Atlas

by Teddy Atlas

  One of the best things about broadcasting is that it gives me a platform, a forum. As most fight fans, I think, are aware, I’m not timid about saying what’s on my mind. It’s gotten me in trouble on occasion, but if I see something going on that isn’t right, I’m gonna talk about it. It’s important to be able to stand up for a fighter who got screwed, and be able to say, “These friggin’ crooked bastards. You know, they used to get away with this quietly, but they ain’t getting away with it quietly no more.”

  Everybody knows that there are a lot of things wrong in boxing. I’ve been saying for a while now that we’ve come to the point where we need some kind of outside intervention, the involvement of a federal commission and some kind of national system. The alphabet soup of sanctioning groups is a corrupt joke. I once asked Max Kellerman while we were on the air, “Max, you know what the WBA stands for?”

  “What, Teddy?”

  “We Be Asking.”

  “How about the WBC?”

  “We Be Collecting.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask about the IBF.”

  “That’s easy. I Be Felonious.”

  It’s not an exaggeration, either. Bob Lee, the president of the IBF, was indicted for taking bribes from promoters and managers in exchange for rigging rankings and sanctioning bouts. Bob Arum and Cedric Kushner, two of the promoters who testified to paying the bribes, were later fined by the Nevada State Athletic Commission. (Despite overwhelming evidence, Lee was convicted only of money laundering and tax fraud, though he was sentenced to twenty-two months in jail with parole.)

  A couple of years ago I was asked to go to Washington to speak in front of the Senate. Because of my schedule with ESPN, I couldn’t make it on the day they’d set aside. What they did instead—and as far as I know this was the first and only time they’d ever done this—was have me address the Senate over a speakerphone. There I was in my home, on the telephone, and in the Senate chambers a speaker system was broadcasting my voice. I went over a checklist of things that boxing needed, including universal medical standards and federal rules and bylaws that each state would be required to enforce. I said that we needed a way of making sure that fighters knew what the actual monies were when they signed to a fight, instead of the way things stood now, where a promoter or manager could use fancy accounting to cheat them out of their share of the purse. I pointed out that the landscape of boxing as it was currently constituted encouraged corruption, that there were certain states where the promoters actually paid the fight judges, which is insane—it’s the equivalent of George Steinbrenner paying the umpires who work Yankee games.

  Why aren’t other sports run like boxing? Because if they were, the credibility of those sports would be shot. Because somebody with some sense would stand up and stop it from happening. In boxing, those voices of reason and sanity are almost never heard. There is no one at the watchtower. In fact, there is no tower.

  That’s only a slight exaggeration. Senator John McCain has been speaking up for a while. In fact, he’s been promoting a bill to empower a national boxing commissioner or czar, which is something I’ve been suggesting for a long time, too. The Senate Commerce Committee actually approved the bill by a voice vote, but as of this writing the bill has yet to be passed on the floor. The opposition to a reform that seems only to benefit boxers and boxing fans is odd, but perhaps it’s no coincidence that Don King curried favor with Dennis Hastert and other Republicans now opposing the bill by taking a prominent role in the 2004 elections. King also donated heavily and made campaign commercials for President Bush, whose signature would be required to pass the bill.

  The funny thing is that if a boxing czar actually were established and put into place, I’d be scared to death. You know the old saying, “Be careful what you wish for.” Well, in this case, I’d be terrified that we’d get the wrong person. Cus always talked about that. He said, I’d never want to see that happen because I don’t trust the government. They screw up everything. It could be worse than before, because instead of pockets of corruption you might have a single corrupt guy running the whole thing. But in the end even Cus admitted it would be worth the risk.

