"Sit down, son, it's all over" whispered Eddie Futch to Joe Frazier after 14 gruelling rounds against Muhammad Ali in Manila. His fighter may have lost, but Futch's moving moment of compassion was as important as any victory in his celebrated career as one of history's finest trainers.
“I thought, ‘He’s a good father and I want him to see his kids grow up,’ ” Futch later said.
“With Eddie,” said Marc Ratner, executive director of the Nevada State Athletic Commission, “it was always about the fighter. It was never about money.”
The great cornerman died in 2001 at 90 years old.
Futch trained five heavyweight champions: Larry Holmes, Joe Frazier, Riddick Bowe, Michael Spinks and Trevor Berbick. Among his other titleholders were light-heavyweights Bob Foster and Montell Griffin, light-middleweight Mike McCallum, the great multi-weight champ Alexis Arguello, and welterweights Marlon Starling and Don Jordan.
The sequel that made every fight feel personal. You’d step into the ring as Little Mac again, dodging lightning-fast punches and waiting for that perfect counter to land a knockout.
Each boxer was a cartoon character come to life — from Bald Bull’s charge to Bear Hugger’s belly slams.
The crowd cheers, the announcer’s energy, the punch impact — all pure SNES perfection.
Super Punch-Out!! was fast, flashy, and brutally satisfying.
Tami Mauriello and the night he staggered the great Joe Louis
by John J. Raspanti
Mauriello was confident. If he could land his right...
As he circled to his left, the underdog likely pondered when would be a good time to throw his vaunted right. If the punch landed, his entire life would change.
The underdog, Stefano “Tami” Mauriello, was 23, the highest-ranking contender for heavyweight championship honors. His chances of winning were considered slim at best. But Mauriello had hope. His right hand could be deadly, causing most of his 49 victims to go to sleep, 11 in succession.
His opponent that night was a legend, winner of 57 of 58 professional fights. His single loss had happened at the same venue 10 years before, in a stunning upset. He avenged it two years later in just over two minutes.
Joe Louis was 33 when Mauriello fought him, and had recently concluded his military service honorably. His first real fight in four years (he had fought close to 100 exhibition bouts while in the U.S. Army) had been a much-anticipated rematch against Billy Conn in 1946. Conn had come within a whisker of winning the title five years before. The sequel was a disappointment. Both fighters had slowed. Louis knocked out Conn in eight.
Despite having polio that affected his legs in childhood, Mauriello, born in New York, made his professional debut at 15, knocking out Gilberto Ramirez Vasquez in the opening stanza. Two years later, he challenged reigning light heavyweight champion Gus Lesnevich. Floored for a nine count in round two, Mauriello battled back, only to lose the fight by split decision.
Lesnevich prevailed again in a rematch less than two months later. Mauriello shook off the losses and, fighting sometimes twice a month, won his next ten bouts.
In 1942, he went to Cleveland to face hometown hero, Jimmy Bivins. The talented Bivins, who held victories over Lesnevich, and future champion, Joey Maxim, (and would defeat future heavyweight champion Ezzard Charles the following year) knocked down Mauriello – winning the fight over 10 hard fought rounds.
Mauriello rebounded by defeating warhorse, Lee Savold, and stopping former title challenger Lou Nova. Nova had him down for a nine count in the opening stanza, but as he was prone to do, Mauriello got up and battled back.
A rematch with Bivins went down in New York in 1943. Prior to the fight, Mauriello friend, Frank Sinatra, sang the national anthem. Just like in their first fight, Bivins floored him early. Mauriello rallied, but ran out of time. Mauriello’s loss “made Frank Sinatra cry” writes Jerry Fitch in his book, Cleveland’s Greatest Fighters of All Time.
A pattern was emerging. Mauriello fought harder after he tasted the canvas. Savold had him down in their second fight, but couldn’t keep him there. Mauriello got up and won the fight.
Twenty fights later, he faced off against the aging Louis. Mauriello weighed 198 pounds, Louis 211.
Everyone and his brother knew Louis could be tagged by right hands. That flaw had been exploited by Max Schmeling in 1936. Louis had tweaked his tendency to drop his left, but openings occasionally did present themselves. But Louis was always dangerous. Mauriello was confident he could land his Sunday punch. Louis was noticeably slower. Mauriello wasn’t awed. He’d go for it.
Less than ten seconds into the first heat, he did just that. He let the right fly. The arc was true. The blow landed—sending Louis stumbling into the ropes. Most of the thirty thousand plus in attendance rose in surprise. Was one of the biggest upsets in boxing history imminent.? Mauriello certainly thought so. He followed Louis into the ropes, going for a knockout.
Louis grabbed Mauriello for perhaps a second, and reacting like a switch had been flipped, fought back furiously. It was as if he said, “OK, that got my attention. Now it’s my turn.” Mauriello landed another right, but Louis shook it off and uncorked a wicked left hook that crumbled Mauriello. The challenger rolled over and took a knee, rising at six. He went back to moving to his left as Louis pursued. A big right to the chin hurt Mauriello. He held on. Louis shook him off.
Seconds later, a wicked combination sent Mauriello to his knees. He rested his head on the ring rope, like a man resigned to his fate. For the first time in his career, he wouldn’t be able to get up.
“I thought I had him,” said Mauriello to AP writer Gayle Talbot as tears rolled down his checks. “I thought I had him, and I grew careless.”
Perhaps, but Mauriello had gone for it, which is always admirable. He’d lose five of his next 18 bouts, and retire at 26.
