince and they live happily ever after. Well, I kissed a frog and she turned into a princess but the next day when I woke up and kissed her again she turned back into a frog. I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing.
I found myself in bed with this girl and woke with a dazed head to find that she had been giving me oral sex. The night before she was Marilyn Monroe. Now when I looked at her I saw Miss Piggy. That would have been almost acceptable were it not for the fact that I was panicking because my wife was due to pick me up at the hotel!
On another occasion I met a really tall girl. She was over 6ft tall but lovely with it. She had a great body, sparkling blue eyes and the figure of a model. We were discussing fantasies and I asked her about hers.
‘I’d like to fuck two men on a football pitch,’ she said.
That rather shocked me, coming from lips which I thought wouldn’t melt butter, let alone talk dirty. And two men! Women surprise me all the time. I told her that I could partially fulfil her fantasies.
‘I can get another man, I said, ‘but I’m sorry about the football pitch.’
With that, I telephoned Ray who came round and we shared the young lady’s favours. She was particularly physical and whenever Ray was flagging a little, I had to encourage him by pressing his backside down a little more energetically than he was inclined.
After the love-making, though, it was back to serious training and my next fight. At 24, a body can put itself through a much heavier and demanding pace than at, say, 30.
Life was never dull when Ambrose was involved in my affairs. He and my promoter had another bust-up with television before my next Commonwealth middleweight title defence against Zambian Michael Chilambe. He was popularly known as the African Lion and was ranked 26th in the world.
However, it was said he would have to run like a cheetah to stay upright for more than two or three rounds with me. The BBC had offered a derisory sum to screen the bout and my promoter Frank Maloney rejected it out of hand. ITV later came up with a suitable offer.
Frank had gone to Africa to find an opponent after 15 top American and European middleweights refused the opportunity of fighting me. Chilambe was my third challenger and had fought more than 200 amateur bouts. He’d won 13 of his 14 professional fights with seven KOs.
Our fight was scheduled for 8 February at the Albert Hall and there was a real danger I would miss it as a result of a photofit picture, uncannily similar to me, of a wanted gunman and mugger who had blasted a cyclist at close range with a shotgun in Battersea Park.
Apparently the victim, who had been shot in the thigh, had identified his attacker by pointing to my picture in a magazine. The Evening Standard then published a slightly touched up photograph they had received from Scotland Yard and the first I knew about it was when a member of the public jumped on me, attempting a citizen’s arrest. In the scuffle, I bruised my knuckle which became quite swollen and I had to receive intensive treatment before I could fight.
In fact, the doctors used a special, vibrating black box normally used to heal injured race horses. I was desperate for the hand to heal because I was still impatient to fight Michael Watson, having got nowhere with our offers to Herol Graham who was the current British Champion. We’d offered him £200,000 to put his British title on the line against me. After they’d heard about my injuries and Ambrose’s threatened action regarding the photofit picture, both Scotland Yard and the newspaper apologised profusely for their mistake.
On top of everything else, I nearly had a bust-up at the press conference publicising the title defence. Anthony Logan, who was boxing on the undercard and had been sparring with Chilambe, was asked his opinion on how the bout would go. Instead of commenting on that, he asked for a return round with me. I’d beaten him the previous October and, as far as I was concerned, he was history. I was stopped from getting closer to him at the conference because somebody feared I might land one on
him. They claimed they heard me say, ‘I’m going to hurt you,’ but I don’t recall that.
The African Lion turned out to be a cub. I gave him a mauling and he went down in just 67 seconds of the first round. It should have been sooner, but I wanted to see if he could give anything worthwhile.
Chilambe said afterwards that he had never been hit so hard before. He said he knew I was a big hitter but hadn’t realised just how big.
My next victory was in the High Court seven days later, when three Appeal Court judges dismissed Frank Warren’s attempt to obtain a temporary order stopping Ambrose from advising me.
