Irish Thunder

by Bob Halloran

  That was the prevailing opinion of the day because Micky’s losses were just as memorable as this victory. Even Micky wasn’t offended when Ring magazine offered a critical evaluation following the Corbin fight, “Ward, impressive win against Corbin, but a big loss is just around the corner.”

  The experts weren’t expecting much from Micky Ward, and for his part, Micky wasn’t surprised by his doubters and detractors. He would say the same things about a fighter who had lost title shots against Frankie Warren, Harold Brazier, Charles Murray, Vince Phillips, and Zab Judah. He had to admit it was a long list of failures.

  “Hey, it’s true. Every time I’ve stepped up, I’ve come up short,” Micky said honestly.

  But with the help of a new member to Team Ward, that was about to change.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Cutmen are like umpires and offensive lineman. The only time you notice them is when they’re not doing their job. Al Gavin always did his job. Born in Brooklyn in 1934, Gavin picked up the sport his father loved, even had twenty amateur fights before he realized that his skills didn’t match his passion. So he put down his gloves and picked up an endswell, an ironically named hunk of metal used to reduce the swelling on a boxer’s face during a fight. Al Gavin eventually became one of the best cutmen in the business.

  Gavin was a landscaper and gardener for the New York City Parks Department by day, and a student of blood and cuts by night. He got his education at Stillman’s Gym on West Fifty-fourth Street in Brooklyn. Stillman’s was the center of the boxing universe during boxing’s golden age. It was the place where anybody fighting at Madison Square Garden trained before the fight. It was where Rocky Graziano smoked a cigarette in between rounds of his sparring sessions. It was where Jersey Joe Walcott and Joe Louis pounded the heavy bag for hours. It was where everybody stopped what they were doing when Sugar Ray Robinson did anything.

  Boxing’s elite hung out at Stillman’s. They spit on the floor, smoked cigars, and then went over to the Neutral Corner bar for a few drinks. That’s the environment in which Al Gavin learned to ply his trade. For a student, this was definitely old school. Gavin rubbed elbows with and observed the truest professionals in the sport: tough guys with hard edges, but who went to work every day and who respected the sport of boxing. Gavin learned from some of the best cutmen and trainers in the business, guys like Chickie Ferrara, Freddie Brown, and Whitey Bimstein. These guys knew what they were doing, and by the time he graduated from Stillman’s, so did Gavin.

  “As for what I do, I just have a feel for it,” Gavin once told USA Today columnist Thomas Hauser. “It’s a combination of art, science, and luck. Time is important. If there’s a problem, I go to work as soon as the fighter reaches the corner. I don’t get excited. I know where to put the pressure. Pressure is the most important element. That begins the process of stopping the bleeding.”

  The art of the cutman is in the dexterity, the speed, and the calmness under the pressure in which he operates. The cutman gets less than a minute to work. He needs to assess the severity of a cut, determine a course of action, and get to it. Like the boxer he treats, the best cutman is the most prepared. He has petroleum jelly smeared on the back of his hands that he can apply to the fighter’s face to loosen the skin and help prevent cuts. He has long Q-tips in his mouth or behind his ears that have already been soaked in adrenaline hydrochloride, a chemical that decreases the flow of blood. He drapes a cold, wet towel around his neck, which he can use to wipe blood away, and carries a bottle of Avitine, another common coagulant that can be placed inside a cut. The job of a cutman is to prolong fights that might otherwise have to be stopped.

  “If you can’t stop the flow, then you go,” Gavin repeated often.

  Through the years, Gavin worked with champs and chumps. He patched up heavyweight champion Lennox Lewis, and he made twenty bucks helping kids in four-rounders. His reputation grew to the point where everybody wanted him. Team Ward wanted him, and they got him.

  “If you’re gonna be the manager for Micky, at least let me have a little say in what goes on,” Al Valenti told Sal when their partnership was just forming.

  “Done.”

  “Good,” Al continued. “Now, the first thing you’re gonna have to do, because I don’t want to have to deal with Dickie Eklund, is you gotta bring in a good guy. I have just the guy. I have the utmost respect for him. He’s everything boxing should be. He’s honest. He’s sincere. He’s hardworking, and he’s knowledgeable.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Al Gavin. I already talked to him about coming on board, and you know what he says to me? He says, ‘All right, for Micky Ward I’d do anything. ’ How’s that for something? He’s a big fan of Micky’s, says he likes the way he fights and how he conducts himself. That’s what he said, ‘how he conducts himself.’”

