No Middle Ground Read online

  Benn’s American foray had taken him away from the distractions Britain had to offer as well as some of the pressures. Back at home, the country expected a string of explosive knockouts, bodies on the floor, followed by the inevitable question: ‘who’s next?’ Such a strategy had led him to Watson and, after six rounds, he had been exposed as a bully, a fighter who knew only one way to win. While some had watched his bouts in America and wondered whether the old ‘Dark Destroyer’ had disappeared, the bigger picture was that Benn was evolving into a puncher who could also box. It might not have been enough to win a rematch with Watson, but it certainly gave him a better chance. Regardless of the fact that he had shown another dimension to his boxing ability, a win over DeWitt would be an upset.

  Observers were reminded of the potential for the unexpected two months earlier when Mike Tyson surrendered his undefeated record and world heavyweight titles to fellow American James ‘Buster’ Douglas in Tokyo. You could have got odds of up to 40-1 on Douglas before the fight, so unremarkable had his career been up to that point. But he’d dared to dream the impossible. Now Benn was invited to do the same.

  The setting was Atlantic City and it may well have produced the best performance of Benn’s career. DeWitt says now that he might have been on the slide but his retirement from the sport two years later was no doubt hastened by the chastening experience of that evening. After flooring Benn with a left hook in the second round, he barely won a portion of any round thereafter. In total, he was floored four times by ‘the Dark Destroyer’, absorbing virtually every one of the soon-to-be new champion’s power punches. In the end, the bout was mercifully called to a halt in the eighth, with DeWitt on the floor courtesy of a left hook and Benn also on the canvas, but this time crying tears of joy and pride. The late Emanuel Steward said that Benn that night would have beaten any middleweight that ever lived. ‘Beating Doug DeWitt showed he still had bottle for the game. That was a great performance,’ says Glyn Leach. It was also one beamed into households in both America and Great Britain, with ITV, which had shown all of Benn’s bouts in the States, providing delayed coverage of the victory. If anyone thought the honest graft that had led to Benn’s redemption would affect his approach to life, they were quickly dissuaded when the new champion flew home by Concorde.

  Not everyone was bowled over by the performance. Michael Watson, still nursing his bruises from the defeat by McCallum, admits that watching Benn pick up a world title eleven months after their meeting left him feeling a little more pain. Even the knowledge that his beating had propelled Benn to the course of action which led to a world title was no consolation. How did this happen, Watson thought? He’d admired Benn’s courage in learning how to box and expected that a rematch, if there was going to be one, would be for the world title he expected to take from McCallum. Instead, as Benn hogged the headlines, Watson would once again have to go back to being the quiet man in the background. Watson’s anger didn’t extend to his rival so much as those around him, who he felt hadn’t done enough to make him headline news.

  Speed was now becoming a major issue for Watson – there wasn’t enough of it in the progression of his career. Not enough big fights at the right time and too much time spent away from the ring, while others, like Benn, staked their claim, seizing the opportunity for fame and fortune. His humble, low-key approach to the sport meant that, for all the admiration he enjoyed from those in the sport, he remained low key. ‘Looking back at old tapes of me, even I’m surprised how quiet I was!’ says Watson now. That quietness extended to his relationship with manager and promoter Duff. Rather than question what he was being asked to do and the amount of money he was being paid per fight, Watson would leave Duff in his office and then walk away, seething but having avoided a confrontation. Duff had no reason to question his ability to create a world champion – he would finish his career having worked with twenty. Whether he believed Watson could have been number twenty-one is a matter of conjecture and a question that Duff is no longer able to answer. But what is undeniable is that he did not realise the extent of Watson’s unhappiness. As always seems to be the case in boxing, the catalyst for the break-up was money. Watson didn’t think he had earned enough for his fight with McCallum and decided to break free from his contract with Duff. Following advice from Ambrose Mendy and sports law specialist Henri Brandman, Watson took Duff to court, on the basis that he should not be allowed to act as both manager and promoter for the fighter, as he would essentially be negotiating with himself. Duff fought the action because he felt he deserved better from the contract he had with Watson, given the investment he had made in the fighter. Mr Justice Scott ruled in favour of Watson, exonerating Duff of any blame but deciding the existing contracts, issued by the British Boxing Board of Control, were not fair on the boxer as he had no bargaining power. A new clause would be inserted, allowing boxers to make deals; it would, in years to come, allow Joe Calzaghe to break free of Duff, before embarking on an amazing career of his own. The Welshman would retire undefeated, having beaten virtually every top super middleweight of his generation, including Americans Roy Jones Junior and Bernard Hopkins. All that had seemed a distant dream for Calzaghe, when he spent the early part of his career on the undercards of Duff promotions, despite having turned professional as a highly sought-after commodity, courtesy of a stellar amateur career.

