One-Eyed Baz

by Barrington Patterson

  After about five years married to Alison, the marriage wasn’t working out. Alison had given me my second child, whose name is Leonie. But I was cock happy; I started shagging round here, shagging round there. She found out about it and we split up, and with this I met my second wife.

  I was seeing another girl at the same time, called Linda. We had a little baby girl called Bailey, who’s 18 years old now; I ended up getting married to Linda, which was a big mistake.

  Around this time, there were summer fights in Holland so I went over there for a couple. That was how I made my name in Holland in the late eighties and early nineties, when kickboxing was big over there. I always wanted to be World Champion of the sport.

  DEV

  We started to do the international circuit. Barrington is just one of those people who draws other people towards him. He is like a magnet. It doesn’t matter where someone is from, they can be from anywhere from Russia to Brazil or most European countries – he always has the crowd on his side. He is an entertainer and he’s never boring. I actually refused a lot of fighters in this country because of the problems it may cause. When he fights, he’s not cocky or bigheaded but he does like to mess about a bit. He does his showboating but is very gracious when it comes to winning or losing. Especially when he loses – he just takes it.

  One of the cleanest knockouts I’ve ever seen Barrington do was this guy from Rotterdam; he’d bought a coach-load with him who were supposed to be National Front-type people. He’s got to be 140 kilos; he’s tall, wide, like a barrel chest and belly all in one. Barrington hit left to the body, right over the top. It was like in a movie when someone’s unconscious but standing and he doesn’t fall. This is no exaggeration at all: when he hit the canvas it was like the whole room shook, and he was out. Of course, Barrington does his showboating as well: messing about, dancing around the ring, the ‘Ali shuffle’. Sometimes he would look at the guy at that point – but always, at the end, he would go and shake his hand and be really respectful. It was just that 30 seconds of showboating.

  The people of Northern Holland had adopted Barrington as one of theirs; they were so happy because he’d beaten somebody from Rotterdam. So, of course, after the fight we were told the local Rotterdam people were all waiting outside for Barrington, because they didn’t like what he’d done or his showboating either. So they had to lock us in the changing room and I’m talking about long after the show had finished, because they were going to come back in as well. We wouldn’t go outside, obviously – though he wanted to! We had to wait there until everybody had gone.

  When you’re a good street fighter, you think you can just put some gloves on and knock someone out. At first, I was hungry and just wanted to fight, to make a name for myself and earn my status. I was training with a lot of boxers and, if it hadn’t been for my eye injury, I think I could have become a traditional boxer. I was sparring with guys like cruiserweight champion Rob Norton and various others who were good boxers. I was holding my own against them, so if I’d had good vision in both eyes I think I would probably have gone into boxing. (I used to spar with Matt Skelton, a heavyweight kickboxer who kicked like a mule and also carved out a boxing career.) I’ve never regarded myself as being blind in one eye. I was ducking, diving and blocking punches, doing everything that a guy with two eyes could do – probably doing it better.

  Throughout my career, I’ve only been knocked out once and that was in an MMA fight. Having the disadvantage of one eye has made me the person who I am today. So, to any other guys with one eye, or even only one leg – just fucking go for it, man!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  In 1988/89, when me and this lad from Birmingham were still working on the club door at Reflections, I got to meet a couple of the lads from Coventry – including one called Fatty Smith who I’d known from when I did six months in Whatton Detention Centre in Nottinghamshire in my teens. (It was like a fucking army camp in there.)

  The rave scene had just started kicking in then, and I think every known troublemaker was frequenting the place I was working at. I was working with Bulldog, Big Del and a couple of others – all known lads in Coventry, though I’d not known them that long and didn’t know how much I could trust them.

  There was one particular incident when I was standing on the door, in my bowtie and all that, when I had to rush inside to where this guy was hitting his girl. I said, ‘Come on, mate, leave it out, will yer?’ He turned round and swung for me, so I banged him one and he slumped against the fruit machine, then he fell on the floor. Me and the other doorman managed to get him up and shoved him outside, then closed the door.