In 1954, he appears in the classic film, On the Waterfront, starring Marlon Brando as Terry Molloy. Mauriello plays Tillio, who bullies and laughs at the misfortune of others. It’s quite enjoyable when Terry, repulsed by the corruption surrounding him, sends the mouthy Tillio flying with a crisp combination. His acting, as the goonish Tillio is solid, and completely opposite of the real happy-go-lucky and kind-hearted Mauriello.
Mauriello died in 1999. His last years were tough. One can only wonder how often he thought about that night in 1946.
No matter. His right hand shook up the world of a legendary heavyweight champion.
Tami Mauriello was a good fighter, good heavyweight contender in the 1930s and 40s, with great power in his right hand. But Joe Louis is arguably the greatest heavyweight that ever lived, he had ridiculous recuperative powers, and he's the greatest puncher in boxing history, you just couldn't hold Louis back for long. He was ruthless.
Gosh, this stuff is so fascinating, boxing is such a fascinating sport. Paul "Scrap Iron" Ryan could really bang, 14 straight KOs culminating in a 1 round blowout of top 10 contender Ross Hale for the Britsh/Commonwealth 140lbs titles. He was 1 fight away from a world title shot. Only two of his fights lasted the distance, and he never went beyond eight rounds. 24 of his 28 fights ended within 4 rounds. His fights usually ended with him knocking out his opponent, or getting knocked out himself, regardless, "Scrap Iron" was a fight fan's dream come true, his fights were always action packed.
Paul ‘Scrap Iron’ Ryan brought excitement and a no-nonsense attitude
By Paul Zanon
PAUL ‘SCRAP IRON’ RYAN was pure entertainment value, with dynamite in his fists and an extremely low bulls**t threshold.
At 60 years of age, he still wears his flat cap, an item of clothing that remained glued to his head whenever he strolled out to the sounds of, ‘Any Old Iron?’ However, life for the London knockout artist didn’t start as he had intended.
“I grew up in Limehouse, London, and was there until about 12, then we moved to Hainault and stayed there for about five or six years,” Ryan told Boxing News.
“Then we moved to Hackney where my dad rented the house out that we had, and he bought a pub, which we also lived in. That’s where my life of trouble started.
“I didn’t like school and I basically got in with the wrong crowd. I’m badly dyslexic, but in them days they didn’t know anything about that. The teachers would be explaining things and I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. I was terrible at English, good at maths, but all the other stuff I just couldn’t do. As a result, I just messed about.”
From flicking the back of fellow students’ ears in class, to bunking lessons, Ryan’s focus started drifting into darkness.
The London-based southpaw explained: “I was 15 when I first went to prison. It was always for stupid stuff like thieving and fighting. In the space of about seven or eight years, I was only outside of prison for about three months.
“I’d be let out, get nicked, go back in, and get let out. Again and again and again. I was either thieving someone or having a fight with someone. That was my life.”
While serving time, Ryan fell victim to a broken arm, which for a future professional boxer wasn’t ideal, as he would never be able to fully extend it.
“I got let out of Chelmsford and, a week later, I was back in there again,” he recalled. “When I walked in, this screw said, ‘look who’s back. It didn’t take you long!’ I just said, ‘don’t talk to me like that.’ He then grabbed me, so I nutted him.
“It all kicked off, and next thing I knew, there were about eight or nine screws on me. I don’t even remember the moment when my arm got broken.”
Thankfully, a switch of mindset put Ryan onto a more positive and productive path.
“I started watching boxing when Barry McGuigan had just won the world title in 1985,” Ryan said. “I was out for a little while from Chelmsford at the time, but went back in soon after.
“When I saw [McGuigan] in that ring, I loved it, but I didn’t do anything about it because I didn’t know where to go in terms of boxing clubs and all that, and shortly after I was back in the nick anyway.
“My last stretch was in Chelmsford prison. I was there for about 18 months and was let out in my early twenties, thinking to myself, ‘I don’t want any more of this.’ I knew I had to do something different with my life, and that’s when I decided to try boxing.
“I went to Repton Boxing Club when I was about 25 and spoke with the bloke who was running it and said, ‘I’m a bit old now, don’t you think?’ He said, ‘come back tomorrow and there will be people your own age.’ I went back the next night and it was the juniors.
“I thought he was messing me about, so I walked out of there and went to another club called St Monica’s, which was in Hoxton. I loved it, and never looked back. The club is not there anymore, which is a shame.”
Ryan soon studied the mentality of a boxer, and the commitment needed to succeed.
“I used to run about five and a half miles at a good pace and, at the end of each run, there was a tower block. We used to run right up to the top, which was 21 floors, then I’d try to walk down with wobbly legs, holding onto the railing in case my legs gave way!”
The training paid off and Ryan launched himself into a short, yet fruitful, amateur career.
“I had 18 amateur fights and won 16,” he claimed. “I won the London ABA’s and got to the semi-finals of the nationals.”
Ryan had no intention of turning professional, however, a bit of encouragement from British training legend, Howard Rainey, soon changed his mind.
“I went down to his gym, training, and was an amateur at the time,” he said. “Howard said to me, ‘you’d make a good pro,’ and I said, ‘pro?’ I didn’t have a clue what pro boxing was back then, but I had a think about it and decided to give it a go.
“That was that. It was actually him that gave me the nickname ‘Scrap Iron.’ We got on like a house on fire, me and him. He was a great trainer and a brilliant human being.”
