No Middle Ground

by Sanjeev Shetty

  As did Eubank – except that the boos were louder. His supporters liked his shtick, his unbelievable confidence and the fact that he had something to say. Before agents became so powerful, almost as big as their clients, sports stars could speak freely. In football, plenty admired the clean-cut Gary Lineker, but how the masses loved Paul Gascoigne, his teeth a mess, his speech often muddled because of his intimate relationship with the pub and his tackling as refined as dog fighting. He was different – and he couldn’t possibly exist in the twenty-first century. Neither could Eubank – a PR company would have him locked away for an extended period, trying to repair the damage of his latest spontaneous remark to make the headlines. Witness his appearance on a Sky Sports boxing broadcast where he made several remarks about Desiree Washington, the woman Mike Tyson was convicted of raping. So strong were they that the show’s presenter, Paul Dempsey, was forced to disassociate the company from Eubank’s views. In the early 1990s, Eubank was often quoted by the mainstream press, even if he would only grant interviews to journalists who did not write about the sport from which he derived his income.

  The new champion talked frequently about the integrity he brought to the sport, about how he was one of the few who dictated his terms to others, rather than be placed in situations against his will. But the word integrity would be called into question with his first defence of the WBO title. No one was entirely surprised that it was against a fairly nondescript opponent, Canadian Dan Sherry, who was the same age as the champion, also unbeaten but entirely untested. The bout took place at the Brighton Conference Centre and would end up creating yet more notoriety for the champion. He had seemed on course for a comfortable victory when he floored Sherry in the opening round. But, rather than shrink from sight, Sherry hung around and started to irritate the champ. He wouldn’t be the last person to discover that Eubank could become annoyed if he was asked to make the running. Whereas Benn came forward relentlessly and demanded Eubank’s attention, Sherry almost affected a will-o’-the-wisp presence, while also pausing long enough to have the odd chat. His words have never been revealed but the effect, along with the fact that he was not playing the game as Eubank would have hoped, meant the champion was ruffled. He’d claim afterwards that the words he heard had a racial context to them, an accusation that Sherry refuted, but that couldn’t obscure the fact that Eubank was being outworked and frustrated. At one point in the eighth round, he did in fact stop fighting, holding his gloves to his belly and scowling as Sherry taunted him. ‘He’s not doing enough here,’ said Barry McGuigan, in the commentary box, about the champion. ‘Chris is frustrated, but he should be frustrated with himself.’

  By the tenth, Eubank had started to put the pressure on and looked on course for a stoppage victory against a now exhausted challenger. The Canadian managed to smother one attack and the pair found themselves in a bizarre clinch, where Sherry was facing the back of Eubank’s head. Not many people can claim to have been hurt in a ring by the back of a man’s head, but Sherry was about to suggest just that, as Eubank threw his cranium in the direction of the challenger, in response to what he thought were kisses being planted on the back of his neck. Television evidence doesn’t suggest that to be the case and neither does it support the force of the blow and the extent to which Sherry then danced around the ring, on seemingly unstable legs. The referee declared the fight over, with Sherry unable to continue. He also deducted two points from Eubank, with the fight now in the hands of the judges and their scorecards. Eubank was awarded a split decision, much to the relief of those in attendance. Others were more critical. ‘He should have been disqualified,’ said trainer Jimmy Tibbs, who was working as a cutman in Sherry’s corner. The great Henry Cooper said Eubank was too serious and had ‘an attitude’. The British Boxing Board of Control cut to the chase more quickly, fining Eubank heavily and accusing him of bringing the sport into disrepute. The champion did not disagree and made no attempt to contest the judgement, perhaps aware how fortunate he had been to escape the night with his title intact, if not his reputation.