  “How much does he cost?” Sal wondered.

  “He takes the standard 3 percent. Don’t worry about that. He’ll be worth every penny.”

  Al Valenti felt better immediately. Even though all indications were that prison had mellowed Dickie, Al wanted to make sure Micky had a calming influence in the corner during his fights. Gavin would be that influence. Things seemed to finally be falling into place. Micky had good management in Valenti and LoNano. Dickie was back doing what he did best—getting Micky into shape. Gavin was on board. And Micky was a popular, marketable fighter who had just won a TV fight in convincing fashion. Team Ward was ready to make the next fight.

  Valenti and LoNano began by pursuing Ray Oliveira, a thirty-one-year-old out of Fall River, Massachusetts. Oliveira was once a legitimate contender, but like Micky, his career had had its ups and downs. Six years earlier, he was given back-to-back title fights against Zach Padilla and Jake Rodriguez, and he lost them both. He was then relegated to fighting a bunch of no-names in places such as Warwick, Rhode Island, and the Host Inn in Sturbridge, Massachusetts. His career started to take off again when he beat Charles Murray for the lightly regarded NABF light welterweight title, but the success was short-lived when he lost back-to-back fights again, this time to Reggie Green and Vernon Forrest. So he returned to pulling down a couple of hundred bucks fighting at the Rhodes-on-the-Pawtuxet in Cranston, Rhode Island.

  Oliveira was still on that comeback trail when talks between his management team and Micky’s started heating up. Even though Micky could have been looking beyond Oliveira and trying to land a top-ten fighter, Sal and Al were thinking about a smaller step forward. Sal had just formed SNL Boxing to begin working as Micky’s manager and promoter. With Al’s help, they planned on returning to New Hampshire to put on another show, this time with Micky and Oliveira headlining. The fight would sell out, they believed, as two New Englanders fought to shove past one another in order to climb up the ranks of the junior welterweight division.

  ESPN’s Russell Peltz said he’d put Micky back on TV in October if Sal and Al could find a venue and an opponent. The venue was easy. Al suggested staging the fight at the Icenter in Salem. It was a small ice rink just over the Massachusetts border, but it could easily be converted into a boxing venue. Once they had the television date and the location secured, Sal and Al began negotiating with Oliveira’s manager Jimmy Birchfield. That’s when things started to fall apart.

  “If this fight’s gonna happen,” Birchfield told Sal and Al, “I want to be the promoter, because I want to figure in on the upside.”

  “What upside?” Valenti protested. “ESPN’s gonna pay you fifty grand. You’re gonna give Micky and Ray twenty-five or thirty grand apiece. You’ve got a building that’s costing ten thousand. You haven’t done the undercard yet. You haven’t got the officials. You haven’t paid for insurance. What upside are you thinking there’s gonna be?”

  “Well, if there’s no upside, what are we making the fight for?”

  “For the next one and the one after that.”

  “And if there’s no upside, why do you want to promote it?”

  “Same reason
. Plus, we’ve already done the legwork. We got ESPN. We got the date. We got the building. We came to you. This is our deal, and we’re going to see it through.”

  The conversations with Birchfield went on like that for weeks. The two sides fought over which fighter would be paid more, and whose name would appear above the other name on the fight posters.

  “Jimmy Birchfield hemmed and hawed, saying he wanted the lead, and for Ray’s name to be on top of Micky’s. That matters to the fighters,” Sal explained. “Micky Ward, after beating Corbin isn’t about to look at a poster with a big shot of Ray Oliviera and a little Micky in the background. Ray Oliveira is not Micky Ward. Plus, I’m making this fight. And my fighter is going to be on top. No way is Ray gonna get the same money as Micky Ward either. We’re giving Ray a shot. They should be thankful for the shot.”