  Assuming it did happen, and they were looking for a guy, I have some ideas. My top choice would be Joe Spinelli, the former New York inspector general, who was an FBI agent for ten years and was the first guy to bring Don King under investigation. He has a passion for boxing and an understanding of it, plus he’s incorruptible. Another guy I’d feel good about is Tom Hoover, who played for seven NBA teams and was an inspector with the New York State Athletic Commission of Boxing. He’s a good man who knows boxing, and he’s tough. He’s the kind of guy who would physically throw someone out of his office if he thought they were hurting the sport. Pennsylvania Boxing Commissioner Greg Serb would also be a good choice. My wildcard pick would have been somebody like the late Jack Newfield, who wrote extensively about the corruption in boxing and was a guy of great character and principle.

  Some people have asked me if I would consider doing it. My answer is that a lot would depend on the amount of authority they gave to the job. If the czar was just a bullshit figurehead with a title, I’d turn it down flat. But if the job entailed real power, I do feel that I could do a lot of good in a spot like that.

  As I get older, I’m beginning to come face-to-face with the things I’ve accomplished and the things I haven’t accomplished. When I look to the future these days, I think about what I’m going to leave behind.

  I’d love for my foundation to eventually open up homes for kids in all of the New York boroughs. A place where kids off the streets and kids who were being abused could go and be part of a cooperative living situation that centered around a boxing program and could give them what a proper home would give them—care, direction, instruction, discipline, accountability, and dreams. I’d like to see that grow—which is why I need to see my foundation keep growing—so it isn’t just one house like that, but six, seven, eight houses in different areas of the country helping kids who need a safe, healthy environment that would give them the physical and emotional things they need.

  I’ve been lucky in so many ways. Who would ever believe that a guy who was educated on a corner in Stapleton and in Rikers (and later in a gym in Catskill) would have one kid graduating from college and—my daughter—in law school?

  I wish my father and mother were still around so they could see Nicole and Teddy when their graduation days come. I know this is going to sound funny, but I also wish Cus could see them. As much as there was good and bad about him, I wish that he could have been around as a grandfather type of figure, maybe taught Teddy a few lessons in the gym. I also wish he could have maybe seen me as a commentator. I think he would have gotten a kick out of that. Boy, he used to hate boxing commentators. Howard Cosell would get him so furious, he’d turn the sound off. I’d come in the room and the sound would be down, and I’d say, “What’s wrong with the TV, Cus?” And he would say, “I can’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Sit down and don’t touch that knob.”

  As long as I’m going in this vein, I also wish Cus and my mom and dad could have seen this house that I built for the kids and Elaine. It’s a funny story about the house. The truth is, I waited too long to build it, and when I finally got around to it, I took a huge gamble. I can say that now because it worked out. We went ahead and built a beautiful sixty-eight-hundred-square-foot house eight years ago when I had no big-time fighter and no real money coming in, and if I hadn’t been hired by ESPN subsequently, who knows whether I would have been able to keep it? But I just felt like I had to do it. We had been in a small apartment all those years, and if I waited any longer the kids would grow up without ever having what I felt they should have.

  As it turned out, it was one of the best things I ever did. Now we’ve got this great house on Todt Hill in Staten Island, and the kids were able to spend a few years in it before going off to college. It was like a big Christmas gift to
them, and to me, too, to be able to give them something so tangible after all the years and all the paydays I’ve walked away from.

  I never had a real family. I mean, I had my mother and father and my brothers and my sister, but we didn’t know how to be a family. We didn’t know how to take care of each other. I think that’s why I have these alternate charges of electricity that run through me. Some people might go numb in that kind of circumstance; with me it just pushed my feelings to extremes. I can be sensitive and compassionate and giving to the point where it’s almost too much. If somebody has needs and problems, I get moved and affected so much it almost controls me, that’s how much I feel compelled to help. At the same time, if somebody acts disloyal, if they betray me, and then they try to avoid taking responsibility, if they hide behind the excuses of convenience or weakness or selfishness, I’ll go to a place of wanting to hurt them. I’ll be ready to give up everything to right what I consider a wrong—even though I know that my response might not be socially acceptable.

  I’m very aware of the extremes within me. The caring and the anger. I’ve gotten better over the years at modulating them and controlling them, but I won’t pretend they don’t still exist.