Ryan’s pro debut was on 26 September 1991 against fellow debutant Chris Mylan at the Queensway Hall, Dunstable. He recalled. “I remember it like it was yesterday. He was a tough boy and took me all the way. I hit him with everything and I mean everything and he didn’t go nowhere. I was trying to knock him out and kept hitting him and hitting him, but he wouldn’t go down. He was like a brick.”
Ryan’s next fight was on the undercard of Colin McMillan at the Royal Albert Hall, which he fondly remembers.
“I was blown away by it all,” he gleamed. “Even now, I enjoy telling my sons about that fight at the Albert Hall. Getting my first stoppage [in the fourth round against Alex Sterling] at somewhere like that was something else. I can still hear the crowd cheering and clapping.”
1995 was an action-packed year for Ryan. After clocking up three stoppage wins and extending his record to 18-0, he took on tough hombre Oscar Palamino at the Albert Hall in his first title fight for the WBO Inter-Continental super-lightweight strap. Palamino was 15-2 and had never been stopped.
“Now, that was a nice fight,” recalled Ryan. “All that fear stuff – I didn’t have any of that. I was always scared of getting beat, because I didn’t want to get beat. I wasn’t scared of an opponent or being hurt by them. Never. I had a mad way of thinking. When I saw blood, I had to go in for the kill. I went nuts and went in with the big shots. Palamino was a tough bastard. I hit him with loads of big shots, but he also caught me with loads. I stopped him in the end, but it could have gone the other way.”
It’s worth noting that Palamino had back-to-back European title fights straight after the Ryan defeat, and also went on to become the Spanish lightweight champion.
On December 9, 1995, Ryan took on Ross Hale for the British and Commonwealth super-lightweight straps. Hale was the reigning champion since 1994, and had won the Lonsdale Belt outright. In 27 fights, he’d only lost one, however Ryan was unbeaten in 21 fights, with only two of them going the distance. Surely ‘Scrap Iron’ fancied the challenge?
“Believe it or not, I wasn’t confident at all,” he admitted. “I knew there was a possibility that, if he hit me, I’d go, but I kept telling myself that it wouldn’t happen. I fought him like all the others I fought. I went straight for him from the first round and, fortunately, he went down. I had a pretty good punch.”
Ryan certainly did have the firepower to back up his talk. He stopped Hale in two minutes and 12 seconds of the first round.
Three months later, last-minute substitute Jon Thaxton stepped in at the York Hall, possessing a record of 10-3. Unfortunately, Ryan was stopped in the opening stanza.
“I was absolutely gutted,” he said. “It still kills me thinking about that fight. The bell went and it was going the same as all the other [fights]. I’d just caught him with a big shot and he went on the ropes, came off, and caught me right on the chin. I was sparko. I can’t say I didn’t prepare for that fight. Absolutely not. I got ready for him like it was a world title fight. In fact, I fought every fight like it was a world title fight.”
Thankfully, the titles were not on the line against Thaxton, but they certainly were against Merseyside’s Andy Holligan five months later, once again at York Hall. Holligan had been stopped in three rounds by Ross Hale in 1994, which consequently made Ryan the betting favourite. Ryan shook his head as he recalled that night.
“Listen,” he said. “The Thaxton fight, yep, I was sparko, I couldn’t fight on, but the Holligan fight, nah. That fight should have never been stopped in a million years. He caught me with an absolutely nothing shot on the side of the head, I went down, I got up and the ref stopped it. I was fine to go on, but the fight was over. That’s boxing for ya.”
Nine months later, Ryan was back in the ring at welterweight and, over the next three months, from April to July 1997, he clocked up three stoppage wins. On September 13, 1997, Ryan had his last fight against Geoff McCreesh for his British welterweight title.
Recalling his swansong, Ryan said: “He was a tough boy, Geoff. I truly believed I was going to win it, but that night he came on to me, hit me, and kept throwing punches when he thought he had me hurt. He stopped me before I could fire back. After that fight, I’d had enough and knew that I was getting on. I didn’t want to get beat anymore and, after that last loss, I knew that I couldn’t take a punch as well as I used to.”
Ryan finished his career with three losses and 25 victories, which included an incredible 92% stoppage ratio. Surely Paul ‘Scrap Iron’ Ryan would have been a fan-favourite in Saudi Arabia? Ryan laughed, before saying, “Big time! I’ve been there about five or six times and love it. I would have absolutely loved to have fought out there, but it’s a bit late now!”
Ingemar Johansson lies unconscious on the canvas as Floyd Patterson is mobbed by his jubilant cornermen at the Polo Grounds in New York in 1960.
Patterson avenged his 1959 upset defeat to the Swede and became the first boxer to ever regain the heavyweight championship of the world when he knocked "Ingo" out in round five. It had been a competitive and crowd-pleasing brawl before Patterson crashed home a vicious, leaping left hook that instantly rendered Johansson unconscious; he would lie on the canvas for five full minutes before he could be revived.
The Ring awarded the battle its Fight of the Year award, while Patterson would be declared Fighter of the Year. A third Patterson vs Johansson clash in 1961 saw Floyd and Ingemar trade knockdowns before Patterson won by KO in round six.
"Little Apache" Charles Ledoux, bantamweight contender from Pougues-les-Eaux, France who fought from 1909 to 1926. Murderous puncher, he iced 80 opponents during his career.
Love this. A statue honoring one of Britain’s most beloved boxing legends, Ricky “The Hitman” Hatton, has been unveiled in Manchester, the city where his incredible journey from a local hero to a global boxing superstar began.
