Music break. A classic from the 90s, Two of the greatest frontmen in history right here together, I still get goosebumps when Chris Cornell hits those high notes.
Back to Arturo "Thunder" Gatti, he was one of the most exciting fighters in boxing history, rarely in a dull fight, he was a human highlight reel. Arturo Gatti was special. He truly was a blood and guts warrior to the bone. He connected with fans on a primal level. They knew he was going to give every shred of himself in the ring and they loved him for it. “Thunder” was the perfect name for him. Man did he Rumble.
The owner of the fastest hands in the heavyweight division during the 1980s, Tony "TNT" Tubbs’ skills were all the more impressive given his waistline – one that seemed more suited to his surname than he might have liked.
No one could deny Tubbs was gifted.
After beating Jimmy Young and “Bonecrusher” Smith, he claimed the WBA heavyweight title from Greg Page in 1985. But the belt slipped from his grasp a year later, surrendered to Tim Witherspoon in 15 closely contested but rather dull rounds.
In 1988, Tubbs showed promise against a peak Mike Tyson, taking the first round on one judge’s card before succumbing to Tyson’s power in the second.
He impressed again in November 1989 with a win over leading contender Orlin Norris, but that victory was later overturned to a No Contest after cocaine was found in his system. A substance that would bring Tubbs trouble on several occasions throughout his career.
In 1991, Tubbs boxed beautifully, only to lose a contentious decision to the rising Riddick Bowe. While wins over Bruce Seldon, Alexander Zolkin, and Brian Minto (in 2004) reaffirmed his talent, first-round losses to Jimmy Ellis and Lionel Butler served as stark reminders of his vulnerabilities.
Tony Tubbs was a part of that 1980s crop of heavyweights that had so much talent, but for one reason or another fell short of their capabilities. In Tubbs case, I would say weight issues, cocaine addiction, and of course Mike Tyson were the reasons he fell short. He had the best pure boxing skills in the 80s, outside of Greg Page. But he struggled with weight problems, keeping slim, and of course the cocaine. Losing to Mike Tyson also put a dent in his career, it out a dent in a lot of heavyweight careers in the 80s. A lot of these 80s guys went off the rails after losing to Tyson and this also affects the way people view Tyson's resume. But it was not a case of Tyson ruining them, but them losing resolve and dedication to the sport after losing to a champ that was young and looked like he was going to reign for a long time. They were going to get older and it looked like Tyson was going to keep improving, so their ambitions looked kind of pointless. But Tubbs was a slickster, great pure boxer, and had ridiculous hand speed. Too bad Tubbs didn't stay at under 230 lbs, stay away from coke, and remain more active. Here in a title eliminator for Greg Page's WBA title, Tubbs weighed a reasonable 228.5 and easily outboxed the dangerous Bonecrusher Smith. Only one month later he beat Greg Page, coming in at 229.
Tony Tubbs was one of those guys, that when he was in shape and ready, he could really box your ears off. When he was in shape and ready that is. In 1991, he was an old vet taking on the young up-and-coming Riddick Bowe, of course Bowe would go on to become an all-time great heavyweight. It was a close fight, Bowe won the decision, but he didn't look good doing it, Tubbs was in shape and ready that night, and if nothing else, Tubbs proved that that an old slick veteran can make a young contender look bad.
"Irish" Micky Ward, love this guy, how can you not? He had a granite chin, tough as nails, the definition of a warrior. He's best known for his three wars with Arturo Gatti, but the thing I loved most about Ward was his brutal left hook to the liver, he could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat with that one punch, and literally did just that against Alfonso Sanchez in 1997. It was a thing of beauty to watch him throw that punch, he would usually go upstairs to the head first, give you a little tap on the head to draw your defenses away from your body, and then he'd throw that shit right into your liver with everything he had. Anyway, in 1997 he was facing Alfonso Sanchez, an undefeated young lion that was expected to beat Ward rather easily. Ward started off the fight poorly and Sanchez was beating Ward from pillar to post, the announcers were giving Ward a real hard time about it, basically saying he looked like crap and should be ashamed of his effort, telling him to go ahead and pack it in for the night. It indeed looked like Ward was going to get the socks beat off of him, and then out of nowhere, Ward gives Sanchez that little tap to the head, and then throws a shot to Sanchez's liver with everything he had. Sanchez hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, and couldn't get up, it was over just like that. Ward was a true warrior who was as adept at landing a crippling body shot as any fighter you could care to mention.
"King" Carlos Palomino, great Mexican welterweight in the 1970s and 80s, his story was like something out of a movie, he started boxing to get out of being drafted into the Vietnam War, he never really even wanted to box, his dream was to become a baseball player, but he forged a legendary career in the ring. Palomino was a balls to the wall warrior, he won the WBC world welterweight title in 1976 and defended it eight times. He was a very technically sound boxer, had legendary stamina, good power, fearsome left hook, was a vicious body puncher, perhaps the most underrated body puncher in boxing history, it was just beautiful to watch him dismantling an opponent to the body, he was a goddamn killer body puncher, much like Micky Ward. Carlos Palomino also had a rock solid chin, and he was as tough as old leather boots. There was no quit in him. He dealt with multiple tragedies in his life, the death of his father, and the death of his brother, his brother died in the 1980 plane crash that killed the entire Olympic boxing team. Despite everything, he made a very impressive comeback at the age of 47, winning almost all of his fights. He later went on to become an actor and was was the star in a lot of Miller Lite beer commercials.
Palomino's unlikely career leads to Hall of Fame
Carlos Palomino never particularly liked to fight.
He did so only out of necessity … for his father's amusement, to mark his turf as a Tijuana shoeshine boy, to defend himself at the schoolyard.
It seems like the beginnings of a tale that has become familiar over the years: A Mexican kid takes up boxing to escape the hardscrabble barrio and becomes a world champion.
Palomino's journey was much different.
Vietnam forced him into the sport late. A passion for acting lured him away early. He didn't make nearly as much money as he could have, but he accomplished enough to become a Hall of Famer -- even before the fistic sophisticate made a strangely admirable comeback at 47 years old.
"Boxing was never enjoyable. The best part for me was fight night because I knew when it was over I'd get a break," said Palomino, who will be inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame this weekend in Canastota, N.Y.
Palomino, the college graduate who became a popular welterweight champ and star of Miller Lite's famous commercials, will be enshrined with featherweight Azumah Nelson, light heavyweight Dwight Muhammad Qawi and super bantamweight Daniel Zaragoza.
Palomino's record doesn't demand Hall of Fame consideration at first glance. He finished the vital portion of his career with a record of 27-3-3 and 15 knockouts. He defeated only one former, current or future champion (John Stracey). He lost each time he fought a Hall of Fame-caliber fighter (Wilfred Benitez and Roberto Duran). He didn't fight Pipino Cuevas, the other significant welterweight champion of his era.
But Palomino is a Hall of Famer when surveyed en total.
He did more than throw punches. He brought a sense of dignity to a sordid sport. He walked away rather than hang around for one payday too many. He has remained one of boxing's top ambassadors through his tireless dedication to youth groups and charities, and he served three years with the California State Athletic Commission.
"It's a great honor and totally unexpected,'' Palomino said of his induction. "Boxing wasn't something that I dreamed of doing as a kid, and the Hall of Fame was a goal I really didn't envision accomplishing when I started my career."
When Palomino seriously laced up his gloves for the first time in 1970, he couldn't envision much aside from the deadly jungles of Vietnam.
He was 20 years old when he stopped playing Mexican semipro baseball, surrendering his childhood dream of manning second base in the majors. Six months after he returned home to the Los Angeles area, where his family had immigrated a decade earlier, he received his U.S. Army draft notice.
He decided to get in some kind of shape for boot camp and signed up at a local gym, where he ran into Armando Muniz, an aspiring welterweight freshly discharged from the Army. Muniz told Palomino boxers receive special treatment in the service. Palomino, afraid of returning home in a flag-draped casket, listened intently and tried to absorb as much boxing knowledge as he could from resident trainer Noe Cruz.
"That was the goal: to get out of going to Vietnam," Palomino said. "I didn't envision fighting as a pro."
Palomino, however, discovered a gift through his desperation. Once he reported for duty he let it be known he could box. His 5-foot-10 frame naturally carried 147 pounds, a weight he still hovers around today. But the Army didn't need any welterweights for its squad.
"The coach told me he wanted me to fight at 139 pounds, and I had to make weight in a month," Palomino recalled. "I told him, 'There's no possible way I can get down to 139 pounds.' He said, 'If you don't go down to 139 pounds, you'll have to go back to your base.'
"Within a month I was down to 139 pounds."
Palomino learned the sport quickly enough to become an All-Army champion in 1971 and 1972. He also won the National AAU title in 1972, defeating eventual Olympic gold medalist Ray Seales.
Palomino was discharged later that year and turned pro -- not to chase pugilistic glory, but to bankroll his college education. He enrolled at Orange Coast College and later Long Beach State, where he obtained his degree in recreation in 1976.
The bicentennial was quite a year for Palomino. That's also when the reluctant warrior became an unlikely world champion.
Palomino had only 23 pro fights in less than four years when he met WBC welterweight champion Stracey in London. Palomino had become a fan favorite at the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles, but he was anonymous virtually everywhere else. His performances had been erratic and sometimes underwhelming.
"I recall he had a dozen fights or so and was impressive in one and not as impressive in the next," said Hall of Fame promoter Don Chargin, who was the Olympic Auditorium's matchmaker from 1964-84. "So there was a hotshot named Nelson Ruiz, who was an up-and-coming sensation. I told (Palomino's manager) Jackie McCoy, 'Let's find out about Carlos and fight this guy.' Carlos was incredible (winning via sixth-round knockout). I remember walking up to Jackie afterward and said, 'A star is born.' "
Palomino's ability remained a secret until he fought Stracey. The understanding was Palomino would be a foil for the first British welterweight champ since Ted "Kid" Lewis in 1919. Palomino was listed as a 10-to-1 underdog.
"I happened to be in London, covering Wimbledon for HBO, when he fought Stracey," said HBO boxing analyst Larry Merchant. "I had never heard of Palomino, much less seen him. Stracey had dethroned (long-reigning WBC champ) Jose Napoles and was considered very strong. Palomino was just supposed to be an opponent."
The match didn't proceed according to plan.
Stracey was a typical British fighter; he stood tall and overly protected his head. Palomino's strategy was to hammer away at the body with impunity. Blow after blow thundered off Stracey's exposed ribs. He managed to hang on until the 12th round, when a left hook to the liver finally knocked him down. Stracey got up, but Palomino sent him back to the canvas a second time. The fight was stopped.
Palomino broke down his opponent physically, mentally and spiritually. Stracey wept in the ring.
"He beat Stracey up," Merchant said. "I remember a British boxing writer asked me what I knew about Palomino. I said 'I've never seen him, but I've seen him,' meaning I've seen tough Mexican-American fighters who fought just like he did."
Palomino successfully defended his title seven times. He beat Muniz twice -- their initial encounter was billed as the first world title fight between two college graduates -- as well as relative pedestrians Dave Green, Everaldo Azevedo, Jose Palacios, Ryu Sorimachi and Mimoun Mohatar.
"He's the kind of guy who could have more than held his own in any era," future Hall of Fame matchmaker Bruce Trampler said of Palomino. "He was a solid fighter, and in today's market you gotta say he would be competitive, and he would have beaten some of the champions from the past."
Palomino lost the title in 1979 to Wilfredo Benitez on a controversial split decision in Puerto Rico. Palomino also lost his next fight, a one-sided affair with Roberto Duran.
Two months later, on his 30th birthday, Palomino retired after earning less than $1 million. He walked away at a highly lucrative time for welterweights. He made a record $450,000 to fight Benitez, but that purse was soon dwarfed as Sugar Ray Leonard, Duran and Thomas Hearns then took over the division.
Palomino doesn't regret retiring when he did.
"My biggest fear was the effects of being in the ring," Palomino said. "I used to watch fights and see fighters with their flat noses and scar tissue. My father would tell me about the greats of his day and how they were broke, busted up or punch drunk. Then I started meeting fighters that were like that. The damage from getting hit in the head … I didn't want to hang around there too long."
Palomino, however, eventually succumbed to boxing's siren song. Only he wasn't merely the latest entry to boxing's sad comeback cliché. He went way beyond that, ending a 17½-year retirement at the age of 47.
It happened somewhat by accident. He stopped by the old Westminster Boxing Club, where he used to train, in search of familiar faces. He was hurting from the recent death of his father, a man who supported his 11 children by pushing an ice cream cart, working in a flower shop or doing construction.
"When my father died I was just devastated," Palomino said. "When I was fighting, that was the closest my father and I ever got. When I won the title was the proudest moment of his life. When I went to the gym, it was because my heart was hurting."
Palomino also was still haunted by the death of his younger brother, Paul, in 1980. Paul was a boxer and wanted to turn pro, but Palomino told him to shoot for the Olympics instead. Palomino remembered making $80 in his pro debut, and he wanted his brother to win a medal and perhaps land a substantial signing bonus from a major promoter.
Paul was with the U.S. boxing team on its way to Poland for a competition. The plane crashed.
"I forced him on the trip," Palomino said. "He didn't really want to go. I kept telling him, 'You have to do this for your career.'
"I took him to the airport and put him on the plane. I hugged him and told him to bring home a medal."
A few weeks after Paul died, President Jimmy Carter announced the U.S. would boycott the 1980 Moscow Games.
"That made it even worse for me," Palomino said. "It all would have been in vain."
So after his father passed away, Palomino popped into his old gym to see his former trainer and manager. He also saw Hector Camacho training for an upcoming fight with Duran.
