Muhammad Ali famously said of the "Thrilla in Manila," "It was like death. Closest thing to dying that I know of". He also later reflected on the brutal fight by stating, "We went to Manila as champions, Joe and me, and we came back as old men".
Up next, "Mi Vida Loca" Johnny Tapia, 1990s and 2000s three-division champion from Albuquerque, New Mexico whose nickname meant "My Crazy Life."
Johnny Tapia, a man whose life was as wild and unpredictable as his boxing career was legendary. Born into unimaginable tragedy in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Johnny’s life seemed destined for hardship from the start. His father was reportedly murdered before he was even born, and at just eight years old, his mother was kidnapped, brutally attacked, and murdered—a trauma that left an indelible scar on his young soul. Raised by his grandmother, Johnny found solace in the boxing ring at the tender age of nine, channeling his pain and anger into a sport that would define his turbulent journey. Known to the world as "Mi Vida Loca"—a nickname tattooed on his body and a reflection of his chaotic life—Tapia’s rise in boxing was as thrilling as it was improbable.
As an amateur, he was a standout, winning multiple Golden Gloves titles. By 1988, he turned professional and began a career that saw him crowned as a five-time world champion across three weight divisions, holding titles in the super flyweight, bantamweight, and featherweight classes. But Tapia’s triumphs in the ring were constantly overshadowed by personal demons. Early in his career, he was banned for over three years after testing positive for cocaine, and his battles with addiction would haunt him for the rest of his life. Despite these setbacks, he returned with unmatched vigor, capturing the WBO super flyweight title in 1994 and thrilling fans with his unique blend of aggression, skill, and heart.
His rivalry with fellow Albuquerque boxer Danny Romero became one of the sport’s most heated showdowns, culminating in a unification bout in 1997 that Tapia won by unanimous decision, cementing his place as a local hero and an international star. The following year, he moved up to bantamweight, capturing another world title. However, his undefeated streak came to an end in 1999, in a Fight of the Year clash against Paulie Ayala—a loss that devastated Tapia and led to a harrowing suicide attempt. Yet, true to his nature, he bounced back, reclaiming a title in 2000 and continuing to defy the odds.
As Tapia moved up to featherweight, he became a three-division world champion, achieving a lifelong dream despite the turmoil in his personal life. Outside the ring, his story took more twists and turns. From battles with drug addiction and brushes with death to revelations that the man he believed was his father might not have been, Tapia’s life seemed to unfold like a Hollywood drama. Despite his struggles, Tapia maintained an incredible connection with his fans, who admired his fighting spirit both in and out of the ring.
Even in retirement, Tapia’s life was anything but quiet. He survived multiple overdoses, legal troubles, and devastating personal losses, including the deaths of close family members in a tragic car accident. Yet, he continued to fight, not just for himself but for the legacy he hoped to leave behind. His untimely death in 2012 at just 45 years old was a heartbreaking end to a life that had seen so much triumph and tragedy. In 2017, Tapia was posthumously inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame, a fitting recognition for a man who fought every day of his life, both inside and outside the ring.
Johnny Tapia’s story is not just about boxing; it’s about resilience, the fight against the odds, and the unbreakable spirit of a man who refused to be defeated. His "Crazy Life" remains an inspiration to fans and fighters alike, a testament to the human capacity for perseverance even in the face of kindness.
Gosh, how do you even begin to talk about Johnny Tapia, he was an absolute legend in boxing. He was electrifying, intense, crazy, balls to the wall, he brought it all, and a gladiator in every sense of the word. The legendary boxing trainer Freddie Roach said Johnny Tapia and James Toney were the two greatest talents he ever trained. Tapia was seriously well-schooled in the ring with great physical assets: reflexes, speed, chin, recuperation, and stamina. He was on the downside, with 48 fights in and a heavy drug habit before he finally lost. He is one of the greatest body punchers in the history of the sport, he would just rip nasty shots to your body, with everything he had, it was beyond your normal body punching, almost like he was trying to cave your ribs in.
Tapia was involved in so many great wars in the ring, but my favorite would probably have to be his first fight with Paulie Ayala, two tough as nails warriors going to war in the trenches, it was a prototypical fight in a phone booth, a great back and forth battle with neither guy giving an inch. Tapia came up just short in this fight, it would be the first loss of his legendary career, but it really showed what an intense fighter and warrior he was. This was named fight of the year in 1999.
Johnny Tapia's best performance in my opinion was his fight with Danny Romero Jr, the fight was billed "the battle for Albuquerque" because both Tapia and Romero were from Albuquerque New Mexico, and it's one of the greatest boxing stories ever told because of the history between the two. Danny Romero was a monster puncher, nicknamed "Kid Dynamite", some of his knockouts were genuinely frightening, he had an overhand right that was absolute murder if it landed. Tapia and Romero had grown up together in Albuquerque, they first met at a gym when Tapia was 14 and Romero was 7. Romero's father had actually trained and worked with Tapia before they parted ways, so they all knew eachother closely. Romero Sr would go on to train his son Danny and develop him into a great fighter, by 1997 Danny was 23 years old and had a record of 30-1 and he was the IBF super flyweight champion. Danny was thought of as a young up-and-coming superstar, and had developed quite a fanbase in Albuquerque. Meanwhile Johnny Tapia was already a Superstar, he was 30 years old and was the WBO super flyweight champion and had a record of 41-0 and had his own fanbase in Albuquerque, so naturally there was some competition as to who was going to be Albuquerque's top dog so to speak. Danny Romero and Johnny Tapia were in a collision course that could only be settled in the ring, and the fact that this fight would be a unification bout just added to the drama. As the fight drew closer, both fighters began to hurl insults at eachother, it became personal, and their fanbases were also fighting, Albuquerque was basically divided into two camps that were constantly at eachother's throats, you were either pro-Tapia, or pro-Romero. The fighting between fans go so bad that the promoters of the fight had trouble trying to find a venue to host the bout, nobody wanted to host it out of fear of rioting between the fans. This fight really had it all, a personal feud between two guys that grew up together, unification of titles, the loyal fanbases that neither fighter wanted to disappoint, and of course the battle to be Albuquerque's top dog. It's a crazy story, all the drama surrounding the fight. This is what Johnny Tapia's wife Teresa had to say about the weeks leading up to the fight:
Tapia’s wife and manager Teresa remembers the fight and the training camp leading up to the showdown. It was the camp that terrified her and kept her up at night:
“You want to talk about being scared, that would be an understatement,” said Teresa. “He trained three and a half weeks for that fight.
Johnny was in a mess. Here I am his manager and his wife and I am watching footage of Danny training hard. He has all these special people. He’s in the mountains. Johnny’s in jail. We have no trainer. That was the kind of things leading up to this fight.”
Teresa’s concern for the fight only grew as the date got closer. “I was so worried I wanted to cancel the fight. I was already trying to get him to pull out. You know Johnny, he refused. He use to always say I refuse to lose.” The late great Eddie Futch came in to train Tapia. Jesse Reed also came aboard to handle mitts.
This is a write up from a man that was at the Tapia-Romero fight and remembers the whole thing very well.
Johnny Tapia versus Danny Romero — What a Night!
By: Ivan G. Goldman
One of my favorite boxing stories grew out of the storied July 18, 1997 clash between Albuquerque natives Johnny Tapia and Danny Romero at the basketball stadium of the University of Nevada Las Vegas campus.
The fight had percolated for years as both men stormed through opponent after opponent. There was no specific belt designated for Albuquerque’s favorite fighter, but you wouldn’t guess that from talking to Tapia or Romero. Tapia seemed to think it wasn’t fair for Romero to go around winning fights and fans while Tapia had to suffer a four-year banishment from the sport for his cocaine abuse. (He’d resumed his career three years earlier) And Romero looked upon Tapia as a has-been coke fiend who ought to slink back to the gutter where he belonged.
There was so much bad blood between the two camps and their respective fans that the promoters had trouble finding a venue willing to take their money. After the University of New Mexico refused to even consider it, lead promoter Bob Arum of Top Rank made a deal with the Las Vegas Hilton. But the hotel execs were always skittish about hosting thousands of die-hard fight fans from Billy the Kid territory. News media hinted that such a crowd could be uncontrollable, like Visigoths sacking a city.
Then in the third round of their June 28 rematch, Mike Tyson bit off a piece of Evander Holyfield’s ear at the MGM Grand. It sparked such a violent riot that the casino ejected paying customers and closed down gaming tables for hours. It’s hard to imagine anything more sacred in Vegas than the principle of round-the-clock gambling. To gaming executives, calling a recess was like being forced to throw their mothers out the back of a speeding pickup truck.