Hatton’s career remains a golden chapter in British boxing history — a fighter defined by relentless aggression, fearless determination, and an unbreakable bond with his passionate fans. From his unforgettable nights at the Manchester Arena to his world title triumphs, Hatton embodied the fighting spirit of the working class and became a symbol of pride for millions.
This statue immortalizes not just his achievements in the ring, but his enduring legacy as a champion who gave everything for the sport and his supporters.
Ricky Hatton’s story is one of heart, humility, and heroism. His statue now stands as a timeless reminder that true greatness is not only measured by titles won, but by the love and respect earned from the people.
Love this shot with the birds perched on his shoulders. It's the perfect image of Hatton, with his arms and mouth open, yelling out in joy after he stopped Jose Luis Castillo with a brutal body shot in 2007.
Dave Tiberi, born on September 12, 1966, in New Castle, Delaware, was a middleweight boxer who left an indelible mark on the sport despite a relatively short professional career. At 5'11" with a 72.4-inch reach, Tiberi's orthodox stance and solid chin would become his trademark in the ring. He began his professional journey on July 24, 1985, at the age of 18, securing a unanimous decision victory over Mike Jefferson in a four-round bout in Atlantic City.
Throughout his career, Tiberi steadily climbed the ranks, amassing an impressive record of 22 wins, 2 losses, and 2 draws. His most notable fight came on February 8, 1992, when he challenged the undefeated James Toney for the IBF World Middleweight title at the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. This bout would be the pinnacle of Tiberi's career and his last professional fight, ending in a controversial split decision loss that many observers believed Tiberi had won.
The Toney-Tiberi fight remains one of boxing's most contentious decisions. Tiberi, a significant underdog, employed a pressure-heavy strategy devised by his trainer, Marty Feldman and honed through sparring sessions with future Hall of Famer Bernard Hopkins. Despite being rocked in the first round, Tiberi's chin held up, and he continued to push forward, seemingly outworking Toney for much of the fight. The controversial nature of the decision led to a Senate investigation, which revealed irregularities in the judging process, including the use of unlicensed judges.
Tiberi's career was marked by his willingness to face tough competition. He had previously turned down fights with ageing legends Sugar Ray Leonard and Roberto Durán, believing the Toney fight was coming at the perfect time in his career. His training camps were notable for their quality, often featuring world-class sparring partners like Bernard Hopkins, Prince Charles Williams, and Steve Little.
Following his retirement from boxing, Tiberi transitioned into the business world, founding a successful security system company. He briefly returned to the sport as a promoter in Delaware, organizing shows at Dover Downs before deciding to focus on his primary business. Tiberi's final professional record stands at 22 wins (8 by knockout), 3 losses, and 2 draws.
Today, Dave Tiberi is remembered not just for his controversial fight with James Toney but also for his dedication to the sport, his tactical acumen in the ring, and his ability to compete at the highest level of middleweight boxing during the early 1990s. Though his career was shorter than some, it left a lasting impact on the boxing world and continues to be a topic of discussion among fight fans and historians alike.
Walter McGowan, "The Flying Scotsman", one of the greatest pure boxers I've had the privilege to watch on film, was the son of Thomas McGowan, a miner who boxed professionally under the name of Joe Gans in tribute to the great American fighter of that name. At their home in Hamilton, his father taught young Walter the basics of the noble art, and it was soon clear that the diminutive McGowan – he was just over 5"2' at his tallest and his usual fighting weight was just over 8 stone – was a boxer of the highest class.
As an amateur, he enjoyed an outstanding career, losing just two of 124 bouts and winning the ABA flyweight title in 1961. Turning professional under his father’s management, McGowan’s strict training regime included cold baths and daily five mile runs.
Such was his prowess that he was matched against Edinburgh’s Jackie Brown for the Scottish flyweight championship in only his third paid fight. Brown won on points, but McGowan gained revenge two years later when he defeated Brown, by then the British and Commonwealth champion, to gain a Lonsdale Belt.
McGowan knocked Brown out in the tenth round of the fight at Paisley Ice Rink and was soon awarded the Belt outright, there being no other British challenger good enough to face him. In April 1964, McGowan took on Salvatore Burruni of Italy for the European flyweight title, losing on points in Rome. Burruni went on to win the world title, and in the rematch at the Empire Pool, Wembley, in April 1966, McGowan gave Burruni a masterclass in boxing skills to win the WBC championship aged 23, for which he was awarded the MBE. McGowan had one great weakness, and that was a tendency to cut easily. His next opponent, Alan Rudkin of Liverpool, tried to aim for the scar tissue around McGowan’s face, but was completely outboxed as McGowan took Rudkin’s British and Commonwealth bantamweight titles. A terrible cut to his nose saw McGowan lose his world title in Thailand in his first defence against Chartchai Chionoi, and it was more cuts which stopped McGowan in the rematch in September,1967. After he lost his British and Commonwealth titles to Rudkin, McGowan fought on until 1969, when he retired with a record of 32 wins, seven losses and a draw.
Peter Harrison, father and coach of former world featherweight champion Scott, said, “Boxing as an amateur in the 1960s, Walter was my hero. He had such fantastic skills.
Comments
Not many photos of Ben Villaflor, but the few photos that do exist show his punching power.
This is one of my favorite photos, Ben Villaflor with the mask headgear.
Ben Villaflor holding his jr. Lightweight belt.
"Sit down, son, it's all over" whispered Eddie Futch to Joe Frazier after 14 gruelling rounds against Muhammad Ali in Manila. His fighter may have lost, but Futch's moving moment of compassion was as important as any victory in his celebrated career as one of history's finest trainers.