"Can I get a couple rounds?" Palomino asked.
No one can say for certain if the 34-year-old Camacho was taking it easy on Palomino, but according to several witnesses to the sparring session, the old man was the better fighter that day.
"I felt so good," Palomino said. "I felt so much peace, and I felt my dad's presence in that gym so strong."
Palomino's catharsis turned into a wild mission. Even though he had served on the California State Athletic Commission for three years and rolled his eyes every time some 40-year-old applied for a boxing license, he labeled himself fit to compete.
A promoter -- obviously enamored by the Old Man Mania spurred by the comebacks of George Foreman, Leonard and Duran -- made Palomino a four-fight offer worth $1 million.
This is where another boxing cliché comes in: The money wasn't there.
Palomino received $25,000 for each of his first three fights, all knockout victories in -- even more impressively -- the same weight class he had competed when he turned pro in 1972. But the promotional company, reportedly buoyed by offshore gambling interests, went bankrupt soon thereafter.
Palomino forged ahead with another knockout before realizing, two months shy of his 49th birthday, it was time for a legitimate test. Bob Arum's promotional firm, Top Rank, arranged a bout against Wilfredo Rivera, a ranked welterweight looking to rebound from a loss to WBC champ Oscar De La Hoya.
"I knew I had to beat (Rivera) decisively to know I had a shot to win the title again," Palomino said. "Halfway through that fight I knew it wasn't going to be decisive. Even if I would have gotten the decision -- and lot of fans who were thinking with their hearts thought I should have gotten a decision -- I knew I couldn't fight again."
Palomino held his own against Rivera, rocking a man 20 years his junior with a left hook in the middle rounds. The fight went the 10-round distance, but Rivera won. One judge had Palomino losing by only three points.
Those who cringed at Palomino's decision to fight at such an advanced age at least had to admit he did so with valor.
"I was absolutely against him doing it,'' said Trampler, Top Rank's matchmaker. "I admire him, in retrospect, because he felt that if he couldn't beat Rivera he had to walk away. When he shut it down, when he quit, he was still very competitive."
Said Chargin: "It doesn't diminish his career, but I wish it never happened. I worried about him getting hurt. But you can't blame him for going for a million dollars. He's a competitor."
Both of Palomino's retirements were eased by his main passion in life. In the late 1970s he fell in love with acting after a cameo appearance on "Taxi." He also enjoyed a recurring role in Miller Lite's famous "Tastes Great, Less Filling" commercials, working alongside the likes of Bubba Smith, Dick Butkus, Billy Martin, Boog Powell and Rodney Dangerfield.
Palomino still hears people yell out his signature line: "Don't drink the water!"
He has made guests appearances in major TV series such as "The White Shadow," "Knight Rider," "Hill Street Blues," "NYPD Blue" and "Diagnosis Murder" and has landed roles in several movies you might have trouble finding at Blockbuster.
Two months shy of his 55th birthday, he's still looking for his big Hollywood break.
He has endured countless letdowns over the course of his acting career -- the parts he didn't land, the movies that went straight to video, the projects that got shelved.
But the excitement in his voice is noticeable when he talks about his latest venture, a role as an L.A. detective on a potential series called "Department of Homeland Security." He said filming for a pilot and six episodes will begin in the coming weeks. The hope is that a major network will snap up the show as a mid-summer replacement.
Palomino, a father of three and grandfather of three, also announced he soon will be married for a third time.
A new wife, a new TV show and a Hall of Fame induction all in one summer.
Boxing to avoid that deployment to Vietnam sure turned out to be a fine idea.
Carlos Palomino became a world champion when he captured the WBC welterweight title with a 12th round TKO of John H. Stracey at the Empire Pool in London, England in 1976.
Stracey was a former European welterweight champion who ended the reign of the great José Nápoles, "Mantequilla", the year before. He defended the belt once against Hedgemon Lewis before signing to face Palomino about six months after he became champ.
Palomino was a good all-around fighter who did no one-thing spectacularly, but he did everything well. He was a favorite at the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles, but he reportedly seemed like an easy title defense to Stracey's promoter Mickey Duff. It ended up a terrible miscalculation.
The fighters jockeyed for position early on, with Palomino's jab and body work doing damage, but Stracey lashing out with combinations. The difference was will, and Palomino's was iron on this evening. In round 9, an exchange all but sealed the result: Stracey connected with a series of punches, and Palomino's solitary counter shook Stracey to the core.
In round 12, Palomino put Stracey down with body shots. Stracey got up and more body work greeted him and sent him down again. Stracey spit out his mouthpiece, but he bravely got to his feet one last time. Palomino went right at Stracey and forced him to cry out in pain from another body shot, and the referee stepped in to end the fight.
"I could see from the start my body punches were hurting him, and I kept working at them," Palomino said. "He hit me with some good punches, but they lacked power. I didn't expect the fight to end as quickly as it did."
"I still don't know what went wrong," Stracey said. "I tried desperately hard but I couldn't get going. I felt completely drained."
Carlos Palomino made rough work of Dave "Boy" Green while making his second defense of the WBC welterweight title with an 11th round KO at the Empire Pool in London, England #OnThisDay in 1977.
José Nápoles was welterweight champion from 1969 to 1975, with a short break in the middle. Nápoles lost the WBC title to John H. Stracey after the title was split by sanctioning organization garbage. Palomino was popular at the Olympic Auditorium, and he defeated Stracey for the belt in 1976.
Green was then undefeated and previously the British and European junior welterweight champion, not to mention highly rated as a welterweight. He was game and had a good punch, but most agreed that Palomino was favored to win.
Green ignore the odds and landed well to the body early on, taking the fight to Palomino. But by rounds 4 and 5, Palomino seemed to be connecting with the cleaner and harder shots, all but taking over the fight. Green made a stand in rounds 8 through 10, as Palomino was cut over both eyes in 8 and 9, then shaken to the core by a massive shot from Green in round 10.
With the fight potentially in the balance, Palomino landed a left hand that landed on Green and knocked him clean unconscious. For some reason the referee still counted, but Green took several minutes to be brought back from the land of nod.
"Green was telling me during the fight that I couldn't punch," Palomino said. "But I guess he knows different now."
Carlos Palomino and Armando "El Hombre" Muniz fought twice in the late 70s, two violent encounters, the first one was a real barn burner. Muniz was absolute nails, one tough SOB with a granite chin. Armando Muniz is one of the most beloved fighters of the 1970s, fans loved Muniz because that they knew he'd leave everything in the ring, win or lose. Interesting fact about their fights, both Palamino and Muniz were college graduates and this was the first time in boxing history that two college graduates fought for a world title. One of the great fights from the Olympic Auditorium's history in 1977 was the first fight between Palomino and Muniz. It was a violent fight. Having already lost one title fight against Jose Napoles on a controversial call, Muniz was determined to set the record right. In the opening round, Muniz repeatedly slipped Palomino’s jab, scoring effectively on the inside. With 20 seconds remaining, a left hook to the head put the Palomino on the seat of his pants. Through the fourth round Armando’s canny ability to slip Carlos’s jab and counter appeared to give him a huge lead in the scoring.
Rounds five through seven saw Carlos finally display some offense but Muniz's pressing attack was still effective. By backing Palomino up constantly, Muniz was robbing the champ’s punches of power. In round eight, both combatants appeared fatigued and needed to catch their second wind. This seemed to work to the advantage of Palomino. In the next two rounds the pace picked up again, with Armando still pressing the attack. In both rounds, Palomino's punches found their target more effectively than earlier in the match.
In rounds 11 through 14 Palomino finally got some separation from Muniz, allowing him to effectively land his jab. Establishing the jab allowed him to land overhand rights and left hooks before Muniz was able to get inside. There was still plenty of life in Armando as he had his moments in all four rounds. But unlike the first third of the bout, Muniz was paying a heavy price to work his way inside. Carlos was closing the gap on the scorecards. The fourteenth round might have been Palomino's best of the fight. His left forced Muniz into a deep crouch, while his defense allowed him to slip most of Muniz's wild punches.
The final stanza started like most of the earlier rounds with Muniz jumping off his stool and rushing across the ring. Both combatants appeared exhausted but fought like the final round like their lives depended on it. At the half way mark Palomino landed an overhand right followed by a left hook, causing the weary Muniz to drop to the canvas. Rising on unsteady legs, Muniz was defenseless against a barrage of overhand lefts and rights. With 36 seconds remaining, Referee John Thomas stepped between the fighters and declared Carlos the winner by TKO. “I didn’t want to stop it sooner because I thought he was still in the fight.” Thomas said.
Palomino and Muniz had a lot in common, they both boxed in the Army, both college graduates, and they would become good friends. This is a photo of Armando Muniz on the far left with Palomino on the far right. In the middle is filmmaker Stephen DeBro who made a documentary about the famous Olympic Auditorium in L.A., where Palomino and Muniz fought.
Carlos Palomino finally lost his title against the great Wilfred Benitez in 1979.
Palomino, nine years older than Benitez, didn’t think much of his opponent despite his fast rise up the rankings.
“I don’t expect to have too much trouble,” Palomino said before the fight. “Benitez isn’t very strong, and he’s been knocked down by a lot of very mediocre people.”
After the 15 rounds were over, not only had Palomino failed to knock Benitez down, the younger, faster fighter proved to be the stronger man.
Trained by former five-time champion Emile Griffith, Benitez used a combination of crisp jabs and wily defense to outlast Palomino in a lopsided victory.
After losing his belt, Palomino would have just one more fight — a loss to Roberto Duran later that year — before hanging up his gloves weeks away from his 30th birthday. He would, however, make a brief and remarkable comeback in his late forties, going 4-1. Carlos Palomino is one of my favorite fighters, his body punching was a thing of beauty. He could bang away at the ribs and liver with the best of them. This is Carlos Palomino, routes to the body.
"There's enough pressure in life without seeking competition. That makes it double pressure." - Frank Bruno
March 4th,1986 - Wembley Arena, London
Great Britain's Frank Bruno squares off against South African former WBA Heavyweight World Champion, Gerrie "The Bionic Hand" Coetzee.
Coetzee suffered a knockdown within the first minute of the opening round after a sharp left-right combination from Bruno put him on the canvas.
Coetzee was straight back up and took the mandatory 8 count from referee Guy Jutras before continuing. Bruno was straight back on the offensive, looking to capitalize on his success.
Before Coetzee could properly settle himself into the fight he was being swarmed and jolted back by relentless jabbing from Bruno. There was a brief clinch after Coetzee was backed up against the ropes which saw Bruno warned for punching to the back of the head, but the fight was all over just a few seconds later.
Bruno threw a 4 punch combination ending with a gruesome right hook that sent Coeztee crashing against the ropes and leaving him on his back, draped over the bottom rope with his head being held up by a press photographer at ringside.
I'll tell you what, I watched a documentary on Frank Bruno recently and he had some heavy hands, on his way up he was KO'ing guys left and right, a lot of his opponents would get hit and fall over like they were shot, some frightening knockouts. This is one of the coolest images of Frank Bruno, standing face to face with a wax statue of himself at Madame Tussauds Wax Museum in London.
Native American fighter Virgil Hill was called "Quicksilver" for his fast, fluid movements in the boxing ring. The nickname highlighted his quickness and agility, which are characteristic of the element quicksilver (mercury). Mercury is a heavy, silvery metal that is a liquid at room temperature and appears to move in a lively manner, much like Hill's movement in the boxing ring. Hill was an all-time great, good ring technician, good speed, damn good left jab. He was in the hurt business for over 30 years, he won a Silver medal at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics, and the last fight of his career was in 2015. He was a five-time world champion, winning multiple titles in the light heavyweight and cruiserweight divisions. He won the WBA light heavyweight title, the IBF and lineal light heavyweight titles, and the WBA cruiserweight title. He also achieved a record-setting 20 world title defenses across two separate title reigns during his career. Hill is also the only man to defeat the great German fighter Henry Maske, beating him in 1996 and unifying the WBA and IBF light heavyweight titles.
This is one of my favorite photos of Virgil Hill, during his rematch with Henry Maske in 2007, with the blood on his face and the referees shirt, savage photo. Maske won the fight by unanimous decision, and got his revenge on Hill for handing him the only loss of his career.
Virgil Hill with his Olympic Silver medal around his neck, and the American flag behind him. Being a Native American, Turtle Mountain Chippewa, he is a true American. Sick photo.
Mickey "The Toy Bulldog" Walker has one of the coolest nicknames in sports history, and he earned that nickname because of his small stocky physical stature, much like that of a Toy Bulldog. The man had more guts than a slaughterhouse. He was one of the original weight division jumpers, he was no more than a natural welterweight, but he was famous for taking on opponents much larger and beating them, including heavyweights, men that outweighed him by 30, 40 lbs, didn't matter to him, he was fearless, he would take on anyone regardless of their weight division. Mickey Walker was a true pound-for-pound monster.