  I guess in some ways my whole life has been a journey and a search for family. I wasn’t some kid from the streets. I was a doctor’s son who grew up in a nice house in a good neighborhood. It just goes to show that you can be lost and alone and neglected in any kind of surroundings. Even though I was never able to get what I needed from my siblings or my parents, I’ve managed to get there in other ways, with the family I’ve made for myself, with Elaine and Nicole and Teddy.

  For that alone, I consider myself a very fortunate man.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Mom and Dad, I wish we could have shared more together. My children, Nicole and Teddy III, thank you for giving me something I never understood—unconditional love. My wife, Elaine, thank you for reminding me that loyalty does exist. Peter Alson, I’m glad you asked to do this project because you’re not only a tremendous writer but the right person for this. Thanks for a great job. Cus D’Amato, I’m only angry you didn’t get to train my son. Thanks for helping me have a career in this sport. Jack Newfield, rest well and thank you for worrying about me and then calling in the cavalry when necessary. Joe Spinelli, Kevin McCabe, and Tom Hoover, thank you for being part of the cavalry. My foundation committee, thank you for keeping my dad’s name alive and working. George Horowitz, CEO of Everlast, thanks for saying yes each time the foundation asked for help, and for becoming a friend. Gary and Kevin Monahan at N.B.C., thank you for all your help with the foundation, your efforts make life better for many people. Larry Coughlin, I wish you were here, but thank you for always standing with me. Chris Reid, I’m sorry we didn’t get that title shot a bit earlier, but thanks for being the most loyal fighter I ever knew. Sal McCarthy, thanks for bringing that fighter to me many years ago, otherwise I’d never have had your special friendship. All the celebrities that have attended my charity dinner: thank you for caring and making it work. Michael Moorer: you disappointed me once, but thank you for giving me the chance to train the heavyweight champion of the world, for an experience and partnership my children will never forget, and for teaching me to forgive. Nick Baffi, thanks for being my friend and guide during those years in Gleason’s Gym. David Berlin, thanks for the free legal work on behalf of the foundation and your friendship. Don Elbaum and Russell Peltz, thanks for sharing your great knowledge of the sport, and making me look a little smarter. Dr. Charles Melone, thanks for fixing my fighters’ hands and reminding me that real doctors still exist. Tyrone Jackson, you never won that world title, but to me you became a real champ by becoming a father and husband to your family. Anthony Spero, thank you for showing me that some people know how to act once they’ve made a choice—right or wrong—regardless of the consequences. Dennis Hamill, for all those articles in the New York Daily News that helped promote the foundation even when nobody knew. Cormac Gordon, for pushing the foundation in the S.I. Advance, so that it could continue to grow. Jerry Izenberg, for writing that story and giving me a way to tell my dad I loved him, and good-bye. Mark Kriegel, for spending that week in Las Vegas and chronicling each day leading to the title. Now it’s always there to remember. Brother Tim McDonald, for giving me faith in people, and rooting for me and praying for me. ESPN, and Dick Ebersol at NBC, for giving me an opportunity to leave training and do television. The New York Yankees and Robert Bernstein, for saying yes to the foundation’s requests to allow two cancer patients into the dugout with the players before a game, and making them forget they were sick. Bob Papa, my first TV partner, for helping me learn. Jeff Pirami, for emceeing the foundation dinner each year, and not getting killed. My brother, Tommy, for telling me you loved me, even while you’ve been in a place that has none. Judge Radin, for not putting me in jail, and giving me a chance to write this book. John Davimos, you let me down, but you gave me the opportunity to train Michael Moorer, and I’ll always be grateful. Gaga, my grandmother: I’m sorry we didn’t have more time to play bingo together. Mitchell P., Bobby R., Louie, Gary P., and Eddie F.: Thanks for having my back and risking yours. DanHalpern and David Hirshey at Ecco and HarperCollins, for not only buying this book but for letting me trust that it would be okay. All my kids from the Catskill Boxing Club, for giving me a reason and a purpose during those early years, and teaching me to be a father. Rudy Greco, for helping my brother Tommy. Kevin Monahan, for getting me the opportunity to cover the Olympics for NBC. Nelson Cuevas, for running the Apollo Boxing Club all those years so that kids like Mane Moore and Gary Young could grow up and develop. Jeff Mitchell: Thanks for coming to Las Vegas and Germany to support me and my family at these title fights. Fred Chetti, for standing up for me when I left Catskill, even when it wasn’t convenient. All the people at Ecco and HarperCollins who did different work to make this happen. Ron Borges: thanks for your support, loyalty, and friendship. Sean Timpone, for teaching me to respect life, not just live it. Mike Boorman: Thanks for being my cornerman and friend in Vegas and Germany. All the boxing fans who have always given me their support and have also tolerated me on TV, thank you. Peter Alson’s mom, Barbara Wasserman, thank you for transcribing hours and hours of audiotapes so that Peter could write this book, and for doing it for nothing else but the spirit of helping a son, and for doing it with a special level of care. Eddie Argenio, for the tremendous support and loyalty you gave to the foundation every year. It will never be forgotten. To all the people who buy a ticket or ad to make a donation to the foundation and help many of the less fortunate in an important way. John Rowan, for helping me get the foundation started. I hope we’re making you proud up there. Bob Jackson, Norm Stone, and Johnny Val, for looking after my son in the gym. Holt McCallany, for your commitment to the foundation and my family. Joey Trembone, for showing me what a real fighter is, without my ever seeing you throw a punch. John Cirillo, thanks for your pro bono work each year as you send out p.r. information on behalf of the foundation. All the guys at the Mercantile Exchange, for your loyalty and support to the foundation and now the Food Pantry. Bill Mikus, thank you for looking out for me and my family. Brad Blank—my agent—thanks for looking out for me, my family, and the foundation. Scott Waxman, without you this book would not have happened. Thank you. Lorraine Brancale, for having two sons who care about others and for always making me laugh, thanks. My current partner at ESPN, Joe Tessitore, a gentleman. The production team at ESPN, who travel with me and do magic to make me look good each week: Rob, Rick, Johnny, Roger, Brian, Mike, Saul, Joe, Dennis, Nick and Wayne, thanks. Allan Scotto, thanks for your loyalty and your care for boxing.

