Chalky Wright and Willie Pep mixed it up four times but Wright could never get the best of "The Hartford Wonder." Many people consider Willie Pep to be greatest featherweight that ever lived. Willie Pep had two major unbeaten streaks in his career: his first was a 62-fight winning streak from his professional debut until his first loss to Sammy Angott in 1943. After this first loss, he went on to have an even longer unbeaten streak of 73 consecutive victories. That's how freaking great Willie Pep was, he was a master of the sweet science. But Pep did get a taste of Chalky Wright's power, and later stated that Wright was the hardest puncher he ever faced.
In 1943, a single photograph captured what Hollywood wasn’t ready to see: Mae West, the queen of double entendres, walking side by side with Albert “Chalky” Wright, former featherweight boxing champion. To the world, he was her chauffeur. To Mae, he was far more her confidant, protector, and, many whispered, her partner. In an industry obsessed with image and in an era of strict racial lines, their bond was nothing short of revolutionary. One incident says it all. When the management of her home the Ravenswood Apartments told her Wright wasn’t allowed upstairs because he was Black, Mae didn’t argue. She didn’t plead. She simply bought the entire building. And Wright wasn’t just by her side for appearances. In 1935, when an extortionist tried to blackmail Mae, it was Chalky who worked with the police, setting up a decoy purse outside Warner Brothers to help catch the criminal. Mae West never lived by anyone’s rules but her own. But she lived by her own code: loyalty, fairness, and unapologetic defiance. In Chalky Wright, she found someone who embodied all three. And together, they stood as quiet proof that some bonds are stronger than prejudice.
Like I said earlier, Albert "Chalky" Wright was the inspiration for the character Chalky White on the gangster TV show Boardwalk Empire, great show, I've seen the entire series. The character Chalky White was played by the great actor Michael Kenneth Williams.
In real life, Albert "Chalky" Wright fought and KO'd Mickey Cohen in 1933. If you're not familiar with Mickey Cohen, he was a real-life Jewish mobster that worked for the notorious Bugsy Siegel in the 1930s and later took over the organized crime rackets in Los Angeles, he pretty much ran Los Angeles in the 1940s and 50s. Cohen was also a professional boxer early on in his life at one time. Cohen actually did time in Alcatraz, he had a nasty scar under his left eye, he lived a very violent life, he was notorious as hell. During his reign, Cohen faced many attempts on his life, Mickey Cohen and several companions were shot outside Sherry's Restaurant on Sunset Boulevard on July 20th, 1949, but Cohen survived. His home on posh Moreno Avenue in Brentwood was bombed on November 21st, 1949, but he survived that assassination attempt as well. The guy legit had more lives than a cat, they tried every thing in the book to kill him but never could get it done. The bottom photo is Cohen's home after the bombing, with him standing inside surveying the damage.
Getting back to the TV show Boardwalk Empire for a second, it had a slew of great characters, but my favorite was Richard Harrow, played by the great actor Jack Huston. The character Richard Harrow was memorable because he was missing part of his face and wore a mask, Richard Harrow wears a mask because of a severe facial injury he sustained as a sniper in WW1, which destroyed the left side of his face. As a U.S. Army marksman, Harrow was injured in trench warfare, losing his left eye, cheekbone, and part of his jaw. The tin mask, molded to match the intact right side of his face, is a prosthetic that allows him to hide his disfigurement and interact with society with less distress. Great character.
And it's very realistic for the time period, Anna Coleman Ladd created masks for French soldiers in 1918 who suffered facial injuries. She would first cast a mould of the patients face as a reference, then make an attachable mask painted to their matching skin tone.
Edgar "Mad Dog" Ross, 1970s welterweight/middleweight with good power and an intense fighting style. Edgar Ross grew up in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, his brother Ronnie played football for Auburn, but Edgar was too violent for football, according to a childhood friend, and picked fights on the Tuscaloosa streets before turning to amateur boxing on the advice of a Tuscaloosa County deputy sheriff who, himself an amateur boxer, had seen Ross beat up on people in bars and parking lots. After two fights he joined the Navy and served in Vietnam, and after his return from Vietnam he returned to boxing, compiling a 24-4 record and winning the state's Golden Gloves competition. He turned pro in 1972, fighting his first nine fights out of Mobile and then joining the stable of Pete Ashlock in Orlando, Florida.
A History Of Violence: The Life & Battles Of Edgar 'Mad Dog' Ross
Patch took a deep dive into the life of the Tuscaloosa boxer after news of his posthumous induction into the Alabama Boxing Hall of Fame.
"In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade and he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down and cut him 'til he cried out, in his anger and his shame 'I am leaving, I am leaving,' but the fighter still remains" - "The Boxer" by Simon and Garfunkel (1969)
TUSCALOOSA, AL — North American Junior Middleweight Champion Edgar "Mad Dog" Ross took a series of devastating left hooks in the seventh and eighth rounds of his boxing match with Kansas-born Tony Chiaverni.
But it would be a particularly strong and well-placed couple of punches in the 10th round that put Ross — and his career — on the canvas for good. After a decade of fighting, he was finally down for the count.
The Salina (Kansas) Journal summed up the 1979 fight in Kansas City by saying "there were no claims of foul, no claims of being victimized by a hometown decision, no claims of favoritism."
Ross, a 31-year-old from Tuscaloosa fighting out of Orlando, also saw his streak of victories in the ring snapped at 50 on that fateful March night. Shortly thereafter, he wrote a letter to the Tuscaloosa News announcing his retirement from the sport.
While he never achieved the fame and notoriety of the most-beloved Tuscaloosa-born boxer — Deontay Wilder — his star arguably shined as bright as anyone else in the sport from his hometown other than the Bronze Bomber during his prime in the 1970s.
Ross died in relative obscurity in Dale County in 2012 at the age of 64, but his accomplishments are far from forgotten and recently earned him a posthumous induction into the Alabama Boxing Hall of Fame for its class of 2022.
To honor his legacy and remember the man known as "Mad Dog" before his enshrinement alongside past inductees like Evander Holyfield and Joe Louis, Patch set out to dig deeper into who the man was and what his time in the ring meant to him.
The Portrait Of The Fighter As A Young Man
There's a lengthy May 1979 feature in Sports Illustrated that gives a colorful portrayal of Ross as part of a larger story about his longtime manager and promoter, Pete Ashlock.
Entitled "Losing Search For A Winner," the unnamed author of the story describes how Ross made his way to Orlando to Ashlock's gym after growing up in Alabama. Training briefly under Tuscaloosa boxing legend Charlie Hutchinson, Ross developed his skills to the point that he won Alabama's Golden Gloves competition before turning pro.
"You talk about a wild, rank bum," Ashlock said of the first impression he had of Ross. "[Ross] didn't give a damn for nothing. He was just tough."
Despite often shaking off the "tough guy" label and insisting that his passion for fisticuffs was misunderstood by the public, Ross seemed to have been destined to fight.
Edgar Cyrus Ross was born in Tuscaloosa in 1947 to Cyrus William Ross — a WWII veteran and farmer, according to Census records — and his wife, Frances Mae Price Ross.
Little is known about his early years and time at Tuscaloosa High School, apart from a few black and white yearbook photos.
However, a 2012 letter to the editor submitted to the Tuscaloosa News by Key West, Florida native Mike Sawyer reflected on the boxer after his death, focusing mainly on his early years.
Sawyer wrote that, in the mid-1960s, Ross split time between living in Tuscaloosa and with his grandmother in Dale County.
"Many after-school days, Edgar and his friend would come to catch water moccasins in the nearby farm pond," he said. "Courage or crazy, I thought."
But Ross was also candid with Sports Illustrated about his youth and teenage years, which included staging fights in the parking lot of the old McDonald's across from Tuscaloosa High or in Bowers Park.
"Back home in Tuscaloosa, when other kids were shooting baskets and kicking footballs and batting balls, I was looking for kids to fight," Ross once said. "Boxing is something I always wanted to do."
These were the halcyon days for the Sweet Science, when boxing was one of the most popular sports in the world — decades before Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) and the likes of UFC saw the timeless sport faced with a sharp decline in popularity.
"Don't get me wrong. The Mad Dog part of me is only for the ring," Ross told Bart Ripp of the Albuquerque Journal in 1976. "I got the name from Jody (The Hammer) Ballard one time when we were sparring one day. After I dropped him, he said I fought like a mad dog. It isn't because I'm some sort of hound or anything. It's just that when I get in that square, I'm a different man."
Ross also reflected back on those gritty fights, painting a picture that many in today's world of coddled professional athletes would probably have a difficult time believing, had they not seen it themselves or knew people who did. He remembered people showing up to the events with weapons like knives or guns and, sometimes, tire tools.
"I'd fight and the war would be on," Ross told Sports Illustrated. "Several people would always be carried off to the hospital. Worst of all, sometimes it was me. I tell you, fear makes you fight like hell. Once a guy raised his pistol at me and fired it point-blank. I knew he couldn't miss me, and when the gun went off I figured I was so excited that I just didn't feel it."
Luckily, Ross avoided that bullet, but, like many other boxers of his era, earned a reputation as a rough-and-tumble kid always looking for a fight.
This makes even more sense when considering why he decided to enlist in the U.S. Navy during the Vietnam War, where he was a gunman aboard a destroyer ship.
But after the war, he returned to Tuscaloosa in 1970 and fell back into his old ways — bar fights and parking lot brawls. Ross also said he developed an addiction to the pills he would buy in bulk at a local truck stop.
"I couldn't see where I was going, but that was only because I wasn't going anywhere," he told Sports Illustrated, setting up the story of how he made his way to Orlando and joined the stable of fighters managed by Asklock.
"Mad Dog has now become a solid citizen, even to the point of attending college," the Sports Illustrated reporter wrote. "He rents a small house with orange trees in the backyard. He barbecues chicken for neighbor kids (in turn, they rake his yard), plays Scrabble and lives with his two dogs."
Indeed, as one profile of the fighter pointed out, Ross studied for two years at Albert Brewer Community College — now Bevill State Community College in Fayette — in the hopes of earning a biology degree. During this interview, he told the reporter he was doing so because he had a goal of one day working with zoo animals.
"I'm fascinated by animals," Ross said.
A Long, Violent History
Mad Dog's professional boxing debut came on July 30, 1973 at the municipal auditorium in Mobile. His opponent, Walter Hayes, only logged four career professional fights and would never secure a victory in the ring.
On that summer night in Mobile, Hayes was on the receiving end of a sound beating by his 24-year-old opponent. The fight would go to decision, however, which saw Ross earn the first of 57 career wins.
"They don't pay a man to sit down in the ring," Ross once told a reporter when asked about his intense persona in the ring. "When I'm in there, I want to kill my opponent. When I know he's hurt, I go after him."
Described by one sportswriter as looking "like Mac Davis and sounding like Kris Kristofferson," Ross went on to win his next seven fights, which were hosted in places like Mobile, New Orleans and Orlando. He fully embraced the "Mad Dog" persona during this time, even being led to the ring wearing a dog collar and chain.
This immensely successful stretch also included his first career knockout in the professional ranks, which was at the expense of Grover "Torpedo" Robinson when he was dropped in the third round of their 1974 fight at the municipal auditorium in New Orleans.
"Some folks think that fighters go around stepping on flowers and spitting on children," Ross said in an interview in the 1970s. "But it isn't that way. It's just something I've got to get out of my system."
There's no doubt Mad Dog was tougher than most. But, as is the case with all fighters, he wasn't invincible. Indeed, Ross was dealt the first of two career losses by a fighter named Charlie Grimmett on Feb. 20, 1975.