Automatic For The People: Mickey Walker
July 20, 2008 By Mike Casey:
People love to tell funny stories about Mickey Walker. Lord knows, the boxing archives are bulging with them. I hope you will forgive me if I depart from well-worn tradition and simply praise Magnificent Mick for the truly fabulous fighter he was. It seems that Mick, like his great rival and pal Harry Greb, never goes out of fashion. Walker’s rugged and mischievous face stares out gloriously from the old newspapers and magazines, forever young and vibrant, forever hip and cool. Pick any trendy word from any era and it fits the Toy Bulldog as snugly as a meaty bone clamped between the jaws. He looked every inch a real fighting man, as did so many men of his great and quality-laden era. The rugged face was topped by a head of thick and tousled hair, while the powerful chest and muscled arms channelled down to a solid waist and sturdy, chunky legs.. Mickey Walker loved to fight, and there is the important difference with those who have it in their blood. Walker didn’t dread an upcoming battle or regard it as an inconvenience. He positively relished the assignment. He was often too tough and willing for his own good, especially during his later forays into the heavyweight division. Yet he remained a vicious proposition right to the end, always winning more fights than he lost. It is important to remember that many of Mick’s contemporaries were of the opinion that he was past his best by 1926, when he stepped out of his natural element of the welterweight division to take the middleweight championship on a debatable decision from the Georgia Deacon, Tiger Flowers. Mick had already waged many a ferocious and punishing battle by that time. Yet he ploughed on until 1935, defeating the hefty and classy likes of Johnny Risko, Bearcat Wright, Jimmy Maloney, King Levinsky and Paolino Uzcudun. Walker conceded 42lbs to Bearcat Wright in winning a thrilling decision after being pounded, floored and nearly knocked out in the early going. The Bulldog was outweighed by 14 pounds in his astonishingly brave, losing stand against Max Schmeling. Against Jack Sharkey at Ebbetts Field in 1931, Mick was the lighter man by nearly 30lbs yet hacked out a gutsy 15-rounds draw. How he raged against Sharkey! Coldly hammered for long periods and reeling in the fifteenth and final round from repeated rights to the jaw, Walker simply wouldn’t go under. He blazed back at Jack all night long and had the crowd in uproar in a fantastic ninth round. Mick snapped Sharkey’s head back in that session with a big right uppercut to the chin and followed up with a furious body attack. As Jack fired back, he walked into a cracking left hook to the jaw that made him hold. Low blows cost Sharkey dearly and the draw decision was described by reporters of the time as one of the greatest upsets in boxing history. Mickey, covered in blood from a ripped eyebrow, was given a thunderous ovation. Mickey Walker was a terrific body puncher who would often fire his punches in rapid blitzes. He could lead with a fast left hook, hurt and knock out opponents with either hand and possessed a hard and flashing right cross. His ability to punch damagingly at short range was exceptional. Much like Jack Dempsey, Bob Fitzsimmons, Jim Jeffries and Joe Gans, Walker learned the priceless value of the short and paralysing dig to the heart or stomach. He loved to scrap, loved to live and possessed electrifying charisma. He was almost a lighter version of Dempsey in fighting savagery and box office allure. Nat Fleischer wrote of Mickey: “He rated close to the top. A terrific hitter with an abundance of courage, he fought in every division from welterweight through heavyweight. Though far outweighed, he always gave a thrilling performance. “He was a fabulous character, colourful, a powerful puncher; and while for a good portion of his career he was only an overstuffed welterweight, he made the grade in the three top divisions.” Mick always saw himself as the little guy fighting giants, right from his days as a pugnacious young kid in his New Jersey neighbourhood of Keighry Head. Across from his favourite hangout of Cooper’s Corner was a big freight yard where hobos from all across America would stop off while waiting for the next ride out. Walker inevitably got into fights with some of the toughs and quickly learned that he was most at home fighting bigger men. They were slower in their movement and made for much better targets than the smaller, slippery fellows. Before boxing, Mickey Walker was going to be an architect. After boxing he became a very accomplished painter. But it was the fight game that snared him and enabled him to build and paint with the greatest effect. Mick never did forget beating up on those guys in the freight yard. From the moment the inimitable Jack Kearns took up the reins as his manager, Walker was nagging him for fights against the heavyweights. But Mick’s blood-and-thunder affairs with the dreadnoughts were preceded by some glorious chapters in his natural domain. The welterweight and middleweight divisions were already gold-plated in their history and quality as boxing entered the Roaring Twenties. Then along came Mickey Walker. He was dubbed the Toy Bulldog by New York sports editor, Francis Albertini. And how the Bulldog could bite! Historian Tracy Callis puts Mick’s fighting style and wonderful achievements into perspective: “Walker belongs in that class of fighter called iron men. He was tough, rugged and willing. His nickname of the Toy Bulldog was very appropriate. For like that breed of creature, he was short, stocky, sturdy, tenacious, determined and game. The size of his opponents did not matter. Fight meant fight against whomever stood before him, big or small. “Mickey was a relentless warrior who could dish it out and take it too. In the heat of battle, he bobbed, squirmed, charged, weaved, ducked, slammed and smashed. Jack Sharkey described Mickey as ‘much tougher than Max Schmeling’. “For the last half of his career, Walker fought at something like 164-173lbs. Only two or three times did he exceed this weight, the heaviest being 179lbs for one fight. “During his career, if we use the latest BoxRec statistics as our yardstick, Mickey was outweighed by 10 or more pounds in 28 contests (rounding 9 1/2 or more to ten). Of these bouts, the difference was at least 15 pounds on seventeen occasions, and in 14 of these fights he was outweighed by 23 or more pounds. “Against the huge foes (heavier by 23 or more pounds), Mickey’s record was 11-1-2 with six knockouts. Against men who were 15 or more pounds heavier, his record was 14-1-2 with seven KOs. When he was fighting men who were ten or more pounds heavier, Walker boasted a record of 22-2-2 with 13 knockouts. Two bouts were no-decisions in which Mickey won the newspaper verdicts. “The list of fighters Mickey Walker beat includes Maxie Rosenbloom, Mike McTigue, Tiger Flowers, Paul Berlenbach, Jack Britton, Lew Tendler, King Levinsky, Paolino Uzcudun, Jimmy Maloney, Johnny Risko, Bearcat Wright, Jock Malone, Dave Shade, Leo Lomski, Arthur DeKuh and Paul Swiderski. “In a poll of old-time boxing men conducted by John McCallum in 1974, Walker ranked as the number one all-time welterweight. Broadway Charley Rose ranked Mickey as the number three all-time middleweight. Nat Fleischer and Herb Goldman ranked him as the fourth greatest middleweight, as did the International Boxing Research Organization (IBRO) in its poll of 2005.” Jack Britton At The Garden Jack Britton was a wonder and quite fittingly known as the Boxing Marvel. Counting the number of fights on Jack’s vast record required great concentration and a clear mind. He had fought them all and beaten most of them. The names of his illustrious opponents jumped off the page like jolting little boxing gloves on springs. Britton was thirty-seven years of age and was the oldest living world champion when he defended his welterweight laurels against Mickey Walker at Madison Square Garden on November 1, 1922. But Jack was still a ring mechanic of sublime skill, toughness and endurance. He would eventually retire in his mid-forties with some 350 fights on his record, quite probably more, with only one knockout loss suffered as a novice. Britton made a noble and brave stand against the hungry young Walker, but Jack’s know-how couldn’t offset his challenger’s youth, strength and power. It was an engrossing and exciting battle between the old king and the heir apparent, although the knowing and more cynical members of the crowd wondered if everything was on the level when the fighters first stepped into the ring. A certain hum went around the Garden following an announcement on behalf of the New York Commission and promoter Tex Rickard that all bets were off. Britton had been a 6 to 5 favourite the previous day, but Walker was the 3 to 5 choice by the time the preliminary bouts got under way. Happily, there was nothing in the tough and gruelling battle between Mickey and Jack that offered so much as a hint of foul play. The Associated Press reported: “After 20 years in the ring, Britton, the crafty and ringwise master of defense, twice the holder of the crown that toppled last night, was a poor match for the aggressive Jersey man who displayed more than ordinary knowledge of the science of fisticuffs. Walker won all the way.” Indeed, Jack might well have been knocked out in the later stages of the battle, had it not been for the hardness and resilience that had always been married to his innate skill. Most of the crowd had a fondness for the fading champion and didn’t want to see him take the ten count. Mickey’s tiredness probably saved Jack from that fate. The challenger was still punching hard in the closing frames, but the effort of trying to trap and finish the old master had taken much of the steam from Walker’s blows. When Mickey’s forceful wallops rendered Britton glassy-eyed and uncertain, the champion’s great boxing brain would click back into gear and engineer a timely retreat. Jack didn’t wait for the decision to be announced before congratulating Walker. “I wish you luck, boy,” was the dethroned champion’s sporting message. Mick told reporters that Britton was the gamest man he ever fought. Mickey was a proud and successful welterweight champion, but was always hunting bigger game. His first crack at the middleweight championship proved a step too far too soon, but only because the reigning king was a certain Mr Harry Greb. When Walker stepped up to challenge Harry for his crown on July 2, 1925, before a crowd of 50,000 at the Polo Grounds in New York, one of the greatest and most celebrated battles in middleweight history was contested. The two warriors waged a furious, fast-paced thriller, one of the best ever seen at the famous old venue, with Greb putting the seal on a memorable victory after a terrific rally in an unforgettable fourteenth round. Harry suddenly nailed Mickey with a big right in that round that had the Toy Bulldog hurt and tottering. Walker backed into his own corner and swayed glassy-eyed as Greb unloaded punch after punch. Then there followed a magical microcosm of what Mickey Walker was all about. He shook his head, water spraying from his dark hair, and cracked Harry on the chin with a big right. The heaving crowd went wild. As Damon Runyon reported, “A roar rolled up out of the bowl under Coogan’s Bluff that must have echoed over all Harlem and Washington Heights.” The pace of the fight had been tremendous throughout and Walker closed strongly to win the final round. But it wasn’t enough. Greb had once again prevailed with his almost unique mix of ferocity, speed, guile and cleverness. It was all too much for referee Eddie Purdy, who twice fell and injured a knee joint in trying to keep up with the whirling dervishes. The sporting Walker forever credited Greb as being the greatest fighter he ever met. Tiger Flowers and Ace Hudkins The record-breaking crowd of 11,000 at the Coliseum in Chicago on December 3, 1926, couldn’t quite make up its mind. First the people booed the decision and then they cheered it. Many of those polled believed that Tiger Flowers had retained his middleweight championship by edging Mickey Walker by a 5-4-1 count in rounds. Others believed that Flowers had won by a greater margin. But the decision of referee Barney Yanger went to Walker as blood ran down the Toy Bulldog’s chest from a badly gashed left eye he had sustained in the second round. Tiger grabbed Mick’s gloved fist and congratulated him, while 20 or more police officers climbed into the ring to protect the fighters from any crowd trouble. Walker Miller, Flowers’ manager, had been concerned for some time beforehand that Tiger would be robbed if the fight went to a decision. Miller had demanded a forfeit from Walker’s manager, Jack Kearns, which guaranteed Flowers a return match within 90 days. Kearns further agreed that Flowers would be Mickey’s first challenger. Alas, Tiger Flowers would die a year later from complications following surgery. Walker Miller was philosophical about Barney Yanger’s decision. “We had a good referee in there. He decided Walker won, so it must be so. However, Flowers was hit low two times and those punches took the steam out of him.” It was a sensational fight that night in Chicago, with Mickey starting fast and finding immediate success with the first right hand punch he threw. Flowers fell to his haunches but was quickly on his feet again. Thereafter, the defending champion boxed wisely, preventing Mick from launching his damaging body attacks by moving well and fending off the Bulldog with raking long lefts and right crosses that flashed in from all angles. Tiger was the 8 to 5 favourite and carrying a four-and-a-half-pond weight advantage at 159lbs. It seemed that he was now in gear and cleverly navigating his way to a fairly comfortable points victory. But there was always a certain fragility about Flowers that denied him true and enduring greatness in the minds of many. He was in trouble again in the fourth round as Walker, in his increasing frustration, mounted a ferocious charge. Tiger bravely and intelligently continued to hold back the tide, but then the oncoming Walker nailed him in the ninth. A big right dipped Flowers’ knees and a similar punch sent him to the canvas seconds later. Tiger showed great defensive skill in making Walker miss with his big shots as Mickey burrowed in and tried to finish the champion. Mick was constantly handicapped by blood running into his eyes and kept trying to clear his vision as he punched away. But the decision was his and so was the middleweight championship. Mickey, for all the tough fights he had already had, thus opened another golden chapter in his career in which he seemed to gain a new lease of life. At twenty-five, he was a grizzled veteran by the standards of the day, yet he lost only one fight over the next three years as he narrowly failed in his bid to wrest the light heavyweight championship from the artful Tommy Loughran. Mick was fortunate to get the decision over the vicious and uncompromising Ace Hudkins in a middleweight title defence at Comiskey Park in 1928, but how the Toy Bulldog made up for that in the return match! Hudkins, the gloriously named Nebraska Wildcat, got his second chance at Wrigley Field in Los Angeles on October 29, 1929. A crowd of 25,000 saw Walker turn the clock back in spectacular fashion. Summoning all his old fire and brimstone, Mickey met Ace’s aggressive rushes with brilliantly timed counter fire. Over the course of ten rounds, Walker punched the teak-tough Hudkins virtually to a standstill with solid blows to the jaw and a consistently powerful body attack. Mick had Ace in trouble from the outset with short and explosive lefts and rights to the jaw. The fast right to the jaw was always a speciality of Walker’s, and Hudkins was forced to hold on tight again in the sixth as Mickey crashed home his pet blow. The fight was a great demonstration of the power and effectiveness of short-range punching, as Mick and Ace fought frequently at close quarters. Some of the greatest damage they did was with jolting little digs to the body and jaw. Walker, superbly fit and bronzed by the California sun, was always mixing up his shots, tagging the onrushing Hudkins with hooks and uppercuts. Ace finished the punishing duel bleeding from a cut over his right eye and suffering from a split lip. Most neutral