  Birchfield either didn’t see it that way or he didn’t really want to make the fight. Finally, a frustrated Peltz called to find out why Sal and Al didn’t have an opponent for Micky yet. When he learned of the difficulties getting Oliveira, Peltz started throwing out other possibilities. On the list of potential opponents was Reggie Green. Sal and Al couldn’t believe it. Green was ranked seventh in the world. He had just lost the WBA junior welterweight championship fight to Sharmba Mitchell in a majority decision. One of the judges had scored the bout even. That’s how good Green was. If he was willing to fight Micky in Micky’s backyard in a fight promoted by SNL Boxing, Sal and Al were all for it.

  “Go get me Reggie Green,” Sal told Peltz. “I’m ready to jump up to another level, and I’m gonna cut Birchfield’s legs out from under him just for being an asshole.”

  “Are you serious?” Peltz asked seeking confirmation.

  “You bet I am. Make the fight with Reggie Green. Give him the same offer. And tell Birchfield, ‘Thank you very much.’”

  Peltz called back ten minutes later with the news that Micky Ward would be fighting Reggie Green on October 1 at the Salem Icenter on ESPN. Micky was back on national television fighting a contender for twenty-five thousand dollars, and Micky got every dime of that purse. Sal covered all the expenses. His new company, SNL Boxing promoted the fight, and he just gave flat fees to everyone involved. Gavin and Dickie were given their appropriate percentages, but their money didn’t come out of Micky’s end. And Sal received absolutely nothing as Micky’s manager; however, as the promoter, when he was finished handing out all the checks, Sal claims he was left with about a three-thousand-dollar profit.

  “You won’t find a member of Micky’s family that likes Sal,” Joe Lake says. “He tried to keep everything hidden about how much money he made. His battle cry was always, ‘I made no money.’ That was false. I know he made money with Judah, because why would you put Micky in there with a guy he couldn’t beat for short money. Micky got twelve grand for that fight. It doesn’t make any sense unless you’re getting money on the side.”

  Lake explained how it could work, and how he suspected it did work with Sal.

  “By you being the agent, you’re making your own side deal. It’s easy for you to say ‘How much money is in this fight?’ Once you know how much money is in the fight, you tell the fighter something less, maybe ten thousand, twenty thousand less. He agrees to the fight and the amount, and you get the money off the side.”

  That’s just speculation, of course. For his part, Micky needed only to know that he was getting paid, and he was being handed a golden opportunity.

  “If I can’t beat a world-class contender like Reggie Green at this stage of my career,” Micky said honestly, “I don’t deserve another title shot.”

  Four days before his thirty-fourth birthday, Irish Micky Ward came bouncing out of the locker room at the Icenter accompanied by bagpipes. Fifteen hundred people heard the Irish music and knew the night was about to begin, but they couldn’t have known they were about to witness a terrific and bloody fight between two men with hearts of lions.

  Micky was more active than was his custom in the first round. He was trying to get off to a quick start against Green, who was known as a sharp-shooter and a counterpuncher. Green’s style was to Micky’s liking, however. Green was a skilled boxer, but he stood much more flat-footed than someone like Judah. Green wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to stand and fight, just like Micky.

  Pow!

  The shot came straight up the pike and landed square on Micky’s kisser. It was a hard right hand that knocked Micky backwards and almost down. Micky wobbled, but he didn’t appear hurt. He appeared angry, upset with himself for letting that one through. While he cleared his head, he took a flurry to the body. Once he had recovered, he fired back with fury. A counter left hook found its mark on Green’s ear. Then a big right hand spun Green around and off-balance. Green recovered quickly, but he had clearly yielded to Micky’s will. Green the boxer was brawling.

  “You’re getting strong! He’s getting weak!” Dickie shouted above the roar of the crowd while Micky sat in his corner after the second round. “I know he’s got heart, Mick, but forget about it! Hands up. Three or four punches. Deep breaths. He’s a good fighter, Mick. Forget about it! You’re better. Three or four. Mick, Mick, Mick, you’re following him, Mick. Let him go. Cut the ring off. Be patient. Cut the ring off! Three or four. Mick, you’re hurting him. Everything you throw, you’re hurting him. Deep breaths.”

  Micky sprinted back to the center of the ring, gloves attached to his forehead protecting his face as he stepped inside. Green blasted him on his way in, but Micky was willing to take one to give two or take two to give one. He just wanted to be close enough to Green to land the big one. In the final minute of the round, he threw a double left hook. The second one landed hard to the side of Green’s face.