  Peter Alson would like to thank the following people for their contributions, counsel, and advice during the writing of this book: Elaine Atlas, Holt McCallany, David Berlin, Pat English, and Brother Tim McDonald.

  Thanks are also due to John Stravinsky, who first mentioned to me that Teddy was looking for a coll
aborator. To Elizabeth Shienkman, who graciously stepped back when that was the only way possible for me to take on this project. To Dan Halpern, our thoughtful and literate editor at Ecco, whose enthusiasm for this project has meant so much. To David Hirshey, Rob Grover, and everyone else at HarperCollins who had a hand in helping.

  Though there is no possible way to express the true measure of my thanks to my mother, Barbara Wasserman, I will try: Mom, no exaggeration, without your help, this book would not have gotten done; from your help with transcribing to your patient counsel to your encouragement, you were nothing short of incredible. Thank you.

  And to my wife, Alice O’Neill, who is always there for me, and whose support and patience in often trying circumstances mean the world to me.

  About the Authors

  TEDDY ATLAS works as a color analyst on ESPN’s Friday Night Fights and was a boxing commentator for NBC’s coverage of the Olympic games in Sydney (2000) and Athens (2004). He is also founder and chairman of the Dr. Theodore A. Atlas Foundation, named for his father, which has raised and donated more than two million dollars to individuals and organizations in need.

  PETER ALSON is the author of the acclaimed memoir Confessions of an Ivy League Bookie; One of a Kind, a biography of poker legend Stu “the Kid” Ungar; and the upcoming poker memoir Take Me to the River. He lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife and daughter.

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  PRAISE FOR

  ATLAS