observers awarded Mickey eight of the ten rounds. Mickey And The Greats Regular readers will be aware of my admiration for that wonderful boxing writer of yesteryear, Robert Edgren. In general, Mr Edgren was fair and objective in his summations of fighters. He was also extremely knowledgeable and possessed a rare, instinctive feel for boxers and boxing technique. He maintained to the end that no middleweight could compare to the astonishing Bob Fitzsimmons. However, lest you should think that Edgren was obsessed with the fighters of his day, consider what he said as an older man when comparing Mickey Walker to past legends of that weight class. Edgren’s observations, published shortly after Mick’s storming victory over Ace Hudkins in 1929, might well surprise you as much as they did me. “Barring Fitzsimmons, Walker looks just about as good as any of the middleweights. There is a glamour and a glory about past champions that makes them seem greater when they are gone from the ring than they seemed when we looked at them in action. “Tommy Ryan was a great middleweight, but if you analyse his fights, they were no better than Walker’s. The same could be said of any of the rest – barring only Fitz. “Harry Greb never knew much about boxing. He was a tireless windmill in action, swinging from bell to bell and able to sop up any amount of punching. “Even the great Stanley Ketchel doesn’t figure so much better than Mickey if you look at facts and cut out the past glory. It took Ketchel 32 rounds to beat Joe Thomas, a clever middleweight, for the championship. Of course, in four fights he ruined Thomas completely, but I doubt that this tough egg Ace Hudkins would go through as many rounds with Mickey without being sent to the pugilistic dump. “Jack Kearns always says that Mickey Walker is ‘another Joe Walcott’. He is like Walcott in build, although with bigger legs in proportion. Walcott was 5’ 1” tall when he was welter champion, and his neck and arms measured just 16 inches. He had the fighting equipment of a big heavyweight as far as strength was concerned. “In the Hudkins fight, Walker showed amazingly good condition. I never saw him in better shape, even as welterweight champion. He was baked to a dark brown by the hot sun of the Ojai Valley and looked like a thick-set Jack Dempsey. When they fight for Kearns, they have to be aggressive.” Training Would Mickey Walker have been even greater if his love of fighting had been matched by a natural love of training? No!! The latter discipline always made Mick bristle with irritation and restlessness. But in common with other like-minded souls, there was a deception to his lack of enthusiasm that was frequently misunderstood. Damon Runyon often wrote amusingly of Walker’s slothful, half-hearted sparring sessions. Casual visitors to the gym would gawp in disbelief as they watched the famous killer of the ring engaging in a series of quaint and inoffensive waltzes with his partners. Mickey was a wild horse and a free spirit who simply had to do it his way, the only way that worked for him. That meant walking the tightrope and maintaining a precarious balance between the rigours of training and the pleasures of wine, women and song. Ketchel, Greb, Monzon and Duran were from a similar mould. To them, there was no challenge to punching a bag or running for miles. It bored them. But each was sensible enough to know that the monotonous groundwork was a necessity. They simply tilted the conventional plane and fashioned their own schedules. Here is how Mickey Walker saw it when he spoke to writer Peter Heller in the early seventies: “The most important thing for young fellows now who are thinking about boxing is to be in shape. Don’t neglect that. Get in training. You need that, and your training consists of roadwork and boxing in the gymnasium. These amateur fighters of today are making a big mistake because they don’t do enough hard work. They get in the gym and all they do is box three rounds, punch the bag maybe two rounds, and maybe do a little exercise and that’s their day’s training. You need more work than that. “What you should do in the gym is box about four three-minute rounds every day when you’re in there training. When you’re in the ring it gives you endurance, and you need endurance. Punching the heavy bags, that’s good, but punch them more than a minute. Punch them three minutes and you’ll find that a big difference. In our day, we had real professional trainers who knew all that. I followed their advice. In the morning, you’d be up and you’d do from five to ten miles roadwork daily. You run half of that and walk the other half. That’s in the morning. “Then in the afternoon, if you’re fighting a 10-round fight, you’d box a fight in the gymnasium, eight or ten rounds, punching the bags, and you’d do stomach exercises to harden you up. You have to be hardened from toes to head. “Today, the boys in there, they look like they’re only training for speed. Well, you need more than speed. You need endurance, you need something in your body that you can take a punch, and that’s what they’ve got to train for. “In the modern times, everything is fast, speedy. But there’s some things in life we can’t do that fast or speedy. Only one thing about fighting – you need to be able to punch, you need to be able to take a punch, and if you go too fast in your training you miss a lot.” What made Mickey Walker different from the norm was that he couldn’t do such things within the boundary of a set timetable. For Mick, the difference between day and night needed to be blurred. Time and timepieces were of scant importance to him. Manager Jack Kearns made this discovery when he got it into his head that a more regimented training regime would work wonders for Walker and push him to greater heights. Jack got his great idea at Madame Bey’s camp while Mickey was preparing for a fight with King Levinsky. Trainer Teddy Hayes, much more knowing in such matters, was out west on other business and blissfully unaware of this potentially fatal change to Walker’s civilised routine. Kearns’ fanciful notion was at once doomed to failure. It gave Mick the collywobbles and upset his entire system. Jack wanted him to cut down on the booze, eschew sweet and fatty foods and go for long runs at the crack of dawn. The great plan quickly bombed. The clincher, the one rule that gave Walker the shudders more than any other, was that he had to go to bed early. As hard as he tried, Mick simply couldn’t persist with what he regarded as the sacrilegious act of retiring to his bed on the same day he got out of it.
Two pound-for-pound beasts mixing it up right here. Mickey Walker vs Harry Greb was one for the books, many consider Greb to the greatest pound-for-pound fighter that ever lived, and he certainly has the resume to make that argument. Mickey Walker challenged Greb in 1925, it was an epic and violent 15-round encounter, and it allegedly spilled over to a 16th round at a nightclub after the fight.
Famous Ring Wars: Harry Greb Vs. Mickey Walker
By John F. McKenna - 02/24/2024 -
Welterweight champion Mickey Walker, AKA “The Toy Bulldog” challenged the great Harry Greb, AKA “The Human Windmill” for the middleweight championship of the world at the Polo Grounds in New York City on July 2, 1925. Eighty six years after his premature death in 1926 at the age of 32, Greb is still considered by many boxing historians to be the greatest middleweight who ever lived and also among the top pound for pound fighters. 3 What’s Next For Julio Cesar Chavez Jr.? During his career Greb fought an unbelievable 300 times during a fourteen year career. In the days when it was difficult for fighters to make a living, Harry fought on average twenty two times a year. Jack Dempsey, who was heavyweight champion during Greb’s title reign, said that he had the fastest hands of any fighter he had ever seen. Along with his speed Harry had incredible stamina, an indomitable will and the ability to launch his punches from impossible angles. Greb frequently fought light heavyweights and heavyweights and handed future heavyweight champion Gene Tunney the lone defeat of his illustrious career. Mickey Walker was managed by Jack “Doc” Kearns, who also managed Dempsey. Years later Kearns would manage Archie Moore and Joey Maxim and is widely credited with staging the first fight in Las Vegas in 1955 between Moore and heavyweight contender Nino Valdes. Walker became welterweight champion in 1922 at the age of 21 when he defeated Jack Britton by decision. Later on when Walker moved up to middleweight he took on all comers all the way up to heavyweight. In 1931 Mickey fought former heavyweight champion Jack Sharkey to a draw. He also defeated heavyweight contenders King Levinsky and Paulino Uzcudun in 1932. Both Levinsky and Uzcudun would go on to fight the great Joe Louis. Walker was stopped in the 8th round when he took on boxing great Max Schmeling also in 1932. On the morning of the epic battle between Greb and Walker the odds maker had installed Greb as a solid 8 – 5 favorite largely because Walker was attempting to step up from welterweight to dethrone the middleweight champion. It was thought by some, including Walker, that the 31 year old Greb would have trouble making the 160 pound weight. When the word spread that Harry had not only comfortably made the weight, but had weighed in at 157 ½ pounds the odds jumped up to 9 – 5 in Greb’s favor. The day before the fight it was rumored that African American heavyweight contender Harry Wills was demanding that his fight with Charley Weinert receive top billing instead of the Greb – Walker fight. It was clear, however that it was just a publicity stunt by the promoters to hype the fight. When the bell rang for the start of the fight Walker immediately started going to Greb’s body and was successful in landing numerous devastating left hooks to the body. Greb countered with some terrific body shots of his own, but Walker carried the round. The second and third rounds were more of the same as Greb’s handlers worked feverishly on his legs which were apparently cramping. In the 4th round Greb started getting into the fight and appeared totally relaxed as he laughed at Walker’s attempts to free his arms during a clinch. Greb appeared to have the edge in the round and Walker seemed to be tiring already from the hectic pace Greb was setting. The 5th round was even but Greb appeared to spit a couple of teeth out after being hit with a left right combination. Walker was also bleeding from his nose as he walked back to his corner. The tide of the fight began to turns as Greb had a slight edge in the 6th and 7th rounds and began jogging back to his corner at the end of the rounds is if to demonstrate his vitality to the younger Walker. The 8th round saw both fighters pummeling each other as every time Walker succeeded in landing a punch, Greb would fire back with a volley of his own punches. The 9th round was too close to call, but in the 10th round Greb came at Walker full force and took the fight up to another level of intensity. In the 11th round Greb forced Walker back into a corner and began to flail away at Mickey landing punch after punch without a response. Greb won the round by a wide margin and it became clear that he had never faced a fighter who was in the same league as Harry Greb. Walker won the 12th round, although Greb landed the most punches. Walker’s punches were sharper and the cleaner punches. Greb came back to win the 13th round, clearly having the better of the exchanges and landing the higher volume of effective punches. Walker appeared somewhat disoriented as he walked back to his corner. In the 14th round Greb tried to overwhelm his tough opponent in an attempt to knock him out. The attempt was futile however although Walker appeared out on his feet. Walker had to be helped back to his corner. Greb too appeared exhausted as he walked back to his own corner. Greb again had the edge in the 15th round and was awarded a unanimous decision by the judges. Greb’s experience and his strategy to smother Walker so that he could not get off his power shots from long range had paid off. No account of the famous fight between Harry Greb and Mickey Walker would be complete without a retelling of the legendary events that happened in the hours after their fight in the ring. As the legend goes Greb and Walker wound up in the same nightclub in Manhattan after their fight, an establishment known as “The Silver Slipper”. Not to be confused with the famous “Silver Slipper” in Washington, D.C. Greb and Walker fought hard and partied hard. Both had brought their dates with them to the nightclub. After downing a few drinks Greb and Walker accompanied by their dates left the nightclub. Once outside Walker began to good naturedly needle Walker about what he referred to as his “illegal tactics” in the ring. Greb apparently taking offense to Walker’s comments began removing his suit jacket stating that perhaps we should continue with the “sixteenth round right now!” Walker did not hesitate and as the story goes sucker punched Greb while he had his arms behind him attempting to get his suit coat off. Greb after consuming a considerable amount of alcohol was in no condition to continue after being knocked to the ground by Walker’s sucker punch. Attempting to determine the veracity and the truthfulness of Walker’s account of the “sixteenth round” is as difficult as trying to find the elusive Big Foot.
Here's where it gets insane, Mickey Walker, a natural welterweight, starts an assault on the heavyweight division. He'd already beaten Johnny Risko, "The Cleveland Rubber Man", despite Risko outweighing him by 30 lbs. Now he goes at Jack Sharkey, "The Boston Gob", Sharkey was one hell of a fighter, one of the most technically sound heavyweights in boxing history, and Sharkey carried good power. At one point in his career, Sharkey was world heavyweight champion for Christ's sake. Just look at the damn size difference between the two, Walker has to stand on a scale just to meet Sharkey at eye level. Like I said before, Walker was fearless.
"The Toy Bulldog" Mickey Walker overcame a nearly 30-pound weight disadvantage to fight future heavyweight champ Jack Sharkey to a 15 round draw at Ebbets Field in Brooklyn, New York in 1931.
Walker already beat most of the greatest welterweights and middleweights of his era while becoming champion in both divisions. For some reason he still wanted the heavyweight title. Sharkey was understandably a 3-to-1 favorite as he'd faced Jack Dempsey and many of the heavyweight division's top fighters. On paper, Walker had no business being competitive.
Unfortunately for Sharkey, Walker immediately attacked him and continued on for the first five rounds of the fight. Sharkey's 29-pound weight advantage began to wear Walker down, and on top of that Walker's eye was cut. But Walker rocked the larger man and forced him to hold in three of the last six rounds. Then in the last round, Sharkey made Walker's cut worse. In the eyes of most of the 40,000 in attendance, Sharkey was fortunate to get a draw.
"Sharkey hit me with his heaviest blows, but they made me fight back all the harder," Walker said. "He never had me in trouble at any time. I could have gone on and fought fifteen rounds more, I felt so good. Sharkey seemed very tired toward the finish of the scrap."
"I thought I won the fight, but I guess the decision was okay," Sharkey said. "I just couldn't get started against Mickey. He's a great little fighter; greater than I thought he was."
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Music break. A classic from the 90s, Two of the greatest frontmen in history right here together, I still get goosebumps when Chris Cornell hits those high notes.
Back to Arturo "Thunder" Gatti, he was one of the most exciting fighters in boxing history, rarely in a dull fight, he was a human highlight reel. Arturo Gatti was special. He truly was a blood and guts warrior to the bone. He connected with fans on a primal level. They knew he was going to give every shred of himself in the ring and they loved him for it. “Thunder” was the perfect name for him. Man did he Rumble.
This is one of my favorite images of Arturo Gatti.
The owner of the fastest hands in the heavyweight division during the 1980s, Tony "TNT" Tubbs’ skills were all the more impressive given his waistline – one that seemed more suited to his surname than he might have liked.
