by Bob Halloran
Saturday was April 13, 1996. Six thousand people paid their way into the FleetCenter to see a seven-fight card featuring Ward-Veader and Rosenblatt-Davis. Borges was there, and he ran into Micky and Mickey entering through a side door.
“Tonight, the other guy’s gonna find out what it means to be a professional,” Borges said to Micky.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Micky said with a grin.
It was a much nicer welcome than Veader received as he entered the arena that night. Although he was a fellow New Englander, Veader was treated as an outsider. His popular Irish opponent was going to have a significant advantage in crowd support fighting in Boston.
“Some of Micky’s people got up in my face and started swearing at me right away,” Veader remembers. “I knew it would be his home-field advantage, but he had an even bigger crowd with him than I expected. I was never treated like that. I did most of my fighting in New England, and people either knew me, or at least respected me.”
Ring announcer J. J. Wright got the evening started, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready for some action tonight or what?”
The partisan crowd wanted action. They booed Veader and cheered wildly for Micky during the introductions. Micky acknowledged the fans, but focused on staying loose and shaking off some nerves by bouncing up and down. Veader kept his head down and moved slowly from side to side in his corner.
“I can’t say I’ve fought the toughest opponents, some decent fighters,” Veader said during a pre-fight interview with ESPN. “But I’m ready to take the step up. I’m going to win the fight that Micky Ward never won.”
When the opening bell sounded, Micky bounded out of his corner and went aggressively after Veader, landing several left uppercuts and a few body shots. It was more of an onslaught than Veader had ever experienced. He tried to keep his distance, but Micky continued his encroachment. Still, Veader’s boxing skills were immediately evident. Veader had talent. His footwork was fluid, graceful, and in perfect balance, and his hands were fast. His jab was effective. Veader was in a new place, in front of a large crowd and an angry man, but he was not intimidated.
“When you’re in tight, watch for that left hand,” Prout told him between the first and second rounds. “Tie him up in there and let the ref break you apart.”
Prout was worried about Micky’s power. The plan was to make sure that Micky couldn’t set up camp on the inside where he could fire his left-hand body shots at will. Early in the second round, Micky landed a stinging left jab and moved in close. He was able to get inside without paying a price, and once inside, he opened up a cut over Veader’s right eye. It was a sizeable gash, one that could force a stoppage.
“He caught me just right,” Veader said later. “It wasn’t a hard shot, but I got a good-sized gash. . . . That was new for me. I was never really cut before.”
Unfortunately for Micky, referee Gerry Leone said the cut was caused by a clash of heads. Leone was wrong about that. Leone and the fight doctor looked closely at the cut between rounds. Veader’s corner worked feverishly to close the cut and ensure the fight would continue.
“Put your head back,” Prout told his young fighter. “You gotta box, baby. Just a little graze, it ain’t nothing.” Then, pleading with the doctor, Prout said, “It’s early. It’s early. Let me work, Doc, please. Close your eyes. See, I got it closed, Doc.”
Desperation inspired Veader in the third round. In the final minute of the round, Veader landed a big right-hand body shot that hurt Micky. That renewed Veader’s confidence, and he was able to land several more power shots before the end of the round. Micky was surprised by Veader’s power.
“I’ll be honest with you,” Micky said after the fight. “He’s a good puncher. I got hit there in the third round, and it threw my heart rhythm off. My heartbeats got screwed up. I couldn’t catch my breath. That’s why I stepped back. I tried to wait around to try to catch my breath, but I couldn’t. I was getting scared. I didn’t know what to do. But I was not going down.”
Micky survived the third-round assault, but while his heart recovered, he lost the third, fourth, and fifth rounds. Fans unaware of his physical ailment and remembering the end of Micky’s first career were concerned about Micky’s sudden return to inactivity. It was as if the clock had turned back five years, and once again Micky wasn’t throwing punches. In the sixth, Veader landed a solid combination that hurt Micky again. This time, however, the barrage served to invigorate Micky. Micky pounded his chest and yelled, “C’mon!” Veader accepted the invitation and moved in. Micky stopped him in his tracks with a hard left. Then he doubled up with two more lefts that stunned Veader. It wasn’t enough for Micky to win the round, but it might have been enough to make Veader nervous. “You got him,” O’Keefe said after the sixth round. “You got him right where you want him. All you have to do now is take your time. Once you’re inside, tap, tap. Take the step, and let it go! This guy’s never experienced the likes of Micky Ward!”
O’Keefe was right, but he had to be worried about the scorecards. If this fight went the distance, it would be difficult for Micky to win, because he had given away so many of the middle rounds. After a fairly even seventh round, Micky was behind by one point on two of the judges’ cards, and the third judge had him ahead by one. O’Keefe made no secret of the fact that the bout was slipping away. He told Micky it was time to go for it all.
“The left, Micky. It’s time to land that left!”