  I didn’t think any more of it as we stood there, chatting to the receptionist and the other guys on the door. We had two cameras on the road outside, so you could see who was coming to the door.

  All of a sudden, we felt this big shudder. I jumped back and looked up at the camera to see this fucking guy had driven his car through the front door. The car had mounted the pavement and crashed through the club’s entrance. A couple of our doormen went out the back door and round to the front, and dragged him out of the car. We gave him a beating until the police came.

  Reflections was really busy, as we used to get firms of lads all the time looking to start trouble. You’d get lads from Bell Green who would be fighting lads from Wood End; guys from Tile Hill would be fighting guys from Canley, and so on. One particular night, the DJ stopped the music, which was a sure sign of trouble, so we all ran towards the dance-floor area to where the DJ’s view would have been. We found two guys had been stabbed, one in the groin. We managed to get them outside on to the pavement but, tragically, both guys bled to death in front of a big crowd of onlookers. By the time the police came, they could only seal off the road with tape and start a murder inquiry. It was a violent period, as only weeks before the club’s head doorman had got stabbed to death in an incident outside the nightclub.

  A year after that, I was right in front of a guy who got shot in the leg on the dance-floor. Some of what I experienced working there seems unbelievable now. Another night, I got waylaid by about 10 police officers outside the club and ended up in court for it – where they threw the case out, rightly, as I’d done nothing. I’d just got jumped.

  I did get banged up for a few months for another offence, so I had to be away from the door and leave it to Andre. By the time I came out, he had got together with this guy Johnny. It worked out well between us all and we became known as ‘JAB’. We were starting to get offered more doors. This was the early nineties, and, befitting the times, we were doing a lot of raves, one-off events that paid serious money.

  TODD

  I remember Barrington once invited me over to Coventry to the big pub he worked in, not far from where Rupert used to live. I think it was The Red Lion. It was pretty rough; Barrington was doing what he was doing and I was having a drink. Two lads started fighting pretty bad; one of them was knocked out on the floor and Barrington looked at me, smiled and said, ‘Watch this.’

  And he got this boy by the bollocks and neck; he was a big lad and he dead-lifted him out of the pub. Barrington, being Barrington, was pushing his chest out and feeling all good about it. He must have chucked this geezer a good 15 feet. Barrington just smiled at me and went back to his work. I thought, Some things never change! That’s typical Barrington. That would have been around ’91. Then there was another guy, a big black geezer as well, who must have been about six foot five and he was always giving it the big ’un to Barrington. Barrington’s gone up to him and given him a roundhouse; Barrington can only be about five foot ten and a half because he’s the same size as me, but he knocked him out by fly-kicking him in the mouth.

  * * *

  In May 1993, my brother Eric was staying with me in Coventry due to the breakdown of the relationship with his children’s mum. I knew he was going through some shit at the time, but I never dreamt what the outcome would be that morning when he left for work.

  That evenin
g, he didn’t come home. I just thought, He’s made it up with his missus and it’s all sorted out.

  Then I got a call from my mum. I will never forget her words: ‘You need to come home. Eric has killed himself.’

  Those words cut me to the bone more than anything in my life.

  I had to be strong for my family and hold them together. I never show emotion – it’s a sign of weakness.

  I say what I have to say when I visit his grave; he was the only brother I knew and grew up with, so when he went a part of me went too. Eric left behind three young children; shortly after, they moved away with their mum.

  Twelve years later, I got a message saying that a young lad was looking for me and that I was his uncle. It was Eric’s son, Cameron. I was buzzing when we met up at New Street, Birmingham. We talked about his dad and the things we got up to as youngsters on the streets.

  Cameron didn’t really remember his dad, so I filled in the gaps. I was hurt when he said that his mum had changed their name from Patterson; it really bothered me how some people can be so cruel, though, of course, she may have had her own reasons.