  The controversial nature of the victory only hardened the resolve of those of the general public who didn’t like him and were looking for someone who could beat him. The next sacrificial lamb was Gary Stretch, an exceptionally handsome man who had excelled as an amateur and combined boxing with modelling. Years later, Runcorn middleweight Robin Reid would do the same and win a world title. The difference between the pair was that Stretch lacked the dedication to achieve the most from his talents in the ring. He was also a light middleweight at best when the bout was held. Although he allowed the quote ‘I’d rather die than be beaten by him’ on the fight posters, he lasted just six rounds, during which time he looked completely out of his depth. Stretch had prepared for life as a champion by getting his teeth fixed before the bout – and with the money he earned he could afford to get them done again.

  It was a more impressive performance by Eubank, but few were convinced that his first two defences of the title were against opposition designed to test him. Although Sherry had been a tough contest, the object of that fight had been to give Eubank an easy night. The principle of that in boxing is understandable – the beating he took at the hands of Benn even in victory was severe enough to allow him to take a year off – but instead he was back in the saddle just over three months later. An ever-present theme in his career was activity – he fought regularly and was paid enough to fund his lavish lifestyle. The problem for him was twofold – he was following in the footsteps of someone who had been much more popular in Nigel Benn, who also fought often and against a far higher calibre of opposition. And, secondly, he was fighting on terrestrial television, being watched by a discerning audience that had grown bored with heavily hyped contests delivering little in the way of action or competitiveness. The authenticity of those fights was questioned a great deal more in the 1990s than one would expect nowadays, sometimes by the networks actually showing them. ITV’s ringside reporter Gary Newbon was often dismissive of fights he considered mismatches and that critique could sometimes be found in the questions he’d ask of fighters, promoters and managers, before and after the contests.

  It all added up to a situation that demanded a better quality of opponent. A tentative offer of a rematch with Benn was made to the former champion, but was rejected because of the size of the purse (Benn wanted parity and more than the £250,000 on offer). But Barry Hearn’s plan all along was to create another British challenger for Eubank. In the promoter’s mind, Michael Watson still had plenty to offer, and another domestic showdown could sell handsomely. After all, Eubank was very much the man to beat and the man who many wanted to see beaten. A rematch with Benn could wait – in fact, the longer it was delayed, and as long as both men continued to win, the better the chance it would turn out to be bigger than the first one.

  Michael Watson might have guessed that his impressive stoppage of Errol Christie would be overshadowed by the main event in Birmingham that night. He had other things to worry about – the court case with Duff in February 1991 (which he’d win) and a defence of the Commonwealth title against Craig Trotter a month before that in Essex. Watson was not officially a Matchroom fighter, even if this bout was taking place in Brentwood. Trotter was a light middleweight at best, but was durable. As commentator Jim Rosenthal said, ‘Trotter has never met anyone of the class of Michael Watson.’ The Australian was repeatedly hit and hurt until his corner threw in the towel at the start of the sixth round. Before his next fight, against Trinidadian Anthony Brown, Watson had his day in court against Duff. As soon as victory was secured, he sat down with Barry Hearn to outline the future. ‘Watson, I’d known for years. I’d always liked him – too nice a person. Watson always thought he’d been held back by Mickey Duff. And he had been held back in the profile sense,’ said Hearn. When he had begun boxing, Watson was shy and, even now, as an adult, he remained outwardly humble. But that fooled some into thinking that he lacked belief in his own ability, wher
eas the opposite was true. He still believed that he was better than Mike McCallum, despite the one-sided nature of their bout. He knew and had proved he was better than Benn and he was also convinced he was superior to Eubank. While he had struck up a friendship with Benn after their fight, there was no warmth between him and Eubank. He didn’t like the comments about boxing being ‘a mug’s game’ and he didn’t feel Eubank had done enough to merit the world title chance he received against Benn. In Watson’s mind, Eubank represented what was wrong in boxing, in that he hadn’t needed to work hard to get to the top. There was no Don Lee, Ricky Stackhouse or Reggie Miller on his record, just a series of cheaply imported South American opponents. And now he was world champion, courtesy of a victory over a man Watson had beaten more quickly and more easily. Eubank had what Watson had always dreamed of: a world title. Even now, seven years into his professional career, all Watson wanted was that belt around his waist. He always felt the other things he wanted – the money, the respect – would follow.