No one could deny Tubbs was gifted.
After beating Jimmy Young and “Bonecrusher” Smith, he claimed the WBA heavyweight title from Greg Page in 1985. But the belt slipped from his grasp a year later, surrendered to Tim Witherspoon in 15 closely contested but rather dull rounds.
In 1988, Tubbs showed promise against a peak Mike Tyson, taking the first round on one judge’s card before succumbing to Tyson’s power in the second.
He impressed again in November 1989 with a win over leading contender Orlin Norris, but that victory was later overturned to a No Contest after cocaine was found in his system. A substance that would bring Tubbs trouble on several occasions throughout his career.
In 1991, Tubbs boxed beautifully, only to lose a contentious decision to the rising Riddick Bowe. While wins over Bruce Seldon, Alexander Zolkin, and Brian Minto (in 2004) reaffirmed his talent, first-round losses to Jimmy Ellis and Lionel Butler served as stark reminders of his vulnerabilities.
Tony Tubbs was a part of that 1980s crop of heavyweights that had so much talent, but for one reason or another fell short of their capabilities. In Tubbs case, I would say weight issues, cocaine addiction, and of course Mike Tyson were the reasons he fell short. He had the best pure boxing skills in the 80s, outside of Greg Page. But he struggled with weight problems, keeping slim, and of course the cocaine. Losing to Mike Tyson also put a dent in his career, it out a dent in a lot of heavyweight careers in the 80s. A lot of these 80s guys went off the rails after losing to Tyson and this also affects the way people view Tyson's resume. But it was not a case of Tyson ruining them, but them losing resolve and dedication to the sport after losing to a champ that was young and looked like he was going to reign for a long time. They were going to get older and it looked like Tyson was going to keep improving, so their ambitions looked kind of pointless. But Tubbs was a slickster, great pure boxer, and had ridiculous hand speed. Too bad Tubbs didn't stay at under 230 lbs, stay away from coke, and remain more active. Here in a title eliminator for Greg Page's WBA title, Tubbs weighed a reasonable 228.5 and easily outboxed the dangerous Bonecrusher Smith. Only one month later he beat Greg Page, coming in at 229.
Tony Tubbs was one of those guys, that when he was in shape and ready, he could really box your ears off. When he was in shape and ready that is. In 1991, he was an old vet taking on the young up-and-coming Riddick Bowe, of course Bowe would go on to become an all-time great heavyweight. It was a close fight, Bowe won the decision, but he didn't look good doing it, Tubbs was in shape and ready that night, and if nothing else, Tubbs proved that that an old slick veteran can make a young contender look bad.
Tony "TNT" Tubbs.
"Irish" Micky Ward, love this guy, how can you not? He had a granite chin, tough as nails, the definition of a warrior. He's best known for his three wars with Arturo Gatti, but the thing I loved most about Ward was his brutal left hook to the liver, he could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat with that one punch, and literally did just that against Alfonso Sanchez in 1997. It was a thing of beauty to watch him throw that punch, he would usually go upstairs to the head first, give you a little tap on the head to draw your defenses away from your body, and then he'd throw that shit right into your liver with everything he had. Anyway, in 1997 he was facing Alfonso Sanchez, an undefeated young lion that was expected to beat Ward rather easily. Ward started off the fight poorly and Sanchez was beating Ward from pillar to post, the announcers were giving Ward a real hard time about it, basically saying he looked like crap and should be ashamed of his effort, telling him to go ahead and pack it in for the night. It indeed looked like Ward was going to get the socks beat off of him, and then out of nowhere, Ward gives Sanchez that little tap to the head, and then throws a shot to Sanchez's liver with everything he had. Sanchez hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, and couldn't get up, it was over just like that. Ward was a true warrior who was as adept at landing a crippling body shot as any fighter you could care to mention.
Micky Ward, the life of a prizefighter.
"King" Carlos Palomino, great Mexican welterweight in the 1970s and 80s, his story was like something out of a movie, he started boxing to get out of being drafted into the Vietnam War, he never really even wanted to box, his dream was to become a baseball player, but he forged a legendary career in the ring. Palomino was a balls to the wall warrior, he won the WBC world welterweight title in 1976 and defended it eight times. He was a very technically sound boxer, had legendary stamina, good power, fearsome left hook, was a vicious body puncher, perhaps the most underrated body puncher in boxing history, it was just beautiful to watch him dismantling an opponent to the body, he was a goddamn killer body puncher, much like Micky Ward. Carlos Palomino also had a rock solid chin, and he was as tough as old leather boots. There was no quit in him. He dealt with multiple tragedies in his life, the death of his father, and the death of his brother, his brother died in the 1980 plane crash that killed the entire Olympic boxing team. Despite everything, he made a very impressive comeback at the age of 47, winning almost all of his fights. He later went on to become an actor and was was the star in a lot of Miller Lite beer commercials.
Palomino's unlikely career leads to Hall of Fame
Carlos Palomino never particularly liked to fight.
He did so only out of necessity … for his father's amusement, to mark his turf as a Tijuana shoeshine boy, to defend himself at the schoolyard.
It seems like the beginnings of a tale that has become familiar over the years: A Mexican kid takes up boxing to escape the hardscrabble barrio and becomes a world champion.
Palomino's journey was much different.
Vietnam forced him into the sport late. A passion for acting lured him away early. He didn't make nearly as much money as he could have, but he accomplished enough to become a Hall of Famer -- even before the fistic sophisticate made a strangely admirable comeback at 47 years old.
"Boxing was never enjoyable. The best part for me was fight night because I knew when it was over I'd get a break," said Palomino, who will be inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame this weekend in Canastota, N.Y.
Palomino, the college graduate who became a popular welterweight champ and star of Miller Lite's famous commercials, will be enshrined with featherweight Azumah Nelson, light heavyweight Dwight Muhammad Qawi and super bantamweight Daniel Zaragoza.
Palomino's record doesn't demand Hall of Fame consideration at first glance. He finished the vital portion of his career with a record of 27-3-3 and 15 knockouts. He defeated only one former, current or future champion (John Stracey). He lost each time he fought a Hall of Fame-caliber fighter (Wilfred Benitez and Roberto Duran). He didn't fight Pipino Cuevas, the other significant welterweight champion of his era.
But Palomino is a Hall of Famer when surveyed en total.
He did more than throw punches. He brought a sense of dignity to a sordid sport. He walked away rather than hang around for one payday too many. He has remained one of boxing's top ambassadors through his tireless dedication to youth groups and charities, and he served three years with the California State Athletic Commission.
"It's a great honor and totally unexpected,'' Palomino said of his induction. "Boxing wasn't something that I dreamed of doing as a kid, and the Hall of Fame was a goal I really didn't envision accomplishing when I started my career."
When Palomino seriously laced up his gloves for the first time in 1970, he couldn't envision much aside from the deadly jungles of Vietnam.
He was 20 years old when he stopped playing Mexican semipro baseball, surrendering his childhood dream of manning second base in the majors. Six months after he returned home to the Los Angeles area, where his family had immigrated a decade earlier, he received his U.S. Army draft notice.
He decided to get in some kind of shape for boot camp and signed up at a local gym, where he ran into Armando Muniz, an aspiring welterweight freshly discharged from the Army. Muniz told Palomino boxers receive special treatment in the service. Palomino, afraid of returning home in a flag-draped casket, listened intently and tried to absorb as much boxing knowledge as he could from resident trainer Noe Cruz.
"That was the goal: to get out of going to Vietnam," Palomino said. "I didn't envision fighting as a pro."
Palomino, however, discovered a gift through his desperation. Once he reported for duty he let it be known he could box. His 5-foot-10 frame naturally carried 147 pounds, a weight he still hovers around today. But the Army didn't need any welterweights for its squad.
"The coach told me he wanted me to fight at 139 pounds, and I had to make weight in a month," Palomino recalled. "I told him, 'There's no possible way I can get down to 139 pounds.' He said, 'If you don't go down to 139 pounds, you'll have to go back to your base.'
"Within a month I was down to 139 pounds."
Palomino learned the sport quickly enough to become an All-Army champion in 1971 and 1972. He also won the National AAU title in 1972, defeating eventual Olympic gold medalist Ray Seales.
Palomino was discharged later that year and turned pro -- not to chase pugilistic glory, but to bankroll his college education. He enrolled at Orange Coast College and later Long Beach State, where he obtained his degree in recreation in 1976.
The bicentennial was quite a year for Palomino. That's also when the reluctant warrior became an unlikely world champion.
Palomino had only 23 pro fights in less than four years when he met WBC welterweight champion Stracey in London. Palomino had become a fan favorite at the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles, but he was anonymous virtually everywhere else. His performances had been erratic and sometimes underwhelming.
"I recall he had a dozen fights or so and was impressive in one and not as impressive in the next," said Hall of Fame promoter Don Chargin, who was the Olympic Auditorium's matchmaker from 1964-84. "So there was a hotshot named Nelson Ruiz, who was an up-and-coming sensation. I told (Palomino's manager) Jackie McCoy, 'Let's find out about Carlos and fight this guy.' Carlos was incredible (winning via sixth-round knockout). I remember walking up to Jackie afterward and said, 'A star is born.' "
Palomino's ability remained a secret until he fought Stracey. The understanding was Palomino would be a foil for the first British welterweight champ since Ted "Kid" Lewis in 1919. Palomino was listed as a 10-to-1 underdog.
"I happened to be in London, covering Wimbledon for HBO, when he fought Stracey," said HBO boxing analyst Larry Merchant. "I had never heard of Palomino, much less seen him. Stracey had dethroned (long-reigning WBC champ) Jose Napoles and was considered very strong. Palomino was just supposed to be an opponent."
The match didn't proceed according to plan.
Stracey was a typical British fighter; he stood tall and overly protected his head. Palomino's strategy was to hammer away at the body with impunity. Blow after blow thundered off Stracey's exposed ribs. He managed to hang on until the 12th round, when a left hook to the liver finally knocked him down. Stracey got up, but Palomino sent him back to the canvas a second time. The fight was stopped.
Palomino broke down his opponent physically, mentally and spiritually. Stracey wept in the ring.
"He beat Stracey up," Merchant said. "I remember a British boxing writer asked me what I knew about Palomino. I said 'I've never seen him, but I've seen him,' meaning I've seen tough Mexican-American fighters who fought just like he did."
Palomino successfully defended his title seven times. He beat Muniz twice -- their initial encounter was billed as the first world title fight between two college graduates -- as well as relative pedestrians Dave Green, Everaldo Azevedo, Jose Palacios, Ryu Sorimachi and Mimoun Mohatar.
"He's the kind of guy who could have more than held his own in any era," future Hall of Fame matchmaker Bruce Trampler said of Palomino. "He was a solid fighter, and in today's market you gotta say he would be competitive, and he would have beaten some of the champions from the past."
Palomino lost the title in 1979 to Wilfredo Benitez on a controversial split decision in Puerto Rico. Palomino also lost his next fight, a one-sided affair with Roberto Duran.
Two months later, on his 30th birthday, Palomino retired after earning less than $1 million. He walked away at a highly lucrative time for welterweights. He made a record $450,000 to fight Benitez, but that purse was soon dwarfed as Sugar Ray Leonard, Duran and Thomas Hearns then took over the division.
Palomino doesn't regret retiring when he did.
"My biggest fear was the effects of being in the ring," Palomino said. "I used to watch fights and see fighters with their flat noses and scar tissue. My father would tell me about the greats of his day and how they were broke, busted up or punch drunk. Then I started meeting fighters that were like that. The damage from getting hit in the head … I didn't want to hang around there too long."
Palomino, however, eventually succumbed to boxing's siren song. Only he wasn't merely the latest entry to boxing's sad comeback cliché. He went way beyond that, ending a 17½-year retirement at the age of 47.
It happened somewhat by accident. He stopped by the old Westminster Boxing Club, where he used to train, in search of familiar faces. He was hurting from the recent death of his father, a man who supported his 11 children by pushing an ice cream cart, working in a flower shop or doing construction.
"When my father died I was just devastated," Palomino said. "When I was fighting, that was the closest my father and I ever got. When I won the title was the proudest moment of his life. When I went to the gym, it was because my heart was hurting."
Palomino also was still haunted by the death of his younger brother, Paul, in 1980. Paul was a boxer and wanted to turn pro, but Palomino told him to shoot for the Olympics instead. Palomino remembered making $80 in his pro debut, and he wanted his brother to win a medal and perhaps land a substantial signing bonus from a major promoter.
Paul was with the U.S. boxing team on its way to Poland for a competition. The plane crashed.
"I forced him on the trip," Palomino said. "He didn't really want to go. I kept telling him, 'You have to do this for your career.'
"I took him to the airport and put him on the plane. I hugged him and told him to bring home a medal."
A few weeks after Paul died, President Jimmy Carter announced the U.S. would boycott the 1980 Moscow Games.
"That made it even worse for me," Palomino said. "It all would have been in vain."
So after his father passed away, Palomino popped into his old gym to see his former trainer and manager. He also saw Hector Camacho training for an upcoming fight with Duran.
"Can I get a couple rounds?" Palomino asked.
No one can say for certain if the 34-year-old Camacho was taking it easy on Palomino, but according to several witnesses to the sparring session, the old man was the better fighter that day.
"I felt so good," Palomino said. "I felt so much peace, and I felt my dad's presence in that gym so strong."
Palomino's catharsis turned into a wild mission. Even though he had served on the California State Athletic Commission for three years and rolled his eyes every time some 40-year-old applied for a boxing license, he labeled himself fit to compete.