“I thought, ‘He’s a good father and I want him to see his kids grow up,’ ” Futch later said.
“With Eddie,” said Marc Ratner, executive director of the Nevada State Athletic Commission, “it was always about the fighter. It was never about money.”
The great cornerman died in 2001 at 90 years old.
Futch trained five heavyweight champions: Larry Holmes, Joe Frazier, Riddick Bowe, Michael Spinks and Trevor Berbick. Among his other titleholders were light-heavyweights Bob Foster and Montell Griffin, light-middleweight Mike McCallum, the great multi-weight champ Alexis Arguello, and welterweights Marlon Starling and Don Jordan.
Never forgotten. Rest in peace, Mr Futch.
The sequel that made every fight feel personal. You’d step into the ring as Little Mac again, dodging lightning-fast punches and waiting for that perfect counter to land a knockout.
Each boxer was a cartoon character come to life — from Bald Bull’s charge to Bear Hugger’s belly slams.
The crowd cheers, the announcer’s energy, the punch impact — all pure SNES perfection.
Super Punch-Out!! was fast, flashy, and brutally satisfying.
September 18, 1946, Tami Mauriello goes for it.
Tami Mauriello and the night he staggered the great Joe Louis
by John J. Raspanti
Mauriello was confident. If he could land his right...
As he circled to his left, the underdog likely pondered when would be a good time to throw his vaunted right. If the punch landed, his entire life would change.
The underdog, Stefano “Tami” Mauriello, was 23, the highest-ranking contender for heavyweight championship honors. His chances of winning were considered slim at best. But Mauriello had hope. His right hand could be deadly, causing most of his 49 victims to go to sleep, 11 in succession.
His opponent that night was a legend, winner of 57 of 58 professional fights. His single loss had happened at the same venue 10 years before, in a stunning upset. He avenged it two years later in just over two minutes.
Joe Louis was 33 when Mauriello fought him, and had recently concluded his military service honorably. His first real fight in four years (he had fought close to 100 exhibition bouts while in the U.S. Army) had been a much-anticipated rematch against Billy Conn in 1946. Conn had come within a whisker of winning the title five years before. The sequel was a disappointment. Both fighters had slowed. Louis knocked out Conn in eight.
Despite having polio that affected his legs in childhood, Mauriello, born in New York, made his professional debut at 15, knocking out Gilberto Ramirez Vasquez in the opening stanza. Two years later, he challenged reigning light heavyweight champion Gus Lesnevich. Floored for a nine count in round two, Mauriello battled back, only to lose the fight by split decision.
Lesnevich prevailed again in a rematch less than two months later. Mauriello shook off the losses and, fighting sometimes twice a month, won his next ten bouts.
In 1942, he went to Cleveland to face hometown hero, Jimmy Bivins. The talented Bivins, who held victories over Lesnevich, and future champion, Joey Maxim, (and would defeat future heavyweight champion Ezzard Charles the following year) knocked down Mauriello – winning the fight over 10 hard fought rounds.
Mauriello rebounded by defeating warhorse, Lee Savold, and stopping former title challenger Lou Nova. Nova had him down for a nine count in the opening stanza, but as he was prone to do, Mauriello got up and battled back.
A rematch with Bivins went down in New York in 1943. Prior to the fight, Mauriello friend, Frank Sinatra, sang the national anthem. Just like in their first fight, Bivins floored him early. Mauriello rallied, but ran out of time. Mauriello’s loss “made Frank Sinatra cry” writes Jerry Fitch in his book, Cleveland’s Greatest Fighters of All Time.
A pattern was emerging. Mauriello fought harder after he tasted the canvas. Savold had him down in their second fight, but couldn’t keep him there. Mauriello got up and won the fight.
Twenty fights later, he faced off against the aging Louis. Mauriello weighed 198 pounds, Louis 211.
Everyone and his brother knew Louis could be tagged by right hands. That flaw had been exploited by Max Schmeling in 1936. Louis had tweaked his tendency to drop his left, but openings occasionally did present themselves. But Louis was always dangerous. Mauriello was confident he could land his Sunday punch. Louis was noticeably slower. Mauriello wasn’t awed. He’d go for it.
Less than ten seconds into the first heat, he did just that. He let the right fly. The arc was true. The blow landed—sending Louis stumbling into the ropes. Most of the thirty thousand plus in attendance rose in surprise. Was one of the biggest upsets in boxing history imminent.? Mauriello certainly thought so. He followed Louis into the ropes, going for a knockout.
Louis grabbed Mauriello for perhaps a second, and reacting like a switch had been flipped, fought back furiously. It was as if he said, “OK, that got my attention. Now it’s my turn.” Mauriello landed another right, but Louis shook it off and uncorked a wicked left hook that crumbled Mauriello. The challenger rolled over and took a knee, rising at six. He went back to moving to his left as Louis pursued. A big right to the chin hurt Mauriello. He held on. Louis shook him off.
Seconds later, a wicked combination sent Mauriello to his knees. He rested his head on the ring rope, like a man resigned to his fate. For the first time in his career, he wouldn’t be able to get up.
“I thought I had him,” said Mauriello to AP writer Gayle Talbot as tears rolled down his checks. “I thought I had him, and I grew careless.”
Perhaps, but Mauriello had gone for it, which is always admirable. He’d lose five of his next 18 bouts, and retire at 26.