  The plans were for Watson to be moved into position to fight Eubank. On 1 May 1991, he beat Brown in a round at the grand old venue of British boxing, York Hall, in the East End’s Bethnal Green. Shortly after that, he signed a contract to fight Eubank on 22 June at Earl’s Court, another venue associated with the sport for much of the twentieth century. Watson admitted that, while, for the first time in ages, his mind was clear, one issue troubled him: who should be in his corner?

  For his entire professional career Watson had been trained by Eric Secombe and the fighter felt that he needed something extra. His schooling in the hardest gyms in the capital had seen him spar often with Mark Kaylor, one of the most popular boxers of the 1980s. Kaylor, always visible because of the claret and blue shorts he wore in honour of his beloved West Ham, was trained by another Hammer, Jimmy Tibbs. A useful light heavyweight and middleweight during the late sixties, Tibbs had lived a life as full and frightening as any in British boxing. He spent four years in jail during the early seventies, because of ‘trouble’, as he says. It’s worth noting that Tibbs came from a family so strong and dangerous that even the Krays avoided them. A life spent in and around boxing meant Jimmy Tibbs once sparred with Muhammad Ali, met fighters like the legendary Willie Pep, who’s defensive skills were so fundamentally sound that he once won a round without throwing a punch, and worked tirelessly with Terry Lawless, particularly during the period when the latter was bringing along a raw, muscle-bound heavyweight called Frank Bruno. He had experience of training at the highest level as well, having worked with Lloyd Honeyghan, Charlie Magri and Jim Watt.

  By 1991, Tibbs’s troubles outside the ring were a thing of the past – he’d become a born-again Christian and, given Watson’s own intensely religious background, the pairing seemed a natural fit. Tibbs would share duties with Secombe on the night but it was the new man’s voice that Watson listened to. A nice guy Watson may have been, but he also knew there were things he needed correcting and was prepared to upset the man who had helped him come so far.

  ‘By Public Demand’ was the title of the promotion, although, in truth, what the public demanded was a fight with action, between two guys capable of beating each other. Watson guaranteed work rate and talent and the three wins he’d recorded since losing to Mike McCallum indicated he still had plenty left in the tank. Neither Eubank nor Barry Hearn had any great interest in matching themselves with the big names in America, the likes of Michael Nunn, James Toney or Roy Jones Junior. Fights with Watson and Benn could meet the demands of the television companies, while there was easier money to be made fighting some of the division’s lesser lights. As charismatic as Eubank was, the public would not turn up or tune in if all he did was fight the Dan Sherrys or Gary Stretchs of the world. There had to be a Michael Watson or a Nigel Benn in there at some point.

  When Watson first fought for a world title, against McCallum, he was rusty and dissatisfied with his promoter and manager, Mickey Duff. Now there was tranquillity in his life; he managed himself and knew that anything that went wrong was his down to him and he also had, in his opinion, the right people around him. Which meant that, when he invited the press to watch him train eight days before the bout, they saw him spar against two amateurs and a novice professional. Even worse was the rumour that the one fighter hired on the basis of having a style similar to Eubank was ushered away after being informed that, if he wished to provide in-ring competition, his payment would only be sent after the fight. As someone who had striven for financial and professional independence, Watson must have known that the terms he was offering others weren’t suitable.

  Like Eubank, Nigel Benn would tie the knot after that epic fight in Birmingham. He’d been engaged to Sharron for two years and, despite the tempestuous nature of their relationship, they had children together. The wedding, in Las Vegas, would prove to be the beginning of the end for the couple. Some of his friends described Benn’s marriage to Sharron as ‘probationary’ and that his inability to make it work hurt him immensely. But the womanising continued.