Grimmett, a native of Jamaica, was making his professional debut in a six-round undercard fight against an 8-0 Ross on his home turf at the Orlando Sports Stadium. The Super Middleweight contest lasted the full six rounds and saw Grimmett awarded the decision by scorekeepers.
We'll likely never know just what was going through Mad Dog's head following that loss, but it would be the starting point for a streak that ultimately led to a Hall of Fame career.
Winning his next eight fights over obscure but colorful names like Cephus Bowe and Saw Pretty, Ross was hungry for a rematch with the one guy who had gotten the better of him. And he would get his chance later that summer, on the night of June 20, 1975.
As a side note, it's important to point out that Ross added a total of 17 fights — 16 wins, one loss — to his record just in 1975.
To compare to today's standards, look at current WBC heavyweight champ Tyson Fury. The most fights the Gypsy King has participated in during a single year came early in his career, when he had eight fights in 2009. Fury's longtime rival, former heavyweight champ Deontay Wilder, never fought more than six times in a single year during his professional career.
But for Mad Dog, vengeance was sweet on that night, as the two went the full eight rounds in a rematch that ultimately saw Ross named the winner by unanimous decision.
While the names of the men he defeated in those years after have been largely forgotten — among them Leon Futch, Victor 'Taco' Perez and Max Hord — Ross dominated the rest of the 1970s in the super welterweight/junior middleweight divisions.
This streak of success also included several fights at Foster Auditorium in Tuscaloosa and a third bout with Grimmett two weeks before Christmas in 1978.
Ross scored his first and only knockout of Grimmett in that third meeting, putting his rival on the mat halfway through the 10-round bout that ended up becoming the first of the last three fights for both boxing careers.
But the final appearance of Edgar "Mad Dog" Ross came against arguably the best competition he had faced since earning his nickname in that Tuscaloosa parking lot fight against a much bigger opponent more than a decade earlier. Ross even said so himself.
Tony Chiaverini, a 26-year-old southpaw from Kansas City, Missouri, came into the fight with a 24-7 record and matched up evenly with Ross in terms of size and reach, with both men standing 5'8" and weighing in around 175 pounds.
It's unclear exactly why Ross decided to accept the invitation to fight the up-and-comer in front of 7,500 fans in his hometown of Kansas City, although money likely dictated the final decision. After all, the fight represented the largest purse Ross had ever seen — $17,000, according to Sports Illustrated — while his biggest payday for a single fight prior to his match with Chiaverini was reported to be $1,600.
Still, before the fight, Mad Dog was confident all the details wouldn't make much of a difference, saying the night before that "He's not going to throw anything I haven't seen before."
The controversy swirling around the match is also worth noting, as the bout was promoted locally as a North American Boxing Federation World Middleweight Title Fight. However, Ross came into the fight as the North American champ and ranked No. 2 or No. 3 — depending on the source — among junior middleweights worldwide, while Chiaverini was ranked No. 8.
"The fight has not been approved," said North American Boxing Federation President Bob Busse prior to the fight. "If Chiaverini wins, the title does not change hands, Ross has to meet the number one contender, Roxey Mosely, within a year. We did have a (title) request from Peyton Sher (Kansas City matchmaker), but for whatever reason, Sher went ahead with staging the fight."
While it appears that no film footage exists of that main event featuring the two fighters, it had to have been something to watch, as the two slogged through 10 rounds of a brutal 12-round bout.
Ross managed to win the fourth and fifth rounds of the fight, but his younger opponent dealt him a beating in the seventh and eighth rounds. Still, it would be a hard blow in the ninth that put the Mad Dog down for the first time that evening.
Ross managed to survive the late round, taking the mandatory eight-count before getting to his feet just before the bell, according to a report in the Garden City (Kansas) Telegram.
The following is the local newspaper account of that decisive round:
"Chiaverini sent Ross to the canvas again with a left uppercut in the 10th round. Ross returned to his feet at the count of nine from referee Lou Eskwin and nodded that he could keep on fighting. But when Eskwin backed away, Chiaverini delivered a staggering left hook and then sent Ross to the canvas for a final time with a right hook to claim the TKO at 1:55 of the round."
Ross was no doubt deflated after the upset loss, but seemed to take defeat in stride as his streak in the ring ended at 50 straight wins.
"I hit him enough to make most men seek an easier and a more gainful means of employment in another field," Ross told a Kansas newspaper reporter following the fight. "But for him to come back in the later stages of the fight with that strength, well, that's a big plus for him. I was kinda surprised. He's a much better fighter than I gave him credit for."
While Chiaverini went on to fight until 1983, including a brutal four-round loss to Sugar Ray Leonard, Ross never entered the ring again, turning down thousands of dollars and multiple offers for fights. Most famously, the head trauma sustained over the years and during his final loss prompted him to turn down the biggest payday of his career in the amount of $75,000 to fight Wilfred Benítez in Madison Square Garden.
According to a 2012 story written after his death by Tommy Deas of the Tuscaloosa News, life after boxing for Ross was much like his life prior to entering the ring for the first time.
In those last decades, Ross reportedly fell back into his old ways as his mental and physical health rapidly declined. He struggled financially and was homeless at times, the Tuscaloosa News reported, in addition to suffering from seizures and memory loss as a result of his violent life and profession. Ross also retained his penchant for violence, but wasn't the fighter he once had been and often found himself on the losing end of inconsequential scuffles.
His brother, the late Ronnie Ross, was a former Auburn football player who looked out for Mad Dog in those days. After receiving a substantial inheritance following his brother's death, a friend helped Ross by reportedly clearing some land on his property where the retired boxer lived out the rest of his days in a mobile home.
In his letter to the editor in 2012, Mike Sawyer remembered being a student at the University of Alabama in 1974 when Ross and his father entered an old gym with another boxer for a day of sparring. The image constructed of Ross in the letter stands in stark contrast to the reputation of a man known for his brutality inside — and outside — of the ring.
"Several years later, Edgar stopped by to visit as he was driving from Florida to Tuscaloosa," Sawyer recalled. "I regret reading his recent obituary and will always remember him as a gentle human, with difficulty seeing him as 'Mad Dog,' the professional boxer."
Edgar "Mad Dog" Ross died in that Dale County trailer in 2012 and was buried in Sunset Memorial Park in Midland City. His obituary did not list any spouse or children, saying only that he was survived by an aunt, uncle and cast of cousins.
His modest headstone references his service in Vietnam and includes his famous nickname.
"There's too many people walking around today just living in a dream world," Ross told a reporter during the height of his career. "They're just sitting back and saying, 'Gee, I could have done this or that.' But I don't want to end up like that ... When I get to be 50, I won't have to turn to my son and say 'You know, I could have been a fighter if I wanted to.' I can look at myself and say I did what I wanted to. I won't have any excuses."
Boxer Harry Greb, "The Pittsburgh Windmill", the owner of the greatest resume in boxing history, who many consider to be the greatest pound-for-pound fighter in boxing history, fought secretly blind in one eye from 1921 until his death in 1926, a span of about five years. The injury occurred during a fight with the great Kid Norfolk in 1921, which resulted in a detached retina. Despite the severe handicap, he continued his career and won multiple fights against top competition. After his death in 1926, it was revealed by his physician that he had a glass eye, which he received after having his injured right eye removed in September 1926. His doctor had it replaced with a glass prosthesis to prevent potential blindness in his other eye. Dr. Carl S. McGivern, personal physician for Harry Greb, broke a five-year silence and issued a statement to the effect that Greb had been stone blind in his right eye for that length of time and had carried a glass eye since August of 1926. His formal statement read:
"Harry Greb was made blind by a blow on his right eye during a fight with Kid Norfolk, a heavyweight, in New York City in 1921. He told no one about it. Several years ago he was advised by physicians and friends to have the eye removed, but refused to do so in the fear that it would be discovered that he was half blind and he would be barred by boxing commisions and promoters from the ring.
"I felt, and so did other physicians, that eventually the condition of the right eye would spread to the left eye and the gallant fighter would be totally blind. So last August he came here in the greatest of secrecy to have the operation performed.
"He entered a private hospital in Atlantic City under the name of Harry Brown and the difficult operation was performed by Dr. Gustav Guist, an eminent eye specialist of Vienna, Austria, who was visiting me here at the time. Dr. Guist's method, which involved the use of a special stone eye, was so successful that it was difficult for even a close observer to detect the difference between the real eye and the false one.
"The secrecy was maintained and it was given out that a cataract had been removed from his eye. I am glad to be able to tell the truth now, as it reflects credit upon Greb's bravery and clears me of any charge of having assisted in the removal of a cataract from a blind eye.”
On June 13th, 1935, shortly before his infamous fight with James Braddock, Max Baer was burned over the Heart by a pistol with a blank cartridge when the pistol accidentally discharged while he was rehearsing a Vaudeville skit at Asbury Park, New York. He's shown here pointing to his wound while in the hospital answering questions from newspaper reporters about the incident.
One of the greatest rounds in boxing history right here, the infamous round 5, the final round, of the 1981 fight between William "Caveman" Lee and John LoCicero in 1981. In was over 100 degrees in the ring that night in Detroit, July, humid, hot as hell, with no air conditioning in the arena. The fight had been a great back and forth war for 4 rounds and in the 5th and final round both fighters go for broke in one of the greatest struggles for ultimate victory ever seen in a boxing ring.
18 years ago today , the great Joe Calzaghe, "The Pride of Wales", unified the super middle weight division by beating Mikkel Kessler, Calzaghe would later say it was the proudest moment of his legendary career. In front of a monster crowd of 50,150 fans in his home country, 35-year-old Joe Calzaghe unified the super-middleweight titles with a brilliant display against 28-year-old Mikkel Kessler at the Millenium Stadium in 2007.
The fight was even through four rounds, but then Calzaghe took over and won virtually the rest of the bout with an assortment of hard punches, underrated defence, a strong chin and more energy than Kessler, who was simply at a loss as to what to do in the second half of the fight.
When it was over, it was obvious that Calzaghe, the longest-reigning active champion in boxing (more than 10 years), had his 21st defense under his belt. He kept his WBO belt while picking up the WBA and WBC titles Kessler had. The fourth alphabet belt used to belong to Calzaghe but was stripped from him.
"It was the fight of my life," Calzaghe said. "Beating Chris Eubank in 1997 was a great win, and the toughest fight of my life, and beating Jeff Lacy was great too.
"But Mikkel Kessler topped it, winning all the belts and fighting in front of all those fans in my home town."
Willie Pep, 1940s and 50s featherweight champion, who was born Guglielmo Papaleo in Connecticut and known as "Will o' the Wisp." Pep is the greatest featherweight that ever lived and one of the greatest fighters that ever lived, in his prime he was basically unbeatable, a defensive wizard and brilliant ring technician, he finished his career with a record of 229-11-1. Pep survived a deadly airplane crash in early 1947 and was back in the ring in less than six months. Three people died and 18 were injured in the 1947 plane crash, Pep suffered a broken leg and two broken vertebrae.
“I was Champion of the world at the time, I was flying up from down south, I was coming up from Miami and was coming up to Connecticut and crashed in New Jersey. I was off six months, but they told me that I'd broke my back and I'd broke my leg. They said, 'Willie, you won't be fighting for a long, long while.' Six months later I was boxing. I got very lucky, I did well and I was on my way but I wasn't supposed to fight ever again.” - Willie Pep
On This Day In 2001 at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, Kostya Tszyu showed why he was nicknamed "The Thunder from Down Under" when he produced a blistering, clinical finish, flattening Zab Judah with a perfectly timed right hand in round two to become the undisputed light-welterweight champion, the first undisputed champ at 140 in 33 years. Tszyu dropped Judah with a sharp right. Judah immediately sprang up, but his legs betrayed him — he stiffened, staggered and collapsed again. Referee Jay Nady waved it off. A dazed Judah then lost control, he rushed Nady, swung at him, and even hurled a stool, an eruption that turned the first loss of his career into a notorious moment.