  I will always be a part of Cameron’s life. Having him back in my life is like having a part of my bro back.

  * * *

  In the mid-nineties, I was working at the Ministry of Sound, near the Elephant & Castle in south London. They used to have 15 lads from Birmingham go up there every Friday and Saturday. We were working for an Asian guy called Peely in London: me, my mate Clayton and a couple of lads working on the main doors, a load of guys from out of town working with their people.

  The main guy who ran the door would be like a spotter, spotting the London guys who were troublemakers; he’d say to us, ‘No, he can’t come in.’ What they wanted was for guys from outside town to front them up; London guys wouldn’t front them because they were pals. It’s just like some clubs around Coventry: they put guys from Birmingham on the doors and put the Coventry guys inside. A lot of places do this: they don’t want to put their guys on the door; they’d rather have guys from out of town working. I used to work at a club down in Watford as well – it was the same thing. We used to get a load of Londoners coming up, causing trouble.

  They had probably about 20-odd doormen at the Ministry of Sound because it was a big place, it was so busy. They used to have some big barriers along where you went to get in. I was off the main door and I remember this mixed-race kid, quite smartly dressed, with a group of white kids and black lads; he was going ‘bloodclaat this’ and ‘bumbaclaat that’. I have a laugh and a joke with everyone, so I turned round to him and said, ‘What you talking like that for, mate? You’re not even black.’

  Everyone burst out laughing – even his friends! I was just seeing it as a joke but this guy turned round and said, ‘You pussy’oles from Birmingham! I’m gonna take a Birmingham man out, I’m gonna shoot ya!’

  ‘Yeah, fuck off, ya twat! You think you’re gonna shoot me? Fuck off!’

  Being me, I didn’t think anything of it. But, about half an hour later, I’m standing where the barriers are and the guy’s come towards me. He’s pulled out a revolver on me and said, ‘I’m gonna shoot ya!’

  ‘You fucking what?’

  I’ve dived over the fucking barrier, I swear to God, and grabbed the guy round his fucking neck. I’ve managed to take the gun off him and I’ve just started bashing him, bashing him, bashing him with it!

  Clayton and all of the others came up and pushed me off of him. There was blood all over the fucking place. Someone called the police and they took him away.

  London is a lot different from Birmingham – even though you’ve still got a gun culture in Birmingham, or someone can pull a baseball bat on you. London’s got that name and there are loads of different firms, or posses, or gangs, whatever you want to call them. But at this time, in the nineties, when the guy pulled a gun I thought, Fucking hell!

  I just carried on working as if nothing had happened, even though I had to go to the police station, and I was down there for about two hours. When I came back, the guys were waiting for me with the minibus. We spoke about it on the way back up; we had a laugh and a joke about it. I came back to work the following week and I just carried on doing what I was doing. Everyone was with me. I knew who I was working with; I knew these guys would stand by you.

  I had about four or five guys come up to me and say, ‘We’re willing to give you some money if you don’t turn up in court.’

  I’m against the police – I don’t do anything for the fucking Old Bill. But I thought at the time, Fuck me, you’re willing to take my life for something stupid! You wanted to shoot me over a little joke.

  People always say to me, ‘What would you do if someone pulled a gun on you?’ And my answer is: ‘I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know if I’d stand there and shit myself, piss myself or just start fucking crying: “Please don’t kill me!”’ But the main thing there was to jump for my life.

  It was like an incident in Coventry with one of these P1 lads (a Midlands street gang): the guy was in his car at about three o’clock in the morning; I’m standing over here, he’s over there and he’s pulled a gun on me. I’ve just run across the fucking road, pulled my nunchukas out of my pocket and smashed the windscreen. He drove off. There were loads of people in the queue, but nobody really knew what was going on. He was at the front, behind a barrier, so I don’t think a lot of people saw it – all they saw was me jump in and start bashing him.