  Boxing was still what Benn knew best and his first fight back was also at York Hall. The opponent was no ‘gimme’, though. Robbie Sims had a reputation for toughness, based as much on who he’d fought as who he was related to – he was Marvin Hagler’s half-brother. Never as talented as the Marvelous one, Sims had nevertheless fought some quality opponents and had twice challenged for a world title. But he was now approaching his thirty-third birthday and was on the slide, having lost three of his last six. But he’d never been stopped and that was the test for Benn. If he was fully recovered, physically and mentally, ending Sims’s enviable record would be within reach of his talents. For his part, Sims said that Benn was a dirty fighter, who led with his elbows. It was all part of the routine to hype a fight – Sims also brought along his half-brother, who’d been retired for four years after losing a controversial decision to Sugar Ray Leonard.

  Commentator Jim Watt noted that Benn’s timing was ‘slightly off’ during the opening stages. Sims had good fundamental skills and made sure he was never stationary long enough for one of Benn’s bombs to explode off his jaw. When things weren’t going Benn’s way, he could look vulnerable, but just like Eubank that appearance could be exaggerated for effect. In the seventh round, Benn was being attacked on the ropes and appeared headed for the same fate as his last fight. He’d already admitted that another defeat would make it all but impossible to regenerate his career, but despite his reputation as an out and out brawler with scant regard for tactics, he always had streetsmarts. They say in football that a team is never more vulnerable than immediately after scoring a goal – in the same way, it’s tempting to say that a fighter is never more at risk that after he’s hurt Benn. Rolling and recoiling, just as he had done against Logan, Benn reached out for a left hook that connected surely and with devastating fashion on Sims’s exposed chin. The punch appeared to place him in a state of suspended animation, a statue of a man now in the perfect position to absorb another left hook. Knocked down for the first time, Sims bravely rose, only to be punched into the other side of the ring, where referee John Coyle did the sensible thing and waved the fight off. It had not been easy and there were times when he had looked a little rusty, but Benn was back.

  It would be the last time he was seen in the company of Ambrose Mendy. The flamboyant manager was in trouble with the law and the misgivings that Benn had about their relationship were amplified by the legal troubles (Mendy would serve time at Her Majesty’s pleasure more than once during the next fifteen years). In his autobiography, Benn states that he lent money to Mendy, much of which was never paid back. There were no rows that either man would refer to me twenty years later, but the parting of the ways was permanent. It also paved the way for Benn to join Barry Hearn’s growing stable. Their relationship was altogether more volatile. ‘He’d come in the office sometimes and say I want to kill you,’ remembers Hearn. ‘And other times he’d come in, sit in the chair opposite me and
bawl his eyes out, saying, “No one likes me!”’ Regardless, the pair never became close, mostly because Benn suspected, rightly, that Hearn’s loyalties were with Eubank. That didn’t stop him signing terms, because the only fight that really interested him was with the Brighton man.

  He’d been offered a rematch quickly, but the purse offer of £250,000 was, as we have seen, in his opinion well short of what he thought he was worth. It was also less than Eubank would earn. Benn had yet to understand that, as the ex-champion, he could not expect to earn as much as Eubank. Whether or not he knew who was behind the negotiations or the proposals, Benn took them as proof of Eubank’s arrogance, his desire to put him in his place. While Eubank also claimed he didn’t hate Benn, he resented his ascent to the top, stewarded as it had been by some inventive marketing by Ambrose Mendy. As such, he was happy to keep Benn at bay for now and remind him that he was calling the shots. And that enraged Benn further. His first instinct after defeat to Eubank had been to retire. Now he wanted revenge. But for the first time in a while, he was on the outside of things, looking for a way back in.

  Scene II

  ‘I’ve never hated anyone,’ Michael Watson answers when I ask him about Chris Eubank. There is a ‘but’ in there – this intensely religious man doesn’t do misdirection or mistruth – but his answer is more poignant. ‘He’s lost. He doesn’t know who he is.’ That’s what he thinks now and that’s what he thought then, back in 1991, when the pair prepared to fight each other. But there was not an edge to that, no dislike. Watson knew he was better, an all-round boxer/fighter who could stalk, retreat, defend and attack. He saw in Eubank weaknesses he believed he could exploit. And he wanted Eubank’s title. Regarded by so many in Britain as the best middleweight in the country, he had yet to taste the glory of being called a world champion.