  Free now of obligations to Duff or any manager, Watson decided to retain his independence, essentially managing himself. He employed a man named Ross Hemsworth as his adviser but, in the main, he would seek and make his own deals. It was maybe the realisation that, after a career which had so far failed to achieve as much as it should have, now was the time for him to take charge of his own destiny, rather than blame others for failing to anticipate his desire to do things differently. He’d watched Benn rebound from a devastating defeat and within a year become even more successful. All the while, he’d see Mendy by his rival’s side, making boasts about the boxer’s progress and the future. Watson had not had a relationship like that with Duff. It might not have been an issue when he was winning, but it certainly was brought into focus after the McCallum loss. He was convinced he had more to offer to boxing than Benn, had proved it by beating him and yet, in his mind, because of the lacklustre way he was promoted and managed, had no tangible rewards. Watson ached for the glory and respect that comes from being a world champion. Financial reward would follow. Having lost at his first attempt to become a world champion, he decided the time was right for a change. He contacted Barry Hearn, who remains his friend to this day – ‘my main man,’ says Watson – and struck a deal to appear on a card in Birmingham in November, with his opponent Errol Christie, the former golden boy of British boxing. Christie had turned professional to extraordinary fanfare, because of an almost peerless amateur career. His signature had been coveted by all the top promoters in the country, none of them aware of his major failing – the ability to take a punch. He’d been a pro for seven years but had failed to win a major title. Nevertheless, a fight with Watson had value – did either fighter still have enough left to compete at the highest level? Watson needed an impressive victory to reignite his career and position him as one of the leading middleweights in the country.

  Such had been the impact of Benn in his world title victory that his next fight would also be against a big name, in the form of New Yorker Iran ‘the Blade’ Barkley. Nicknames are sometimes totally inappropriate in boxing, but this wasn’t the case with Barkley. He was one of the genuinely hard men of the sport, having traded life on the streets as part of the ‘Black Spades’ gang in the South Bronx for a life in the ring, most famous for absorbing heavy punishment for two rounds from Thomas Hearns, before knocking out the famous Detroit star. His last two fights had been defeats, though, against another legend, Roberto Durán, and then fellow American Michael Nunn. It wasn’t that Barkley couldn’t see the signs of his fading from the scene, so much as he couldn’t see, period. A detached retina in one of his eyes wa
s diagnosed after the Nunn bout, causing him to miss a year of action. When he began training, he was 60 lb heavier than he had been for his last fight. But Barkley was a name who could bring Hollywood stars like Ryan O’Neal and Tom Selleck to ringside, and that was always an attraction to promoters.

  The marketing of Benn remained as important as what he was doing in the ring. Flyers, postcards and t-shirts adorned with his face and ring attire could be found on chairs at the smaller halls of Atlantic City, where Benn had many of his bouts. With Mike Tyson now humbled and the established pay-per-view stars such as Sugar Ray Leonard, Hearns and Durán now nearing the ends of their careers, there was a void that could be filled. Benn, with his aggressive style, was ideally suited to the American market, which had always frowned on the traditional, hands-and head-high approach of European boxers. He might not have been the biggest star in boxing, but there were more than a few people in America who would describe Benn as the sport’s most exciting fighter. With that opinion gaining credibility with every thrilling victory, Benn and Mendy knew that another stunning victory could open the doors to big paydays, against the likes of Leonard and Durán. What had started as a mission to get away from it all was snowballing into something much more tangible. As long as Benn wanted to stay in America.

  Critics had laughed at Bob Arum when he called his newest recruit ‘the English Hagler’. After beating DeWitt, the sniggering stopped. If DeWitt had been a step up for Benn, then Barkley, albeit after a significant layoff, was a triple jump. The New Yorker had the power to end the Englishman’s American adventure. When faced with that kind of danger, Benn’s nerves would precipitate a fury that seemed almost out of body. On that night in Las Vegas on 18 August 1990, the champion all but ran from his corner when the first bell ran, his purpose as obvious to the man at the back of the arena as to anyone ringside – to throw an overhand right. If that was amazing, more shocking was Barkley’s inability to defend it. It seemed obvious that the left eye which had been injured had not fully healed. With less than thirty seconds gone, Barkley was on the canvas, having taken virtually every one of his opponent’s punches flush on the chin. While trying to regain his senses on the canvas, Barkley took more, this time illegal, punishment from Benn. Although Barkley would also fire back later in the round, his inability to block any punches meant it was always a case of when and not if he would lose. Benn would knock him down twice more in the last minute of the first round, enforcing the rule which terminates a fight if one boxer has been floored three times in a round. On all three occasions, Benn appeared either to aim or land a punch at the fallen Barkley, something which can lead to instant disqualification. Veteran referee Carlos Padilla, whose impressive CV ran to officiating ‘the Thrilla in Manila’, the third fight between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier, warned the Englishman, but took no further action. A month later, when asked by The Ring magazine why he had hit his opponent when on the floor, Benn answered simply ‘Because he was trying to get up’.

