No Middle Ground

by Sanjeev Shetty

  Round twelve summed up the entire fight – you could find ways to score it for either man. Eubank fought with desperation at times, swinging fast and wild, punches hard but lacking sophistication. Watson continued the path he had trodden for much of the fight – slowly, patiently, prodding forward, jab prominent, defence tight, perhaps lacking urgency. In his best win, he had absorbed the pace and then changed it to suit him. In his worst defeat, he’d never found the energy to match a relentless worker. Had he learned from the experience? Hard to tell. Here he was answering questions with a shrug, confident, it seemed, that he was doing his best and certainly better than his opponent. Yet if one man thinks you’re winning and another doesn’t, interpretation is all that’s left. At the final bell, neither man had tasted the canvas as a result of a punch; neither had been so badly hurt that the referee had to make a decision about whether to stop the contest. If you were a Watson fan, and that seemed to be most of the crowd, you’d think he’d won. If you were in the champion’s corner, you’d think he’d done enough.

  There are bad decisions in boxing and there are controversial ones. Bad was probably the draw that Lennox Lewis received when he appeared to dominate Evander Holyfield at Madison Square Garden in 1999. But the sound of boos in the arena reflected the unpopularity of the decision, especially given that it had benefited an American in front of his own fans. A controversial one was the split decision given to Sugar Ray Leonard against Marvelous Marvin Hagler in 1987. American trainer Gil Clancy reckoned Leonard had done enough to win, especially as he’d had one fight in five years. Hugh McIlvanney, perhaps the finest boxing writer ever, believed Hagler had won and said that Leonard had performed an illusion, having convinced those watching that his little was worth more because of his underdog status when he stepped into the ring. Even the judges were miles apart in their valuation of the bout – two of them scored it narrowly but to different fighters, while another gave the fight to Leonard by ten rounds to two. Hagler, having given so much to the sport, through his dedication and his desire to fight everyone, never came to terms with the decision and retired from the sport, permanently embittered by the way he felt he had been treated in what was to be his final bout.

  Hagler would meet Watson some years later and was very complimentary about the way he worked and trained. One can only wonder how he would have viewed the decision that was about to be read out at Earl’s Court – the arena had been bathed in light all night. Now, it felt darker and tenser. ‘Judge Carlos Colón scores the contest 116 points to 113 points in favour of Chris Eubank. Judge John Rubin scores the fight 114 points to each boxer. A draw. Ladies and gentlemen, Judge Art Lurie scores the contest 115 points to 113 in favour of the winner and still the WBO middleweight champion of the world, Chris Eubank,’ said the ring announcer. Mild cheers chased around the ring as Eubank followed, arms aloft, with Barry Hearn by his side, looking more than a little relieved. A familiar ritual around now would be the champion being interrogated by Gary Newbon, who, direct as always, told Eubank the decision was controversial.

  ‘I fought like a dog this fight, I fought like a dog and I deserved to win. He was no way in front of me. I stayed with him and stayed with him. I was hitting him with clean shots, I was looking more classy than he was. He was aggressive, yes, but I was picking him off as he came forward. So, no, I won that fight, regardless of what people say. And Nigel Benn, let’s do it man,’ said Eubank. That was his opinion then and hindsight has not changed his belief. Such was the contempt for the decision from Watson’s supporters that they chose to express their distaste by haranguing the champion as he left the ring for his dressing room, spit, coins and verbal abuse all hurled his way. It is to Eubank’s eternal credit that he did not react to the provocation. In the ring, Watson continued to pace with menace, his eyes brimming with fury. Watson told me years later that Eubank, who had talked to him throughout the bout, had told him to come over after the final bell so he could give him the belt. It’s a claim that has always been denied by the champion. Perhaps more simply, Jimmy Tibbs would say, ‘He was robbed.’