In 1954, he appears in the classic film, On the Waterfront, starring Marlon Brando as Terry Molloy. Mauriello plays Tillio, who bullies and laughs at the misfortune of others. It’s quite enjoyable when Terry, repulsed by the corruption surrounding him, sends the mouthy Tillio flying with a crisp combination. His acting, as the goonish Tillio is solid, and completely opposite of the real happy-go-lucky and kind-hearted Mauriello.
Mauriello died in 1999. His last years were tough. One can only wonder how often he thought about that night in 1946.
No matter. His right hand shook up the world of a legendary heavyweight champion.
Tami Mauriello was a good fighter, good heavyweight contender in the 1930s and 40s, with great power in his right hand. But Joe Louis is arguably the greatest heavyweight that ever lived, he had ridiculous recuperative powers, and he's the greatest puncher in boxing history, you just couldn't hold Louis back for long. He was ruthless.
Look at this shot that Louis hit Mauriello with, it lifted Mauriello clear off of his feet.
Gosh, this stuff is so fascinating, boxing is such a fascinating sport. Paul "Scrap Iron" Ryan could really bang, 14 straight KOs culminating in a 1 round blowout of top 10 contender Ross Hale for the Britsh/Commonwealth 140lbs titles. He was 1 fight away from a world title shot. Only two of his fights lasted the distance, and he never went beyond eight rounds. 24 of his 28 fights ended within 4 rounds. His fights usually ended with him knocking out his opponent, or getting knocked out himself, regardless, "Scrap Iron" was a fight fan's dream come true, his fights were always action packed.
Paul ‘Scrap Iron’ Ryan brought excitement and a no-nonsense attitude
By Paul Zanon
PAUL ‘SCRAP IRON’ RYAN was pure entertainment value, with dynamite in his fists and an extremely low bulls**t threshold.
At 60 years of age, he still wears his flat cap, an item of clothing that remained glued to his head whenever he strolled out to the sounds of, ‘Any Old Iron?’ However, life for the London knockout artist didn’t start as he had intended.
“I grew up in Limehouse, London, and was there until about 12, then we moved to Hainault and stayed there for about five or six years,” Ryan told Boxing News.
“Then we moved to Hackney where my dad rented the house out that we had, and he bought a pub, which we also lived in. That’s where my life of trouble started.
“I didn’t like school and I basically got in with the wrong crowd. I’m badly dyslexic, but in them days they didn’t know anything about that. The teachers would be explaining things and I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. I was terrible at English, good at maths, but all the other stuff I just couldn’t do. As a result, I just messed about.”
From flicking the back of fellow students’ ears in class, to bunking lessons, Ryan’s focus started drifting into darkness.
The London-based southpaw explained: “I was 15 when I first went to prison. It was always for stupid stuff like thieving and fighting. In the space of about seven or eight years, I was only outside of prison for about three months.
“I’d be let out, get nicked, go back in, and get let out. Again and again and again. I was either thieving someone or having a fight with someone. That was my life.”
While serving time, Ryan fell victim to a broken arm, which for a future professional boxer wasn’t ideal, as he would never be able to fully extend it.
“I got let out of Chelmsford and, a week later, I was back in there again,” he recalled. “When I walked in, this screw said, ‘look who’s back. It didn’t take you long!’ I just said, ‘don’t talk to me like that.’ He then grabbed me, so I nutted him.
“It all kicked off, and next thing I knew, there were about eight or nine screws on me. I don’t even remember the moment when my arm got broken.”
Thankfully, a switch of mindset put Ryan onto a more positive and productive path.
“I started watching boxing when Barry McGuigan had just won the world title in 1985,” Ryan said. “I was out for a little while from Chelmsford at the time, but went back in soon after.
“When I saw [McGuigan] in that ring, I loved it, but I didn’t do anything about it because I didn’t know where to go in terms of boxing clubs and all that, and shortly after I was back in the nick anyway.
“My last stretch was in Chelmsford prison. I was there for about 18 months and was let out in my early twenties, thinking to myself, ‘I don’t want any more of this.’ I knew I had to do something different with my life, and that’s when I decided to try boxing.
“I went to Repton Boxing Club when I was about 25 and spoke with the bloke who was running it and said, ‘I’m a bit old now, don’t you think?’ He said, ‘come back tomorrow and there will be people your own age.’ I went back the next night and it was the juniors.
“I thought he was messing me about, so I walked out of there and went to another club called St Monica’s, which was in Hoxton. I loved it, and never looked back. The club is not there anymore, which is a shame.”
Ryan soon studied the mentality of a boxer, and the commitment needed to succeed.
“I used to run about five and a half miles at a good pace and, at the end of each run, there was a tower block. We used to run right up to the top, which was 21 floors, then I’d try to walk down with wobbly legs, holding onto the railing in case my legs gave way!”
The training paid off and Ryan launched himself into a short, yet fruitful, amateur career.
“I had 18 amateur fights and won 16,” he claimed. “I won the London ABA’s and got to the semi-finals of the nationals.”
Ryan had no intention of turning professional, however, a bit of encouragement from British training legend, Howard Rainey, soon changed his mind.
“I went down to his gym, training, and was an amateur at the time,” he said. “Howard said to me, ‘you’d make a good pro,’ and I said, ‘pro?’ I didn’t have a clue what pro boxing was back then, but I had a think about it and decided to give it a go.
“That was that. It was actually him that gave me the nickname ‘Scrap Iron.’ We got on like a house on fire, me and him. He was a great trainer and a brilliant human being.”