  Victory secured, Benn then took on the British Boxing Board of Control in a post-fight interview, which lasted longer than expected, because ITV, who had shown the fight live, hadn’t bargained on such a short bout. Annoyed at the BBBofC’s refusal to recognise the WBO as a sanctioning body for world title fights, Benn looked into the camera and ripped up his licence. Or so it seemed. The licence was in fact part of a box of cereal; on returning home to England he’d sit down with administrators at the BBBofC and present his licence as proof that the act of ripping up a fake had merely been a piece of theatre. All the while, Benn savoured the support of the many vociferous fans who’d crossed the Atlantic. English sport was very much on the up, after England had reached the semi-finals of the football World Cup in Italy, with Paul Gascoigne’s tears an indelible image of the year. Now Benn was redefining the stereotype of a British boxer – now he was the man to send to America to do a job, where so many had previously fallen, and hard.

  There were two things he now had to confront: who he would fight next and his relationship with Ambrose Mendy. The pair had drifted apart during the period after the Watson defeat, with Benn in America, mostly on his own, while Mendy continued to scheme and sell in Britain. But, as with Watson, the issue that almost always alienates a boxer and his manager is money. Benn had been paid $400,000 for the Barkley win, not a small sum by any means, but after tax and other deductions, namely training costs, the eventual figure would be significantly less. If, as his promoter Bob Arum claimed, he was the most exciting fighter in the world, he wasn’t being paid like one. Later that year, the new world heavyweight champion James Douglas earned just under $25 million when he turned up 20 lb over his best fighting weight and lost his titles to Evander Holyfield. These were sums Benn could only dream of. On the flight back to London after the Barkley victory, he cornered an ITV executive and asked how much their contract had been worth to him and Mendy, who was asleep and unaware of the conversation. The executive told the champion that he’d have to ask Mendy for the full details, such was the confidential nature of the contract. A disgruntled Benn returned to his seat, in his mind the thoughts of why it was he who was doing all the ‘fighting and training’ but Mendy who had the big house and swimming pool continuing to manifest and increase. Mendy himself says that the relationship began to deteriorate because of his belief that the fighter was using recreational drugs.

  They were still together when deciding what to do next. There were options in America, with fading legends Sugar Ray Leonard and Roberto Durán mentioned, along with a potential payday of $5 million. The American experiment had been a success: five fights and five wins in ten months against opposition that was generally of a better standard than he’d faced in England. He’d become a more rounded fighter, learning to be patient when the knockouts didn’t come. Such had been the directions in which his and Watson’s career had moved that very few were now calling for a rematch. Positioning himself as one of the sport’s most exciting performers, Benn had the world at his feet. However, not everyone was convinced he’d have lasted the distance in the States. Bruce Trampler, Bob Arum’s matchmaker, believes Benn would have been swallowed up by the demands of being a world champion in a foreign country. That assertion was based on Benn’s emotional make-up – he could be controlled, using his aggression in the right way, but, as he proved against Barkley, when he should have been disqualified, he could still go too far. Despite all his success, the bout against Barkley would be his last in America.

  Scene II

  The glamour of the States could satisfy most, but the street animal inside Benn responded to a more primeval emotion – he was being called out by Chris Eubank. In Benn’s mind, Eubank didn’t belong in the same boxing universe as him, so there was no harm in paying a visit back to Britain to sort out a little domestic trouble against a fighter, who, while unbeaten, had not faced the calibre of opposition that he had. This was going to be easy.

  Like Nigel Benn and Michael Watson, Christopher Livingstone Eubanks (he dropped the ‘s’ from his surname before he began boxing) was born in London. One of five children, with three older brothers and a sister, Eubank the younger came into the world on 8 August 1966, just days after the greatest moment in English sporting history, the winning of football’s World Cup. Although he was born in Dulwich, south London, Eubank would spend the first six years of his life in Jamaica with his maternal grandmother, as his mother and father remained in England saving to buy a house. On returning to the United Kingdom, Eubank would live in various parts of London and showed early signs of being a talented thief. He remembers being given a fearful slap for stealing crisps from a local newsagent while shopping with his mother. Very much a mummy’s boy, Eubank’s life would take a significant turn for the worse when that maternal influence was removed while he was still young, his mother moving to New York, apparently tired of his father’s constant womanising.

  The immediate impact of that was Eubank being raised, during his formative years, by his father, a man he desc
ribed as a ‘colourful character’. Despite repeated rebukes from his dad, Eubank was trouble. He was suspended eighteen times in one year at the Thomas Calton Secondary School in Peckham, south London, before being expelled. Reports differ as to why he was always in so much strife – he says that he would normally be drawn into fights with bullies but others suggest that he was also one to initiate brawls because he had developed a love of fighting, born out of having to defend himself at home against three older brothers. Needing to establish himself in the eyes of his siblings, the young Eubank now graduated from stealing sweets and crisps to designer clothes. He would be taken into care by the time he was thirteen, a journey that would take him to Wales and then back to London. The homes didn’t work – instead of learning how hard life could be, Eubank used the experience to eat well and chase the girls who were also in care.