  Eubank’s reputation as boxing’s chief anti-hero was now assured and the tabloid press did as much as they could to play to that. A phone-in survey in the Daily Mirror found that nearly 90 per cent of those who watched the fight felt the belt was in the wrong hands. Jim Watt, conveying his opinion to more than ten million people, thought Watson won, although there was no criticism of Eubank. Watt, who knew a thing or two about how to pull victory from the jaws of defeat, felt that Watson dominated the second half of the fight. In the Observer, Hugh McIlvanney opined that Watson’s performance was a ‘triumph for honest orthodoxy over imaginative bombast … the scorecards came as a shock’. Years later, I spoke to McDonnell and Brenner about how they viewed the bout.

  ‘He [Eubank] never won it,’ said McDonnell. Brenner sided with Eubank, telling me he felt you had to take the belt away from the champion. The promoter of the bout agreed. ‘I thought Eubank won it. Michael and I always disagree about it,’ Hearn told me. ‘He always tells me I know nothing about boxing. I sat there and I fucking scored every single round. I don’t think Michael did enough. But it was close … I don’t know how any fighter can score a fight he is involved in, because you get lost in the moment.’

  Hearn admits at that stage of his promotional career that he wanted Eubank to win because he was the bigger draw. He was also the WBO’s most prominent champion; the governing body was not recognised in America but the reigns of Benn and Eubank had given the fledgling organisation some limelight. By that stage, the champion had ‘cult of personality’. A look back at the footage from ringside shows how magnetic he could be – even with the best seats in the house, plenty of customers would stand up to get a look at some of Eubank’s moves. The posing, the quick punches, the posturing – they all added to the package. If he was bewitching for the paying punters, what effect could he have on the judges? Eubank did not fight in any kind of rhythm but his presence captivated. Judges are only human beings and it’s not fanciful to suggest that some may watch a bout with one person in mind.

  Brenner’s assertion that a challenger needs to take the title away from a champion is a commonly held one in the sport. But judges can only score a fight round by round. They cannot go back to their cards at the end of the bout and decide to change things around, trying to make up for injustices. But in those closer rounds – and there were plenty of them in this fight – the man holding the belt may get the benefit of the doubt.

  Eubank might have been eyeing up a rematch with Benn, but his next fight would almost certainly have to be a return with Watson. The title of the first bout, ‘By Public Demand’, would be more appropriate the second time round. The challenger would double his money this time as well, £200,000 representing the biggest purse of his career. And there would not be much time for either man to rest. The 21st of September would be the date, White Hart Lane the venue.

  Scene III

  For now, Nigel Benn was isolated. The controversial nature of the Eubank–Watson fight and the immediate rematch meant his name wasn’t mentioned as a future opponent for either man. His thoughts were targeted on getting Eubank, although his loyalty to Watson meant he wanted the Islington man to win the return. Benn would keep busy, his latest foe being a boxer who went by the name of Kid Milo. His real name was Winston Walters but he could easily have gone by the sobriquet ‘Tough Guy’. Milo wasn’t the biggest of middleweights but, a year earlier, he had gone eight hard rounds with Chris Eubank, cuts being the only reason he didn’t hear the final bell. He’d fought other Eubank foes such as Johnny Melfah and Simon Collins and had acquitted himself well, but Benn was a step up. Brave as always, Milo actually went straight at Benn on an intense night in Brentwood, and with disastrous consequences. Down twice in four rounds, Milo had to retire at the end of the fourth, with severe eye damage convincing referee Larry O’Connell to stop the bout.

  Benn’s demeanour was different now – the black
trunks were gone in favour of bright blue and he was also intent on telling anyone who listened that ‘the Dark Destroyer’ days were over. Intimidation was no longer one of the weapons he’d bring to the ring. You could almost feel the disappointment as the snarl was replaced by a smile. Big changes were taking place in his life outside of the ring as well. The Milo fight would be the last time Benn had Vic Andretti is his corner. He’d now have Graham Moughton, who worked out of the Romford gym where many of the Matchroom fighters trained by his side. Despite his reputation as an ‘up and at them’ fighter, there were still certain nuances that he wanted to add to his fight repertoire. ‘The technique Vic was trying to teach me was to roll with the punches, to keep my neck tight and not drop my head. Then Graham Moughton at the Romford gym was trying to teach me to draw away from my opponent’s jab. It was all these different techniques,’ Benn would say in 2002. The search for the perfect trainer for him continued and it would come to a head the following year.