In his judgment, Lord Justice Nourse said I had become very disillusioned with Mr Warren’s management agreement, which I had signed in January 1988, and that, by June, I had formed the view that Frank and I would not be able to resolve our differences. After issuing my writ against Frank the following month, I had asked Ambrose to act as my agent and advise on my career.
The judge commented that, thereafter, Mendy’s activities included introducing commercial opportunities to me. He said Frank Warren had then started proceedings against Mendy, seeking injunctions and claiming that he had induced me to break the management agreement.
What was important in his judgment was the recognition by the Lord Justice that the trade of a professional boxer was a very specialist one. He said it required dedication, extensive training and expertise and that the boxer’s professional life was short. The judge accepted that a high degree of mutual trust and confidence was required between boxer and manager.
However, even more important aspects arose from the case, which affected British boxing and the British Boxing Board of Control. The judges invited the BBBC to look at situations where a manager also holds a promoter’s licence. Lord Justice Nourse said it might be of advantage to the fighter in some circumstances but not in others. The judges clearly saw the dangers of one person having too much control over a fighter’s career.
John Morris, who was then general secretary of the BBBC, said the board would consider changing its regulations. He said the stewards had, in the past, tried to separate the job of manager and promoter but were voted down by the licence holders. None of this would affect Ambrose, however, as he did not hold a licence and could not act in an official capacity. After the case, Frank said he would continue his legal fight and his lawyer told the judges that we had won the battle but not the war. After this case the BBBC changed the standard manager–boxer contract.
I had one more fight, to be held in Scotland, before my life would be turned upside down. Bagpipes heralded my entry to Glasgow. Ambrose had suggested I dress as the Tartan Terror to promote the bout against Mbayo Wa Mbayo from Zaïre. The French-based boxer was ranked number eight in Europe and was reckoned to be my toughest fight to date. Part of the proceeds were to go to the Lockerbie Disaster Appeal.
At the time, I was asked what I thought of my contemporaries in international boxing. Being me, I had plenty to say!
Herol Graham was, in my view, the perfect example of a second-rate fighter. He was just wasting his time hanging around for a title fight. I said he was not in the top drawer and that is why he wouldn’t fight me.
Thomas Hearns was a legend, one of the all-time greats. I said I loved to watch him fight when I was a kid but I reckoned he would be about the easiest to beat because you can’t go on forever, no matter how good you are.
Michael Watson was an interesting case — I was due to fight him next after Mbayo. I asked if he could still make the weight as a middleweight. In all his fights he had weighed about 4lb over the limit but I said there was nothing more I wanted than to get in the ring with him.
Sumbu Kalambay — I said he was the best of the three world champions although he’d been around a long time without anybody taking much notice. He beat Herol by a mile when he was 30. I said if anyone wanted to call themselves a true world champion, he’s the man they had to beat.
Iran Barkley — I fought him in America but, before then, I thought he was probably the strongest middleweight in the world. However, even though he was the WBC champion, I believed he was the weakest of the world’s leading fighters in the division. He had knocked Tommy Hearns spark out, but the way his chin was then, so could anybody. Barkley’s weakness was that he wasn’t much of a technician.
Roberto Duran I rated for his achievements. He was an idol to so many young fighters and was still going for another world title at the age of 37. He was one of the most feared opponents in the world.
Michael Nunn was to be a future opponent and was then possibly one of the best middleweight fighters. I said at the time that he deserved to be IBF champion because he was such a good all-round fighter and the fittest middleweight in the world. He was a bit of a rarity in that he could punch as well as box.
The fight at Kelvin Hall, Glasgow, on 28 March, received less publicity than the excitement it generated over my coming match with Michael Watson. Some people were even saying it should not go ahead because of the small chance that I might not win. Mickey Duff, Watson’s manager, had a get-out clause if I lost to Mbayo and, with my share of the purse amounting to £150,000, there was a lot to lose.