A promoter -- obviously enamored by the Old Man Mania spurred by the comebacks of George Foreman, Leonard and Duran -- made Palomino a four-fight offer worth $1 million.
This is where another boxing cliché comes in: The money wasn't there.
Palomino received $25,000 for each of his first three fights, all knockout victories in -- even more impressively -- the same weight class he had competed when he turned pro in 1972. But the promotional company, reportedly buoyed by offshore gambling interests, went bankrupt soon thereafter.
Palomino forged ahead with another knockout before realizing, two months shy of his 49th birthday, it was time for a legitimate test. Bob Arum's promotional firm, Top Rank, arranged a bout against Wilfredo Rivera, a ranked welterweight looking to rebound from a loss to WBC champ Oscar De La Hoya.
"I knew I had to beat (Rivera) decisively to know I had a shot to win the title again," Palomino said. "Halfway through that fight I knew it wasn't going to be decisive. Even if I would have gotten the decision -- and lot of fans who were thinking with their hearts thought I should have gotten a decision -- I knew I couldn't fight again."
Palomino held his own against Rivera, rocking a man 20 years his junior with a left hook in the middle rounds. The fight went the 10-round distance, but Rivera won. One judge had Palomino losing by only three points.
Those who cringed at Palomino's decision to fight at such an advanced age at least had to admit he did so with valor.
"I was absolutely against him doing it,'' said Trampler, Top Rank's matchmaker. "I admire him, in retrospect, because he felt that if he couldn't beat Rivera he had to walk away. When he shut it down, when he quit, he was still very competitive."
Said Chargin: "It doesn't diminish his career, but I wish it never happened. I worried about him getting hurt. But you can't blame him for going for a million dollars. He's a competitor."
Both of Palomino's retirements were eased by his main passion in life. In the late 1970s he fell in love with acting after a cameo appearance on "Taxi." He also enjoyed a recurring role in Miller Lite's famous "Tastes Great, Less Filling" commercials, working alongside the likes of Bubba Smith, Dick Butkus, Billy Martin, Boog Powell and Rodney Dangerfield.
Palomino still hears people yell out his signature line: "Don't drink the water!"
He has made guests appearances in major TV series such as "The White Shadow," "Knight Rider," "Hill Street Blues," "NYPD Blue" and "Diagnosis Murder" and has landed roles in several movies you might have trouble finding at Blockbuster.
Two months shy of his 55th birthday, he's still looking for his big Hollywood break.
He has endured countless letdowns over the course of his acting career -- the parts he didn't land, the movies that went straight to video, the projects that got shelved.
But the excitement in his voice is noticeable when he talks about his latest venture, a role as an L.A. detective on a potential series called "Department of Homeland Security." He said filming for a pilot and six episodes will begin in the coming weeks. The hope is that a major network will snap up the show as a mid-summer replacement.
Palomino, a father of three and grandfather of three, also announced he soon will be married for a third time.
A new wife, a new TV show and a Hall of Fame induction all in one summer.
Boxing to avoid that deployment to Vietnam sure turned out to be a fine idea.
Promo photo of Carlos Palamino, love this image of him with the machine gun.
Carlos Palomino became a world champion when he captured the WBC welterweight title with a 12th round TKO of John H. Stracey at the Empire Pool in London, England in 1976.
Stracey was a former European welterweight champion who ended the reign of the great José Nápoles, "Mantequilla", the year before. He defended the belt once against Hedgemon Lewis before signing to face Palomino about six months after he became champ.
Palomino was a good all-around fighter who did no one-thing spectacularly, but he did everything well. He was a favorite at the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles, but he reportedly seemed like an easy title defense to Stracey's promoter Mickey Duff. It ended up a terrible miscalculation.
The fighters jockeyed for position early on, with Palomino's jab and body work doing damage, but Stracey lashing out with combinations. The difference was will, and Palomino's was iron on this evening. In round 9, an exchange all but sealed the result: Stracey connected with a series of punches, and Palomino's solitary counter shook Stracey to the core.
In round 12, Palomino put Stracey down with body shots. Stracey got up and more body work greeted him and sent him down again. Stracey spit out his mouthpiece, but he bravely got to his feet one last time. Palomino went right at Stracey and forced him to cry out in pain from another body shot, and the referee stepped in to end the fight.
"I could see from the start my body punches were hurting him, and I kept working at them," Palomino said. "He hit me with some good punches, but they lacked power. I didn't expect the fight to end as quickly as it did."
"I still don't know what went wrong," Stracey said. "I tried desperately hard but I couldn't get going. I felt completely drained."
Carlos Palomino made rough work of Dave "Boy" Green while making his second defense of the WBC welterweight title with an 11th round KO at the Empire Pool in London, England #OnThisDay in 1977.
José Nápoles was welterweight champion from 1969 to 1975, with a short break in the middle. Nápoles lost the WBC title to John H. Stracey after the title was split by sanctioning organization garbage. Palomino was popular at the Olympic Auditorium, and he defeated Stracey for the belt in 1976.
Green was then undefeated and previously the British and European junior welterweight champion, not to mention highly rated as a welterweight. He was game and had a good punch, but most agreed that Palomino was favored to win.
Green ignore the odds and landed well to the body early on, taking the fight to Palomino. But by rounds 4 and 5, Palomino seemed to be connecting with the cleaner and harder shots, all but taking over the fight. Green made a stand in rounds 8 through 10, as Palomino was cut over both eyes in 8 and 9, then shaken to the core by a massive shot from Green in round 10.
With the fight potentially in the balance, Palomino landed a left hand that landed on Green and knocked him clean unconscious. For some reason the referee still counted, but Green took several minutes to be brought back from the land of nod.
"Green was telling me during the fight that I couldn't punch," Palomino said. "But I guess he knows different now."
Carlos Palomino and Armando "El Hombre" Muniz fought twice in the late 70s, two violent encounters, the first one was a real barn burner. Muniz was absolute nails, one tough SOB with a granite chin. Armando Muniz is one of the most beloved fighters of the 1970s, fans loved Muniz because that they knew he'd leave everything in the ring, win or lose. Interesting fact about their fights, both Palamino and Muniz were college graduates and this was the first time in boxing history that two college graduates fought for a world title. One of the great fights from the Olympic Auditorium's history in 1977 was the first fight between Palomino and Muniz. It was a violent fight. Having already lost one title fight against Jose Napoles on a controversial call, Muniz was determined to set the record right. In the opening round, Muniz repeatedly slipped Palomino’s jab, scoring effectively on the inside. With 20 seconds remaining, a left hook to the head put the Palomino on the seat of his pants. Through the fourth round Armando’s canny ability to slip Carlos’s jab and counter appeared to give him a huge lead in the scoring.
Rounds five through seven saw Carlos finally display some offense but Muniz's pressing attack was still effective. By backing Palomino up constantly, Muniz was robbing the champ’s punches of power. In round eight, both combatants appeared fatigued and needed to catch their second wind. This seemed to work to the advantage of Palomino. In the next two rounds the pace picked up again, with Armando still pressing the attack. In both rounds, Palomino's punches found their target more effectively than earlier in the match.
In rounds 11 through 14 Palomino finally got some separation from Muniz, allowing him to effectively land his jab. Establishing the jab allowed him to land overhand rights and left hooks before Muniz was able to get inside. There was still plenty of life in Armando as he had his moments in all four rounds. But unlike the first third of the bout, Muniz was paying a heavy price to work his way inside. Carlos was closing the gap on the scorecards. The fourteenth round might have been Palomino's best of the fight. His left forced Muniz into a deep crouch, while his defense allowed him to slip most of Muniz's wild punches.
The final stanza started like most of the earlier rounds with Muniz jumping off his stool and rushing across the ring. Both combatants appeared exhausted but fought like the final round like their lives depended on it. At the half way mark Palomino landed an overhand right followed by a left hook, causing the weary Muniz to drop to the canvas. Rising on unsteady legs, Muniz was defenseless against a barrage of overhand lefts and rights. With 36 seconds remaining, Referee John Thomas stepped between the fighters and declared Carlos the winner by TKO. “I didn’t want to stop it sooner because I thought he was still in the fight.” Thomas said.
This is a great promotional photo of Carlos Palomino and Armando Muniz before their fight in 1977. Two legendary warriors.
Palomino and Muniz had a lot in common, they both boxed in the Army, both college graduates, and they would become good friends. This is a photo of Armando Muniz on the far left with Palomino on the far right. In the middle is filmmaker Stephen DeBro who made a documentary about the famous Olympic Auditorium in L.A., where Palomino and Muniz fought.
Palomino and Muniz are featured on the 1991 Kayo Carlos Palomino card, great set by the way.
Carlos Palomino finally lost his title against the great Wilfred Benitez in 1979.
Palomino, nine years older than Benitez, didn’t think much of his opponent despite his fast rise up the rankings.
“I don’t expect to have too much trouble,” Palomino said before the fight. “Benitez isn’t very strong, and he’s been knocked down by a lot of very mediocre people.”
After the 15 rounds were over, not only had Palomino failed to knock Benitez down, the younger, faster fighter proved to be the stronger man.
Trained by former five-time champion Emile Griffith, Benitez used a combination of crisp jabs and wily defense to outlast Palomino in a lopsided victory.
After losing his belt, Palomino would have just one more fight — a loss to Roberto Duran later that year — before hanging up his gloves weeks away from his 30th birthday. He would, however, make a brief and remarkable comeback in his late forties, going 4-1. Carlos Palomino is one of my favorite fighters, his body punching was a thing of beauty. He could bang away at the ribs and liver with the best of them. This is Carlos Palomino, routes to the body.
Carlos Palomino at his best.
The great Carlos Palomino.
"There's enough pressure in life without seeking competition. That makes it double pressure." - Frank Bruno
March 4th,1986 - Wembley Arena, London
Great Britain's Frank Bruno squares off against South African former WBA Heavyweight World Champion, Gerrie "The Bionic Hand" Coetzee.
Coetzee suffered a knockdown within the first minute of the opening round after a sharp left-right combination from Bruno put him on the canvas.
Coetzee was straight back up and took the mandatory 8 count from referee Guy Jutras before continuing. Bruno was straight back on the offensive, looking to capitalize on his success.
Before Coetzee could properly settle himself into the fight he was being swarmed and jolted back by relentless jabbing from Bruno. There was a brief clinch after Coetzee was backed up against the ropes which saw Bruno warned for punching to the back of the head, but the fight was all over just a few seconds later.
Bruno threw a 4 punch combination ending with a gruesome right hook that sent Coeztee crashing against the ropes and leaving him on his back, draped over the bottom rope with his head being held up by a press photographer at ringside.
I'll tell you what, I watched a documentary on Frank Bruno recently and he had some heavy hands, on his way up he was KO'ing guys left and right, a lot of his opponents would get hit and fall over like they were shot, some frightening knockouts. This is one of the coolest images of Frank Bruno, standing face to face with a wax statue of himself at Madame Tussauds Wax Museum in London.
Native American fighter Virgil Hill was called "Quicksilver" for his fast, fluid movements in the boxing ring. The nickname highlighted his quickness and agility, which are characteristic of the element quicksilver (mercury). Mercury is a heavy, silvery metal that is a liquid at room temperature and appears to move in a lively manner, much like Hill's movement in the boxing ring. Hill was an all-time great, good ring technician, good speed, damn good left jab. He was in the hurt business for over 30 years, he won a Silver medal at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics, and the last fight of his career was in 2015. He was a five-time world champion, winning multiple titles in the light heavyweight and cruiserweight divisions. He won the WBA light heavyweight title, the IBF and lineal light heavyweight titles, and the WBA cruiserweight title. He also achieved a record-setting 20 world title defenses across two separate title reigns during his career. Hill is also the only man to defeat the great German fighter Henry Maske, beating him in 1996 and unifying the WBA and IBF light heavyweight titles.
Virgil Hill on a 1991 Ringlords trading card.
For some reason, this is one of my favorite photos of Virgil Hill, just a cool image.
Virgil Hill in his Native American headdress.
Virgil "Quicksilver" Hill, dynamic left hand.
This is one of my favorite photos of Virgil Hill, during his rematch with Henry Maske in 2007, with the blood on his face and the referees shirt, savage photo. Maske won the fight by unanimous decision, and got his revenge on Hill for handing him the only loss of his career.
Virgil Hill with his Olympic Silver medal around his neck, and the American flag behind him. Being a Native American, Turtle Mountain Chippewa, he is a true American. Sick photo.
Mickey "The Toy Bulldog" Walker has one of the coolest nicknames in sports history, and he earned that nickname because of his small stocky physical stature, much like that of a Toy Bulldog. The man had more guts than a slaughterhouse. He was one of the original weight division jumpers, he was no more than a natural welterweight, but he was famous for taking on opponents much larger and beating them, including heavyweights, men that outweighed him by 30, 40 lbs, didn't matter to him, he was fearless, he would take on anyone regardless of their weight division. Mickey Walker was a true pound-for-pound monster.