The Las Vegas Hilton panicked, and less than a month before the fight, annulled the contract, claiming the promoters hadn’t fulfilled some obscure insurance clause. Arum, whose relationships with Latino communities was a bedrock of his promotional business, didn’t need a scorecard to know who to side with. He insulted the hell out of the Hilton. “This is an insult to the Hispanic people,” he said, encouraging a boycott against the casino. After the big bad casino turned chicken it was cast out of the fight community. No promoter would ever trust it to keep its word again, and the divorce was final. Arum scrambled and came up with UNLV. The fight was still on.
Super flyweights Romero and Tapia were like a rock and a hard place. This would be like Leonard-Hearns, a mystery that everyone wanted to see solved in the ring. Tapia, a graceful boxer with a killer instinct, was up against a younger man who hit so hard he reminded fight guys of Roberto Duran. His punches sounded like hammers pulverizing human flesh.
Sitting next to me that night was Ramiro Gonzalez, now a publicist for Golden Boy Promotions. Then he was the boxing writer for La Opinion. Gonzalez had $50 riding on Romero. But a couple rounds into the great, give-and-take fight, Gonzalez, as excited as everybody else, started yelling things like, “Go underneath, Johnny. Step over and throw your right.”
Ramiro, I said, what the hell are you doing? You bet on the other guy! “I know,” he screamed waving his fist in triumph, “but Johnny’s boxing so beautifully I can’t help myself.” That was a true fan, what boxing is all about. I’ll never forget it.
After one of the early rounds Johnny leaned over to the media section and announced, “He doesn’t hit so hard.” Actually, Romero did hit amazingly hard, just not hard enough to worry Johnny. His life had been so difficult that to him, taking punches was a walk in the park. He fought like a magician in there, making sweet, unpredictable moves to hit and not be hit, the way it’s supposed to be done.
FIGHTHYPE FLASHBACK: THE BATTLE FOR ALBUQUERQUE...JOHNNY TAPIA VS. DANNY ROMERO
By Brad Cooper
With a verbal assault from Rock Newman, manager of former heavyweight champion Riddick Bowe, and a crack to the back of Andrew Golota's head delivered by Jason Harris, a cell phone wielding member of the Bowe entourage/management team, a riot ensued, both inside the ring and out, that would soon spread throughout the Mecca of Boxing and result in numerous arrests, including Harris himself.
The scene at Bowe-Golota I is well-known to boxing fans and general sports fans alike, linked forever to the image of Golota, affectionately known as the Foul Pole, crippling Bowe with repeated low blows until referee Wayne Kelly had seen enough in round seven and disqualified the Polish underdog who had otherwise dominated Bowe from the sound of the opening bell. Beginning the next day and lasting for several days after, the often used phrase "a black eye for boxing" was indelibly etched on headlines, a reminder to the sporting world that boxing had again let everyone down, allowing the worst to hide the light of the best. In the 53 weeks that followed Bowe-Golota I, the black eye that began in New York became an unrecognizable, bloodied mask thanks to a series of unrelated but seemingly endless streak of unthinkable, ridiculous moments, aired live around the globe, leaving some observers wondering if the days for the Sweet Science as one of the top sports in the world were numbered.
Indeed, July 11, 1996 was only the beginning. Later that year, in Atlantic City, Golota once again dominated Bowe for nine rounds in their pay-per-view rematch before, inexplicably, getting himself disqualified by referee Eddie Cotton for repeated low blows, for the second time in six months. In February of 1997, Lennox Lewis was awarded the WBC Heavyweight Championship that he lost to Oliver McCall in 1994 when McCall suffered a nervous breakdown in the ring, crying as Mills Lane attempted to control the situation, ultimately ending the bout in one of the most bizarre technical knockouts in boxing history. In June 1997, Mike Tyson was disqualified from his rematch with Evander Holyfield, again by Mills Lane, when Tyson bit Holyfield twice in round three. In July 1997, with trouble seeming to follow the diminutive official, Lane was forced to disqualify Henry Akinwande from his WBC Heavyweight Championship fight with Lennox Lewis due to excessive holding. Four high profile fights, four disqualifications, all within little more than a year. Boxing was in desperate need of a fix, a call to fans who had gone astray to come back to the sport that had once stirred their passion rather than churning their stomach. The last chance, or so it seemed, rested with two super flyweights who hailed from the same hometown.
Although Johnny Tapia and Danny Romero were born into completely different worlds, the two young prizefighters grew up only miles apart in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The vida loca life of Tapia included the tragic, violent death of his mother Virginia under incredible circumstances, as well as the absence of his biological father. With his turn to boxing came a relationship with a local trainer associated with the Police Athletic League: Danny Romero Sr., who was also training his young son in the same weight class as Tapia. Tapia and Romero split after a brief partnership. After turning professional in 1988 following two national Golden Gloves titles, Tapia would win the USBA Super Flyweight Championship, defending it twice and placing himself in prime position for a world title shot when three positive tests for cocaine resulted in a three year suspension from boxing in 1991.
The stability that Tapia lacked proved to be a driving force in both the life and professional career of Romero. Nicknamed "Kid Dynamite" for the explosive punching power that would ultimately rank him among the pound-for-pound hardest hitters in the sport during the mid-to-late 1990s, the father-and-son team of Danny Sr. and Danny Jr. quickly ascended through the ranks of the 112 and 115 lb. weight divisions in what would prove to be a collision course with Tapia, the former Albuquerque stable mate. After winning the New Mexico State super flyweight championship in 1993 and the NABF Flyweight title in 1994, Romero realized his world championship dreams in April of 1995, on the undercard of George Foreman's title defense against Axel Schulz, with a unanimous decision win over IBF flyweight champion Francisco Tejedor.
Despite a seventh round technical knockout loss to journeyman Willy Salazar in a 1995 non-title bout, Romero would go on to win the IBF super flyweight championship in 1996 with a quick knockout of Harold Grey. With Romero's violent and exciting entrance into the super flyweight division, the unification with Tapia, then the WBO champion, was deemed both inevitable for the careers of both fighters and necessary for the good of the sport in light of troubling times.
Set to be aired before an international television audience on HBO World Championship Boxing, the long-awaited clash of the New Mexican icons was scheduled for July 18, 1997 at the Las Vegas Hilton in Las Vegas, Nevada. Although The Pit on the campus of the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque seemed like the perfect venue for the Tapia-Romero clash, concerns regarding violence between the vigorous supporters from both camps forced the relocation of the bout to a more supportive neutral site. However, the event itself was threatened in short order when an incident between Tapia and Romero supporters on a Southwest Airlines flight to Las Vegas, along with worries concerning the aftermath of the Tyson-Holyfield debacle at the MGM Grand just a month before, prompted the Hilton to pull out of the fight, leaving the Thomas and Mack Center to serve as a replacement on less than a month's notice.
The unexpected venue change was but one contributor to the volatile environment surrounding the Tapia-Romero event, with another major component existing in the form of the Tapia camp itself. In the final crucial weeks of his training camp, Tapia managed to hire and fire trainer Jesse Reid, recruit legendary trainer Eddie Futch, and later rehire Reid to work the corner as co-trainer with Futch on the night of the fight. In usual fashion, Romero remained stable, consistent, reliable, poised to work toward the task before him with brutal efficiency and a calm confidence that had defined his five year career.
Following the introductions by ring announcer Mark Beiro, the ten-thousand plus in attendance were worked into a frenzy before the sound of the opening bell. "Round one begins," HBO's Jim Lampley said as they moved to the center of the ring. "They've waited years." Indeed they had. Tapia winged hooks to Romero's body in the first minute of the opening round, dropping lead right hands on Romero as he slowly moved forward, darting in and out with the Tapia energy that brought a roar from the crowd with every significant move. With his trademark energy and defiance, Tapia finished the first round with a solid left hook and a staredown for his crosstown rival, fixing his glare on Romero as he walked back to the corner.
Despite the early effectiveness of their collective game plan, trainers Jesse Reid and Eddie Futch expressed concerns regarding Tapia's focus, urging him to remain disciplined, to move in and out, counter when necessary, and to avoid a toe-to-toe war with his power punching counterpart who had scored 27 knockouts in his 30 wins. The Tapia body attack and frenetic pace continued in rounds two and three, but Romero would finally come alive and capture the momentum in round four, moving inside the Tapia attack while landing jabs and right hands with regularity. With Romero taking charge, landing his best punches of the fight in round five, making his physical presence felt, and disturbing Tapia's rhythm, the fight appeared to be in a dead heat going into the final six rounds.