It happened quickly. With thirty seconds to go in the eighth round, Veader was sliding with his back along the ropes when Micky hit him with a left hook. It was a shot that stunned Veader more than it hurt him, but he looked confused. He wondered if Micky thought he was hurt, and if he would pounce on him or pull back. While he was wondering, Micky landed two quick shots to his ribs. Veader had been able to fend Micky off for the entire fight, but now as Micky had put it, “He was in Disneyland,” and he had to make it through two more rounds. Veader countered, but Micky ducked low. Then, from out of his crouch, Micky rose quickly and brought a hard left hook with him. The blow landed flush. Veader was down in an instant, sprawling against the lower ropes. It was as good and clean a shot as there is in boxing, and it put Veader on his ass. To his credit, Veader got right up. He indicated to the ref that he was okay. Leone believed him and signaled to Micky to return. There were only ten seconds to go in the round, and Veader was able to survive. “Now, you’ve got him,” O’Keefe reiterated. “Go right after him. Double up. Don’t let up on him. He’s gonna need more time to recover. Now don’t get careless. But go get him, Micky. Fucking go get him!”
Micky emerged for the ninth round and quickly put Veader up against the ropes. Veader ducked and bobbed and weaved. He threw harmless jabs in an attempt to keep Micky away. He was on the defensive. Micky began throwing his punches with pinpoint accuracy. He hurt Veader with another left hand. Veader bounced from one set of ropes to another, and the punishment continued. The punches were coming from everywhere. Veader fought courageously, taking the abuse and refusing to go down. Finally, just when it appeared that Micky had tired and his barrage had subsided, Leone jumped in and gave Veader a standing eight-count. At first, it appeared to be an advantage for Veader. It would give him time to recover. But it also gave Micky a chance to catch a breather.
“Are you all right?” Leone asked Veader, and Veader responded with a head nod. Leone allowed the fight to continue.
With Veader’s back still against the ropes, Micky threw wildly. He couldn’t seem to finish off the wounded warrior in front of him. Micky, exhausted from his incessant, all-out attack leaned against Veader who, exhausted and dizzy, leaned against Micky. The two battlers appeared to be holding each other up, but Micky was merely sizing his opponent up. He had been trying to knock Veader out with head shots, but the head of the Viper had proven to be too elusive. So, Micky fired one more left into Veader’s ribs.
“The kid crumpled,” O’Keefe said. “It was over,
and Micky was the champ.”
Veader rested momentarily against the lower rope and picked himself up. But he was met by the referee who waved off the fight. Micky raced over to his corner, dropped to one knee, and thanked God for this moment—his moment. He’d done it!
O’Keefe sprinted into the ring and, operating on pure adrenaline, lifted Micky into the air. They had done this together. Micky raised his hands in exultation, and O’Keefe lowered him down just a bit and kissed him on the cheek. Micky returned to the corner of the ring and dropped once again to one knee.
By now, Micky’s mom had entered the ring. She waited for him to rise, and then she hugged her bloody, sweaty son. Micky had finally won the kind of big, important fight that had eluded him so many times in the past.
“I’ve been through a lot of tough fights and fought some of the best in the world,” Micky said after the fight. “I take my hat off to this kid. But I’ve been waiting a long time for this. I’ve paid my dues. I knew he was hurt once I went upstairs and then went downstairs. You don’t get up from those.”
Veader agreed, “The ones that knock you on your butt are the ones you don’t see. And I didn’t see that one, and the next thing I know I was on the canvas. It was all Micky Ward. He took the fight to me. He deserved to win it. He caught me with a shot, a hook, dropped me on my ass. He hit me on the jaw. I was still dazed and then he hit me with a body shot, and I went down and that was it. It’s plain and simple. I’ll take this back to the gym and maybe I’ll learn from it. But I’ll be back definitely.”
Micky, who had left the big time behind five years ago, was back. He didn’t just win. He won by a knockout. He beat an undefeated fighter in front of six thousand people at the FleetCenter.
“I knew Micky had a lot of heart,” said Joe Lake. “Mickey O’Keefe had him in tremendous shape. He’s losing every second of every round, but in the ninth round he hits him with that body shot, and the fight’s over. Now all the people who thought Micky was done, they start crawling back into the picture.”
That included Top Rank promoter Bob Arum who witnessed the fight. And that could only mean better fights and bigger money.
“I can remember at the end of the eighth round,” Valenti says. “Veader’s corner was looking at me, and they’re saying, ‘You tricked us!’ I didn’t trick them. They wanted the fight. Next thing, the house goes berserk when Micky wins, and Arum was right up on his feet with them. He was ecstatic. He had abandoned Micky, and here he is stopping this 31-0 kid.”
It was Micky’s sixth-straight win by knockout, and his sixth straight win without his brother or father around. They could only watch that night from their separate prisons, but Micky knew they were on his side. He told the ESPN audience after the fight:
“I just want to say hello to my brother, Dickie. This is for you, Dick. I love you. And for my father. I love you. And for little Dickie and my daughter, Kasie, who are watching, and I love you both.”
After a few minutes of quiet reflection in the locker room, Micky showered, packed his bag, and left with Mickey O’Keefe. There was a party going on at the Highland Tap, and Micky stopped in to receive the congratulations of his friends, fans, and family. It was a good night. O’Keefe stayed for ten minutes and left unnoticed. He looked back and saw Micky smiling and laughing. He was the toast of the town, the best thing to happen to Lowell since, well, maybe since forever.