“The man was hurt I had to protect the fighter,” Nady explained.
Tszyu, calm and composed, said:
“I believe this was my destiny. It wasn’t even my hardest punch, just perfect accuracy at the perfect time.”
Judah insisted he could have continued:
“I’m in a world title fight — I got caught with a good shot. I’m pretty sure I was up. I wasn’t given the chance for the count.”
Nady later added he was worried Judah had been briefly knocked unconscious.
The Nevada Commission later fined Judah $75,000 and suspended him for six months for the outburst.
Zab Judah was a great fighter, very fast hands, he was actually winning that fight until he got caught. Tszyu hit him with a big right hand and Judah got up but his legs were gone. He stumbled, pointed at referee Nady, said something, and then collapsed. I'd still love to know what Judah said to referee Nady.
Tommy Farr, "The Tonypander Terror", one of the gutsiest and most durable men to ever enter a boxing ring, went 15 rounds with a prime Joe Louis at Yankee stadium on August 39, 1937. It was a fight remembered for Farr's bravery. Despite being heavily favored, Louis faced a determined Farr, who fought valiantly for 15 rounds without being knocked down. Louis's precision and power clashed with Farr's resilience, leading to a closely contested bout. After a grueling battle, Louis secured a unanimous decision victory, retaining his title. The fight made Tommy Farr into a legend in boxing history.
“Every time I hear the name Joe Louis, my nose starts to bleed.” - Tommy Farr
Remembering Underrated Heavyweight Warrior Tommy Farr By James Slater - 08/26/2024 -
Over the course of an amazing 140 pro fights, Welsh warrior Tommy Farr was stopped just six times. Guys like Max Baer, Jimmy Braddock, and Lou Nova failed to take Tommy out. Farr boxed the murderous-punching Baer twice, winning one and losing the other. And, in the fight he is most famous for, Farr went the distance with the legendary Joe Louis. It was on August 30, 1937 – when Louis made his maiden title defense. Meeting Farr, a massive underdog widely expected to be knocked out by “The Brown Bomber,” in The Bronx, New York, Louis was instead given one of his toughest fights. Louis had had a whole lot fewer fights than his challenger, while Joe looked somewhat flat in the fight, somewhat tired. Farr took the fight right to the defending champ, showing zero fear as he attacked Louis’ body, threw hooks, and then began launching his right hand. The crowd was shocked; Louis was being made to work hard. Louis’ shots damaged Farr’s eyes, and Joe tested his challenger’s chin. Farr’s beard passed the test, and “The Tonypandy Terror” continued to push the new champ. Farr, his facial wounds pouring blood, had a great 8th round, his left hand blasting into Louis’ head. The crowd was on its feet. Louis regained command, his vicious uppercuts slamming into Farr’s head and jaw, yet the gutsy challenger—who was neither running nor hiding—refused to buckle. Farr poured it on in the 15th and final round, going for the KO Louis was supposed to have registered long before this point in the fight. Louis countered his way to the bell. The decision was unanimous in Louis’ favor. Still, the crowd booed, their mixture of displeasure with the wide decision (one judge, the referee, having it 13-2 in Joe’s favor) and their support of Farr being heard. When was Louis ever forced to hear booing during his career? Farr won over American hearts, and he returned home a hero. Louis admitted Farr surprised him. The beaten challenger also displayed nothing but fine sportsmanship, with none of today’s all-too-common cries of “I was robbed.” A return fight would undoubtedly have been welcome, but no return duel came for whatever reason. But Farr had done enough to go into the history books to be remembered. As far as Louis’ world title challengers go, Farr might have pushed Joe harder than anyone aside from Billy Conn, and, right at the end of his incredible run as heavyweight king, the tricky Jersey Joe Walcott. Farr was indeed one of Wales’ finest. He should be far more revered than he is, by all fight fans.
Tommy Farr was one tough son of a biscuit, he was forged in fire, he had these scars on his face and back, he got those scars because he worked in the coal mines in Tonypander Wales as a youth. The scars on his face, he got them when he was blown up in a coal mining accident, he was hit in the face with shrapnel, but he survived. He got the scars on his back from crawling through narrow, punishing tunnels down in the coal mines. He became a fighter because he wanted to get the hell out of coal mining, he saw boxing as the lesser of the two evils, and he once said, "After the mines, what is fighting? Fighting is child's play." He also wanted to become a fighter because he was used to fighting, he had to participate in street fights as a youth to help put bread on the table for his seven siblings, three brothers and four sisters, his mother passed away early in his life and he had to help support his family. His father was also a bare knuckle fighter and coal miner, his father was blown up in a coal mining accident as well, which eventually led to his death. Coal mining is a hard, dangerous profession. Farr had one of the most beautiful jabs in boxing history, he could put on a clinic in the art of jabbing, and like I said he was gutsy, tough as nails, and durable, he took on some of the most murderous punchers of his era and held his own with all of them, Max Baer, James Braddock, Lou Nova, and of course Joe Louis. Farr was the type of fighter that was always game, he brought it every time he stepped in the ring and if you were going to beat him, he made you earn it. Here's a photo of his face up close and you can see the shrapnel scars.
I said it earlier in the thread and I'll say it again, Dick Tiger was no joke. He was built like a block of granite, had an iron chin. He was a stalking, punishing fighter. His modus operandi was to pressure you into a shootout and then batter you senseless, he loved exchanging toe-to-toe. No middleweight in history ever won a shootout against Tiger, he was just too strong and hit too hard, he had a ruthless left hook. He was from Africa, and grew up in a tribe, and part of the initiation of his tribe was to take a knife, place it over hot coals, and burn it into your chest and back, he had the scars from the initiation on his chest and back. He was a gentleman outside the ring, but he was hell on wheels inside it. Here's a photo of Tiger and you can see the scars on his chest.
This is one of the greatest boxing photos ever taken, Dick Tiger standing over Rubin "Hurricane" Carter after flooring him at Madison Square Garden in 1965, Tiger bulldozed Carter that night. If you're not familiar with Rubin Carter, he was one of the most violent, menacing, and genuinely frightening men to ever enter a boxing ring. They called him "Hurricane" because of his ruthless, aggressive, and hard punching style. But he was no match for Dick Tiger.
I was talking about Rubin "Hurricane" Carter earlier, he was an absolute terror in the early 60s, a real bad dude. He had this bald head and goatee, and his appearance wasn't an accident, he looked that way on purpose because he wanted to intimidate people. Like I said before, he liked hurting people and he got into boxing because he could get paid to do just that. Everyone on the streets of Paterson New Jersey back in the 60s knew who Carter was, they feared him, he had a reputation for violence. Carter had two convictions for armed robbery when he was young, he loved guns and collected them, he once bragged about stabbing a man "everywhere on his body except his feet", and he was alleged to have been one of the gunmen in the 1966 murder of three patrons at the Lafayette Grill in Paterson New Jersey. When Carter wasn't in a boxing ring he could usually be found at a bar or nightclub in Paterson drinking and looking for trouble. When he was in the boxing ring he was terrifying, one of the most brutal punchers in middleweight and indeed boxing history, he fought angry, and took his frustrations out on opponents. In the early 60s he brutally knocked out Florentino Fernandez and Emile Griffith, and it looked like Carter was going to run roughshod over the entire middleweight division, that is until he ran into a brick wall named Dick Tiger. But to get an idea of how hard he punched, here's a couple of photos of his KO of Florentino Fernandez and a statement from referee Ron Lipton, Lipton got an up close and personal view of Carter in the ring.
"Rubin Carter was the most colorful, ferocious and hardest-punching middleweight who ever lived!
He was without a doubt known by the people who really know the fighting arts as being unsurpassed in his ability to whip an arena of fight fans into a fever of anticipation awaiting the first movement of his thundering fists, knowing that his first punch could separate a man from total consciousness at first contact.
That's my definition of a deadly puncher—a man able to take you out with finesse, not crudeness, the first time contact is made in a fight... not with a tow-punch combination or after 30 seconds of exchanges... but with the first punch at any one time.
I saw every fight Carter ever had save for a few European ones. I saw every prelim, every main event. I've seen thousands of amateur fights and just about every fight film that's available.
Yet I have never seen the personification of doubt and fear in the eyes of any man as I've seen it in the eyes of a Rubin Carter opponent just before the referee would summon him to the center of the ring. Trembling thigh muscles betrayed confident facial expressions as the opponent views a mustachioed Mongol-looking warrior cowled in a black, Satanic, velvet robe, pacing impatiently, waiting to be turned looks like a black, granite minotaur breathing fire, ready to unleash the cyclonic fury which nearly destroyed both Emile Griffith and Florentino Fernandez when they were in their glory.
I know, baby. I looked into that corner, confident and unafraid, just before a sparring session at Ehshan's training Camp, only to be smashed to the canvas from a right hand I never saw the year I made the finals in the AAU and semi-finals in the Golden Gloves.
Yes. I remember Rubin Carter. Very well. I remember the fear in the eyes of his opponents. I remember the strength, the speed, the brute power. I remember what he was. Rubin Carter was one of a kind." - Future fight ref Ron Lipton
And Carter took Emile Griffith out in similar, brutal fashion, it was the only time Griffith was KO'd like that in his entire career. Carter was once ferocious and violent bastard.
But not when it came to Dick Tiger, he was made of tungsten, and Rubin Carter found out that out the hard way in 1965. Punching Dick Tiger was like trying to punch an armored tank, and Tiger loved a shootout, a toe-to-toe slugfest. Carter was tailor made for Tiger. Nobody in middleweight history ever won a shootout with Dick Tiger, he was strong as hell and a brutal puncher in his own right, especially his left hook. Tiger snowplowed Carter around the ring. Like I said before, Dick Tiger was no joke.
Joey Maxim, light heavyweight that fought from 1941 to 1958, very methodical and deceptively clever boxer with a chin made of pure granite. He fought the likes of Archie Moore x3, Ezzard Charles x5, Sugar Ray Robinson, and Irish Bob Murphy, an absolute murderers' row of punchers and none of them were ever able to knock him out.
Here's a photo of Joey Maxim taking it flush on the chin from the murderous punching southpaw "Irish" Bob Murphy and just eating it like it's nothing. Maxim had a granite chin.
I've always been fascinated by fame, the media, and the press, this is one of my favorite photos, Sugar Ray Robinson surrounded by the press after his fight with Steve Belloise in 1949. Robinson was in his prime at this time, he was a superstar, and it's just an awesome photo.
Yesterday in 1980, Johnny "The Merthyr Matchstick Man" Owen, a Bantamweight boxing prodigy from Merthyr Tydfil, South Wales, sadly passed away. Owen was the definition of a gladiator.
The Fight City
Boxiana
Sept. 19, 1980: Pintor vs Owen
September 19, 2025
By: Rob Lownie
For those who had never seen Johnny Owen perform, the impossibly thin and impossibly pale man who made his way to the ring in the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles did not appear to pose much threat. Given that his opponent was the hard-hitting, more robustly-built bantamweight world champion Lupe Pintor, the Welshman seemed especially outmatched. But Pintor vs Owen defied expectations. Indeed, few could have predicted the young Welshman’s astonishing toughness; fewer still could have foreseen the awful consequences of that toughness.
Brave Johnny Owen, after giving Pintor one of his most grueling battles, was knocked out in the twelfth round. He lapsed into a coma and some six weeks later, he died. He was only 24.
