Irish Thunder

by Bob Halloran

  Winning by knockout would be Micky’s best option, because there was reasonable suspicion that it would be hard to beat a Texas fighter in Texas. Strange things can happen when a fight goes to the judges’ scorecards.

  “I’m definitely aware of that,” Micky told Kimball. “Any chance I get to go in there and do anything, from the first round on, I will. I know I have to beat him decisively to win down there, but on the other hand it is going to be on HBO, so everyone will see what happened.”

  But not everyone could see what transpired before the fight in Micky’s locker room. Micky was sitting backwards on a metal folding chair getting his hands wrapped when the referee for the fight, Laurence Cole, walked in. Laurence Cole’s father, Dick Cole, was the head of the Texas Boxing Commission, a fact that already had Team Ward more than a bit wary. Dick Cole wanted Leija to win the fight.

  “You do the math,” Valenti said.

  Ron Borges and Al Valenti were standing with their backs against a far wall and heard Laurence Cole say over and over again, “I don’t want to get involved.” He said he knew that Micky liked to fight on the inside, and that he didn’t want to have to get involved in either separating the fighters, giving warnings, or making rulings on whether a clash of heads was accidental or not.

  “I want you guys to understand one thing,” Cole said. “At the end of the night, I want to be the last person they talk about. I’m telling you, I don’t want to get involved.”

  Borges heard him say it for the fifth time, and he turned to Al and said, “Well, one thing’s for certain. He’s gonna get involved.”

  Cole continued his nervous warnings in the center of the ring when he called Micky and Leija together. Micky approached Cole wearing white with black trim, Leija, black with gold trim.

  “I gave you instructions in the dressing room earlier tonight,” Cole told the fighters. “I want you to obey my commands at all times. I want you to watch your heads on the inside, and I want you to keep your punches in the front.”

  Cole was obsessed with the possibility of a clash of heads even though Micky had never had a stoppage due to an accidental head-butt. Leija, however, had had two. Six months prior to stepping in the ring with Micky, Leija lost a fight to Hector Camacho Jr. when Camacho suffered a cut from an accidental head-butt and refused to continue. The fight went to the scorecards and Camacho was deemed the winner after only five rounds. The fight was later declared a no-contest. Also, ten years earlier, Leija was cut by a clash of heads against Jose Luis Martinez. That was ruled a technical draw after nine rounds. Leija was known as a bleeder, and Cole was concerned.

  Less than two minutes into the fight, Leija was cut. Micky had leaped in and landed a hard left to the right side of Leija’s face. It was a solid shot that immediately opened a cut above Leija’s right eye. The fighters grappled with each other on the inside, and Micky was able to land two more lefts to the same spot.

  “Break!” Cole shouted as he separated the fighters. Then he looked at Leija’s cut, and with some exasperation, he yelled, “Time!”

  He told Micky to get in his own corner, and took a closer look at Leija’s cut, which was not bleeding too badly. Then he did what he said he didn’t want to do. He got involved.

  “Accidental head-butt,” he shouted to each of the three judges sitting around the ring. “Accidental head-butt. Accidental head-butt.”

  He repeated it three times to make sure each of the judges was aware that he was ruling that Leija’s cut was caused by a clash of heads, but he was wrong. Micky’s head never came in contact with the right side of Leija’s face. Never.

  “Leija is bleeding one minute and forty seconds into the bout,” HBO’s Jim Lampley said.

  “What took him so long?” Larry Merchant asked.

  Because Cole ruled it an accidental head-butt, if the fight was stopped because of that cut before the end of the fourth round, the fight would be called a technical draw. If the fight was stopped because of the cut after the fourth round, then it would go to the scorecards, and whoever was leading at the time would be declared the winner. Therefore, it was imperative for both fighters to try to win the early rounds. Aware of this, Leija became more aggressive in the final twenty seconds of round one.

  “Now Leija starts to bomb Ward with his left hand, and lands a straight right-hand shot that backs Ward into the corner,” Lampley exclaimed. “The crowd rises to its feet as Jesse James Leija comes alive at the end of the round!”