In the opening seconds of round seven, a Romero right hand cracked Tapia flush on the jaw, prompting Tapia to clown, feign being hurt, and touch his gloves to the canvas. That shot from Romero would prove to be one of his final big moments in the ebb and flow of the fight. Later in the round, following an accidental clash of heads, as Mitch Halpern checked both fighters, Tapia walked toward the corner and asked, "Are you okay, Danny?", an event thought impossible little more than an hour before. The resurgent Tapia worked back into the game plan that won the first three rounds, boxing Romero in rounds seven and eight, circling to his right, working behind the jab, and avoiding a Romero attack that was growing progressively slower and more predictable as the IBF champion looked for the knockout blow that would settle the score between the longtime rivals.
"Play with him! Play with him! He's getting frustrated," Jesse Reid said emphatically, dispensing almost unheard of advice in the Tapia corner before the start of the tenth round, and yet that is exactly what Tapia would do in the final three rounds. With energy now shown since the first third of the bout, Tapia exploded with combinations to the body and head of Romero in round eleven, drilling his opponent in the center of the ring and raising his hand between the attacks, prompting cheers and chants from the predominantly pro-Tapia crowd.
Before the twelfth and final round, Jesse Reid told Tapia to have some fun with Romero and to look like a true champion. Across the ring, Danny Romero was given more tactical advice, to fire punches at Tapia and keep him from doing too much. For the boxing world, the question that remained was not which fighter would be awarded a decision when the final three minutes had elapsed, but how much the fight could do to heal the wounds of the last 53 weeks and whether or not the final verdict would settle the score between Tapia and Romero in a sense that extended far beyond the ring at the Thomas and Mack Center.
In the twelfth, Tapia boxed and Romero stalked, but neither fighter took the round decisively. As the bell sounded, Tapia delivered a trademark backflip and was raised in the air by Jesse Reid. Both fighters raised their arms to the crowd, with Tapia receiving the louder ovation as he stood on the ropes and pointed skyward. The same gesture from Romero drew a chorus of boos just seconds before Mark Beiro called for the bell and read the decision.
Judges Clark Sammartino and Jerry Roth scored 116-112, while Glen Hamada scored 115-113, all in favor of Johnny Tapia, but the sport in desperate need of a great fight on a big night, full of excitement and free of controversy, was the true winner. A tearful Tapia celebrated with the grandfather who raised him during the postfight interview while a disappointed Romero considered the possibility of a rematch and pondered his own future, one no longer linked to Tapia, with the class that was expected of the two-time world champion. More importantly, both men sought to let the comments and events of the past stay in the past.
In an unexpected turn of events, the careers of Tapia and Romero would ultimately go in different directions. Tapia would continue on at the highest levels of the sport, defending his unified IBF/WBO championship twice before defeating Nana Konadu for the WBA bantamweight championship, a title he would lose to Paulie Ayala in 1999, the first defeat of Tapia's career. There was one more title belt for the collection, an IBF featherweight championship won from Manuel Medina in 2002, before the erosion of his skills was made evident in a lopsided twelve round loss to Mexican legend Marco Antonio Barrera in 2002.
For Romero, the narrow loss on the biggest stage of his career would serve as his personal pinnacle. His bid for the IBF super bantamweight title fell just short in a majority decision loss to champion Vuyani Bungu on Halloween night 1998 in Atlantic City. Romero would not challenge for a major world title again. There were eight more wins for the record, followed by a decision loss to Ratanachai Sor Vorapin in 2001 and a TKO loss to Cruz Carbajal in 2002. A short comeback netted two wins and a draw for Romero, who has not fought since 2006.
Neither Tapia nor Romero stepped into the ring in 2008 or 2009, with Romero seemingly retired and Tapia recently serving a jail sentence that actually caused the cancellation of a possible comeback fight in Albuquerque. Looking back, it's hard to believe that the long-awaited clash to unify the IBF and WBO super flyweight championships, and to award bragging rights over the mutual hometown of two of the best small fighters in the world, took place nearly twelve years ago. Although the official record shows Johnny Tapia winning a unanimous decision over Danny Romero in Las Vegas, boxing fans around the world should remember that night as an example of what the sport can ultimately be: an exhibition of pure boxing skills, filled with controlled emotion, a wealth of talent, and incredible energy, devoid of controversy, violence, and disgrace. For that night, while forgotten by some, those who passionately follow the sport should be forever grateful, because on a hot July night in the Las Vegas desert, rather than being administered another black eye, the world of boxing was presented with a Silver Star.
The New York Times write-up in the battle for Albuquerque the day after the fight.
Tapia Pounds Romero To Win Grudge Match
One of them tried the oldest move in the book (sticking out his tongue) and the other tried a more up-to-date tactic (the right jab). They held the battle of Albuquerque in the suburb of Las Vegas tonight, and some think the loser should have to walk home to New Mexico.
In that case, Danny Romero had better start thumbing a ride. Romero, 23 and fed most of his life from a silver platter, lost to a 30-year-old showboat, Johnny Tapia, this evening in a junior bantamweight (114 pound) title bout that got boxing back to its basics: brawling.
Tapia, in a unanimous decision, unified the International Boxing Federation and World Boxing Organization belts at the Thomas and Mack Center -- and nearly broke Romero's pug nose.
''Go get me that belt; go get me that belt,'' Tapia said afterward. ''Put that belt on me.''
The fight was officially three years in the making, but it was actually more like 16 years. The fighters first met at a Police Athletic Club (Tapia was 14, Romero was 7), although Romero would go home to his father and trainer, Danny Sr., and Tapia would go home to absolutely nothing.
Tapia, at the age of 8, witnessed the murder and rape of his mother, and he had been estranged from his father from birth. ''I've been poor,'' he said before the fight. But he left the building tonight with a $400,000 check and was an absolute wreck, too.
''I dedicated this fight to my mom,'' he said, ''because I miss her. And I did it.''
Danny Romero Sr. had actually once been Tapia's trainer, but they split unceremoniously, and the grudge remains.
Tapia on Romero Jr. before the fight: ''I hate him, I hate him.''
Romero Jr. on Tapia: ''Going out and acting like an idiot is not my nature. I'll leave that to someone else.''
Now there appears to be no end to the grudge. After the unanimous decision -- the judges had it even after eight rounds but scored it 116-112, 116-112 and 115-113 in the end -- Tapia said: ''Let's let bygones be bygones. It's over.''
But Romero Sr. would not buy it. In fact, when Tapia sauntered over to shake the younger Romero's hand, the father waved Tapia off.
''He's a you-know-what,'' Tapia said of Romero Sr. ''Always has been.''
Romero Jr.'s response was, ''I thought I won.''
Of course, Tapia (41-0-2) cannot keep a straight face anywhere, much less in the ring. He stuck out his tongue at Romero, and when Romero landed a rare dead-on punch in the seventh round, Tapia feigned that he was about to fall down.
''He never caught me clean,'' Tapia said of Romero (30-2).
Certainly, they prepared for this fight differently. Romero did not spar a single round, drilling with his father instead, while Tapia spent the last few months firing three trainers.
''Well, when there's nothing going wrong in my life, there's nothing right,'' he said of his parade of trainers. ''All I really need is somebody to give me water in the corner, anyway. I'll take care of the rest.''
Actually, he had Jesse Reid and the Hall of Famer Eddie Futch in his corner tonight, and he executed their plan exquisitely. He went to Romero's body with left hooks, to his face with straight rights, and moved to the right after every punch.
The rematch would sell out any arena in New Mexico, but do not hold your breath.
''No, no rematch,'' Tapia said. ''It's too easy of a fight.''
More comments from Tapia and Romero after the fight:
“I never wanted to knock him out – I just wanted to punish him,” said 30-year-old Tapia who retained his WBO strap and took Romero’s IBF belt.
“The game plan was to stick and move, keep moving to my right and make it an easy fight. And that’s what it was. It was so easy.”
“I thought I won,” Romero, 23, said. “A few things maybe I could’ve done better, but that’s the way it goes. It didn’t come out the way it should’ve, but hey, more power to him.”
After all the drama that unfolded in the story of the battle for Albuquerque, Johnny Tapia and Danny Romero Jr became good friends. They forgave each other for all the ugly things they’d said and became buddies, even traveling to fights together. There's a lot of heat in the boxing world, a lot of pride, a lot of competitiveness, it is after all the business of battle. But at the end of the day, there's really a deep respect between fellow warriors.
The Tapia-Romero fight was a master performance from Tapia, a 30-year old outwitting a 23-year old young hungry lion with a monster punch, and using the science of boxing to get it done. Just a masterful performance from Tapia.