Hailing from Merthyr Tydfil in Wales, Owen was nicknamed “The Merthyr Matchstick” on account of his slender frame. After a stellar amateur career, he had captured the Welsh belt, followed by the British, Commonwealth and European titles. He had lost just once in 27 pro bouts, the victim of an egregious hometown decision against Juan Francisco Rodriguez in Almeria. After that fight, the Spanish authorities held back the Matchstick’s purse, meaning that he went home, quite literally, empty-handed. This struggle, against the disadvantages inherent to a man modest in both background and demeanour, was to mark his career. But the bottom line was that no one should have doubted his having earned the chance to challenge Pintor for a world title.
But Lupe Pintor hadn’t come up the easy way either. Hardened by a rough childhood in Mexico City, he had turned to boxing as a means to ward off the larger boys who bullied him. He ran away from an abusive father, settling on the streets and engaging in combat, both licensed and unlicensed, as he sought to escape poverty. Turning pro while still a teenager, he rose up the ranks before securing a title challenge against the legendary Carlos Zarate in June 1979. Pintor edged a controversial split decision, but the method of victory was irrelevant: he was now a world champion.
Fast forward fifteen months and Pintor vs Owen was the main event for an overflow crowd and while the title-holder may have been from Mexico, the dominant Hispanic contingent of the city treated him as if he were one of their own. By contrast, Johnny Owen and his team, including his father Dick, were jeered at and pelted with rubbish from the stands as they entered the venue.
But in the first few rounds, the slim Welshman shocked the crowd by bringing the fight to the heavy-handed Pintor, aggressively pursuing and out-working him. Given his advantages in height and reach, most expected him to try and out-box the Mexican, but instead Owen initiated a fast-paced slugfest. In the fifth, the gutsy challenger cut his opponent over both eyes, though he himself sustained a nasty gash on his lip, causing him to swallow a significant amount of his own blood.
Pintor came back in the sixth, throwing hooks and uppercuts with malicious intent, and while the indomitable Owen maintained his own high output, none of his blows carried the Mexican’s damaging power. The champion scored with heavy right hands in the early part of round seven, prompting joyful chants and firecrackers from the crowd, but Owen, undaunted, just kept coming forward and throwing leather. And in the eighth it was more of the same, toe-to-toe warfare, with Pintor landing the more telling shots, but Owen refusing to take a backward step.
Then, in the ninth, the beginning of the end. Seemingly leading on the scorecards at this point, Owen was now clearly slowing down and a vicious right hand put him on the canvas at the end of the round, the first knockdown of his professional career. His pride drove him to rise immediately, rather than take the count and give himself time to recover.
Having been saved by the bell, Owen fought on, insisting to the father who trained him that he couldn’t quit now that he was so close to winning a world title. Pintor proceeded to stalk the challenger, raining down hard right hands and targeting his badly-marked face. Owen was knocked down twice more in the twelfth, first by a straight right and then by a short right hook. That blow was the last action of the fight and may well be one of the most haunting punches ever caught on film. Watching it now, Owen crumples, almost in slow-motion, before reaching the canvas. One contemporary writer claimed that the Welshman fell like “a marionette that had had its strings cut.”
Both fighters were picked up after the final bell. The champion hoisted onto the shoulders of his team and paraded around the ring. The challenger was eventually lifted onto a stretcher, which had not been readily available, then carried out of the auditorium. As Owen’s entourage frantically rushed through enemy territory, some members of the frenzied crowd lobbed down debris. Several members of Owen’s team had their pockets picked and opportunistic thieves stole corner equipment and supplies, rendering a troubling scene even uglier.
Owen had two brain operations and spent a month and a half on life support before he passed away on November fourth, having contracted pneumonia in hospital. It was later discovered he had an abnormally fragile skull, an affliction which could only have exacerbated Pintor’s destructive blows. His funeral brought thousands of mourners, many of whom knew him, others who had only watched his brilliance from afar. Boxing reporters focused afterwards on Owen’s shy character as much as his pugilistic talent. For Hugh McIlvanney, it was a poignant irony that this “inaudible and almost invisible [man] … found himself articulate in such a dangerous language.”
Pintor was left distraught by the fight’s outcome, only for the Owen family to encourage him to keep boxing. After all, they said, it could always have been the other way round. The Mexican champion went on to retain his title one month after his opponent’s death and competed until 1995.
A statue of Johnny Owen was erected in Merthyr Tydfil in 2002. It was unveiled by Lupe Pintor.
Whenever I think about Johnny Owen, a tear always comes to my eye. As a man, he was a truly humble and good human being, and that's the most valuable thing you can have. In the end, when it's all said and done, it's what determines everyone's worth as a person, not how rich you were, not what you created or built, not how many home runs you hit or Super Bowl rings you had, but how you treated others, and Johnny Owen was priceless. Not much footage available of him outside of a few fights, but what you see on film is a tenacious fighter, no defense and little power to speak of, just an incredibly determined fighter that's always pressing, always looking to initiate the attack and prepared to take whatever punishment in necessary to do so. A real "damn the torpedoes" guy. In his final fight against Lupe Pintor,Owen took a lot of punishment in those last three rounds but he never stopped pressing forward and throwing punches, that's the kind of fighter he was. I honestly believe that there should be a place in the International Boxing Hall of Fame for those fighters who paid the ultimate price for their courage, for the sport, for the fans, they deserve to be in the Hall of Fame.
Welsh, British, Commonwealth,
& European Bantamweight Champion
Born: 7th January 1956 / Died: 4th November 1980
Nicknames:
The Matchstick Man
The Bionic Bantam
"The measure of a man is not in the number of years he has lived.
It is in the way he has lived them".
John Richard Owens was the fourth child born into a working class family of eight children in the South Wales valleys town of Merthyr Tydfil. As a child John was quiet, shy, kind, unassuming and generous - not characteristics normally associated with most boxers. However, these traits he carried forward to his adult life. He never changed; success did not change him. He was a champion in the truest sense of the word, both a champion boxer and a champion amongst men. His appearance and character were in total contrast to what he would become once he had stepped inside the ropes of a boxing ring. For once inside the ring he was a formidable opponent with determination and strength that seemingly were impossible to summon from such a frail looking body.
Johnny Owen's style was one of perpetual motion coupled with skill and knowledge of the noble art. Unlike his hero, Jimmy Wilde, he was not a big puncher but would wear opponents down, smothering their best work while putting in his own solid shots from the first bell to the last. His thin, wiry, almost skeletal frame led to him being called 'The Matchstick Man'. He was also referred to as 'The Bionic Bantam' due to his dedication to training and his relentless pursuit of opponents. 'The Bionic Skeleton' was also another nickname which described both his skeletal frame and astonishing stamina.
During his school years, (he began boxing at the age of eight), unbeknown to his schoolmates he was quietly making a name for himself in Welsh amateur boxing circles. He did not excel academically or on the sports field but in the local boxing gymnasium he was becoming somewhat of an enigma. Quiet and reserved outside of the boxing ring but a determined and fierce exponent within it. In a distinguished amateur career John had 124 contests, wining 106. He represented Wales on 17 occasions, winning 15. Fiercely proud of being Welsh, even though he went on to become Welsh, British, Commonwealth and European Champion he always took greatest pride in the fact that as an amateur he had represented his country and as a professional he had won the Welsh bantamweight title.
His arrival on the professional scene was assured when in his first professional bout (Sept.30th 1976) he defeated the no.3 contender for the British bantamweight title, George Sutton, of Cardiff. A win he was to repeat in his sixth contest thereby, securing the coveted Welsh Bantamweight Title. After only 9 fights, and with a growing reputation as a dedicated, tenacious boxer of unparalleled stamina, Johnny Owen seized the British Bantamweight Title from seasoned pro, Paddy Maguire with an 11th round stoppage in a bruising contest. A Welsh boxer had not held the British Bantamweight Title for 64 years and a Welsh boxer had never held the Commonwealth Bantamweight Title, which was the next target........ read The Ring report
The opportunity arose in November 1978 - with a record of 15 wins & 1 draw to date - against world rated Australian, Paul Ferreri. An accomplished and skilful boxer with a considerable pedigree, Ferreri had fought at the highest level and was thought to be too experienced and knowledgeable for the relatively inexperienced Owen. In a gripping contest of skill from both boxers with Johnny pursuing his usual 'in yer face at all times' style the fight went the full distance of 15 rounds. In a clear decision Johnny Owen was declared the new Commonwealth Bantamweight Champion. read The Ring report
Just four months later, with his dedicated army of followers from the valleys, Johnny went to Almeria, Spain to challenge Spaniard Juan Francisco Rodriguez for the latter's European Bantamweight title. In his first fight on foreign soil the Welshman completely out boxed the title holder for 15 rounds- and LOST !! It was a shameful hometown decision the like of which discredits the good name of boxing. His first loss hurt, not least because of the manner in which it occurred, but Johnny came through the episode with dignity and his resilience and self-belief intact. read The Ring report
Going on to record 7 straight wins after the Spanish fiasco, the European title dream was back on when Rodriguez was brought over to Wales to defend his title, almost a year later. The fight again went the distance, however , this time there would be no controversy surrounding the decision. Rodriguez was out boxed yet again and Johnny Owen was rightfully proclaimed Bantamweight Champion of Europe. read The Ring report
Before the fateful challenge for Lupe Pintor's World Bantamweight Title, Johnny Owen had secured a Lonsdale Belt outright and was the holder of the Welsh, British, Commonwealth and European titles with a record of 25 wins, 1 loss & 1draw. He wanted that World title and who was to say that he wouldn't get it. He had overcome all manner of obstacles and defied the odds not just in his boxing career but all his life. Yes, he was still shy, modest, unassuming, skinny and with looks that were deemed not to be conventional but in his heart he was a man of beauty. And inside the ring he was accomplished, skillful and relentless with an indomitable fighting spirit. Sadly it was not to be...... After 9 rounds Johnny was ahead on points although the 10th and 11th rounds had seen Pintor's heavier blows take effect before Johnny was knocked out in the 12th round. read The Ring report
The date was 19th September 1980; Johnny was taken from the ring to a Los Angeles hospital where he lay in a coma fighting for his life until 4th November 1980 when he lost his last battle. He was 24 years old. During his short life John Richard Owens had achieved so much but more importantly he had touched so many peoples hearts. Everyone loved him - the young admired him and wanted to emulate his achievements, for here was a true role model. The older generation loved him for his throwback style and impeccable characteristics. Everything he ever did was for his family, friends and Wales. read The Ring report, re: WBC 'insurance program'
Gwîr Fab O Gymru - True Son of Wales
The ensuing years have seen numerous articles written about Johnny Owen with the phrase 'tragic Johnny Owen' featuring in almost all of them. There was nothing tragic about Johnny Owen, he died doing what he loved - boxing; fighting to achieve the ultimate pinnacle in his sport. To become World Champion. The only tragedy is that he did not accomplish his goal. The real tragedy is ours, those of us he has left behind whose lives for all too short a time he touched.
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Chalky Wright defeats Joey Archibald by TKO in the 11th round on September 11th, 1941, in Washington DC to win the world featherweight title.
Nat Fleischer, the founder and editor of Ring magazine, presents Chalky Wright with the featherweight title in 1941.
Chalky Wright and Willie Pep mixed it up four times but Wright could never get the best of "The Hartford Wonder." Many people consider Willie Pep to be greatest featherweight that ever lived. Willie Pep had two major unbeaten streaks in his career: his first was a 62-fight winning streak from his professional debut until his first loss to Sammy Angott in 1943. After this first loss, he went on to have an even longer unbeaten streak of 73 consecutive victories. That's how freaking great Willie Pep was, he was a master of the sweet science. But Pep did get a taste of Chalky Wright's power, and later stated that Wright was the hardest puncher he ever faced.