  As Leija returned to his corner, the cut was visible, but the blood was not leaking down his face. His cutman was the experienced and highly regarded Joe Souza, so there was every expectation that Souza would be able to take care of the cut and keep it from becoming an issue.

  “This is Texas, Micky,” Al Gavin cautioned in the corner. “Don’t give him anything.”

  “Pump the jab up,” Dickie added. “As soon as you feel it, set, bam!! You have him. Now, c’mon! When your hands are free, hit him in the head, and hit him up the middle.”

  “He’s right, Mick,” Pat Burns chimed in. “You gotta touch him with the jab.”

  “Deep breath,” Dickie continued. “Don’t let the crowd get in the way of the plan. Feed off the crowd, Mick. C’mon, let’s go! Feed off of the crowd noise!”

  Leija returned for the second round with the cut clean and dry. Micky began by throwing more right hands than normal, perhaps trying to stay away from punching the cut and making it worse. Each time the fighters came together, Cole stepped in and pushed them apart. The fighters were clearly not tied up. They were still punching, and their hands were free, yet Cole yelled, “Break!” He was making it impossible for Micky to fight his most effective style, which was to brawl on the inside. Cole was intrusive and unwilling to let them fight their way out of holds and near holds, which they seemed inclined to do. Each time he separated the fighters, he took a moment to inspect Leija’s cut. Two minutes into the round, Cole called “Time!” and summoned the ring doctor to look at Leija’s cut. He was barely bleeding.

  The doctor looked at the cut for a few seconds. Squeezed a gauze pad over the cut and shined a light into Leija’s eye. He was satisfied and indicated that the fight could continue. Already, the crowd was chanting, “Bullshit! Bullshit!” And this was a home crowd. With ten seconds to go in the round, Cole separated the fighters once again and called time-out to scold Micky.

  “You do not punch! You do not punch out!”

  Cole was suggesting that Micky punched on the break. He did not. Micky managed to land an overhand right that rocked Leija just before the bell.

  “He’s walking backwards, James,” Jesse Leija Sr. told his son in the corner. “Keep the pressure on him. He’s not throwing back. He’s not throwing when he’s going back. You’re too straight. More angles. Movement. Movement.”

  All the while, Souza worked on the cut. It appeared clean and clotted as the bell for round three sounded. Micky turned southpaw for a prolonged period to start the round. Halfway through the round, Leija was not bleeding. When Cole separated them again, he said to Micky, “Keep your head up.” It was an accusation that Micky was leading with his head. Micky was winning the round with looping right hands and effective aggressiveness. By the end of the round, Leija’s cut was bleeding quite a bit. The doctor looked at it again between rounds and allowed the fight to continue.

  “Joe Souza is one of the best cutmen in the country,” Al Valenti recalls. “He’s from New Bedford. We all knew him. The cut was a good gash right above the eyebrow, you couldn’t see it that well, because it was in the hairline. But as the fight goes on, the cut’s getting worse. Joe’s not making it better, he’s making it worse. They’re banking on a slow start by Micky and they’re hoping to go to the cards.”

  “You’ve got to win this round,” Leija’s father said. “Ward won that round. So, you’ve got to win this round, James.”

  “What round is this?” Souza asked while squeezing the cut with two hands.

  “Fourth.�
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  “Is this the fourth round?” Souza asked with some surprise.

  “When he comes in, uppercut this guy, James.”

  Again, the cut looked good as Leija came out for the fourth. Micky quickly landed a hard left to the area of the cut. Leija responded with a nice combination. Micky was not firing back, so he started up with another combination of his own. Micky was pushed up against the ropes, and Leija teed off with several body and head shots. Micky had no answer. Leija was throwing the uppercuts as he was instructed. This round the fighters were being allowed to fight in close. Micky’s hair was turning red from Leija’s blood. Late in the round, Micky connected with a couple of clubbing right hands to the top of Leija’s head, but round four went to Leija.

  Dickie was very calm in the corner. He didn’t say a word for the first thirty seconds. Instead, he just rubbed Micky’s chest and face while Gavin worked on some swelling over Micky’s left eye. They had passed the fourth round, so if the fight was stopped on the cut, it would go to the judges.