  Some of the guys on the door were wearing bulletproof vests even before then. I’ve worked in loads of places where the doormen have them on. I haven’t worn one once, because if they’re going to shoot you then they’re going to fucking shoot you. A fucking arsehole’s going to shoot you in the head if you wear a bulletproof vest. Someone in their right mind isn’t going to shoot you anyway.

  A lot of the doormen do wear bulletproof vests when they’re going out of town to work, especially in London. I know that guys who work in Birmingham won’t wear them, but they’ll go to places like Manchester to work and they’ll put them on. Whereas me, I just go as I am. The other doormen would say to me, ‘Why aren’t you wearing a bulletproof vest?’ But I thought, I can’t afford one!

  I wear big baggy trousers just so I can kick, so I feel loose. I feel tight wearing normal clothes, but with a bulletproof vest you can’t really move around and you sweat like fuck as well.

  The rave scene brought the drug scene. The drug scene brought the guns in. The rave scene brought a lot of firms together too – a lot of firms that were fighting each other before became a lot closer. With the rave scene came Es – then came some other drugs. It all brought the criminal underworld together: gangs that were fighting started joining up, becoming friends, making bigger gangs and fighting other gangs.

  But when that guy pulled a gun on me in London it shook me – it put a bit of fear into me because, despite my reaction at the time, I still don’t know what I’d do in a similar situation. I think the doors at the time were a lot easier than they are now. There was a lot less trouble on the rave scene than there is now. The doors are a lot harder.

  CHAPTER NINE

  One of the best countries I’ve visited, fighting-wise, has got to be Hawaii. It was unreal: back in ’94, I got to the airport and they gave me one of those ‘Aloha’ flower welcomes, then I was taken away in a stretch limo to my hotel. I got up in the early hours of the morning because I had to do Good Morning Breakfast Hawaii, and then there were radio interviews, press interviews and press conferences. When I was walking down Waikiki Beach under those big billboards, all I could see was my picture in lights: ‘Dennis Alexio versus Barrington Patterson for the IKF World Heavyweight Championship’.

  DEV

  All down the years of training, we’d have a compulsory medical when he had a fight and nobody ever picked up on his eye. Nobody. And then we went to America. The medical is to check the fighter is in a fit state to compete – you’ve got to check the blood pr
essure especially and check them for any cuts and bruises, that type of thing. Check the eyes; check general fitness. Every fighter has to have a medical within a couple of hours or half a day before they fight. So you go for the fight and do the weigh-in, then you see the doctor and you get the rules, and then you fight, and that’s the process – weigh-in, doctor and then go on. So, if they don’t make the weight, they’re not going to fight anyway. The doctors would always put the torch in his eyes and say, ‘Look left, up and down,’ just to check maybe for drugs, etc. We went over to Hawaii when he was fighting over there and the doctor said to him, ‘Can you see?’ and he said, ‘Yeah!’ The doctor made him put something over his eye and said, ‘What am I doing?’ He said, ‘It’s a little bit fuzzy but I can see the light.’ I think the doctor said something like ‘Remarkable’ to him.

  Throughout my whole kickboxing career, I never told anyone about my eye – never! I just didn’t want people knowing. Dev didn’t even know himself until I told him years down the line. If I had told them in the beginning I probably wouldn’t have got as far as I have. Even though I had medicals, I always blagged them. I’d say I had blurred vision at that moment and I’d be OK in a bit. I’d always pass the fucking medical because they’d only ever check the one eye!

  After I got better at kickboxing, the only person I told was Dev. Nobody else knew I was blind in one eye in any fight I had. But I never wanted him to stop any of my fights; I’d rather fight till I’m dead and I told him to never throw in the towel.

  It was after the fight in Hawaii that I told him. I’m the joker of the gym so I was always having a laugh with him. But this time I was serious. ‘Dev, I wanna tell you something.’

  ‘What, Barrington?’