In 1943, a single photograph captured what Hollywood wasn’t ready to see: Mae West, the queen of double entendres, walking side by side with Albert “Chalky” Wright, former featherweight boxing champion. To the world, he was her chauffeur. To Mae, he was far more her confidant, protector, and, many whispered, her partner. In an industry obsessed with image and in an era of strict racial lines, their bond was nothing short of revolutionary. One incident says it all. When the management of her home the Ravenswood Apartments told her Wright wasn’t allowed upstairs because he was Black, Mae didn’t argue. She didn’t plead. She simply bought the entire building. And Wright wasn’t just by her side for appearances. In 1935, when an extortionist tried to blackmail Mae, it was Chalky who worked with the police, setting up a decoy purse outside Warner Brothers to help catch the criminal. Mae West never lived by anyone’s rules but her own. But she lived by her own code: loyalty, fairness, and unapologetic defiance. In Chalky Wright, she found someone who embodied all three. And together, they stood as quiet proof that some bonds are stronger than prejudice.
Chalky Wright (on the left) with "Homicide Hank", Henry Armstrong, one of the greatest pound-for-pound fighters that ever lived.
A multiple exposure shot of Chalky Wright vs Allie Stolz.
Chalky Wright (on the left) sparring.
Chalky Wright works on the speed bag during training.
Nice autographed photo of Chalky Wright.
The great Albert "Chalky" Wright in his prime.
Like I said earlier, Albert "Chalky" Wright was the inspiration for the character Chalky White on the gangster TV show Boardwalk Empire, great show, I've seen the entire series. The character Chalky White was played by the great actor Michael Kenneth Williams.
In real life, Albert "Chalky" Wright fought and KO'd Mickey Cohen in 1933. If you're not familiar with Mickey Cohen, he was a real-life Jewish mobster that worked for the notorious Bugsy Siegel in the 1930s and later took over the organized crime rackets in Los Angeles, he pretty much ran Los Angeles in the 1940s and 50s. Cohen was also a professional boxer early on in his life at one time. Cohen actually did time in Alcatraz, he had a nasty scar under his left eye, he lived a very violent life, he was notorious as hell. During his reign, Cohen faced many attempts on his life, Mickey Cohen and several companions were shot outside Sherry's Restaurant on Sunset Boulevard on July 20th, 1949, but Cohen survived. His home on posh Moreno Avenue in Brentwood was bombed on November 21st, 1949, but he survived that assassination attempt as well. The guy legit had more lives than a cat, they tried every thing in the book to kill him but never could get it done. The bottom photo is Cohen's home after the bombing, with him standing inside surveying the damage.
Getting back to the TV show Boardwalk Empire for a second, it had a slew of great characters, but my favorite was Richard Harrow, played by the great actor Jack Huston. The character Richard Harrow was memorable because he was missing part of his face and wore a mask, Richard Harrow wears a mask because of a severe facial injury he sustained as a sniper in WW1, which destroyed the left side of his face. As a U.S. Army marksman, Harrow was injured in trench warfare, losing his left eye, cheekbone, and part of his jaw. The tin mask, molded to match the intact right side of his face, is a prosthetic that allows him to hide his disfigurement and interact with society with less distress. Great character.
And it's very realistic for the time period, Anna Coleman Ladd created masks for French soldiers in 1918 who suffered facial injuries. She would first cast a mould of the patients face as a reference, then make an attachable mask painted to their matching skin tone.
Edgar "Mad Dog" Ross, 1970s welterweight/middleweight with good power and an intense fighting style. Edgar Ross grew up in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, his brother Ronnie played football for Auburn, but Edgar was too violent for football, according to a childhood friend, and picked fights on the Tuscaloosa streets before turning to amateur boxing on the advice of a Tuscaloosa County deputy sheriff who, himself an amateur boxer, had seen Ross beat up on people in bars and parking lots. After two fights he joined the Navy and served in Vietnam, and after his return from Vietnam he returned to boxing, compiling a 24-4 record and winning the state's Golden Gloves competition. He turned pro in 1972, fighting his first nine fights out of Mobile and then joining the stable of Pete Ashlock in Orlando, Florida.
A History Of Violence: The Life & Battles Of Edgar 'Mad Dog' Ross
Patch took a deep dive into the life of the Tuscaloosa boxer after news of his posthumous induction into the Alabama Boxing Hall of Fame.
"In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade and he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down and cut him 'til he cried out, in his anger and his shame 'I am leaving, I am leaving,' but the fighter still remains" - "The Boxer" by Simon and Garfunkel (1969)
TUSCALOOSA, AL — North American Junior Middleweight Champion Edgar "Mad Dog" Ross took a series of devastating left hooks in the seventh and eighth rounds of his boxing match with Kansas-born Tony Chiaverni.
But it would be a particularly strong and well-placed couple of punches in the 10th round that put Ross — and his career — on the canvas for good. After a decade of fighting, he was finally down for the count.
The Salina (Kansas) Journal summed up the 1979 fight in Kansas City by saying "there were no claims of foul, no claims of being victimized by a hometown decision, no claims of favoritism."
Ross, a 31-year-old from Tuscaloosa fighting out of Orlando, also saw his streak of victories in the ring snapped at 50 on that fateful March night. Shortly thereafter, he wrote a letter to the Tuscaloosa News announcing his retirement from the sport.
While he never achieved the fame and notoriety of the most-beloved Tuscaloosa-born boxer — Deontay Wilder — his star arguably shined as bright as anyone else in the sport from his hometown other than the Bronze Bomber during his prime in the 1970s.
Ross died in relative obscurity in Dale County in 2012 at the age of 64, but his accomplishments are far from forgotten and recently earned him a posthumous induction into the Alabama Boxing Hall of Fame for its class of 2022.
To honor his legacy and remember the man known as "Mad Dog" before his enshrinement alongside past inductees like Evander Holyfield and Joe Louis, Patch set out to dig deeper into who the man was and what his time in the ring meant to him.
The Portrait Of The Fighter As A Young Man
There's a lengthy May 1979 feature in Sports Illustrated that gives a colorful portrayal of Ross as part of a larger story about his longtime manager and promoter, Pete Ashlock.
Entitled "Losing Search For A Winner," the unnamed author of the story describes how Ross made his way to Orlando to Ashlock's gym after growing up in Alabama. Training briefly under Tuscaloosa boxing legend Charlie Hutchinson, Ross developed his skills to the point that he won Alabama's Golden Gloves competition before turning pro.
"You talk about a wild, rank bum," Ashlock said of the first impression he had of Ross. "[Ross] didn't give a damn for nothing. He was just tough."
Despite often shaking off the "tough guy" label and insisting that his passion for fisticuffs was misunderstood by the public, Ross seemed to have been destined to fight.
Edgar Cyrus Ross was born in Tuscaloosa in 1947 to Cyrus William Ross — a WWII veteran and farmer, according to Census records — and his wife, Frances Mae Price Ross.
Little is known about his early years and time at Tuscaloosa High School, apart from a few black and white yearbook photos.
However, a 2012 letter to the editor submitted to the Tuscaloosa News by Key West, Florida native Mike Sawyer reflected on the boxer after his death, focusing mainly on his early years.
Sawyer wrote that, in the mid-1960s, Ross split time between living in Tuscaloosa and with his grandmother in Dale County.
"Many after-school days, Edgar and his friend would come to catch water moccasins in the nearby farm pond," he said. "Courage or crazy, I thought."
But Ross was also candid with Sports Illustrated about his youth and teenage years, which included staging fights in the parking lot of the old McDonald's across from Tuscaloosa High or in Bowers Park.
"Back home in Tuscaloosa, when other kids were shooting baskets and kicking footballs and batting balls, I was looking for kids to fight," Ross once said. "Boxing is something I always wanted to do."
These were the halcyon days for the Sweet Science, when boxing was one of the most popular sports in the world — decades before Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) and the likes of UFC saw the timeless sport faced with a sharp decline in popularity.
"Don't get me wrong. The Mad Dog part of me is only for the ring," Ross told Bart Ripp of the Albuquerque Journal in 1976. "I got the name from Jody (The Hammer) Ballard one time when we were sparring one day. After I dropped him, he said I fought like a mad dog. It isn't because I'm some sort of hound or anything. It's just that when I get in that square, I'm a different man."
Ross also reflected back on those gritty fights, painting a picture that many in today's world of coddled professional athletes would probably have a difficult time believing, had they not seen it themselves or knew people who did. He remembered people showing up to the events with weapons like knives or guns and, sometimes, tire tools.
"I'd fight and the war would be on," Ross told Sports Illustrated. "Several people would always be carried off to the hospital. Worst of all, sometimes it was me. I tell you, fear makes you fight like hell. Once a guy raised his pistol at me and fired it point-blank. I knew he couldn't miss me, and when the gun went off I figured I was so excited that I just didn't feel it."
Luckily, Ross avoided that bullet, but, like many other boxers of his era, earned a reputation as a rough-and-tumble kid always looking for a fight.
This makes even more sense when considering why he decided to enlist in the U.S. Navy during the Vietnam War, where he was a gunman aboard a destroyer ship.
But after the war, he returned to Tuscaloosa in 1970 and fell back into his old ways — bar fights and parking lot brawls. Ross also said he developed an addiction to the pills he would buy in bulk at a local truck stop.
"I couldn't see where I was going, but that was only because I wasn't going anywhere," he told Sports Illustrated, setting up the story of how he made his way to Orlando and joined the stable of fighters managed by Asklock.
"Mad Dog has now become a solid citizen, even to the point of attending college," the Sports Illustrated reporter wrote. "He rents a small house with orange trees in the backyard. He barbecues chicken for neighbor kids (in turn, they rake his yard), plays Scrabble and lives with his two dogs."
Indeed, as one profile of the fighter pointed out, Ross studied for two years at Albert Brewer Community College — now Bevill State Community College in Fayette — in the hopes of earning a biology degree. During this interview, he told the reporter he was doing so because he had a goal of one day working with zoo animals.
"I'm fascinated by animals," Ross said.
A Long, Violent History
Mad Dog's professional boxing debut came on July 30, 1973 at the municipal auditorium in Mobile. His opponent, Walter Hayes, only logged four career professional fights and would never secure a victory in the ring.
On that summer night in Mobile, Hayes was on the receiving end of a sound beating by his 24-year-old opponent. The fight would go to decision, however, which saw Ross earn the first of 57 career wins.
"They don't pay a man to sit down in the ring," Ross once told a reporter when asked about his intense persona in the ring. "When I'm in there, I want to kill my opponent. When I know he's hurt, I go after him."
Described by one sportswriter as looking "like Mac Davis and sounding like Kris Kristofferson," Ross went on to win his next seven fights, which were hosted in places like Mobile, New Orleans and Orlando. He fully embraced the "Mad Dog" persona during this time, even being led to the ring wearing a dog collar and chain.
This immensely successful stretch also included his first career knockout in the professional ranks, which was at the expense of Grover "Torpedo" Robinson when he was dropped in the third round of their 1974 fight at the municipal auditorium in New Orleans.
"Some folks think that fighters go around stepping on flowers and spitting on children," Ross said in an interview in the 1970s. "But it isn't that way. It's just something I've got to get out of my system."
There's no doubt Mad Dog was tougher than most. But, as is the case with all fighters, he wasn't invincible. Indeed, Ross was dealt the first of two career losses by a fighter named Charlie Grimmett on Feb. 20, 1975.
Grimmett, a native of Jamaica, was making his professional debut in a six-round undercard fight against an 8-0 Ross on his home turf at the Orlando Sports Stadium. The Super Middleweight contest lasted the full six rounds and saw Grimmett awarded the decision by scorekeepers.