  “Jesus Christ, that is bad!” Souza says loudly in the opposite corner. And it was bad. The cut had gotten significantly worse the past two rounds, now extending the entire length of Leija’s eyebrow. Very quickly into the fifth round, it began bleeding profusely. It could have been its severity. It could have been that it was not being treated well enough, or it could have been the left hooks that Micky continued to land. Leija was taking more than he was giving now. Micky did his patented double tap to the head and then dropped down to land a body blow. By the end of the round, Leija was a bloody mess. The eye was inside a pool of blood, and there was more blood up and down his entire chest.

  “Oh, my God!” Leija Sr. exclaimed, referring to the cut, and then added, “You won that one, too. Give me the bucket. Jesus!”

  Cole had again called time-out in between rounds to give the doctor time to inspect the cut. This time, the doctor did not give the go-ahead for another round.

  “It’s too deep. It’s too long,” was all he said.

  Pat Burns was the first to recognize what was happening, and he started shouting across the ring, “He can go! He can go! Oh, c’mon. Don’t stop the fight! He can go! Let him continue. He’s a warrior!”

  By this time, Micky realized what was going on, too. He bolted up from his stool and threw his hands down in disgust. Dickie was in the center of the ring, yelling at the ref and the fight doctor. Burns kept yelling, “He’s a warrior! He’s a warrior!” It was all to no avail. Cole commanded Dickie to get back to his corner, and barked, “You stay right there. You know what I’m doing. Okay? You know what I’m doing. I’m going to the scorecards. You know the rule.”

  Dickie spun himself in a circle and put his hands up to his head. He slammed his hands down on the top rope, acting out in frustration. He walked over to Micky and hugged him, telling him everything would be all right. Micky was visibly upset in his corner. He began to pace angrily. He knew his chances of winning a decision in Texas weren’t very good. Before the fight he never thought about what would happen if he lost. Now, it was all he could think about. Lou DiBella could only help him if he helped himself by winning. This had potential disaster written all over it. Micky’s mind was a blur. He glanced across the ring and noticed that Leija sat in his corner emotionless. He appeared to be content with the decision to stop the fight. Leija’s complacency didn’t go unnoticed by ringside observers.

  “During that one-minute rest,” HBO’s Harold Lederman began, “Joe Souza was yelling at the doctor, ‘Oh my god, it’s too bad. You know the cut is too big.’ I think that the Leija corner knew that they were ahead on the scorecard, and they’re telling the doctor to tell the referee to stop the fight. The doctor told Laurence Cole to stop it, and he stopped it. I think Leija is just ahead in the fight, and I think they know it.”

  Emmanuel Steward concurred.

  “My point is this,” he said. “I believe that if Leija’s corner realized he was losing the fight, they would not have stopped the fight. And I will stand by that. I think the only reason they were happy with the stoppage and maybe encouraged the ref is because they felt they were ahead on points.”

  To be fair, it was a very bad cut. It was a quarter moon over his right eye, but it was not caused by a head-butt. Even slow motion replays couldn’t find an instance in which Micky’s head came in contact with that part of Leija’s face.

  While Cole announced to each of the judges that he was stopping the fight on an accidental head-butt rule, Micky and Leija met in the center of the ring and hugged. “It’s not your fault,” Micky said to Leija. But as they broke free from their embrace, Micky took a moment to survey the cut that had caused the fight to end prematurely.

  “It’s not even bleeding,” he thought. “And it sure as hell wasn’t caused by a head-butt.”

  If Leija’s corner was trying to steal the fight by getting it stopped early with their guy ahead on points, they took an awfully big chance. As ring announcer Michael Buffer gave the scores, he said:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, in round number one there was an accidental head-butt. The wound suffered by Jesse James Leija got so severe that the doctor advised your referee Laurence Cole to call a halt to the bout at the end of the previous round. We go to the scorecards. We will have a technical decision.”

  Micky shuffled his feet, took a deep breath, and listened to hear his fate announced.

  “The scoring totals are as follows,” Buffer continued. “Duane Ford scores the bout 48-47 for Micky Ward.”