Tapia is a legend, a polarizing figure in not only boxing history but sports history. He wrote his own autobiography entitled "Mi Vida Loca" before he died, and has another book written about his life entitled "The Ghost of Johnny Tapia", the foreword to that book was written by the famous Van Halen frontman Sammy Hagar, Hagar was a huge Tapia fan, and Tapia also has an HBO documentary about him. He had to fight his whole life, inside the ring, outside the ring, he was always fighting something, whether it be personal demons, fighting for his sanity after all the tragedy that was bestowed upon him, or literally fighting for his very life. Even before he was born, tragedies were already occurring in Tapia’s life with the murder of his father while his mother was pregnant with him. Then the tragedy of his mother being murdered, At just eight-years-old Johnny witnessed his mother, Virginia, being kidnapped away from their home. She was chained to a truck. She was brutally assaulted, raped, stabbed 22 times and left for dead, but she fought and crawled more than a hundred yards before being found by police and taken to the emergency room. Sadly, she passed away a few days later. The sights and sounds of his mother’s last days forever haunted him. He told Boxing News in 2011, “My mom’s death kills me every day…I just want to say ‘Good night mama.’ I want to hug my mama.” By the age of eight, Tapia found himself an orphan. There was a lot of pain and pent-up frustration within Tapia, and it was no surprise when he turned to boxing at the age of nine while under the care of his grandparents. Rich kids don't fight, poor kids fight, and Tapia had to fight his way out of poverty, and the insanity around him. As a young boy, Tapia was matched in fights against other neighbourhood children for his family to bet on. By now, boxing wasn’t a hobby. It was a necessity. Tapia described his life as: “Raised as a Pitbull. Raised to fight to the death.” And in his life, there were many fights with death. Tapia's brother-in-law, Robert "Gordy" Gutierrez, and nephew, Ben Garcia, were killed in a car crash on March 13, 2007. They were on their way to visit Tapia in the hospital in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where he had been admitted for a cocaine overdose, Tapia blamed himself for the tragedy. He overdosed on drugs and was declared dead four separate times in the hospital, he fought his addiction until the day he died, but ultimately lost his life to drugs. The man was a fighter. Put it this way, if I was going to fight in a war and had to share a foxhole with someone, besides my family, Tapia would be next to me in that foxhole, because like me, he knew what it was like to have to fight the hells of life everyday and would never stop fighting for the good. I think Johnny Tapia knew he was never going to make it alive into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. He had way too many addictions, way too many demons. The only place Tapia ever felt peace was in the ring itself. Johnny always said that when his career was over, he didn't know what he was going to do with himself and probably wouldn't last long. He lasted one year from when he quit boxing. Tapia himself never thought he would live past the age of 40. He reached 45 before his tormented life finally came to an end at his home in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
This is a photo of Johnny Tapia with his wife Teresa Tapia, she managed his career and was a steady influence in his life. Johnny never defeated his demons, but he fought them, because of his relationship with his wife Teresa he had hope until the very end despite all the darkness he walked through.
Let's get a few photos of Johnny Tapia in here. This is an image of Tapia with the legendary Mexican fighter Marco Antonio Barrera, aka "The Baby Faced Assassin", they were good friends and had a deep mutual respect for each other. They actually fought in 2002 with Barrera getting the decision victory. They respected each other so much that they had eachother's last names embroidered on their trunks when they fought, and after Tapia passed away Barrera always fought with Tapia's name on his trunks.
34-year-old Carl Froch, aka "The Cobra", mauled the murderous punching IBF super-middleweight champion Lucian Bute in five rounds in his hometown of Nottingham in 2012.
"After the Andre Ward defeat I was very, very deflated. I was here to put right a wrong," Froch told Sky Sports. "I was more determined than ever before.
"I was very switched on, focused and determined. I came here to do a job. If it had gone 12 rounds it would have been 12 rounds of that. I was on it.
"A lot of people wrote me off. The bookies got it wrong, and a lot of people in Nottingham have won some money tonight.
"I could not afford to be lazy and flat-footed. Big respect to Lucian, he can punch, and he hit me with some good shots in there. But I came back."
My favorite Carl Froch moment was his one punch knockout of George Groves in 2014 at Wembley stadium, it was the knockout of the year. Groves was a damn good fighter himself, but got caught cold with a brutal right hand. Froch was in his 12th year as a pro and had mentioned retirement. He just missed winning the Super Six tournament against Andre Ward, then rebounded with a massive stoppage of Lucian Bute and two more wins before facing Groves in their first fight.
Groves, a former British super middleweight champion from London who was undefeated but hadn't scored a signature victory. He was a good puncher with solid technique, and his speed advantage helped him drop Froch in the 1st round of their first bout. Froch then clawed his way back before scoring a controversial stoppage, setting up a rematch.
Both fighters talked trash going into the rematch and the drama helped lead to good ticket sales as 80,000 or so spectators watched a classic—a figure Froch wouldn't soon let anyone forget.
Groves was more tentative this time around even though he pledged to knock Froch out in three rounds. Froch was sharper and clipped Groves when he did open up, making him even more tentative. Froch's singular focus on a knockout helped him avoid a war in round 5.
In round 7, Froch appeared to rock Groves. And in the 8th, Froch unloaded a sizzler of a right hand that flattened his rival. Grove went down awkwardly and his left leg got bent grotesquely to the side of his body, he stayed motionless, then the fight was waved off as Groves moved to get to his feet as it became clear it was over, but it was way too late.
“This was a legacy fight,” Froch said. “Unfortunately in boxing, people remember you for your last fight. I didn’t want to go out to be remembered as being a loser, and I would have retired if I’d lost tonight.”
‘It took years off my life’ – heavyweight Fabio Wardley lived off ice cream and noodles after his brutal fight with Frazer Clarke in March of 2024.
Wardley resorted to a diet of ice cream and noodles after the pair put on a thriller over 12 rounds that ended in a draw.
Wardley was left covered in blood due to his busted nose and a jaw injury that left him barely able to chew in the days after.
He told The Sun Times: “It’s a fate that you have to accept if you do this sport properly.
“I probably should’ve gone to the hospital afterwards. I remember being sat in my hotel room and I couldn’t sleep because my head was pounding, like vibrating.
"When I lay down, I felt sick. If I sat up, I felt sick. My face looked like the Elephant Man. My nose was stitched up."
"I’d bitten my tongue about 100 times. I couldn’t chew for three days because of my jaw, so I just ate ice cream and noodles, but that’s part of it."
“Those fights are going to happen and you might get knocked out, but if you carry that around with you and hesitate because you’re scared of it, it could have a negative impact on how you fight and almost make it more likely to happen. You’ve got to just take it on the chin.”
Wardley scored a knockdown in round five and Clarke had a point taken off to even the judges scorecards.
But Wardley won the rematch six months later with a brutal first-round knockout that left Clarke hospitalised.
Just five months after Tim Witherspoon captured the WBC Heavyweight Title by defeating Greg Page, he stepped into the ring to defend it against the undefeated Pinklon Thomas. With Larry Holmes vacating the title to be recognized as the IBF champion, the stage was set for a new heavyweight king to emerge.
The opening round saw both fighters feeling each other out, but from Round 2 on, Thomas took control. His jab—powerful and relentless—repeatedly found its target, frustrating Witherspoon and leading to complaints to referee Richard Steele. No fouls were called, and Thomas continued to dominate with skillful distance control and sharp boxing.
By Round 9, Thomas had built a clear lead. He coasted through the final rounds, avoiding risk and staying in command. Though one judge controversially scored it a draw, the other two awarded Thomas a well-deserved majority decision. Most observers agreed that Thomas was the rightful winner.
What made this victory even more powerful was Thomas's backstory. Raised in Pontiac, Michigan, his youth was consumed by addiction and violence. He was using heroin by 12 and hooked by 14. But his life changed when he married Kathy Jones, followed her into the Army, and discovered boxing with the help of trainer Joe West. Under the guidance of the legendary Angelo Dundee, Thomas turned his life around and became a world champion.
For Witherspoon, the loss was tough. It ended his title reign after just one defense, and financial distractions had weighed heavily on him throughout the fight buildup.
Thomas would go on to defend the WBC title twice before losing it to Trevor Berbick in 1986. Witherspoon, too, bounced back, briefly reclaiming a portion of the heavyweight crown before losing it again.
This fight remains a symbol of Pinklon Thomas’s incredible journey—from addiction and hardship to the very top of the boxing world.
The legendary trainer Angelo Dundee was once asked who was the hardest puncher he ever trained, and he said Florentino "The Ox" Fernandez was the hardest puncher he trained, but he also said "Pinklon Thomas could really whack." One thing about Pinklon Thomas, he had a masterful left hand, he could really punish you with that left. He could use it as a jab and pepper you with it, or he could use it as a hook, either way he could really bust you up with it.
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Time for a little music. Louie from YouTube covering Daryl Stuermer's famous guitar solo from the song Easy Lover by Phil Collins and Phil Bailey.