We'll likely never know just what was going through Mad Dog's head following that loss, but it would be the starting point for a streak that ultimately led to a Hall of Fame career.
Winning his next eight fights over obscure but colorful names like Cephus Bowe and Saw Pretty, Ross was hungry for a rematch with the one guy who had gotten the better of him. And he would get his chance later that summer, on the night of June 20, 1975.
As a side note, it's important to point out that Ross added a total of 17 fights — 16 wins, one loss — to his record just in 1975.
To compare to today's standards, look at current WBC heavyweight champ Tyson Fury. The most fights the Gypsy King has participated in during a single year came early in his career, when he had eight fights in 2009. Fury's longtime rival, former heavyweight champ Deontay Wilder, never fought more than six times in a single year during his professional career.
But for Mad Dog, vengeance was sweet on that night, as the two went the full eight rounds in a rematch that ultimately saw Ross named the winner by unanimous decision.
While the names of the men he defeated in those years after have been largely forgotten — among them Leon Futch, Victor 'Taco' Perez and Max Hord — Ross dominated the rest of the 1970s in the super welterweight/junior middleweight divisions.
This streak of success also included several fights at Foster Auditorium in Tuscaloosa and a third bout with Grimmett two weeks before Christmas in 1978.
Ross scored his first and only knockout of Grimmett in that third meeting, putting his rival on the mat halfway through the 10-round bout that ended up becoming the first of the last three fights for both boxing careers.
But the final appearance of Edgar "Mad Dog" Ross came against arguably the best competition he had faced since earning his nickname in that Tuscaloosa parking lot fight against a much bigger opponent more than a decade earlier. Ross even said so himself.
Tony Chiaverini, a 26-year-old southpaw from Kansas City, Missouri, came into the fight with a 24-7 record and matched up evenly with Ross in terms of size and reach, with both men standing 5'8" and weighing in around 175 pounds.
It's unclear exactly why Ross decided to accept the invitation to fight the up-and-comer in front of 7,500 fans in his hometown of Kansas City, although money likely dictated the final decision. After all, the fight represented the largest purse Ross had ever seen — $17,000, according to Sports Illustrated — while his biggest payday for a single fight prior to his match with Chiaverini was reported to be $1,600.
Still, before the fight, Mad Dog was confident all the details wouldn't make much of a difference, saying the night before that "He's not going to throw anything I haven't seen before."
The controversy swirling around the match is also worth noting, as the bout was promoted locally as a North American Boxing Federation World Middleweight Title Fight. However, Ross came into the fight as the North American champ and ranked No. 2 or No. 3 — depending on the source — among junior middleweights worldwide, while Chiaverini was ranked No. 8.
"The fight has not been approved," said North American Boxing Federation President Bob Busse prior to the fight. "If Chiaverini wins, the title does not change hands, Ross has to meet the number one contender, Roxey Mosely, within a year. We did have a (title) request from Peyton Sher (Kansas City matchmaker), but for whatever reason, Sher went ahead with staging the fight."
While it appears that no film footage exists of that main event featuring the two fighters, it had to have been something to watch, as the two slogged through 10 rounds of a brutal 12-round bout.
Ross managed to win the fourth and fifth rounds of the fight, but his younger opponent dealt him a beating in the seventh and eighth rounds. Still, it would be a hard blow in the ninth that put the Mad Dog down for the first time that evening.
Ross managed to survive the late round, taking the mandatory eight-count before getting to his feet just before the bell, according to a report in the Garden City (Kansas) Telegram.
The following is the local newspaper account of that decisive round:
"Chiaverini sent Ross to the canvas again with a left uppercut in the 10th round. Ross returned to his feet at the count of nine from referee Lou Eskwin and nodded that he could keep on fighting. But when Eskwin backed away, Chiaverini delivered a staggering left hook and then sent Ross to the canvas for a final time with a right hook to claim the TKO at 1:55 of the round."
Ross was no doubt deflated after the upset loss, but seemed to take defeat in stride as his streak in the ring ended at 50 straight wins.
"I hit him enough to make most men seek an easier and a more gainful means of employment in another field," Ross told a Kansas newspaper reporter following the fight. "But for him to come back in the later stages of the fight with that strength, well, that's a big plus for him. I was kinda surprised. He's a much better fighter than I gave him credit for."
While Chiaverini went on to fight until 1983, including a brutal four-round loss to Sugar Ray Leonard, Ross never entered the ring again, turning down thousands of dollars and multiple offers for fights. Most famously, the head trauma sustained over the years and during his final loss prompted him to turn down the biggest payday of his career in the amount of $75,000 to fight Wilfred Benítez in Madison Square Garden.
According to a 2012 story written after his death by Tommy Deas of the Tuscaloosa News, life after boxing for Ross was much like his life prior to entering the ring for the first time.
In those last decades, Ross reportedly fell back into his old ways as his mental and physical health rapidly declined. He struggled financially and was homeless at times, the Tuscaloosa News reported, in addition to suffering from seizures and memory loss as a result of his violent life and profession. Ross also retained his penchant for violence, but wasn't the fighter he once had been and often found himself on the losing end of inconsequential scuffles.
His brother, the late Ronnie Ross, was a former Auburn football player who looked out for Mad Dog in those days. After receiving a substantial inheritance following his brother's death, a friend helped Ross by reportedly clearing some land on his property where the retired boxer lived out the rest of his days in a mobile home.
In his letter to the editor in 2012, Mike Sawyer remembered being a student at the University of Alabama in 1974 when Ross and his father entered an old gym with another boxer for a day of sparring. The image constructed of Ross in the letter stands in stark contrast to the reputation of a man known for his brutality inside — and outside — of the ring.
"Several years later, Edgar stopped by to visit as he was driving from Florida to Tuscaloosa," Sawyer recalled. "I regret reading his recent obituary and will always remember him as a gentle human, with difficulty seeing him as 'Mad Dog,' the professional boxer."
Edgar "Mad Dog" Ross died in that Dale County trailer in 2012 and was buried in Sunset Memorial Park in Midland City. His obituary did not list any spouse or children, saying only that he was survived by an aunt, uncle and cast of cousins.
His modest headstone references his service in Vietnam and includes his famous nickname.
"There's too many people walking around today just living in a dream world," Ross told a reporter during the height of his career. "They're just sitting back and saying, 'Gee, I could have done this or that.' But I don't want to end up like that ... When I get to be 50, I won't have to turn to my son and say 'You know, I could have been a fighter if I wanted to.' I can look at myself and say I did what I wanted to. I won't have any excuses."
Edgar "Mad Dog" Ross featured in a 1976 newspaper article.
One of the most savage boxing photos ever taken, Rocky Marciano lands a brutal right hand that distorts the face of Ezzard Charles.
Boxer Harry Greb, "The Pittsburgh Windmill", the owner of the greatest resume in boxing history, who many consider to be the greatest pound-for-pound fighter in boxing history, fought secretly blind in one eye from 1921 until his death in 1926, a span of about five years. The injury occurred during a fight with the great Kid Norfolk in 1921, which resulted in a detached retina. Despite the severe handicap, he continued his career and won multiple fights against top competition. After his death in 1926, it was revealed by his physician that he had a glass eye, which he received after having his injured right eye removed in September 1926. His doctor had it replaced with a glass prosthesis to prevent potential blindness in his other eye. Dr. Carl S. McGivern, personal physician for Harry Greb, broke a five-year silence and issued a statement to the effect that Greb had been stone blind in his right eye for that length of time and had carried a glass eye since August of 1926. His formal statement read:
"Harry Greb was made blind by a blow on his right eye during a fight with Kid Norfolk, a heavyweight, in New York City in 1921. He told no one about it. Several years ago he was advised by physicians and friends to have the eye removed, but refused to do so in the fear that it would be discovered that he was half blind and he would be barred by boxing commisions and promoters from the ring.
"I felt, and so did other physicians, that eventually the condition of the right eye would spread to the left eye and the gallant fighter would be totally blind. So last August he came here in the greatest of secrecy to have the operation performed.
"He entered a private hospital in Atlantic City under the name of Harry Brown and the difficult operation was performed by Dr. Gustav Guist, an eminent eye specialist of Vienna, Austria, who was visiting me here at the time. Dr. Guist's method, which involved the use of a special stone eye, was so successful that it was difficult for even a close observer to detect the difference between the real eye and the false one.
"The secrecy was maintained and it was given out that a cataract had been removed from his eye. I am glad to be able to tell the truth now, as it reflects credit upon Greb's bravery and clears me of any charge of having assisted in the removal of a cataract from a blind eye.”
On June 13th, 1935, shortly before his infamous fight with James Braddock, Max Baer was burned over the Heart by a pistol with a blank cartridge when the pistol accidentally discharged while he was rehearsing a Vaudeville skit at Asbury Park, New York. He's shown here pointing to his wound while in the hospital answering questions from newspaper reporters about the incident.
One of the greatest rounds in boxing history right here, the infamous round 5, the final round, of the 1981 fight between William "Caveman" Lee and John LoCicero in 1981. In was over 100 degrees in the ring that night in Detroit, July, humid, hot as hell, with no air conditioning in the arena. The fight had been a great back and forth war for 4 rounds and in the 5th and final round both fighters go for broke in one of the greatest struggles for ultimate victory ever seen in a boxing ring.
18 years ago today , the great Joe Calzaghe, "The Pride of Wales", unified the super middle weight division by beating Mikkel Kessler, Calzaghe would later say it was the proudest moment of his legendary career. In front of a monster crowd of 50,150 fans in his home country, 35-year-old Joe Calzaghe unified the super-middleweight titles with a brilliant display against 28-year-old Mikkel Kessler at the Millenium Stadium in 2007.
The fight was even through four rounds, but then Calzaghe took over and won virtually the rest of the bout with an assortment of hard punches, underrated defence, a strong chin and more energy than Kessler, who was simply at a loss as to what to do in the second half of the fight.
When it was over, it was obvious that Calzaghe, the longest-reigning active champion in boxing (more than 10 years), had his 21st defense under his belt. He kept his WBO belt while picking up the WBA and WBC titles Kessler had. The fourth alphabet belt used to belong to Calzaghe but was stripped from him.
"It was the fight of my life," Calzaghe said. "Beating Chris Eubank in 1997 was a great win, and the toughest fight of my life, and beating Jeff Lacy was great too.
"But Mikkel Kessler topped it, winning all the belts and fighting in front of all those fans in my home town."
“Every fight can be the last one, that’s why for every fight I prepare myself like it’s the last fight of my career.”
— Vitali Klitschko
Willie Pep, 1940s and 50s featherweight champion, who was born Guglielmo Papaleo in Connecticut and known as "Will o' the Wisp." Pep is the greatest featherweight that ever lived and one of the greatest fighters that ever lived, in his prime he was basically unbeatable, a defensive wizard and brilliant ring technician, he finished his career with a record of 229-11-1. Pep survived a deadly airplane crash in early 1947 and was back in the ring in less than six months. Three people died and 18 were injured in the 1947 plane crash, Pep suffered a broken leg and two broken vertebrae.
“I was Champion of the world at the time, I was flying up from down south, I was coming up from Miami and was coming up to Connecticut and crashed in New Jersey. I was off six months, but they told me that I'd broke my back and I'd broke my leg. They said, 'Willie, you won't be fighting for a long, long while.' Six months later I was boxing. I got very lucky, I did well and I was on my way but I wasn't supposed to fight ever again.” - Willie Pep
On This Day In 2001 at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, Kostya Tszyu showed why he was nicknamed "The Thunder from Down Under" when he produced a blistering, clinical finish, flattening Zab Judah with a perfectly timed right hand in round two to become the undisputed light-welterweight champion, the first undisputed champ at 140 in 33 years. Tszyu dropped Judah with a sharp right. Judah immediately sprang up, but his legs betrayed him — he stiffened, staggered and collapsed again. Referee Jay Nady waved it off. A dazed Judah then lost control, he rushed Nady, swung at him, and even hurled a stool, an eruption that turned the first loss of his career into a notorious moment.