  There was a smattering of applause. Micky put his head down and said a quick prayer.

  “Ray Hawkins scores the bout 48-47 for Jesse James Leija.”

  The applause was louder this time, and now it was Leija who put his head down and hoped for the best. Micky tipped his head to the side as if to say, “Here we go!”

  “Gail Van Hoy scores the bout 49-46 for the winner by technical split decision. . . . Jesse James Leija!”

  Again, Micky threw his hands down in abject disappointment. Cole raised Leija’s hand in victory, but Leija never smiled. He barely acknowledged the pronouncement, clearly more embarrassed than elated. He was not proud of this victory.

  “I didn’t stop the fight,” Leija told Larry Merchant in the ring. “I didn’t say a word to the doctor to stop the fight. I don’t think either one of us should have won the fight. . . . The fight was just getting good. I didn’t say a word. The doctor came in. It was his third time in the ring. I knew the cut was bad. It was bleeding really bad. . . . I just kept fighting. . . . I don’t have to prove myself. I’m a proven warrior just like this guy is. . . . I think the fight should have been called a no-contest. But I’ll fight him anytime again.”

  Blood streamed down the right side of Leija’s face as he spoke. The doctor had made the right decision to stop the fight. The cut seemed at least as bad as the one Micky suffered against Vince Phillips. It was a safety issue, and the doctor used the proper amount of precaution. Still, both fighters were upset by what had just transpired, and how it might affect their careers.

  “I had a feeling it could have been stopped,” Micky said. “I wasn’t sure. It’s hard to tell. They put that Vaseline on it. I couldn’t really see how bad it was. It’s unfortunate for both of us, not just for me taking the loss. I think it should have been called a technical draw. No one deserved to win the fight. I wanted a great fight. Nothing away from Jesse. He’s a great warrior just like myself. I don’t want to go out this way. No one does. Shit, I think it should have been a no-contest. We’re two warriors. I’d rather lose it on my back than this way.”

  As the fighters made their way back to their dressing rooms, Ron Borges walked over to Joe Souza and challenged him about the cut.

  “Jesus Christ, Joe, I’ve seen you take care of cuts where the guy needed a transfusion. You weren’t trying too hard,” Borges said accusingly. “The only thing you didn’t do was put your foot in there.”

  Souza responded dejectedly,
“Ah, come on, it was a bad cut.”

  Meanwhile, Sal was running around like a raging animal. He was sprinting from the dressing room and back, shouting for someone to find Dick Cole, the boxing commissioner. He wanted to file a protest as quickly as possible. Sal’s body was drained. He was sweating and hyperventilating. He felt like he might pass out. Finally, he grabbed Al Valenti and, breathing heavily, said, “Oh my God! What did I do to his career? I threw his belt in against Diaz. We lost to Leija. All the pieces are falling apart, Al!”

  “This is worse than the Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” Valenti stated flatly.

  Even in his panic, Sal could notice Lou DiBella walking calmly over in his direction. Sal was nervous. In order to prevent DiBella from telling him it was all over, Sal started rambling frantically.

  “Lou, you know this is bullshit! I’m filing a protest. We’ll get this thing overturned. C’mon, Lou. You know this was their game plan all along. You heard them say all week this fight wouldn’t last long. This is what they meant. Lou, really, we’re in Texas. That’s all. We’re in Texas. Micky would have won that fight. It’s just bullshit!”

  Lou smiled. If Sal weren’t so tormented, he might have enjoyed letting him drift in the wind for a moment. Instead, when Sal ran out of words, Lou put his hands on his shoulders, leaned in, and said, “I still want to work with you.”

  “You’re not giving up on me?” Sal said with great surprise.

  “No. This was beautiful. This was absolutely beautiful. I’m gonna make the Arturo Gatti fight for Micky Ward.”

  Sal was confused. DiBella began to walk away, but Sal was determined not to let him out of his sight. The limousine arrived, and as DiBella started to climb in, Sal put his hand on DiBella’s ass and pushed him into the car. Sal jumped in right after him. There was no way he was going to let DiBella get away from him until he explained what was going on.