Automatic For The People: Mickey Walker
July 20, 2008 By Mike Casey:
People love to tell funny stories about Mickey Walker. Lord knows, the boxing archives are bulging with them. I hope you will forgive me if I depart from well-worn tradition and simply praise Magnificent Mick for the truly fabulous fighter he was. It seems that Mick, like his great rival and pal Harry Greb, never goes out of fashion. Walker’s rugged and mischievous face stares out gloriously from the old newspapers and magazines, forever young and vibrant, forever hip and cool. Pick any trendy word from any era and it fits the Toy Bulldog as snugly as a meaty bone clamped between the jaws. He looked every inch a real fighting man, as did so many men of his great and quality-laden era. The rugged face was topped by a head of thick and tousled hair, while the powerful chest and muscled arms channelled down to a solid waist and sturdy, chunky legs.. Mickey Walker loved to fight, and there is the important difference with those who have it in their blood. Walker didn’t dread an upcoming battle or regard it as an inconvenience. He positively relished the assignment. He was often too tough and willing for his own good, especially during his later forays into the heavyweight division. Yet he remained a vicious proposition right to the end, always winning more fights than he lost. It is important to remember that many of Mick’s contemporaries were of the opinion that he was past his best by 1926, when he stepped out of his natural element of the welterweight division to take the middleweight championship on a debatable decision from the Georgia Deacon, Tiger Flowers. Mick had already waged many a ferocious and punishing battle by that time. Yet he ploughed on until 1935, defeating the hefty and classy likes of Johnny Risko, Bearcat Wright, Jimmy Maloney, King Levinsky and Paolino Uzcudun. Walker conceded 42lbs to Bearcat Wright in winning a thrilling decision after being pounded, floored and nearly knocked out in the early going. The Bulldog was outweighed by 14 pounds in his astonishingly brave, losing stand against Max Schmeling. Against Jack Sharkey at Ebbetts Field in 1931, Mick was the lighter man by nearly 30lbs yet hacked out a gutsy 15-rounds draw. How he raged against Sharkey! Coldly hammered for long periods and reeling in the fifteenth and final round from repeated rights to the jaw, Walker simply wouldn’t go under. He blazed back at Jack all night long and had the crowd in uproar in a fantastic ninth round. Mick snapped Sharkey’s head back in that session with a big right uppercut to the chin and followed up with a furious body attack. As Jack fired back, he walked into a cracking left hook to the jaw that made him hold. Low blows cost Sharkey dearly and the draw decision was described by reporters of the time as one of the greatest upsets in boxing history. Mickey, covered in blood from a ripped eyebrow, was given a thunderous ovation. Mickey Walker was a terrific body puncher who would often fire his punches in rapid blitzes. He could lead with a fast left hook, hurt and knock out opponents with either hand and possessed a hard and flashing right cross. His ability to punch damagingly at short range was exceptional. Much like Jack Dempsey, Bob Fitzsimmons, Jim Jeffries and Joe Gans, Walker learned the priceless value of the short and paralysing dig to the heart or stomach. He loved to scrap, loved to live and possessed electrifying charisma. He was almost a lighter version of Dempsey in fighting savagery and box office allure. Nat Fleischer wrote of Mickey: “He rated close to the top. A terrific hitter with an abundance of courage, he fought in every division from welterweight through heavyweight. Though far outweighed, he always gave a thrilling performance. “He was a fabulous character, colourful, a powerful puncher; and while for a good portion of his career he was only an overstuffed welterweight, he made the grade in the three top divisions.” Mick always saw himself as the little guy fighting giants, right from his days as a pugnacious young kid in his New Jersey neighbourhood of Keighry Head. Across from his favourite hangout of Cooper’s Corner was a big freight yard where hobos from all across America would stop off while waiting for the next ride out. Walker inevitably got into fights with some of the toughs and quickly learned that he was most at home fighting bigger men. They were slower in their movement and made for much better targets than the smaller, slippery fellows. Before boxing, Mickey Walker was going to be an architect. After boxing he became a very accomplished painter. But it was the fight game that snared him and enabled him to build and paint with the greatest effect. Mick never did forget beating up on those guys in the freight yard. From the moment the inimitable Jack Kearns took up the reins as his manager, Walker was nagging him for fights against the heavyweights. But Mick’s blood-and-thunder affairs with the dreadnoughts were preceded by some glorious chapters in his natural domain. The welterweight and middleweight divisions were already gold-plated in their history and quality as boxing entered the Roaring Twenties. Then along came Mickey Walker. He was dubbed the Toy Bulldog by New York sports editor, Francis Albertini. And how the Bulldog could bite! Historian Tracy Callis puts Mick’s fighting style and wonderful achievements into perspective: “Walker belongs in that class of fighter called iron men. He was tough, rugged and willing. His nickname of the Toy Bulldog was very appropriate. For like that breed of creature, he was short, stocky, sturdy, tenacious, determined and game. The size of his opponents did not matter. Fight meant fight against whomever stood before him, big or small. “Mickey was a relentless warrior who could dish it out and take it too. In the heat of battle, he bobbed, squirmed, charged, weaved, ducked, slammed and smashed. Jack Sharkey described Mickey as ‘much tougher than Max Schmeling’. “For the last half of his career, Walker fought at something like 164-173lbs. Only two or three times did he exceed this weight, the heaviest being 179lbs for one fight. “During his career, if we use the latest BoxRec statistics as our yardstick, Mickey was outweighed by 10 or more pounds in 28 contests (rounding 9 1/2 or more to ten). Of these bouts, the difference was at least 15 pounds on seventeen occasions, and in 14 of these fights he was outweighed by 23 or more pounds. “Against the huge foes (heavier by 23 or more pounds), Mickey’s record was 11-1-2 with six knockouts. Against men who were 15 or more pounds heavier, his record was 14-1-2 with seven KOs. When he was fighting men who were ten or more pounds heavier, Walker boasted a record of 22-2-2 with 13 knockouts. Two bouts were no-decisions in which Mickey won the newspaper verdicts. “The list of fighters Mickey Walker beat includes Maxie Rosenbloom, Mike McTigue, Tiger Flowers, Paul Berlenbach, Jack Britton, Lew Tendler, King Levinsky, Paolino Uzcudun, Jimmy Maloney, Johnny Risko, Bearcat Wright, Jock Malone, Dave Shade, Leo Lomski, Arthur DeKuh and Paul Swiderski. “In a poll of old-time boxing men conducted by John McCallum in 1974, Walker ranked as the number one all-time welterweight. Broadway Charley Rose ranked Mickey as the number three all-time middleweight. Nat Fleischer and Herb Goldman ranked him as the fourth greatest middleweight, as did the International Boxing Research Organization (IBRO) in its poll of 2005.” Jack Britton At The Garden Jack Britton was a wonder and quite fittingly known as the Boxing Marvel. Counting the number of fights on Jack’s vast record required great concentration and a clear mind. He had fought them all and beaten most of them. The names of his illustrious opponents jumped off the page like jolting little boxing gloves on springs. Britton was thirty-seven years of age and was the oldest living world champion when he defended his welterweight laurels against Mickey Walker at Madison Square Garden on November 1, 1922. But Jack was still a ring mechanic of sublime skill, toughness and endurance. He would eventually retire in his mid-forties with some 350 fights on his record, quite probably more, with only one knockout loss suffered as a novice. Britton made a noble and brave stand against the hungry young Walker, but Jack’s know-how couldn’t offset his challenger’s youth, strength and power. It was an engrossing and exciting battle between the old king and the heir apparent, although the knowing and more cynical members of the crowd wondered if everything was on the level when the fighters first stepped into the ring. A certain hum went around the Garden following an announcement on behalf of the New York Commission and promoter Tex Rickard that all bets were off. Britton had been a 6 to 5 favourite the previous day, but Walker was the 3 to 5 choice by the time the preliminary bouts got under way. Happily, there was nothing in the tough and gruelling battle between Mickey and Jack that offered so much as a hint of foul play. The Associated Press reported: “After 20 years in the ring, Britton, the crafty and ringwise master of defense, twice the holder of the crown that toppled last night, was a poor match for the aggressive Jersey man who displayed more than ordinary knowledge of the science of fisticuffs. Walker won all the way.” Indeed, Jack might well have been knocked out in the later stages of the battle, had it not been for the hardness and resilience that had always been married to his innate skill. Most of the crowd had a fondness for the fading champion and didn’t want to see him take the ten count. Mickey’s tiredness probably saved Jack from that fate. The challenger was still punching hard in the closing frames, but the effort of trying to trap and finish the old master had taken much of the steam from Walker’s blows. When Mickey’s forceful wallops rendered Britton glassy-eyed and uncertain, the champion’s great boxing brain would click back into gear and engineer a timely retreat. Jack didn’t wait for the decision to be announced before congratulating Walker. “I wish you luck, boy,” was the dethroned champion’s sporting message. Mick told reporters that Britton was the gamest man he ever fought. Mickey was a proud and successful welterweight champion, but was always hunting bigger game. His first crack at the middleweight championship proved a step too far too soon, but only because the reigning king was a certain Mr Harry Greb. When Walker stepped up to challenge Harry for his crown on July 2, 1925, before a crowd of 50,000 at the Polo Grounds in New York, one of the greatest and most celebrated battles in middleweight history was contested. The two warriors waged a furious, fast-paced thriller, one of the best ever seen at the famous old venue, with Greb putting the seal on a memorable victory after a terrific rally in an unforgettable fourteenth round. Harry suddenly nailed Mickey with a big right in that round that had the Toy Bulldog hurt and tottering. Walker backed into his own corner and swayed glassy-eyed as Greb unloaded punch after punch. Then there followed a magical microcosm of what Mickey Walker was all about. He shook his head, water spraying from his dark hair, and cracked Harry on the chin with a big right. The heaving crowd went wild. As Damon Runyon reported, “A roar rolled up out of the bowl under Coogan’s Bluff that must have echoed over all Harlem and Washington Heights.” The pace of the fight had been tremendous throughout and Walker closed strongly to win the final round. But it wasn’t enough. Greb had once again prevailed with his almost unique mix of ferocity, speed, guile and cleverness. It was all too much for referee Eddie Purdy, who twice fell and injured a knee joint in trying to keep up with the whirling dervishes. The sporting Walker forever credited Greb as being the greatest fighter he ever met. Tiger Flowers and Ace Hudkins The record-breaking crowd of 11,000 at the Coliseum in Chicago on December 3, 1926, couldn’t quite make up its mind. First the people booed the decision and then they cheered it. Many of those polled believed that Tiger Flowers had retained his middleweight championship by edging Mickey Walker by a 5-4-1 count in rounds. Others believed that Flowers had won by a greater margin. But the decision of referee Barney Yanger went to Walker as blood ran down the Toy Bulldog’s chest from a badly gashed left eye he had sustained in the second round. Tiger grabbed Mick’s gloved fist and congratulated him, while 20 or more police officers climbed into the ring to protect the fighters from any crowd trouble. Walker Miller, Flowers’ manager, had been concerned for some time beforehand that Tiger would be robbed if the fight went to a decision. Miller had demanded a forfeit from Walker’s manager, Jack Kearns, which guaranteed Flowers a return match within 90 days. Kearns further agreed that Flowers would be Mickey’s first challenger. Alas, Tiger Flowers would die a year later from complications following surgery. Walker Miller was philosophical about Barney Yanger’s decision. “We had a good referee in there. He decided Walker won, so it must be so. However, Flowers was hit low two times and those punches took the steam out of him.” It was a sensational fight that night in Chicago, with Mickey starting fast and finding immediate success with the first right hand punch he threw. Flowers fell to his haunches but was quickly on his feet again. Thereafter, the defending champion boxed wisely, preventing Mick from launching his damaging body attacks by moving well and fending off the Bulldog with raking long lefts and right crosses that flashed in from all angles. Tiger was the 8 to 5 favourite and carrying a four-and-a-half-pond weight advantage at 159lbs. It seemed that he was now in gear and cleverly navigating his way to a fairly comfortable points victory. But there was always a certain fragility about Flowers that denied him true and enduring greatness in the minds of many. He was in trouble again in the fourth round as Walker, in his increasing frustration, mounted a ferocious charge. Tiger bravely and intelligently continued to hold back the tide, but then the oncoming Walker nailed him in the ninth. A big right dipped Flowers’ knees and a similar punch sent him to the canvas seconds later. Tiger showed great defensive skill in making Walker miss with his big shots as Mickey burrowed in and tried to finish the champion. Mick was constantly handicapped by blood running into his eyes and kept trying to clear his vision as he punched away. But the decision was his and so was the middleweight championship. Mickey, for all the tough fights he had already had, thus opened another golden chapter in his career in which he seemed to gain a new lease of life. At twenty-five, he was a grizzled veteran by the standards of the day, yet he lost only one fight over the next three years as he narrowly failed in his bid to wrest the light heavyweight championship from the artful Tommy Loughran. Mick was fortunate to get the decision over the vicious and uncompromising Ace Hudkins in a middleweight title defence at Comiskey Park in 1928, but how the Toy Bulldog made up for that in the return match! Hudkins, the gloriously named Nebraska Wildcat, got his second chance at Wrigley Field in Los Angeles on October 29, 1929. A crowd of 25,000 saw Walker turn the clock back in spectacular fashion. Summoning all his old fire and brimstone, Mickey met Ace’s aggressive rushes with brilliantly timed counter fire. Over the course of ten rounds, Walker punched the teak-tough Hudkins virtually to a standstill with solid blows to the jaw and a consistently powerful body attack. Mick had Ace in trouble from the outset with short and explosive lefts and rights to the jaw. The fast right to the jaw was always a speciality of Walker’s, and Hudkins was forced to hold on tight again in the sixth as Mickey crashed home his pet blow. The fight was a great demonstration of the power and effectiveness of short-range punching, as Mick and Ace fought frequently at close quarters. Some of the greatest damage they did was with jolting little digs to the body and jaw. Walker, superbly fit and bronzed by the California sun, was always mixing up his shots, tagging the onrushing Hudkins