“The man was hurt I had to protect the fighter,” Nady explained.
Tszyu, calm and composed, said:
“I believe this was my destiny. It wasn’t even my hardest punch, just perfect accuracy at the perfect time.”
Judah insisted he could have continued:
“I’m in a world title fight — I got caught with a good shot. I’m pretty sure I was up. I wasn’t given the chance for the count.”
Nady later added he was worried Judah had been briefly knocked unconscious.
The Nevada Commission later fined Judah $75,000 and suspended him for six months for the outburst.
Zab Judah was a great fighter, very fast hands, he was actually winning that fight until he got caught. Tszyu hit him with a big right hand and Judah got up but his legs were gone. He stumbled, pointed at referee Nady, said something, and then collapsed. I'd still love to know what Judah said to referee Nady.
Tommy Farr, "The Tonypander Terror", one of the gutsiest and most durable men to ever enter a boxing ring, went 15 rounds with a prime Joe Louis at Yankee stadium on August 39, 1937. It was a fight remembered for Farr's bravery. Despite being heavily favored, Louis faced a determined Farr, who fought valiantly for 15 rounds without being knocked down. Louis's precision and power clashed with Farr's resilience, leading to a closely contested bout. After a grueling battle, Louis secured a unanimous decision victory, retaining his title. The fight made Tommy Farr into a legend in boxing history.
“Every time I hear the name Joe Louis, my nose starts to bleed.” - Tommy Farr
Remembering Underrated Heavyweight Warrior Tommy Farr By James Slater - 08/26/2024 -
Over the course of an amazing 140 pro fights, Welsh warrior Tommy Farr was stopped just six times. Guys like Max Baer, Jimmy Braddock, and Lou Nova failed to take Tommy out. Farr boxed the murderous-punching Baer twice, winning one and losing the other. And, in the fight he is most famous for, Farr went the distance with the legendary Joe Louis. It was on August 30, 1937 – when Louis made his maiden title defense. Meeting Farr, a massive underdog widely expected to be knocked out by “The Brown Bomber,” in The Bronx, New York, Louis was instead given one of his toughest fights. Louis had had a whole lot fewer fights than his challenger, while Joe looked somewhat flat in the fight, somewhat tired. Farr took the fight right to the defending champ, showing zero fear as he attacked Louis’ body, threw hooks, and then began launching his right hand. The crowd was shocked; Louis was being made to work hard. Louis’ shots damaged Farr’s eyes, and Joe tested his challenger’s chin. Farr’s beard passed the test, and “The Tonypandy Terror” continued to push the new champ. Farr, his facial wounds pouring blood, had a great 8th round, his left hand blasting into Louis’ head. The crowd was on its feet. Louis regained command, his vicious uppercuts slamming into Farr’s head and jaw, yet the gutsy challenger—who was neither running nor hiding—refused to buckle. Farr poured it on in the 15th and final round, going for the KO Louis was supposed to have registered long before this point in the fight. Louis countered his way to the bell. The decision was unanimous in Louis’ favor. Still, the crowd booed, their mixture of displeasure with the wide decision (one judge, the referee, having it 13-2 in Joe’s favor) and their support of Farr being heard. When was Louis ever forced to hear booing during his career? Farr won over American hearts, and he returned home a hero. Louis admitted Farr surprised him. The beaten challenger also displayed nothing but fine sportsmanship, with none of today’s all-too-common cries of “I was robbed.” A return fight would undoubtedly have been welcome, but no return duel came for whatever reason. But Farr had done enough to go into the history books to be remembered. As far as Louis’ world title challengers go, Farr might have pushed Joe harder than anyone aside from Billy Conn, and, right at the end of his incredible run as heavyweight king, the tricky Jersey Joe Walcott. Farr was indeed one of Wales’ finest. He should be far more revered than he is, by all fight fans.
Tommy Farr was one tough son of a biscuit, he was forged in fire, he had these scars on his face and back, he got those scars because he worked in the coal mines in Tonypander Wales as a youth. The scars on his face, he got them when he was blown up in a coal mining accident, he was hit in the face with shrapnel, but he survived. He got the scars on his back from crawling through narrow, punishing tunnels down in the coal mines. He became a fighter because he wanted to get the hell out of coal mining, he saw boxing as the lesser of the two evils, and he once said, "After the mines, what is fighting? Fighting is child's play." He also wanted to become a fighter because he was used to fighting, he had to participate in street fights as a youth to help put bread on the table for his seven siblings, three brothers and four sisters, his mother passed away early in his life and he had to help support his family. His father was also a bare knuckle fighter and coal miner, his father was blown up in a coal mining accident as well, which eventually led to his death. Coal mining is a hard, dangerous profession. Farr had one of the most beautiful jabs in boxing history, he could put on a clinic in the art of jabbing, and like I said he was gutsy, tough as nails, and durable, he took on some of the most murderous punchers of his era and held his own with all of them, Max Baer, James Braddock, Lou Nova, and of course Joe Louis. Farr was the type of fighter that was always game, he brought it every time he stepped in the ring and if you were going to beat him, he made you earn it. Here's a photo of his face up close and you can see the shrapnel scars.
The laser focus of Richard Ihetu aka Dick Tiger, two-time middleweight champion, one-time light heavyweight champion. All-time great.
I said it earlier in the thread and I'll say it again, Dick Tiger was no joke. He was built like a block of granite, had an iron chin. He was a stalking, punishing fighter. His modus operandi was to pressure you into a shootout and then batter you senseless, he loved exchanging toe-to-toe. No middleweight in history ever won a shootout against Tiger, he was just too strong and hit too hard, he had a ruthless left hook. He was from Africa, and grew up in a tribe, and part of the initiation of his tribe was to take a knife, place it over hot coals, and burn it into your chest and back, he had the scars from the initiation on his chest and back. He was a gentleman outside the ring, but he was hell on wheels inside it. Here's a photo of Tiger and you can see the scars on his chest.
This is one of the greatest boxing photos ever taken, Dick Tiger standing over Rubin "Hurricane" Carter after flooring him at Madison Square Garden in 1965, Tiger bulldozed Carter that night. If you're not familiar with Rubin Carter, he was one of the most violent, menacing, and genuinely frightening men to ever enter a boxing ring. They called him "Hurricane" because of his ruthless, aggressive, and hard punching style. But he was no match for Dick Tiger.
I was talking about Rubin "Hurricane" Carter earlier, he was an absolute terror in the early 60s, a real bad dude. He had this bald head and goatee, and his appearance wasn't an accident, he looked that way on purpose because he wanted to intimidate people. Like I said before, he liked hurting people and he got into boxing because he could get paid to do just that. Everyone on the streets of Paterson New Jersey back in the 60s knew who Carter was, they feared him, he had a reputation for violence. Carter had two convictions for armed robbery when he was young, he loved guns and collected them, he once bragged about stabbing a man "everywhere on his body except his feet", and he was alleged to have been one of the gunmen in the 1966 murder of three patrons at the Lafayette Grill in Paterson New Jersey. When Carter wasn't in a boxing ring he could usually be found at a bar or nightclub in Paterson drinking and looking for trouble. When he was in the boxing ring he was terrifying, one of the most brutal punchers in middleweight and indeed boxing history, he fought angry, and took his frustrations out on opponents. In the early 60s he brutally knocked out Florentino Fernandez and Emile Griffith, and it looked like Carter was going to run roughshod over the entire middleweight division, that is until he ran into a brick wall named Dick Tiger. But to get an idea of how hard he punched, here's a couple of photos of his KO of Florentino Fernandez and a statement from referee Ron Lipton, Lipton got an up close and personal view of Carter in the ring.
"Rubin Carter was the most colorful, ferocious and hardest-punching middleweight who ever lived!
He was without a doubt known by the people who really know the fighting arts as being unsurpassed in his ability to whip an arena of fight fans into a fever of anticipation awaiting the first movement of his thundering fists, knowing that his first punch could separate a man from total consciousness at first contact.
That's my definition of a deadly puncher—a man able to take you out with finesse, not crudeness, the first time contact is made in a fight... not with a tow-punch combination or after 30 seconds of exchanges... but with the first punch at any one time.
I saw every fight Carter ever had save for a few European ones. I saw every prelim, every main event. I've seen thousands of amateur fights and just about every fight film that's available.
Yet I have never seen the personification of doubt and fear in the eyes of any man as I've seen it in the eyes of a Rubin Carter opponent just before the referee would summon him to the center of the ring. Trembling thigh muscles betrayed confident facial expressions as the opponent views a mustachioed Mongol-looking warrior cowled in a black, Satanic, velvet robe, pacing impatiently, waiting to be turned looks like a black, granite minotaur breathing fire, ready to unleash the cyclonic fury which nearly destroyed both Emile Griffith and Florentino Fernandez when they were in their glory.
I know, baby. I looked into that corner, confident and unafraid, just before a sparring session at Ehshan's training Camp, only to be smashed to the canvas from a right hand I never saw the year I made the finals in the AAU and semi-finals in the Golden Gloves.
Yes. I remember Rubin Carter. Very well. I remember the fear in the eyes of his opponents. I remember the strength, the speed, the brute power. I remember what he was. Rubin Carter was one of a kind." - Future fight ref Ron Lipton
And Carter took Emile Griffith out in similar, brutal fashion, it was the only time Griffith was KO'd like that in his entire career. Carter was once ferocious and violent bastard.
But not when it came to Dick Tiger, he was made of tungsten, and Rubin Carter found out that out the hard way in 1965. Punching Dick Tiger was like trying to punch an armored tank, and Tiger loved a shootout, a toe-to-toe slugfest. Carter was tailor made for Tiger. Nobody in middleweight history ever won a shootout with Dick Tiger, he was strong as hell and a brutal puncher in his own right, especially his left hook. Tiger snowplowed Carter around the ring. Like I said before, Dick Tiger was no joke.
Joey Maxim, light heavyweight that fought from 1941 to 1958, very methodical and deceptively clever boxer with a chin made of pure granite. He fought the likes of Archie Moore x3, Ezzard Charles x5, Sugar Ray Robinson, and Irish Bob Murphy, an absolute murderers' row of punchers and none of them were ever able to knock him out.
Here's a photo of Joey Maxim taking it flush on the chin from the murderous punching southpaw "Irish" Bob Murphy and just eating it like it's nothing. Maxim had a granite chin.
I've always been fascinated by fame, the media, and the press, this is one of my favorite photos, Sugar Ray Robinson surrounded by the press after his fight with Steve Belloise in 1949. Robinson was in his prime at this time, he was a superstar, and it's just an awesome photo.
I actually own the type 1 original photo of that image of Sugar Ray Robinson surrounded by the press. Here it is.
Yesterday in 1980, Johnny "The Merthyr Matchstick Man" Owen, a Bantamweight boxing prodigy from Merthyr Tydfil, South Wales, sadly passed away. Owen was the definition of a gladiator.
The Fight City
Boxiana
Sept. 19, 1980: Pintor vs Owen
September 19, 2025
By: Rob Lownie
For those who had never seen Johnny Owen perform, the impossibly thin and impossibly pale man who made his way to the ring in the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles did not appear to pose much threat. Given that his opponent was the hard-hitting, more robustly-built bantamweight world champion Lupe Pintor, the Welshman seemed especially outmatched. But Pintor vs Owen defied expectations. Indeed, few could have predicted the young Welshman’s astonishing toughness; fewer still could have foreseen the awful consequences of that toughness.