However, I had promised to go ahead with the Glasgow fight and didn’t want to let down the Lockerbie Disaster Appeal. Nor did I have the slightest doubt that I would beat my opponent. When we got into the ring he took what was coming. You can tell a lot by a man’s hands and eyes. His hands were like granite. Rough, hard-working hands, the hardest hands I had ever felt in my life. He had come to fight but, looking at his eyes, I knew I would win.
I took him out in two rounds. My last punch actually lifted him off his feet and he ended up half out of the ring.
After-fight parties were virtually obligatory as a release from all the pre-fight tension and after-fight ‘high’. The Glasgow whorehouse hired by Ambrose for partying following the Mbayo fight was one of the more memorable evenings. All my close buddies, like Rolex Ray, had flown up for the fight and had already tasted the exotic offerings this brothel had made available during the day. Ray, always the big spender, had parted with £1,500 before the party had even begun. The premises were normally used as a sauna and massage salon.
I was feeling pretty good having knocked out Mbayo in two rounds, so I wasn’t exhausted. I don’t know if it was Ray or Ambrose who organised it but, on our arrival at the brothel, a live sex show was immediately staged. Three girls stripped off their clothes until they were entirely naked and then put on a lesbian act for us. We were then invited to join them in a group orgy. Few refused. Ambrose had brought along his teenage son to initiate him into the ways of the world, although I don’t think he personally took part in any of the activities.
After the live show, we played music, drank more champagne and for those who wanted more, and a lot of my mates did, about 20 girls were available for sex at a reasonable rate. As the night drew on, things got pretty wild and, at one stage, Rolex Ray did some rude things to a lady using her stiletto heel.
One of the people who were there told us he got more than he bargained for and returned home with a ‘social’ disease which he would have to explain to his lady. We were there until about 6.00am and I doubt if the girls would have been able to cope with going to work the next day.
The partying was good, but it was secondary. Now, finally, with 22 fights under my belt, I felt ready for Michael Watson. Until I fought him, only two men, Winston Burnett and Reggie Miller, had lasted beyond the second round. I had reached another turning point in my life.
11
MAY DAY
If Ambrose Mendy could have had his own way, I would have been a legend by lunchtime and a boxing deity by dinner. If he had had a war cry, it would have been ‘Gimme a gimmick — as many as possible’. He was as economical with the truth as he was generous with bullshit but, somehow, his outrageous hype caught the imagination and both the press and television were happy to come along for the ride, until it all went sour.
At 25, I had the world at my feet. I had everything a young man could ever wish for — fame, fast cars, a beautiful woman, two children, property and thousands of adoring fans. As undefeated Commonwealth middleweight champion, I had 22 wins under my belt and Michael Nunn had made an offer of £2 million to fight me. On the home front, I was besieged almost daily by the media who were clamouring for interviews in the run-up to my fight with Michael Watson on 21 May 1989, at Finsbury Park, London.
Mendy’s marketing skills, learned in prison, were a tribute to that institution. Love him or hate him, he did the job brilliantly, and I had never earned as much money before. The World Sports Corporation (Ambrose’s grandly named company), which was really a one-man-band, used a motto which pleased as it teased: ‘You ain’t seen nuthin yet’. Now it went into overdrive to publicise my next fight.
Ambrose was master of the oral grand slam. He announced that everyone from Benny Hill, Page Three girls, Bob Geldof, Paula Yates, Engelbert Humperdinck and a host of other stars and sporting personalities had already bought tickets for the Benn-Watson fight to be held in a ‘supertent’ at Finsbury Park. Ambrose was never happier than when he held the floor and imagined he was manipulating the proceedings.
I went along with my guru’s ‘Benn’s Bad’ image. Lecturing to the eager journalists, Mendy agreed that style was more important than substance and added, ‘The first thing to create is brand awareness. We are about Nigel Benn the name rather than Nigel Benn the boxer.’ He boasted, ‘I was the first to see the importance of brand awareness in boxing and, in general, I see sport as a stall for your goods.’