Muhammad Ali famously said of the "Thrilla in Manila," "It was like death. Closest thing to dying that I know of". He also later reflected on the brutal fight by stating, "We went to Manila as champions, Joe and me, and we came back as old men".
Up next, "Mi Vida Loca" Johnny Tapia, 1990s and 2000s three-division champion from Albuquerque, New Mexico whose nickname meant "My Crazy Life."
Johnny Tapia, a man whose life was as wild and unpredictable as his boxing career was legendary. Born into unimaginable tragedy in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Johnny’s life seemed destined for hardship from the start. His father was reportedly murdered before he was even born, and at just eight years old, his mother was kidnapped, brutally attacked, and murdered—a trauma that left an indelible scar on his young soul. Raised by his grandmother, Johnny found solace in the boxing ring at the tender age of nine, channeling his pain and anger into a sport that would define his turbulent journey. Known to the world as "Mi Vida Loca"—a nickname tattooed on his body and a reflection of his chaotic life—Tapia’s rise in boxing was as thrilling as it was improbable.
As an amateur, he was a standout, winning multiple Golden Gloves titles. By 1988, he turned professional and began a career that saw him crowned as a five-time world champion across three weight divisions, holding titles in the super flyweight, bantamweight, and featherweight classes. But Tapia’s triumphs in the ring were constantly overshadowed by personal demons. Early in his career, he was banned for over three years after testing positive for cocaine, and his battles with addiction would haunt him for the rest of his life. Despite these setbacks, he returned with unmatched vigor, capturing the WBO super flyweight title in 1994 and thrilling fans with his unique blend of aggression, skill, and heart.
His rivalry with fellow Albuquerque boxer Danny Romero became one of the sport’s most heated showdowns, culminating in a unification bout in 1997 that Tapia won by unanimous decision, cementing his place as a local hero and an international star. The following year, he moved up to bantamweight, capturing another world title. However, his undefeated streak came to an end in 1999, in a Fight of the Year clash against Paulie Ayala—a loss that devastated Tapia and led to a harrowing suicide attempt. Yet, true to his nature, he bounced back, reclaiming a title in 2000 and continuing to defy the odds.
As Tapia moved up to featherweight, he became a three-division world champion, achieving a lifelong dream despite the turmoil in his personal life. Outside the ring, his story took more twists and turns. From battles with drug addiction and brushes with death to revelations that the man he believed was his father might not have been, Tapia’s life seemed to unfold like a Hollywood drama. Despite his struggles, Tapia maintained an incredible connection with his fans, who admired his fighting spirit both in and out of the ring.
Even in retirement, Tapia’s life was anything but quiet. He survived multiple overdoses, legal troubles, and devastating personal losses, including the deaths of close family members in a tragic car accident. Yet, he continued to fight, not just for himself but for the legacy he hoped to leave behind. His untimely death in 2012 at just 45 years old was a heartbreaking end to a life that had seen so much triumph and tragedy. In 2017, Tapia was posthumously inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame, a fitting recognition for a man who fought every day of his life, both inside and outside the ring.
Johnny Tapia’s story is not just about boxing; it’s about resilience, the fight against the odds, and the unbreakable spirit of a man who refused to be defeated. His "Crazy Life" remains an inspiration to fans and fighters alike, a testament to the human capacity for perseverance even in the face of kindness.
Gosh, how do you even begin to talk about Johnny Tapia, he was an absolute legend in boxing. He was electrifying, intense, crazy, balls to the wall, he brought it all, and a gladiator in every sense of the word. The legendary boxing trainer Freddie Roach said Johnny Tapia and James Toney were the two greatest talents he ever trained. Tapia was seriously well-schooled in the ring with great physical assets: reflexes, speed, chin, recuperation, and stamina. He was on the downside, with 48 fights in and a heavy drug habit before he finally lost. He is one of the greatest body punchers in the history of the sport, he would just rip nasty shots to your body, with everything he had, it was beyond your normal body punching, almost like he was trying to cave your ribs in.
Tapia was involved in so many great wars in the ring, but my favorite would probably have to be his first fight with Paulie Ayala, two tough as nails warriors going to war in the trenches, it was a prototypical fight in a phone booth, a great back and forth battle with neither guy giving an inch. Tapia came up just short in this fight, it would be the first loss of his legendary career, but it really showed what an intense fighter and warrior he was. This was named fight of the year in 1999.
Johnny Tapia's best performance in my opinion was his fight with Danny Romero Jr, the fight was billed "the battle for Albuquerque" because both Tapia and Romero were from Albuquerque New Mexico, and it's one of the greatest boxing stories ever told because of the history between the two. Danny Romero was a monster puncher, nicknamed "Kid Dynamite", some of his knockouts were genuinely frightening, he had an overhand right that was absolute murder if it landed. Tapia and Romero had grown up together in Albuquerque, they first met at a gym when Tapia was 14 and Romero was 7. Romero's father had actually trained and worked with Tapia before they parted ways, so they all knew eachother closely. Romero Sr would go on to train his son Danny and develop him into a great fighter, by 1997 Danny was 23 years old and had a record of 30-1 and he was the IBF super flyweight champion. Danny was thought of as a young up-and-coming superstar, and had developed quite a fanbase in Albuquerque. Meanwhile Johnny Tapia was already a Superstar, he was 30 years old and was the WBO super flyweight champion and had a record of 41-0 and had his own fanbase in Albuquerque, so naturally there was some competition as to who was going to be Albuquerque's top dog so to speak. Danny Romero and Johnny Tapia were in a collision course that could only be settled in the ring, and the fact that this fight would be a unification bout just added to the drama. As the fight drew closer, both fighters began to hurl insults at eachother, it became personal, and their fanbases were also fighting, Albuquerque was basically divided into two camps that were constantly at eachother's throats, you were either pro-Tapia, or pro-Romero. The fighting between fans go so bad that the promoters of the fight had trouble trying to find a venue to host the bout, nobody wanted to host it out of fear of rioting between the fans. This fight really had it all, a personal feud between two guys that grew up together, unification of titles, the loyal fanbases that neither fighter wanted to disappoint, and of course the battle to be Albuquerque's top dog. It's a crazy story, all the drama surrounding the fight. This is what Johnny Tapia's wife Teresa had to say about the weeks leading up to the fight:
Tapia’s wife and manager Teresa remembers the fight and the training camp leading up to the showdown. It was the camp that terrified her and kept her up at night:
“You want to talk about being scared, that would be an understatement,” said Teresa. “He trained three and a half weeks for that fight.
Johnny was in a mess. Here I am his manager and his wife and I am watching footage of Danny training hard. He has all these special people. He’s in the mountains. Johnny’s in jail. We have no trainer. That was the kind of things leading up to this fight.”
Teresa’s concern for the fight only grew as the date got closer. “I was so worried I wanted to cancel the fight. I was already trying to get him to pull out. You know Johnny, he refused. He use to always say I refuse to lose.” The late great Eddie Futch came in to train Tapia. Jesse Reed also came aboard to handle mitts.
This is a write up from a man that was at the Tapia-Romero fight and remembers the whole thing very well.
Johnny Tapia versus Danny Romero — What a Night!
By: Ivan G. Goldman
One of my favorite boxing stories grew out of the storied July 18, 1997 clash between Albuquerque natives Johnny Tapia and Danny Romero at the basketball stadium of the University of Nevada Las Vegas campus.
The fight had percolated for years as both men stormed through opponent after opponent. There was no specific belt designated for Albuquerque’s favorite fighter, but you wouldn’t guess that from talking to Tapia or Romero. Tapia seemed to think it wasn’t fair for Romero to go around winning fights and fans while Tapia had to suffer a four-year banishment from the sport for his cocaine abuse. (He’d resumed his career three years earlier) And Romero looked upon Tapia as a has-been coke fiend who ought to slink back to the gutter where he belonged.
There was so much bad blood between the two camps and their respective fans that the promoters had trouble finding a venue willing to take their money. After the University of New Mexico refused to even consider it, lead promoter Bob Arum of Top Rank made a deal with the Las Vegas Hilton. But the hotel execs were always skittish about hosting thousands of die-hard fight fans from Billy the Kid territory. News media hinted that such a crowd could be uncontrollable, like Visigoths sacking a city.
Then in the third round of their June 28 rematch, Mike Tyson bit off a piece of Evander Holyfield’s ear at the MGM Grand. It sparked such a violent riot that the casino ejected paying customers and closed down gaming tables for hours. It’s hard to imagine anything more sacred in Vegas than the principle of round-the-clock gambling. To gaming executives, calling a recess was like being forced to throw their mothers out the back of a speeding pickup truck.