CHAPTER TEN
The real money in the junior welterweight division in the spring of 1996 was in the control of Oscar De La Hoya. The Golden Boy had already won titles in the super featherweight and lightweight divisions, and two months after Micky’s stirring knockout of Veader, De La Hoya was scheduled to fight Julio Cesar Chavez for the WBC light welterweight title. If Micky could get the winner of that fight, he’d be looking at his first six-figure payday.
There was also the possibility that Micky would fight former WBC super featherweight champion Gabriel Ruelas on the undercard of another Dana Rosenblatt fight. Rosenblatt had earned the fight that Micky never could. He was going to fight Vinny Pazienza in Atlantic City. Rosenblatt suffered the only loss of his career that night, going down in the fourth round.
But both possibilities were long shots. Chavez and De La Hoya were probably looking for bigger and better things than Micky at this time, and Ruelas spent his career fighting at 135 pounds, and wasn’t keen on moving up in weight. So, Micky reached for a sure thing. He accepted a rematch with Veader for thirty thousand dollars.
“That was my first negotiation,” Joe Lake claims. “I negotiated with Top Rank and Ron Katz for the second Veader fight. They didn’t want to pay him that kind of money, because they got him for next to nothing the first time. But Veader’s people wanted the fight, because they thought Micky got lucky and that he would never do it again. So, we got Micky some money for what we figured would be an easy night.”
The rematch would be held at Foxwoods Resort Casino in Connecticut three months after their first encounter.
“I took a couple of weeks off after that first fight,” Veader says. “Then they came with the idea for the rematch, and I said, ‘Yeah.’ I wanted it. I always felt confident I could beat the guy. I knew I was doing all the right things in the first fight until he hit me with that shot.”
Micky, who had been in the gym every day for ten months, also took a few weeks off after the first Veader fight. He arrived at the weighin the day before the fight a pound and a half over the limit. So O’Keefe brought him to a sauna in the hotel to sweat it out. After an hour, Micky had lost the pound and a half, and O’Keefe had lost closer to eight.
The fight was promoted as “The Redemption,” which meant it had been hyped as Veader’s chance to redeem himself. The fight title and promotional hook were more than a little disrespectful to the guy who had won the first fight. It turned Micky into a role player, someone who was just supposed to play a bit part in the career of another fighter. But every fight for Micky now was an attempt to atone for his own missed opportunities. He wasn’t insulted by the focus on Veader. He was determined to make this all about his own redemption.
Micky walked out of his locker room at Foxwoods led by O’Keefe’s good friend, Danny Gilday, who was waving a large Irish flag. The crowd, already much more in favor of Micky than Veader, responded with raucous cheers. They were some of the last big cheers of the evening.
From the beginning, it was clear that this fight would not be waged the same way as the first one. Veader, who had been felled in the first fight by a couple of big head and body shots when either fighting inside or coming out of a clinch, was dead set on not letting that happen again.
“I knew the mistake I made in the first fight,” Veader says. “He’s kind of awkward. It was tough to box with him. He was tough to figure out. I was always second-guessing myself. Towards the end of the second fight, I just started going at him, and I remember thinking this is how I should have fought the whole fight.”
Fans would like to have seen that, too. The first three rounds were identical to one another. Micky would either punch and jab his way inside or just walk through a couple of Veader punches. Either way, once he got inside, Veader grabbed hold of him, especially cognizant of tying up Micky’s left hand. He definitely didn’t want to get hit with that meat hook again.
Nothing changed in the fourth, and referee Steve Smoger was not happy about it. At one point, he admonished the fighters, saying: “I’m giving you guys the opportunity to work your way out of these clenches. Let’s go. No more holding on.”
It was a warning to both fighters, but it was meant for Veader. He was the guilty party. In the sixth round, Smoger reprimanded Veader again about the excessive holding. And in the seventh round, Smoger pulled Veader aside for a third time. Smoger was well within his rights to take a point away from Veader, but he did not.
“It’s time to switch to southpaw, Micky,” O’Keefe advised him before the eighth round. “If you turn that way, he’ll have trouble holding
the left. Come at him from a different angle and see how he handles that. Go for it, Micky.”
The strategy worked. In the eighth, Micky was able to get inside and stay there long enough to land a dozen or so lefts. Finally, free to throw, Micky assailed Veader with assorted uppercuts, body shots, and hooks. A few of them seemed to hurt Veader, who quickly covered up. He was grabbing hold of Micky’s right hand now, and the left was busy finding its target. Veader’s plan to survive was backfiring badly. Each time Micky moved inside, Veader took a couple of blows before he could hold on, and those blows were taking their toll. The scorecards may have been close, but Veader was getting beat up worse than he had been in the first fight. Another cut had opened up over his right eye, and his face was growing puffy.
“You’re the champion, Mick,” O’Keefe said before the start of the final round. “You’re the champion. Go out there and show him. You’re the champion. The champion!”