Ryan’s pro debut was on 26 September 1991 against fellow debutant Chris Mylan at the Queensway Hall, Dunstable. He recalled. “I remember it like it was yesterday. He was a tough boy and took me all the way. I hit him with everything and I mean everything and he didn’t go nowhere. I was trying to knock him out and kept hitting him and hitting him, but he wouldn’t go down. He was like a brick.”
Ryan’s next fight was on the undercard of Colin McMillan at the Royal Albert Hall, which he fondly remembers.
“I was blown away by it all,” he gleamed. “Even now, I enjoy telling my sons about that fight at the Albert Hall. Getting my first stoppage [in the fourth round against Alex Sterling] at somewhere like that was something else. I can still hear the crowd cheering and clapping.”
1995 was an action-packed year for Ryan. After clocking up three stoppage wins and extending his record to 18-0, he took on tough hombre Oscar Palamino at the Albert Hall in his first title fight for the WBO Inter-Continental super-lightweight strap. Palamino was 15-2 and had never been stopped.
“Now, that was a nice fight,” recalled Ryan. “All that fear stuff – I didn’t have any of that. I was always scared of getting beat, because I didn’t want to get beat. I wasn’t scared of an opponent or being hurt by them. Never. I had a mad way of thinking. When I saw blood, I had to go in for the kill. I went nuts and went in with the big shots. Palamino was a tough bastard. I hit him with loads of big shots, but he also caught me with loads. I stopped him in the end, but it could have gone the other way.”
It’s worth noting that Palamino had back-to-back European title fights straight after the Ryan defeat, and also went on to become the Spanish lightweight champion.
On December 9, 1995, Ryan took on Ross Hale for the British and Commonwealth super-lightweight straps. Hale was the reigning champion since 1994, and had won the Lonsdale Belt outright. In 27 fights, he’d only lost one, however Ryan was unbeaten in 21 fights, with only two of them going the distance. Surely ‘Scrap Iron’ fancied the challenge?
“Believe it or not, I wasn’t confident at all,” he admitted. “I knew there was a possibility that, if he hit me, I’d go, but I kept telling myself that it wouldn’t happen. I fought him like all the others I fought. I went straight for him from the first round and, fortunately, he went down. I had a pretty good punch.”
Ryan certainly did have the firepower to back up his talk. He stopped Hale in two minutes and 12 seconds of the first round.
Three months later, last-minute substitute Jon Thaxton stepped in at the York Hall, possessing a record of 10-3. Unfortunately, Ryan was stopped in the opening stanza.
“I was absolutely gutted,” he said. “It still kills me thinking about that fight. The bell went and it was going the same as all the other [fights]. I’d just caught him with a big shot and he went on the ropes, came off, and caught me right on the chin. I was sparko. I can’t say I didn’t prepare for that fight. Absolutely not. I got ready for him like it was a world title fight. In fact, I fought every fight like it was a world title fight.”
Thankfully, the titles were not on the line against Thaxton, but they certainly were against Merseyside’s Andy Holligan five months later, once again at York Hall. Holligan had been stopped in three rounds by Ross Hale in 1994, which consequently made Ryan the betting favourite. Ryan shook his head as he recalled that night.
“Listen,” he said. “The Thaxton fight, yep, I was sparko, I couldn’t fight on, but the Holligan fight, nah. That fight should have never been stopped in a million years. He caught me with an absolutely nothing shot on the side of the head, I went down, I got up and the ref stopped it. I was fine to go on, but the fight was over. That’s boxing for ya.”
Nine months later, Ryan was back in the ring at welterweight and, over the next three months, from April to July 1997, he clocked up three stoppage wins. On September 13, 1997, Ryan had his last fight against Geoff McCreesh for his British welterweight title.
Recalling his swansong, Ryan said: “He was a tough boy, Geoff. I truly believed I was going to win it, but that night he came on to me, hit me, and kept throwing punches when he thought he had me hurt. He stopped me before I could fire back. After that fight, I’d had enough and knew that I was getting on. I didn’t want to get beat anymore and, after that last loss, I knew that I couldn’t take a punch as well as I used to.”
Ryan finished his career with three losses and 25 victories, which included an incredible 92% stoppage ratio. Surely Paul ‘Scrap Iron’ Ryan would have been a fan-favourite in Saudi Arabia? Ryan laughed, before saying, “Big time! I’ve been there about five or six times and love it. I would have absolutely loved to have fought out there, but it’s a bit late now!”
Not many photos of Paul Ryan available, here are a couple. Ryan KO's Ross Hale in 1 round for the British/Commonwealth titles.
Paul Ryan with the British/Commonwealth titles.
Ingemar Johansson lies unconscious on the canvas as Floyd Patterson is mobbed by his jubilant cornermen at the Polo Grounds in New York in 1960.
Patterson avenged his 1959 upset defeat to the Swede and became the first boxer to ever regain the heavyweight championship of the world when he knocked "Ingo" out in round five. It had been a competitive and crowd-pleasing brawl before Patterson crashed home a vicious, leaping left hook that instantly rendered Johansson unconscious; he would lie on the canvas for five full minutes before he could be revived.
The Ring awarded the battle its Fight of the Year award, while Patterson would be declared Fighter of the Year. A third Patterson vs Johansson clash in 1961 saw Floyd and Ingemar trade knockdowns before Patterson won by KO in round six.
"Little Apache" Charles Ledoux, bantamweight contender from Pougues-les-Eaux, France who fought from 1909 to 1926. Murderous puncher, he iced 80 opponents during his career.