The Las Vegas Hilton panicked, and less than a month before the fight, annulled the contract, claiming the promoters hadn’t fulfilled some obscure insurance clause. Arum, whose relationships with Latino communities was a bedrock of his promotional business, didn’t need a scorecard to know who to side with. He insulted the hell out of the Hilton. “This is an insult to the Hispanic people,” he said, encouraging a boycott against the casino. After the big bad casino turned chicken it was cast out of the fight community. No promoter would ever trust it to keep its word again, and the divorce was final. Arum scrambled and came up with UNLV. The fight was still on.
Super flyweights Romero and Tapia were like a rock and a hard place. This would be like Leonard-Hearns, a mystery that everyone wanted to see solved in the ring. Tapia, a graceful boxer with a killer instinct, was up against a younger man who hit so hard he reminded fight guys of Roberto Duran. His punches sounded like hammers pulverizing human flesh.
Sitting next to me that night was Ramiro Gonzalez, now a publicist for Golden Boy Promotions. Then he was the boxing writer for La Opinion. Gonzalez had $50 riding on Romero. But a couple rounds into the great, give-and-take fight, Gonzalez, as excited as everybody else, started yelling things like, “Go underneath, Johnny. Step over and throw your right.”
Ramiro, I said, what the hell are you doing? You bet on the other guy! “I know,” he screamed waving his fist in triumph, “but Johnny’s boxing so beautifully I can’t help myself.” That was a true fan, what boxing is all about. I’ll never forget it.
After one of the early rounds Johnny leaned over to the media section and announced, “He doesn’t hit so hard.” Actually, Romero did hit amazingly hard, just not hard enough to worry Johnny. His life had been so difficult that to him, taking punches was a walk in the park. He fought like a magician in there, making sweet, unpredictable moves to hit and not be hit, the way it’s supposed to be done.
FIGHTHYPE FLASHBACK: THE BATTLE FOR ALBUQUERQUE...JOHNNY TAPIA VS. DANNY ROMERO
By Brad Cooper
With a verbal assault from Rock Newman, manager of former heavyweight champion Riddick Bowe, and a crack to the back of Andrew Golota's head delivered by Jason Harris, a cell phone wielding member of the Bowe entourage/management team, a riot ensued, both inside the ring and out, that would soon spread throughout the Mecca of Boxing and result in numerous arrests, including Harris himself.
The scene at Bowe-Golota I is well-known to boxing fans and general sports fans alike, linked forever to the image of Golota, affectionately known as the Foul Pole, crippling Bowe with repeated low blows until referee Wayne Kelly had seen enough in round seven and disqualified the Polish underdog who had otherwise dominated Bowe from the sound of the opening bell. Beginning the next day and lasting for several days after, the often used phrase "a black eye for boxing" was indelibly etched on headlines, a reminder to the sporting world that boxing had again let everyone down, allowing the worst to hide the light of the best. In the 53 weeks that followed Bowe-Golota I, the black eye that began in New York became an unrecognizable, bloodied mask thanks to a series of unrelated but seemingly endless streak of unthinkable, ridiculous moments, aired live around the globe, leaving some observers wondering if the days for the Sweet Science as one of the top sports in the world were numbered.
Indeed, July 11, 1996 was only the beginning. Later that year, in Atlantic City, Golota once again dominated Bowe for nine rounds in their pay-per-view rematch before, inexplicably, getting himself disqualified by referee Eddie Cotton for repeated low blows, for the second time in six months. In February of 1997, Lennox Lewis was awarded the WBC Heavyweight Championship that he lost to Oliver McCall in 1994 when McCall suffered a nervous breakdown in the ring, crying as Mills Lane attempted to control the situation, ultimately ending the bout in one of the most bizarre technical knockouts in boxing history. In June 1997, Mike Tyson was disqualified from his rematch with Evander Holyfield, again by Mills Lane, when Tyson bit Holyfield twice in round three. In July 1997, with trouble seeming to follow the diminutive official, Lane was forced to disqualify Henry Akinwande from his WBC Heavyweight Championship fight with Lennox Lewis due to excessive holding. Four high profile fights, four disqualifications, all within little more than a year. Boxing was in desperate need of a fix, a call to fans who had gone astray to come back to the sport that had once stirred their passion rather than churning their stomach. The last chance, or so it seemed, rested with two super flyweights who hailed from the same hometown.
Although Johnny Tapia and Danny Romero were born into completely different worlds, the two young prizefighters grew up only miles apart in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The vida loca life of Tapia included the tragic, violent death of his mother Virginia under incredible circumstances, as well as the absence of his biological father. With his turn to boxing came a relationship with a local trainer associated with the Police Athletic League: Danny Romero Sr., who was also training his young son in the same weight class as Tapia. Tapia and Romero split after a brief partnership. After turning professional in 1988 following two national Golden Gloves titles, Tapia would win the USBA Super Flyweight Championship, defending it twice and placing himself in prime position for a world title shot when three positive tests for cocaine resulted in a three year suspension from boxing in 1991.
The stability that Tapia lacked proved to be a driving force in both the life and professional career of Romero. Nicknamed "Kid Dynamite" for the explosive punching power that would ultimately rank him among the pound-for-pound hardest hitters in the sport during the mid-to-late 1990s, the father-and-son team of Danny Sr. and Danny Jr. quickly ascended through the ranks of the 112 and 115 lb. weight divisions in what would prove to be a collision course with Tapia, the former Albuquerque stable mate. After winning the New Mexico State super flyweight championship in 1993 and the NABF Flyweight title in 1994, Romero realized his world championship dreams in April of 1995, on the undercard of George Foreman's title defense against Axel Schulz, with a unanimous decision win over IBF flyweight champion Francisco Tejedor.
Despite a seventh round technical knockout loss to journeyman Willy Salazar in a 1995 non-title bout, Romero would go on to win the IBF super flyweight championship in 1996 with a quick knockout of Harold Grey. With Romero's violent and exciting entrance into the super flyweight division, the unification with Tapia, then the WBO champion, was deemed both inevitable for the careers of both fighters and necessary for the good of the sport in light of troubling times.
Set to be aired before an international television audience on HBO World Championship Boxing, the long-awaited clash of the New Mexican icons was scheduled for July 18, 1997 at the Las Vegas Hilton in Las Vegas, Nevada. Although The Pit on the campus of the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque seemed like the perfect venue for the Tapia-Romero clash, concerns regarding violence between the vigorous supporters from both camps forced the relocation of the bout to a more supportive neutral site. However, the event itself was threatened in short order when an incident between Tapia and Romero supporters on a Southwest Airlines flight to Las Vegas, along with worries concerning the aftermath of the Tyson-Holyfield debacle at the MGM Grand just a month before, prompted the Hilton to pull out of the fight, leaving the Thomas and Mack Center to serve as a replacement on less than a month's notice.
The unexpected venue change was but one contributor to the volatile environment surrounding the Tapia-Romero event, with another major component existing in the form of the Tapia camp itself. In the final crucial weeks of his training camp, Tapia managed to hire and fire trainer Jesse Reid, recruit legendary trainer Eddie Futch, and later rehire Reid to work the corner as co-trainer with Futch on the night of the fight. In usual fashion, Romero remained stable, consistent, reliable, poised to work toward the task before him with brutal efficiency and a calm confidence that had defined his five year career.
Following the introductions by ring announcer Mark Beiro, the ten-thousand plus in attendance were worked into a frenzy before the sound of the opening bell. "Round one begins," HBO's Jim Lampley said as they moved to the center of the ring. "They've waited years." Indeed they had. Tapia winged hooks to Romero's body in the first minute of the opening round, dropping lead right hands on Romero as he slowly moved forward, darting in and out with the Tapia energy that brought a roar from the crowd with every significant move. With his trademark energy and defiance, Tapia finished the first round with a solid left hook and a staredown for his crosstown rival, fixing his glare on Romero as he walked back to the corner.
Despite the early effectiveness of their collective game plan, trainers Jesse Reid and Eddie Futch expressed concerns regarding Tapia's focus, urging him to remain disciplined, to move in and out, counter when necessary, and to avoid a toe-to-toe war with his power punching counterpart who had scored 27 knockouts in his 30 wins. The Tapia body attack and frenetic pace continued in rounds two and three, but Romero would finally come alive and capture the momentum in round four, moving inside the Tapia attack while landing jabs and right hands with regularity. With Romero taking charge, landing his best punches of the fight in round five, making his physical presence felt, and disturbing Tapia's rhythm, the fight appeared to be in a dead heat going into the final six rounds.
In the opening seconds of round seven, a Romero right hand cracked Tapia flush on the jaw, prompting Tapia to clown, feign being hurt, and touch his gloves to the canvas. That shot from Romero would prove to be one of his final big moments in the ebb and flow of the fight. Later in the round, following an accidental clash of heads, as Mitch Halpern checked both fighters, Tapia walked toward the corner and asked, "Are you okay, Danny?", an event thought impossible little more than an hour before. The resurgent Tapia worked back into the game plan that won the first three rounds, boxing Romero in rounds seven and eight, circling to his right, working behind the jab, and avoiding a Romero attack that was growing progressively slower and more predictable as the IBF champion looked for the knockout blow that would settle the score between the longtime rivals.