Brave Johnny Owen, after giving Pintor one of his most grueling battles, was knocked out in the twelfth round. He lapsed into a coma and some six weeks later, he died. He was only 24.
Hailing from Merthyr Tydfil in Wales, Owen was nicknamed “The Merthyr Matchstick” on account of his slender frame. After a stellar amateur career, he had captured the Welsh belt, followed by the British, Commonwealth and European titles. He had lost just once in 27 pro bouts, the victim of an egregious hometown decision against Juan Francisco Rodriguez in Almeria. After that fight, the Spanish authorities held back the Matchstick’s purse, meaning that he went home, quite literally, empty-handed. This struggle, against the disadvantages inherent to a man modest in both background and demeanour, was to mark his career. But the bottom line was that no one should have doubted his having earned the chance to challenge Pintor for a world title.
But Lupe Pintor hadn’t come up the easy way either. Hardened by a rough childhood in Mexico City, he had turned to boxing as a means to ward off the larger boys who bullied him. He ran away from an abusive father, settling on the streets and engaging in combat, both licensed and unlicensed, as he sought to escape poverty. Turning pro while still a teenager, he rose up the ranks before securing a title challenge against the legendary Carlos Zarate in June 1979. Pintor edged a controversial split decision, but the method of victory was irrelevant: he was now a world champion.
Fast forward fifteen months and Pintor vs Owen was the main event for an overflow crowd and while the title-holder may have been from Mexico, the dominant Hispanic contingent of the city treated him as if he were one of their own. By contrast, Johnny Owen and his team, including his father Dick, were jeered at and pelted with rubbish from the stands as they entered the venue.
But in the first few rounds, the slim Welshman shocked the crowd by bringing the fight to the heavy-handed Pintor, aggressively pursuing and out-working him. Given his advantages in height and reach, most expected him to try and out-box the Mexican, but instead Owen initiated a fast-paced slugfest. In the fifth, the gutsy challenger cut his opponent over both eyes, though he himself sustained a nasty gash on his lip, causing him to swallow a significant amount of his own blood.
Pintor came back in the sixth, throwing hooks and uppercuts with malicious intent, and while the indomitable Owen maintained his own high output, none of his blows carried the Mexican’s damaging power. The champion scored with heavy right hands in the early part of round seven, prompting joyful chants and firecrackers from the crowd, but Owen, undaunted, just kept coming forward and throwing leather. And in the eighth it was more of the same, toe-to-toe warfare, with Pintor landing the more telling shots, but Owen refusing to take a backward step.
Then, in the ninth, the beginning of the end. Seemingly leading on the scorecards at this point, Owen was now clearly slowing down and a vicious right hand put him on the canvas at the end of the round, the first knockdown of his professional career. His pride drove him to rise immediately, rather than take the count and give himself time to recover.
Having been saved by the bell, Owen fought on, insisting to the father who trained him that he couldn’t quit now that he was so close to winning a world title. Pintor proceeded to stalk the challenger, raining down hard right hands and targeting his badly-marked face. Owen was knocked down twice more in the twelfth, first by a straight right and then by a short right hook. That blow was the last action of the fight and may well be one of the most haunting punches ever caught on film. Watching it now, Owen crumples, almost in slow-motion, before reaching the canvas. One contemporary writer claimed that the Welshman fell like “a marionette that had had its strings cut.”
Both fighters were picked up after the final bell. The champion hoisted onto the shoulders of his team and paraded around the ring. The challenger was eventually lifted onto a stretcher, which had not been readily available, then carried out of the auditorium. As Owen’s entourage frantically rushed through enemy territory, some members of the frenzied crowd lobbed down debris. Several members of Owen’s team had their pockets picked and opportunistic thieves stole corner equipment and supplies, rendering a troubling scene even uglier.
Owen had two brain operations and spent a month and a half on life support before he passed away on November fourth, having contracted pneumonia in hospital. It was later discovered he had an abnormally fragile skull, an affliction which could only have exacerbated Pintor’s destructive blows. His funeral brought thousands of mourners, many of whom knew him, others who had only watched his brilliance from afar. Boxing reporters focused afterwards on Owen’s shy character as much as his pugilistic talent. For Hugh McIlvanney, it was a poignant irony that this “inaudible and almost invisible [man] … found himself articulate in such a dangerous language.”
Pintor was left distraught by the fight’s outcome, only for the Owen family to encourage him to keep boxing. After all, they said, it could always have been the other way round. The Mexican champion went on to retain his title one month after his opponent’s death and competed until 1995.
A statue of Johnny Owen was erected in Merthyr Tydfil in 2002. It was unveiled by Lupe Pintor.
— Rob Lownie
Whenever I think about Johnny Owen, a tear always comes to my eye. As a man, he was a truly humble and good human being, and that's the most valuable thing you can have. In the end, when it's all said and done, it's what determines everyone's worth as a person, not how rich you were, not what you created or built, not how many home runs you hit or Super Bowl rings you had, but how you treated others, and Johnny Owen was priceless. Not much footage available of him outside of a few fights, but what you see on film is a tenacious fighter, no defense and little power to speak of, just an incredibly determined fighter that's always pressing, always looking to initiate the attack and prepared to take whatever punishment in necessary to do so. A real "damn the torpedoes" guy. In his final fight against Lupe Pintor,Owen took a lot of punishment in those last three rounds but he never stopped pressing forward and throwing punches, that's the kind of fighter he was. I honestly believe that there should be a place in the International Boxing Hall of Fame for those fighters who paid the ultimate price for their courage, for the sport, for the fans, they deserve to be in the Hall of Fame.
Great write-up on Johnny Owen.
JOHNNY OWEN
WELSH WARRIORS
Merthyr Tydfil
Welsh, British, Commonwealth,
& European Bantamweight Champion
Born: 7th January 1956 / Died: 4th November 1980
Nicknames:
The Matchstick Man
The Bionic Bantam
"The measure of a man is not in the number of years he has lived.
It is in the way he has lived them".
John Richard Owens was the fourth child born into a working class family of eight children in the South Wales valleys town of Merthyr Tydfil. As a child John was quiet, shy, kind, unassuming and generous - not characteristics normally associated with most boxers. However, these traits he carried forward to his adult life. He never changed; success did not change him. He was a champion in the truest sense of the word, both a champion boxer and a champion amongst men. His appearance and character were in total contrast to what he would become once he had stepped inside the ropes of a boxing ring. For once inside the ring he was a formidable opponent with determination and strength that seemingly were impossible to summon from such a frail looking body.
Johnny Owen's style was one of perpetual motion coupled with skill and knowledge of the noble art. Unlike his hero, Jimmy Wilde, he was not a big puncher but would wear opponents down, smothering their best work while putting in his own solid shots from the first bell to the last. His thin, wiry, almost skeletal frame led to him being called 'The Matchstick Man'. He was also referred to as 'The Bionic Bantam' due to his dedication to training and his relentless pursuit of opponents. 'The Bionic Skeleton' was also another nickname which described both his skeletal frame and astonishing stamina.
During his school years, (he began boxing at the age of eight), unbeknown to his schoolmates he was quietly making a name for himself in Welsh amateur boxing circles. He did not excel academically or on the sports field but in the local boxing gymnasium he was becoming somewhat of an enigma. Quiet and reserved outside of the boxing ring but a determined and fierce exponent within it. In a distinguished amateur career John had 124 contests, wining 106. He represented Wales on 17 occasions, winning 15. Fiercely proud of being Welsh, even though he went on to become Welsh, British, Commonwealth and European Champion he always took greatest pride in the fact that as an amateur he had represented his country and as a professional he had won the Welsh bantamweight title.
His arrival on the professional scene was assured when in his first professional bout (Sept.30th 1976) he defeated the no.3 contender for the British bantamweight title, George Sutton, of Cardiff. A win he was to repeat in his sixth contest thereby, securing the coveted Welsh Bantamweight Title. After only 9 fights, and with a growing reputation as a dedicated, tenacious boxer of unparalleled stamina, Johnny Owen seized the British Bantamweight Title from seasoned pro, Paddy Maguire with an 11th round stoppage in a bruising contest. A Welsh boxer had not held the British Bantamweight Title for 64 years and a Welsh boxer had never held the Commonwealth Bantamweight Title, which was the next target........ read The Ring report
The opportunity arose in November 1978 - with a record of 15 wins & 1 draw to date - against world rated Australian, Paul Ferreri. An accomplished and skilful boxer with a considerable pedigree, Ferreri had fought at the highest level and was thought to be too experienced and knowledgeable for the relatively inexperienced Owen. In a gripping contest of skill from both boxers with Johnny pursuing his usual 'in yer face at all times' style the fight went the full distance of 15 rounds. In a clear decision Johnny Owen was declared the new Commonwealth Bantamweight Champion. read The Ring report
Just four months later, with his dedicated army of followers from the valleys, Johnny went to Almeria, Spain to challenge Spaniard Juan Francisco Rodriguez for the latter's European Bantamweight title. In his first fight on foreign soil the Welshman completely out boxed the title holder for 15 rounds- and LOST !! It was a shameful hometown decision the like of which discredits the good name of boxing. His first loss hurt, not least because of the manner in which it occurred, but Johnny came through the episode with dignity and his resilience and self-belief intact. read The Ring report
Going on to record 7 straight wins after the Spanish fiasco, the European title dream was back on when Rodriguez was brought over to Wales to defend his title, almost a year later. The fight again went the distance, however , this time there would be no controversy surrounding the decision. Rodriguez was out boxed yet again and Johnny Owen was rightfully proclaimed Bantamweight Champion of Europe. read The Ring report
Before the fateful challenge for Lupe Pintor's World Bantamweight Title, Johnny Owen had secured a Lonsdale Belt outright and was the holder of the Welsh, British, Commonwealth and European titles with a record of 25 wins, 1 loss & 1draw. He wanted that World title and who was to say that he wouldn't get it. He had overcome all manner of obstacles and defied the odds not just in his boxing career but all his life. Yes, he was still shy, modest, unassuming, skinny and with looks that were deemed not to be conventional but in his heart he was a man of beauty. And inside the ring he was accomplished, skillful and relentless with an indomitable fighting spirit. Sadly it was not to be...... After 9 rounds Johnny was ahead on points although the 10th and 11th rounds had seen Pintor's heavier blows take effect before Johnny was knocked out in the 12th round. read The Ring report
The date was 19th September 1980; Johnny was taken from the ring to a Los Angeles hospital where he lay in a coma fighting for his life until 4th November 1980 when he lost his last battle. He was 24 years old. During his short life John Richard Owens had achieved so much but more importantly he had touched so many peoples hearts. Everyone loved him - the young admired him and wanted to emulate his achievements, for here was a true role model. The older generation loved him for his throwback style and impeccable characteristics. Everything he ever did was for his family, friends and Wales. read The Ring report, re: WBC 'insurance program'
Gwîr Fab O Gymru - True Son of Wales
The ensuing years have seen numerous articles written about Johnny Owen with the phrase 'tragic Johnny Owen' featuring in almost all of them. There was nothing tragic about Johnny Owen, he died doing what he loved - boxing; fighting to achieve the ultimate pinnacle in his sport. To become World Champion. The only tragedy is that he did not accomplish his goal. The real tragedy is ours, those of us he has left behind whose lives for all too short a time he touched.
A couple of photos of Johnny Owen.
Johnny Owen draped in the Welsh flag.
The statue of Johnny Owen in his hometown of Merthyr Tydfil in South Wales. He's a legend.
I said it earlier in the thread, most all-time greats have books written about them, and Johnny Owen is no exception.