Love this. A statue honoring one of Britain’s most beloved boxing legends, Ricky “The Hitman” Hatton, has been unveiled in Manchester, the city where his incredible journey from a local hero to a global boxing superstar began.
Hatton’s career remains a golden chapter in British boxing history — a fighter defined by relentless aggression, fearless determination, and an unbreakable bond with his passionate fans. From his unforgettable nights at the Manchester Arena to his world title triumphs, Hatton embodied the fighting spirit of the working class and became a symbol of pride for millions.
This statue immortalizes not just his achievements in the ring, but his enduring legacy as a champion who gave everything for the sport and his supporters.
Ricky Hatton’s story is one of heart, humility, and heroism. His statue now stands as a timeless reminder that true greatness is not only measured by titles won, but by the love and respect earned from the people.
Love this shot with the birds perched on his shoulders. It's the perfect image of Hatton, with his arms and mouth open, yelling out in joy after he stopped Jose Luis Castillo with a brutal body shot in 2007.
Dave Tiberi, born on September 12, 1966, in New Castle, Delaware, was a middleweight boxer who left an indelible mark on the sport despite a relatively short professional career. At 5'11" with a 72.4-inch reach, Tiberi's orthodox stance and solid chin would become his trademark in the ring. He began his professional journey on July 24, 1985, at the age of 18, securing a unanimous decision victory over Mike Jefferson in a four-round bout in Atlantic City.
Throughout his career, Tiberi steadily climbed the ranks, amassing an impressive record of 22 wins, 2 losses, and 2 draws. His most notable fight came on February 8, 1992, when he challenged the undefeated James Toney for the IBF World Middleweight title at the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. This bout would be the pinnacle of Tiberi's career and his last professional fight, ending in a controversial split decision loss that many observers believed Tiberi had won.
The Toney-Tiberi fight remains one of boxing's most contentious decisions. Tiberi, a significant underdog, employed a pressure-heavy strategy devised by his trainer, Marty Feldman and honed through sparring sessions with future Hall of Famer Bernard Hopkins. Despite being rocked in the first round, Tiberi's chin held up, and he continued to push forward, seemingly outworking Toney for much of the fight. The controversial nature of the decision led to a Senate investigation, which revealed irregularities in the judging process, including the use of unlicensed judges.
Tiberi's career was marked by his willingness to face tough competition. He had previously turned down fights with ageing legends Sugar Ray Leonard and Roberto Durán, believing the Toney fight was coming at the perfect time in his career. His training camps were notable for their quality, often featuring world-class sparring partners like Bernard Hopkins, Prince Charles Williams, and Steve Little.
Following his retirement from boxing, Tiberi transitioned into the business world, founding a successful security system company. He briefly returned to the sport as a promoter in Delaware, organizing shows at Dover Downs before deciding to focus on his primary business. Tiberi's final professional record stands at 22 wins (8 by knockout), 3 losses, and 2 draws.
Today, Dave Tiberi is remembered not just for his controversial fight with James Toney but also for his dedication to the sport, his tactical acumen in the ring, and his ability to compete at the highest level of middleweight boxing during the early 1990s. Though his career was shorter than some, it left a lasting impact on the boxing world and continues to be a topic of discussion among fight fans and historians alike.
Walter McGowan, "The Flying Scotsman", one of the greatest pure boxers I've had the privilege to watch on film, was the son of Thomas McGowan, a miner who boxed professionally under the name of Joe Gans in tribute to the great American fighter of that name. At their home in Hamilton, his father taught young Walter the basics of the noble art, and it was soon clear that the diminutive McGowan – he was just over 5"2' at his tallest and his usual fighting weight was just over 8 stone – was a boxer of the highest class.
As an amateur, he enjoyed an outstanding career, losing just two of 124 bouts and winning the ABA flyweight title in 1961. Turning professional under his father’s management, McGowan’s strict training regime included cold baths and daily five mile runs.
Such was his prowess that he was matched against Edinburgh’s Jackie Brown for the Scottish flyweight championship in only his third paid fight. Brown won on points, but McGowan gained revenge two years later when he defeated Brown, by then the British and Commonwealth champion, to gain a Lonsdale Belt.
McGowan knocked Brown out in the tenth round of the fight at Paisley Ice Rink and was soon awarded the Belt outright, there being no other British challenger good enough to face him. In April 1964, McGowan took on Salvatore Burruni of Italy for the European flyweight title, losing on points in Rome. Burruni went on to win the world title, and in the rematch at the Empire Pool, Wembley, in April 1966, McGowan gave Burruni a masterclass in boxing skills to win the WBC championship aged 23, for which he was awarded the MBE. McGowan had one great weakness, and that was a tendency to cut easily. His next opponent, Alan Rudkin of Liverpool, tried to aim for the scar tissue around McGowan’s face, but was completely outboxed as McGowan took Rudkin’s British and Commonwealth bantamweight titles. A terrible cut to his nose saw McGowan lose his world title in Thailand in his first defence against Chartchai Chionoi, and it was more cuts which stopped McGowan in the rematch in September,1967. After he lost his British and Commonwealth titles to Rudkin, McGowan fought on until 1969, when he retired with a record of 32 wins, seven losses and a draw.
Peter Harrison, father and coach of former world featherweight champion Scott, said, “Boxing as an amateur in the 1960s, Walter was my hero. He had such fantastic skills.
Walter McGowan was a blood and guts warrior. He cut easy, but he battled through the blood on more than one occasion.