"Play with him! Play with him! He's getting frustrated," Jesse Reid said emphatically, dispensing almost unheard of advice in the Tapia corner before the start of the tenth round, and yet that is exactly what Tapia would do in the final three rounds. With energy now shown since the first third of the bout, Tapia exploded with combinations to the body and head of Romero in round eleven, drilling his opponent in the center of the ring and raising his hand between the attacks, prompting cheers and chants from the predominantly pro-Tapia crowd.
Before the twelfth and final round, Jesse Reid told Tapia to have some fun with Romero and to look like a true champion. Across the ring, Danny Romero was given more tactical advice, to fire punches at Tapia and keep him from doing too much. For the boxing world, the question that remained was not which fighter would be awarded a decision when the final three minutes had elapsed, but how much the fight could do to heal the wounds of the last 53 weeks and whether or not the final verdict would settle the score between Tapia and Romero in a sense that extended far beyond the ring at the Thomas and Mack Center.
In the twelfth, Tapia boxed and Romero stalked, but neither fighter took the round decisively. As the bell sounded, Tapia delivered a trademark backflip and was raised in the air by Jesse Reid. Both fighters raised their arms to the crowd, with Tapia receiving the louder ovation as he stood on the ropes and pointed skyward. The same gesture from Romero drew a chorus of boos just seconds before Mark Beiro called for the bell and read the decision.
Judges Clark Sammartino and Jerry Roth scored 116-112, while Glen Hamada scored 115-113, all in favor of Johnny Tapia, but the sport in desperate need of a great fight on a big night, full of excitement and free of controversy, was the true winner. A tearful Tapia celebrated with the grandfather who raised him during the postfight interview while a disappointed Romero considered the possibility of a rematch and pondered his own future, one no longer linked to Tapia, with the class that was expected of the two-time world champion. More importantly, both men sought to let the comments and events of the past stay in the past.
In an unexpected turn of events, the careers of Tapia and Romero would ultimately go in different directions. Tapia would continue on at the highest levels of the sport, defending his unified IBF/WBO championship twice before defeating Nana Konadu for the WBA bantamweight championship, a title he would lose to Paulie Ayala in 1999, the first defeat of Tapia's career. There was one more title belt for the collection, an IBF featherweight championship won from Manuel Medina in 2002, before the erosion of his skills was made evident in a lopsided twelve round loss to Mexican legend Marco Antonio Barrera in 2002.
For Romero, the narrow loss on the biggest stage of his career would serve as his personal pinnacle. His bid for the IBF super bantamweight title fell just short in a majority decision loss to champion Vuyani Bungu on Halloween night 1998 in Atlantic City. Romero would not challenge for a major world title again. There were eight more wins for the record, followed by a decision loss to Ratanachai Sor Vorapin in 2001 and a TKO loss to Cruz Carbajal in 2002. A short comeback netted two wins and a draw for Romero, who has not fought since 2006.
Neither Tapia nor Romero stepped into the ring in 2008 or 2009, with Romero seemingly retired and Tapia recently serving a jail sentence that actually caused the cancellation of a possible comeback fight in Albuquerque. Looking back, it's hard to believe that the long-awaited clash to unify the IBF and WBO super flyweight championships, and to award bragging rights over the mutual hometown of two of the best small fighters in the world, took place nearly twelve years ago. Although the official record shows Johnny Tapia winning a unanimous decision over Danny Romero in Las Vegas, boxing fans around the world should remember that night as an example of what the sport can ultimately be: an exhibition of pure boxing skills, filled with controlled emotion, a wealth of talent, and incredible energy, devoid of controversy, violence, and disgrace. For that night, while forgotten by some, those who passionately follow the sport should be forever grateful, because on a hot July night in the Las Vegas desert, rather than being administered another black eye, the world of boxing was presented with a Silver Star.
The New York Times write-up in the battle for Albuquerque the day after the fight.
Tapia Pounds Romero To Win Grudge Match
One of them tried the oldest move in the book (sticking out his tongue) and the other tried a more up-to-date tactic (the right jab). They held the battle of Albuquerque in the suburb of Las Vegas tonight, and some think the loser should have to walk home to New Mexico.
In that case, Danny Romero had better start thumbing a ride. Romero, 23 and fed most of his life from a silver platter, lost to a 30-year-old showboat, Johnny Tapia, this evening in a junior bantamweight (114 pound) title bout that got boxing back to its basics: brawling.
Tapia, in a unanimous decision, unified the International Boxing Federation and World Boxing Organization belts at the Thomas and Mack Center -- and nearly broke Romero's pug nose.
''Go get me that belt; go get me that belt,'' Tapia said afterward. ''Put that belt on me.''
The fight was officially three years in the making, but it was actually more like 16 years. The fighters first met at a Police Athletic Club (Tapia was 14, Romero was 7), although Romero would go home to his father and trainer, Danny Sr., and Tapia would go home to absolutely nothing.
Tapia, at the age of 8, witnessed the murder and rape of his mother, and he had been estranged from his father from birth. ''I've been poor,'' he said before the fight. But he left the building tonight with a $400,000 check and was an absolute wreck, too.
''I dedicated this fight to my mom,'' he said, ''because I miss her. And I did it.''
Danny Romero Sr. had actually once been Tapia's trainer, but they split unceremoniously, and the grudge remains.
Tapia on Romero Jr. before the fight: ''I hate him, I hate him.''
Romero Jr. on Tapia: ''Going out and acting like an idiot is not my nature. I'll leave that to someone else.''
Now there appears to be no end to the grudge. After the unanimous decision -- the judges had it even after eight rounds but scored it 116-112, 116-112 and 115-113 in the end -- Tapia said: ''Let's let bygones be bygones. It's over.''
But Romero Sr. would not buy it. In fact, when Tapia sauntered over to shake the younger Romero's hand, the father waved Tapia off.
''He's a you-know-what,'' Tapia said of Romero Sr. ''Always has been.''
Romero Jr.'s response was, ''I thought I won.''
Of course, Tapia (41-0-2) cannot keep a straight face anywhere, much less in the ring. He stuck out his tongue at Romero, and when Romero landed a rare dead-on punch in the seventh round, Tapia feigned that he was about to fall down.
''He never caught me clean,'' Tapia said of Romero (30-2).
Certainly, they prepared for this fight differently. Romero did not spar a single round, drilling with his father instead, while Tapia spent the last few months firing three trainers.
''Well, when there's nothing going wrong in my life, there's nothing right,'' he said of his parade of trainers. ''All I really need is somebody to give me water in the corner, anyway. I'll take care of the rest.''
Actually, he had Jesse Reid and the Hall of Famer Eddie Futch in his corner tonight, and he executed their plan exquisitely. He went to Romero's body with left hooks, to his face with straight rights, and moved to the right after every punch.
The rematch would sell out any arena in New Mexico, but do not hold your breath.
''No, no rematch,'' Tapia said. ''It's too easy of a fight.''
More comments from Tapia and Romero after the fight:
“I never wanted to knock him out – I just wanted to punish him,” said 30-year-old Tapia who retained his WBO strap and took Romero’s IBF belt.
“The game plan was to stick and move, keep moving to my right and make it an easy fight. And that’s what it was. It was so easy.”
“I thought I won,” Romero, 23, said. “A few things maybe I could’ve done better, but that’s the way it goes. It didn’t come out the way it should’ve, but hey, more power to him.”
A few more photos from the battle for Albuquerque.
After all the drama that unfolded in the story of the battle for Albuquerque, Johnny Tapia and Danny Romero Jr became good friends. They forgave each other for all the ugly things they’d said and became buddies, even traveling to fights together. There's a lot of heat in the boxing world, a lot of pride, a lot of competitiveness, it is after all the business of battle. But at the end of the day, there's really a deep respect between fellow warriors.
The Tapia-Romero fight was a master performance from Tapia, a 30-year old outwitting a 23-year old young hungry lion with a monster punch, and using the science of boxing to get it done. Just a masterful performance from Tapia.