  “I think this fight breaks down fairly simple in certain strategic ways,” Teddy Atlas said during ESPN’s Friday Night Fights. “Ward wants to get in, and he has to be careful he doesn’t get caught coming in by Green. And when Ward’s inside, he wants to go to the body and the uppercuts, and I think Ward can get opportunities catching Green when he’s stepping out.”

  Ward was winning the round right down to the final twenty seconds. That’s when both fighters simultaneously rose from their crouches and fired hard left hands. Green’s landed. Micky’s did not. Micky’s did not because by the time it would have reached its mark, he was already sprawling into the ropes.

  “A counter left hook hurts Ward!” exclaims blow-by-blow announcer Bob Papa. “Ward is still hurt. He’s trying to hold on. He eats an uppercut. A fighter cannot be saved by the bell in any round.”

  “Ward should stay still,” Atlas observed. “It’s obvious his legs aren’t under him.”

  If it weren’t for the ropes, Micky would have found himself in the front row. Somehow he managed to remain standing. Green was on him in an instant, and Micky was looking to survive. Only fifteen seconds remained in the round. Could he hold on? Micky was out on his feet. He was stumbling around the ring. Fortunately, his awkwardness served to protect him. Mercifully, the bell rang.

  “Ward, bloody mouth, is out on his feet,” Papa said. “And they have one minute to revive Micky Ward.”

  Perhaps stunned by what had just happened, Dickie was slow to bring the stool into the ring. Micky stood dazed in his own corner for ten seconds before he was finally able to sit down. His eyes wouldn’t focus, and his ears couldn’t hear. Dickie struggled to get the mouthpiece out as he guided Micky on to the stool.

  “How do you feel, Mick?” There was no response.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Then Al Gavin took over, “Let me see your mouth. Move to the side, Dickie. Let me see the mouth.”

  Dickie obeyed and Gavin leaned in to inspect a wound on Micky’s lower lip. What he found was a gaping hole that he could put his finger through. If Micky wanted to brush his teeth, he wouldn’t have to open his mouth.

  “Uh oh!” Dickie reacted with alarm.

  “He can go,
” Gavin said as he went to work on stopping the bleeding. Then he added, “But you’ve got to fight this round, Mick. This is a bad cut.”55

  What Gavin was saying was that he could get the cut under control for the next three minutes, but beyond that, he couldn’t be sure. Micky needed to get himself together at least enough to defend himself from any further assaults on the one-inch hole in his lip, and perhaps enough to go after a knockout.

  But Micky didn’t hear any of what was being said. He was still in a complete fog. Dickie noticed and yelled, “Wake up, Mick!” Then with increasing urgency, Dickie repeated, “Wake up! Wake up!” And for added emphasis, he slapped Micky hard and stood him up from the stool.

  Time was up. It was time to return to battle. The mouthpiece that was so difficult to get out was shoved back in. Dickie jumped up and down and encouraged Micky to do the same, but Micky did not. He was going back into the ring with a trained professional, a man well versed in the art of knocking people out. “The worst I’ve been hurt in a fight was the third round of the Reggie Green fight,” Micky said years later. “When he caught me with a left hook and tore through my lip, I could stick my tongue through it.”

  Green’s corner was aware of Micky’s condition, and they sent their guy back out with one simple directive, “Take this guy out.”

  As the bell rang to start the fourth round, Micky took a step toward the center of the ring, and a noticeable bounce had returned. He approached Green quickly and then sidestepped him. He was moving well and keeping his distance. Green seemed startled by Micky’s resilience, and it must have worried him. He responded by working cautiously, throwing a few jabs and allowing Micky to stay away. A minute passed and neither fighter had landed anything substantial. That was enough time for Micky to recover.

  “I think Green is making a mistake,” Atlas offered. “I don’t know how this fight is going to go, obviously. But right now, he’s allowing Micky to recover a little bit. . . . He knows Micky is a veteran who’s been hurt before, knows what to do when he’s hurt, but he’s being a little too cautious right here. . . . Ward doesn’t care if he loses this round, he just needs to get through this round and recover a little bit.”