  If the start of the 1990s was remembered for the country being at war and the beginning of yet another recession, it was also notable for a new sound sweeping the nation. Dance music, which had been growing during the 1980s, was moving away from disco into a fusion of sounds like trance, drum and bass, acid jazz and hip hop. Clubs around Britain were alive to this new sound and being a DJ carried huge kudos. Nigel Benn was part of a new breed of boxer who trained to these sounds, eschewing the traditional Rocky anthems which had helped form the stereotypical image of boxers. The other aspect of the new wave of dance music was its association with Class A drugs, all of which were very much part of the club culture.

  When not training, Benn could be seen at clubs, often in charge of the music. A story doing the rounds at the time was that Benn would get off the dais and circulate with the ravers and start shadow-boxing, in order to test just how intoxicated the dancers were. There was press speculation that he was one of those ravers, too, a charge he denied throughout his career. In 1996, after former minder Tony Tucker was executed as a result of drug deals gone wrong, Benn spoke about his friends consuming illegal substances.

  ‘I can’t stop them or hate them for doing it but I can stop them doing it around me,’ he said. ‘I’ve been offered every kind of drug but I will never take them. Drugs are everywhere. Six years ago I was at the Berkeley Square Ball, which is very la-de-dah, and this guy asked me if I wanted a “toot” [cocaine]. I asked: “What the hell’s a toot?” I go to clubs to give people music they can dance to. If they want to do drugs, fine – just don’t try to involve me.’

  Years later, Benn would admit what many, but not all, knew. ‘I never, ever, done cocaine. Just ecstasy,’ he told me. ‘I wasn’t really a drinker. I can’t drink brandy or things like that. One of my friends gave me this little ecstasy tablet and I was hooked. I was really depressed, took it and it really changed my life.’ He can’t remember exactly when that first hit was, but it was during that period when he was without a world title and still hunting a rematch with Eubank. And he was also wracked with guilt about his failed first marriage.

  He also told me the shadow-boxing story was ‘rubbish’. ‘When I went clubbing, I was in the groove. Music was a passion of mine.’

  Sometimes, things seem to work out well for everyone. What had been obvious about the first fight between Michael Watson and Chris Eubank was that neither man was at his absolute best. The middleweight limit was too much of a struggle for either man to make. Watson’s frame had always looked capable of carrying another half stone at least, while the density of Eubank’s muscle and his attitude towards roadwork meant a move up the weights was always likely. In 1991, the super middleweight limit was still relatively new – in fact, the WBO did not have a champion at that weight (the legendary Tommy Hearns had vacated it, as it had no worth in the USA). At the middleweight level, the WBO had installed Gerald McClellan as their number one contender, meaning he was entitled to a fight with the champion that year. If Eubank didn’t fulfil that requirement, he’d be stripped of the belt, with ranking contenders numbers one and two (John Mugabi of Uganda) the men to fight for the vacant title.

  ‘I told Eubank that we’d vacate the title rather than fight McClellan. Pound for pound, he’s a horrible bastard and he’s a nasty piece of work,’ Barry Hearn told me. Eubank wasn’t scared of the fight – that’s the thing about boxers, they never are scared. Some may remember a steady stream of heavyweight contenders who seemed ready for the toilet before the first bell if they were fighting Mike Tyson, but these men don’t train scared or frightened. They all have belief that, with both men wearing the same gloves and having trained responsibly, they have a chance to win. The ones with prescience and caution are the promoters and trainers. Hearn knew the dangers posed by the scrapper from Freeport, Illinois, who had been trained by the legendary Emanuel Steward. McClellan would prove just how good that advice to Eubank would be when he won the vacant title after knocking out the vastly more experienced Mugabi in 121 seconds at the Royal Albert Hall in November of that year. Hearn would also advise Benn in years to come not to fight McClellan, advice that would be ignored.