Tapia is a legend, a polarizing figure in not only boxing history but sports history. He wrote his own autobiography entitled "Mi Vida Loca" before he died, and has another book written about his life entitled "The Ghost of Johnny Tapia", the foreword to that book was written by the famous Van Halen frontman Sammy Hagar, Hagar was a huge Tapia fan, and Tapia also has an HBO documentary about him. He had to fight his whole life, inside the ring, outside the ring, he was always fighting something, whether it be personal demons, fighting for his sanity after all the tragedy that was bestowed upon him, or literally fighting for his very life. Even before he was born, tragedies were already occurring in Tapia’s life with the murder of his father while his mother was pregnant with him. Then the tragedy of his mother being murdered, At just eight-years-old Johnny witnessed his mother, Virginia, being kidnapped away from their home. She was chained to a truck. She was brutally assaulted, raped, stabbed 22 times and left for dead, but she fought and crawled more than a hundred yards before being found by police and taken to the emergency room. Sadly, she passed away a few days later. The sights and sounds of his mother’s last days forever haunted him. He told Boxing News in 2011, “My mom’s death kills me every day…I just want to say ‘Good night mama.’ I want to hug my mama.” By the age of eight, Tapia found himself an orphan. There was a lot of pain and pent-up frustration within Tapia, and it was no surprise when he turned to boxing at the age of nine while under the care of his grandparents. Rich kids don't fight, poor kids fight, and Tapia had to fight his way out of poverty, and the insanity around him. As a young boy, Tapia was matched in fights against other neighbourhood children for his family to bet on. By now, boxing wasn’t a hobby. It was a necessity. Tapia described his life as: “Raised as a Pitbull. Raised to fight to the death.” And in his life, there were many fights with death. Tapia's brother-in-law, Robert "Gordy" Gutierrez, and nephew, Ben Garcia, were killed in a car crash on March 13, 2007. They were on their way to visit Tapia in the hospital in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where he had been admitted for a cocaine overdose, Tapia blamed himself for the tragedy. He overdosed on drugs and was declared dead four separate times in the hospital, he fought his addiction until the day he died, but ultimately lost his life to drugs. The man was a fighter. Put it this way, if I was going to fight in a war and had to share a foxhole with someone, besides my family, Tapia would be next to me in that foxhole, because like me, he knew what it was like to have to fight the hells of life everyday and would never stop fighting for the good. I think Johnny Tapia knew he was never going to make it alive into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. He had way too many addictions, way too many demons. The only place Tapia ever felt peace was in the ring itself. Johnny always said that when his career was over, he didn't know what he was going to do with himself and probably wouldn't last long. He lasted one year from when he quit boxing. Tapia himself never thought he would live past the age of 40. He reached 45 before his tormented life finally came to an end at his home in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
This is a photo of Johnny Tapia with his wife Teresa Tapia, she managed his career and was a steady influence in his life. Johnny never defeated his demons, but he fought them, because of his relationship with his wife Teresa he had hope until the very end despite all the darkness he walked through.
Let's get a few photos of Johnny Tapia in here. This is an image of Tapia with the legendary Mexican fighter Marco Antonio Barrera, aka "The Baby Faced Assassin", they were good friends and had a deep mutual respect for each other. They actually fought in 2002 with Barrera getting the decision victory. They respected each other so much that they had eachother's last names embroidered on their trunks when they fought, and after Tapia passed away Barrera always fought with Tapia's name on his trunks.
Tapia doing his customary backflip in the ring after a victory.
Tapia in his corner with the legendary Mr. T by his side.
Wicked body shot.
Tapia and Barrera in 2002.
Mi Vida Loca.
The legendary Johnny Tapia.
A sick video tribute to Johnny Tapia.
34-year-old Carl Froch, aka "The Cobra", mauled the murderous punching IBF super-middleweight champion Lucian Bute in five rounds in his hometown of Nottingham in 2012.
"After the Andre Ward defeat I was very, very deflated. I was here to put right a wrong," Froch told Sky Sports. "I was more determined than ever before.
"I was very switched on, focused and determined. I came here to do a job. If it had gone 12 rounds it would have been 12 rounds of that. I was on it.
"A lot of people wrote me off. The bookies got it wrong, and a lot of people in Nottingham have won some money tonight.
"I could not afford to be lazy and flat-footed. Big respect to Lucian, he can punch, and he hit me with some good shots in there. But I came back."
My favorite Carl Froch moment was his one punch knockout of George Groves in 2014 at Wembley stadium, it was the knockout of the year. Groves was a damn good fighter himself, but got caught cold with a brutal right hand. Froch was in his 12th year as a pro and had mentioned retirement. He just missed winning the Super Six tournament against Andre Ward, then rebounded with a massive stoppage of Lucian Bute and two more wins before facing Groves in their first fight.
Groves, a former British super middleweight champion from London who was undefeated but hadn't scored a signature victory. He was a good puncher with solid technique, and his speed advantage helped him drop Froch in the 1st round of their first bout. Froch then clawed his way back before scoring a controversial stoppage, setting up a rematch.
Both fighters talked trash going into the rematch and the drama helped lead to good ticket sales as 80,000 or so spectators watched a classic—a figure Froch wouldn't soon let anyone forget.
Groves was more tentative this time around even though he pledged to knock Froch out in three rounds. Froch was sharper and clipped Groves when he did open up, making him even more tentative. Froch's singular focus on a knockout helped him avoid a war in round 5.
In round 7, Froch appeared to rock Groves. And in the 8th, Froch unloaded a sizzler of a right hand that flattened his rival. Grove went down awkwardly and his left leg got bent grotesquely to the side of his body, he stayed motionless, then the fight was waved off as Groves moved to get to his feet as it became clear it was over, but it was way too late.
“This was a legacy fight,” Froch said. “Unfortunately in boxing, people remember you for your last fight. I didn’t want to go out to be remembered as being a loser, and I would have retired if I’d lost tonight.”
Here's the Froch-Groves knockout.
‘It took years off my life’ – heavyweight Fabio Wardley lived off ice cream and noodles after his brutal fight with Frazer Clarke in March of 2024.
Wardley resorted to a diet of ice cream and noodles after the pair put on a thriller over 12 rounds that ended in a draw.
Wardley was left covered in blood due to his busted nose and a jaw injury that left him barely able to chew in the days after.
He told The Sun Times: “It’s a fate that you have to accept if you do this sport properly.
“I probably should’ve gone to the hospital afterwards. I remember being sat in my hotel room and I couldn’t sleep because my head was pounding, like vibrating.
"When I lay down, I felt sick. If I sat up, I felt sick. My face looked like the Elephant Man. My nose was stitched up."
"I’d bitten my tongue about 100 times. I couldn’t chew for three days because of my jaw, so I just ate ice cream and noodles, but that’s part of it."
“Those fights are going to happen and you might get knocked out, but if you carry that around with you and hesitate because you’re scared of it, it could have a negative impact on how you fight and almost make it more likely to happen. You’ve got to just take it on the chin.”
Wardley scored a knockdown in round five and Clarke had a point taken off to even the judges scorecards.
But Wardley won the rematch six months later with a brutal first-round knockout that left Clarke hospitalised.
Just five months after Tim Witherspoon captured the WBC Heavyweight Title by defeating Greg Page, he stepped into the ring to defend it against the undefeated Pinklon Thomas. With Larry Holmes vacating the title to be recognized as the IBF champion, the stage was set for a new heavyweight king to emerge.
The opening round saw both fighters feeling each other out, but from Round 2 on, Thomas took control. His jab—powerful and relentless—repeatedly found its target, frustrating Witherspoon and leading to complaints to referee Richard Steele. No fouls were called, and Thomas continued to dominate with skillful distance control and sharp boxing.
By Round 9, Thomas had built a clear lead. He coasted through the final rounds, avoiding risk and staying in command. Though one judge controversially scored it a draw, the other two awarded Thomas a well-deserved majority decision. Most observers agreed that Thomas was the rightful winner.
What made this victory even more powerful was Thomas's backstory. Raised in Pontiac, Michigan, his youth was consumed by addiction and violence. He was using heroin by 12 and hooked by 14. But his life changed when he married Kathy Jones, followed her into the Army, and discovered boxing with the help of trainer Joe West. Under the guidance of the legendary Angelo Dundee, Thomas turned his life around and became a world champion.
For Witherspoon, the loss was tough. It ended his title reign after just one defense, and financial distractions had weighed heavily on him throughout the fight buildup.
Thomas would go on to defend the WBC title twice before losing it to Trevor Berbick in 1986. Witherspoon, too, bounced back, briefly reclaiming a portion of the heavyweight crown before losing it again.
This fight remains a symbol of Pinklon Thomas’s incredible journey—from addiction and hardship to the very top of the boxing world.
The legendary trainer Angelo Dundee was once asked who was the hardest puncher he ever trained, and he said Florentino "The Ox" Fernandez was the hardest puncher he trained, but he also said "Pinklon Thomas could really whack." One thing about Pinklon Thomas, he had a masterful left hand, he could really punish you with that left. He could use it as a jab and pepper you with it, or he could use it as a hook, either way he could really bust you up with it.