with hooks and uppercuts. Ace finished the punishing duel bleeding from a cut over his right eye and suffering from a split lip. Most neutral observers awarded Mickey eight of the ten rounds. Mickey And The Greats Regular readers will be aware of my admiration for that wonderful boxing writer of yesteryear, Robert Edgren. In general, Mr Edgren was fair and objective in his summations of fighters. He was also extremely knowledgeable and possessed a rare, instinctive feel for boxers and boxing technique. He maintained to the end that no middleweight could compare to the astonishing Bob Fitzsimmons. However, lest you should think that Edgren was obsessed with the fighters of his day, consider what he said as an older man when comparing Mickey Walker to past legends of that weight class. Edgren’s observations, published shortly after Mick’s storming victory over Ace Hudkins in 1929, might well surprise you as much as they did me. “Barring Fitzsimmons, Walker looks just about as good as any of the middleweights. There is a glamour and a glory about past champions that makes them seem greater when they are gone from the ring than they seemed when we looked at them in action. “Tommy Ryan was a great middleweight, but if you analyse his fights, they were no better than Walker’s. The same could be said of any of the rest – barring only Fitz. “Harry Greb never knew much about boxing. He was a tireless windmill in action, swinging from bell to bell and able to sop up any amount of punching. “Even the great Stanley Ketchel doesn’t figure so much better than Mickey if you look at facts and cut out the past glory. It took Ketchel 32 rounds to beat Joe Thomas, a clever middleweight, for the championship. Of course, in four fights he ruined Thomas completely, but I doubt that this tough egg Ace Hudkins would go through as many rounds with Mickey without being sent to the pugilistic dump. “Jack Kearns always says that Mickey Walker is ‘another Joe Walcott’. He is like Walcott in build, although with bigger legs in proportion. Walcott was 5’ 1” tall when he was welter champion, and his neck and arms measured just 16 inches. He had the fighting equipment of a big heavyweight as far as strength was concerned. “In the Hudkins fight, Walker showed amazingly good condition. I never saw him in better shape, even as welterweight champion. He was baked to a dark brown by the hot sun of the Ojai Valley and looked like a thick-set Jack Dempsey. When they fight for Kearns, they have to be aggressive.” Training Would Mickey Walker have been even greater if his love of fighting had been matched by a natural love of training? No!! The latter discipline always made Mick bristle with irritation and restlessness. But in common with other like-minded souls, there was a deception to his lack of enthusiasm that was frequently misunderstood. Damon Runyon often wrote amusingly of Walker’s slothful, half-hearted sparring sessions. Casual visitors to the gym would gawp in disbelief as they watched the famous killer of the ring engaging in a series of quaint and inoffensive waltzes with his partners. Mickey was a wild horse and a free spirit who simply had to do it his way, the only way that worked for him. That meant walking the tightrope and maintaining a precarious balance between the rigours of training and the pleasures of wine, women and song. Ketchel, Greb, Monzon and Duran were from a similar mould. To them, there was no challenge to punching a bag or running for miles. It bored them. But each was sensible enough to know that the monotonous groundwork was a necessity. They simply tilted the conventional plane and fashioned their own schedules. Here is how Mickey Walker saw it when he spoke to writer Peter Heller in the early seventies: “The most important thing for young fellows now who are thinking about boxing is to be in shape. Don’t neglect that. Get in training. You need that, and your training consists of roadwork and boxing in the gymnasium. These amateur fighters of today are making a big mistake because they don’t do enough hard work. They get in the gym and all they do is box three rounds, punch the bag maybe two rounds, and maybe do a little exercise and that’s their day’s training. You need more work than that. “What you should do in the gym is box about four three-minute rounds every day when you’re in there training. When you’re in the ring it gives you endurance, and you need endurance. Punching the heavy bags, that’s good, but punch them more than a minute. Punch them three minutes and you’ll find that a big difference. In our day, we had real professional trainers who knew all that. I followed their advice. In the morning, you’d be up and you’d do from five to ten miles roadwork daily. You run half of that and walk the other half. That’s in the morning. “Then in the afternoon, if you’re fighting a 10-round fight, you’d box a fight in the gymnasium, eight or ten rounds, punching the bags, and you’d do stomach exercises to harden you up. You have to be hardened from toes to head. “Today, the boys in there, they look like they’re only training for speed. Well, you need more than speed. You need endurance, you need something in your body that you can take a punch, and that’s what they’ve got to train for. “In the modern times, everything is fast, speedy. But there’s some things in life we can’t do that fast or speedy. Only one thing about fighting – you need to be able to punch, you need to be able to take a punch, and if you go too fast in your training you miss a lot.” What made Mickey Walker different from the norm was that he couldn’t do such things within the boundary of a set timetable. For Mick, the difference between day and night needed to be blurred. Time and timepieces were of scant importance to him. Manager Jack Kearns made this discovery when he got it into his head that a more regimented training regime would work wonders for Walker and push him to greater heights. Jack got his great idea at Madame Bey’s camp while Mickey was preparing for a fight with King Levinsky. Trainer Teddy Hayes, much more knowing in such matters, was out west on other business and blissfully unaware of this potentially fatal change to Walker’s civilised routine. Kearns’ fanciful notion was at once doomed to failure. It gave Mick the collywobbles and upset his entire system. Jack wanted him to cut down on the booze, eschew sweet and fatty foods and go for long runs at the crack of dawn. The great plan quickly bombed. The clincher, the one rule that gave Walker the shudders more than any other, was that he had to go to bed early. As hard as he tried, Mick simply couldn’t persist with what he regarded as the sacrilegious act of retiring to his bed on the same day he got out of it.
Mickey Walker is a legend, great book about him.
Mickey Walker (on the right) with Jack "Doc" Kearns (on the left), Kearns was a legendary manager that managed Jack Dempsey as well.
Two pound-for-pound beasts mixing it up right here. Mickey Walker vs Harry Greb was one for the books, many consider Greb to the greatest pound-for-pound fighter that ever lived, and he certainly has the resume to make that argument. Mickey Walker challenged Greb in 1925, it was an epic and violent 15-round encounter, and it allegedly spilled over to a 16th round at a nightclub after the fight.
Famous Ring Wars: Harry Greb Vs. Mickey Walker
By John F. McKenna - 02/24/2024 -
Welterweight champion Mickey Walker, AKA “The Toy Bulldog” challenged the great Harry Greb, AKA “The Human Windmill” for the middleweight championship of the world at the Polo Grounds in New York City on July 2, 1925. Eighty six years after his premature death in 1926 at the age of 32, Greb is still considered by many boxing historians to be the greatest middleweight who ever lived and also among the top pound for pound fighters. 3 What’s Next For Julio Cesar Chavez Jr.? During his career Greb fought an unbelievable 300 times during a fourteen year career. In the days when it was difficult for fighters to make a living, Harry fought on average twenty two times a year. Jack Dempsey, who was heavyweight champion during Greb’s title reign, said that he had the fastest hands of any fighter he had ever seen. Along with his speed Harry had incredible stamina, an indomitable will and the ability to launch his punches from impossible angles. Greb frequently fought light heavyweights and heavyweights and handed future heavyweight champion Gene Tunney the lone defeat of his illustrious career. Mickey Walker was managed by Jack “Doc” Kearns, who also managed Dempsey. Years later Kearns would manage Archie Moore and Joey Maxim and is widely credited with staging the first fight in Las Vegas in 1955 between Moore and heavyweight contender Nino Valdes. Walker became welterweight champion in 1922 at the age of 21 when he defeated Jack Britton by decision. Later on when Walker moved up to middleweight he took on all comers all the way up to heavyweight. In 1931 Mickey fought former heavyweight champion Jack Sharkey to a draw. He also defeated heavyweight contenders King Levinsky and Paulino Uzcudun in 1932. Both Levinsky and Uzcudun would go on to fight the great Joe Louis. Walker was stopped in the 8th round when he took on boxing great Max Schmeling also in 1932. On the morning of the epic battle between Greb and Walker the odds maker had installed Greb as a solid 8 – 5 favorite largely because Walker was attempting to step up from welterweight to dethrone the middleweight champion. It was thought by some, including Walker, that the 31 year old Greb would have trouble making the 160 pound weight. When the word spread that Harry had not only comfortably made the weight, but had weighed in at 157 ½ pounds the odds jumped up to 9 – 5 in Greb’s favor. The day before the fight it was rumored that African American heavyweight contender Harry Wills was demanding that his fight with Charley Weinert receive top billing instead of the Greb – Walker fight. It was clear, however that it was just a publicity stunt by the promoters to hype the fight. When the bell rang for the start of the fight Walker immediately started going to Greb’s body and was successful in landing numerous devastating left hooks to the body. Greb countered with some terrific body shots of his own, but Walker carried the round. The second and third rounds were more of the same as Greb’s handlers worked feverishly on his legs which were apparently cramping. In the 4th round Greb started getting into the fight and appeared totally relaxed as he laughed at Walker’s attempts to free his arms during a clinch. Greb appeared to have the edge in the round and Walker seemed to be tiring already from the hectic pace Greb was setting. The 5th round was even but Greb appeared to spit a couple of teeth out after being hit with a left right combination. Walker was also bleeding from his nose as he walked back to his corner. The tide of the fight began to turns as Greb had a slight edge in the 6th and 7th rounds and began jogging back to his corner at the end of the rounds is if to demonstrate his vitality to the younger Walker. The 8th round saw both fighters pummeling each other as every time Walker succeeded in landing a punch, Greb would fire back with a volley of his own punches. The 9th round was too close to call, but in the 10th round Greb came at Walker full force and took the fight up to another level of intensity. In the 11th round Greb forced Walker back into a corner and began to flail away at Mickey landing punch after punch without a response. Greb won the round by a wide margin and it became clear that he had never faced a fighter who was in the same league as Harry Greb. Walker won the 12th round, although Greb landed the most punches. Walker’s punches were sharper and the cleaner punches. Greb came back to win the 13th round, clearly having the better of the exchanges and landing the higher volume of effective punches. Walker appeared somewhat disoriented as he walked back to his corner. In the 14th round Greb tried to overwhelm his tough opponent in an attempt to knock him out. The attempt was futile however although Walker appeared out on his feet. Walker had to be helped back to his corner. Greb too appeared exhausted as he walked back to his own corner. Greb again had the edge in the 15th round and was awarded a unanimous decision by the judges. Greb’s experience and his strategy to smother Walker so that he could not get off his power shots from long range had paid off. No account of the famous fight between Harry Greb and Mickey Walker would be complete without a retelling of the legendary events that happened in the hours after their fight in the ring. As the legend goes Greb and Walker wound up in the same nightclub in Manhattan after their fight, an establishment known as “The Silver Slipper”. Not to be confused with the famous “Silver Slipper” in Washington, D.C. Greb and Walker fought hard and partied hard. Both had brought their dates with them to the nightclub. After downing a few drinks Greb and Walker accompanied by their dates left the nightclub. Once outside Walker began to good naturedly needle Walker about what he referred to as his “illegal tactics” in the ring. Greb apparently taking offense to Walker’s comments began removing his suit jacket stating that perhaps we should continue with the “sixteenth round right now!” Walker did not hesitate and as the story goes sucker punched Greb while he had his arms behind him attempting to get his suit coat off. Greb after consuming a considerable amount of alcohol was in no condition to continue after being knocked to the ground by Walker’s sucker punch. Attempting to determine the veracity and the truthfulness of Walker’s account of the “sixteenth round” is as difficult as trying to find the elusive Big Foot.
Photos of Mickey Walker, Harry Greb, and trainer Jimmy De Forrest. Walker and Greb had just signed for their title bout when these photos were taken.
Mickey Walker and Harry Greb face off before their epic encounter.
Newspaper report on the Walker-Greb fight, the fight was so violent that the referee got tangled up in it and slipped and fractured his knee-cap.
Couple of more good shots of Walker-Greb.
Here's where it gets insane, Mickey Walker, a natural welterweight, starts an assault on the heavyweight division. He'd already beaten Johnny Risko, "The Cleveland Rubber Man", despite Risko outweighing him by 30 lbs. Now he goes at Jack Sharkey, "The Boston Gob", Sharkey was one hell of a fighter, one of the most technically sound heavyweights in boxing history, and Sharkey carried good power. At one point in his career, Sharkey was world heavyweight champion for Christ's sake. Just look at the damn size difference between the two, Walker has to stand on a scale just to meet Sharkey at eye level. Like I said before, Walker was fearless.
"The Toy Bulldog" Mickey Walker overcame a nearly 30-pound weight disadvantage to fight future heavyweight champ Jack Sharkey to a 15 round draw at Ebbets Field in Brooklyn, New York in 1931.
Walker already beat most of the greatest welterweights and middleweights of his era while becoming champion in both divisions. For some reason he still wanted the heavyweight title. Sharkey was understandably a 3-to-1 favorite as he'd faced Jack Dempsey and many of the heavyweight division's top fighters. On paper, Walker had no business being competitive.
Unfortunately for Sharkey, Walker immediately attacked him and continued on for the first five rounds of the fight. Sharkey's 29-pound weight advantage began to wear Walker down, and on top of that Walker's eye was cut. But Walker rocked the larger man and forced him to hold in three of the last six rounds. Then in the last round, Sharkey made Walker's cut worse. In the eyes of most of the 40,000 in attendance, Sharkey was fortunate to get a draw.
"Sharkey hit me with his heaviest blows, but they made me fight back all the harder," Walker said. "He never had me in trouble at any time. I could have gone on and fought fifteen rounds more, I felt so good. Sharkey seemed very tired toward the finish of the scrap."
"I thought I won the fight, but I guess the decision was okay," Sharkey said. "I just couldn't get started against Mickey. He's a great little fighter; greater than I thought he was."
Some photos of Mickey Walker vs Jack Sharkey.