  Of course, there were two other boxers who should have fought for the WBO super middleweight title. But once it became known that Eubank and Watson would be moving up to that weight, the WBO conveniently dropped the two men, both from South America, from their rankings, in favour of Eubank and Watson. Despite his fondness for reminding everyone how dirty and corrupt boxing was, Eubank kept quiet about this little episode. It said more about how easy it was to manipulate the governing bodies – the WBO was still a fledgling organisation, which enjoyed a cosy relationship with certain promoters.

  The first fight between Watson and Eubank had not been full of the extravagant hate and hype that had so disfigured each man’s fight with Benn. After seven months or so as a champion, Eubank’s standing as the man to beat meant his bouts were not hard sells. Even so, both men would act in very different ways in the build-up to the rematch.

  Watson decided to part company with Eric Secombe, the trainer who had been with him from amateur through to professional ranks. Secombe had been informed by the fighter that Jimmy Tibbs would now be the chief trainer. Not surprisingly, being demoted hurt Secombe, who walked away from the camp, although he would attend the fight as a punter. Watson knew that his decision would be painful for some, but there was something very different about this version of Watson. ‘He trained very hard for that fight. And he rested properly when he wasn’t training,’ Tibbs told me. There were only ninety days between the two bouts, so, after the contract signing, Watson began serious training at the beginning of August. Tibbs believed then, as he does now, in a six-week training camp. There was an intensity about Watson’s work which suggested this bout was worth more to him than the previous one, or even the Benn and McCallum fights. ‘These people are against me,’ Watson kept telling himself. ‘These people’ were those who controlled the sport – in his mind there was something wrong about the decision in the first bout which wasn’t just down to incompetence. ‘I just couldn’t get Chris Eubank out of my mind,’ said Watson in later years. It’s a tool that fighters often use – to think of who they’re fighting rather than what they were fighting for. The recognition that he always craved was finally coming his way, quite often in the form of sympathy after the previous bout. The anger was now directed at Eubank. In an interview with South African writer Donald McRae ten days before the rematch, he gave vent to those feelings, which some interpreted as hate.

  ‘Chris Eubank has no respect for anyone. There’s something seriously wrong with his brain, with his way of thinking. Why should he attack boxing – the very thing that makes him a very good living, that has lifted him out of nowhere? Why should he describe boxing as barbaric? He would like to come from Eton but he comes from Peckham. He would like to be a white model but he’s a black boxer. I think Chris Eubank is ashamed of his roots. Why else would he put so much pressure on himself, pretending he was
born with a silver spoon in his mouth? The way he speaks, the words he uses, that’s not the way Chris Eubank speaks to his own mother. It’s sad but I have to say that I’ve never seen another black man try so hard to look and sound white. I don’t understand it – I just think he’s a very weird and confused guy. Our fight is for a world title and me getting some justice after the last decision – but it’s also a battle for the security of our families, for the future, for respect. Deep down, in his heart, Eubank knows all this.

  ‘If this one comes down to a war, he’ll finish the worse for it. I’ve been to bleak places in the ring, places he has never even touched. Last time, I was drained by making middleweight. This time, I’m stronger and I’m gonna do it for me but for every other fighter out there, I’m going to do it for the sport of boxing – I’m gonna strip Eubank of everything. These days, they tell me it’s not enough just to be a boxer. But, man, that’s what I am – a fighter. I ain’t no Chris Eubank.’

  In none of his previous twenty-eight bouts had Watson made a fight seem as personal as this one. The whole Eubank act had riled him beyond the point of rationality. If he had, in the opinion of some, cut corners in his preparation for the first bout, this time he sparred hard rounds against future WBO middleweight champion Chris Pyatt and hard-hitting light heavyweight Gary Delaney. Watson would say in press conferences, in response to how much he wanted victory before the two stepped into the ring, that he was ‘prepared to die’. It’s the kind of phrase a sportsman can use without fear if his profession is golf or tennis, but, when used by pugilists, the neutrals and those involved in the sport recoil because it has echoes of an era in which death in the ring was all too common.