No Middle Ground

by Sanjeev Shetty

  Benn and Eubank had been content, wherever possible, to continue their careers within the cosy confines of their own country. Eubank’s diet of faded American fighters happy to travel for a low-risk contest, with the outside chance of winning a world title, kept the champion comfortable, in and out of the ring. The forecast for Benn in his first six months as WBC champion was no more challenging. But soon the pair would be faced with a choice: stay on easy street or challenge themselves against the men regarded as the best, Nunn, Jones and Toney. It had suited all parties to keep things domestic, but now some on the other side of the Atlantic had begun to pay attention, specifically a man notorious for being the sport’s most prolific shark. Don King.

  The man with the electrifying hair had always been regarded as an opportunist. He fondly told a story of how, in 1973, he walked to the ring with world heavyweight champion Joe Frazier and left it minutes later with the man who took the belt from him, George Foreman, having inched his way into the winner’s corner during the six minutes of violent destruction inflicted on Frazier.

  As more than one boxer has told me over the years, in his prime King could deliver the fights, and even after ‘getting screwed’ by him they were richer than they would have been if they had stayed patiently with their original promoters. Now, with meal ticket Tyson temporarily unavailable – King stayed in touch with the imprisoned fighter, making sure he knew who he would be fighting for when he was released – King channelled his promotional duties into other fighters. The great Julio César Chávez headlined shows on both sides of the US/Mexican border and King also tried to get his fingers on the heavyweight title, which had been wrestled from Evander Holyfield by Riddick Bowe, who was not aligned to either King or his promotional rival Main Events.

  Always creative, King would later strike up a relationship with Frank Warren, who had spent much of the early 1990s recovering from being shot and then rebuilding his promotional empire. Key to Warren’s success was the emergence of the colourful and talented Prince Naseem Hamed, who would become, arguably, Britain’s most high-profile boxer.

  For now, King was the gateway for Hearn to the American market he had not yet explored. He’d been able to take Eubank as far as he had because he had what he liked to call ‘fuck you money’, an expression he had learned from rival promoter Mickey Duff. Even so, he did not have enough of it if he wanted to putt Benn and Eubank together and pay them what they wanted. The fight would probably be held at a football stadium, with Wembley the obvious stage for two boxers based in the south. But getting the money was still an issue – Hearn had already agreed to pay both fighters a million pounds, a significant amount given that Britain was in the middle of recession, precipitated by Black Wednesday, the day in September 1992 when the pound was withdrawn from the European Exchange Rate Mechanism, a move which would cost the country £3.3 billion. The Conservative government had, against the odds, won the general election earlier in the year to retain power for another five, but the state of the nation, depressed since the start of the decade, had not changed. Interest rates soared to 15 per cent and the property market, which had been buoyant during the latter stages of the 1980s, slumped. Repossessions rose, as people struggled to make monthly mortgage payments, while those in negative equity had difficulty purchasing new houses. In sporting terms, the rise of Sky, part of media mogul Rupert Murdoch’s empire, was perfectly timed, giving a financial boost, initially to football and then subsequently to other sports, including boxing. But on a wider scale, Britain would not feel fundamental change until 1997, when a new Labour government, led by Tony Blair, and taking advantage of improving global financial conditions, stormed into power.

  Before King came on the scene, Hearn was only due to receive £25,000 for the international television rights for the rematch. With King on board, however, the figure rapidly rose to nearly a hundred times that. A contract was drawn up which saw both fighters aligned to King after the fight, whether they won or lost. The only way they’d escape the man with the startled hair would be if the fight was declared a draw, a result that had become less and less common in the sport.

  Scene III

  Chris Eubank’s right hand knocking out John Jarvis would come to be seen as a landmark moment. He’d fight three more times that year and not come close to stopping anyone. For his next bout he would box Ron Essett, the American he should have faced on the night he beat Jarvis. The bout against Essett was in Portugal and on an extraordinarily humid evening Eubank retained his title by decision. ‘That was an awful night,’ remembers Dave Brenner. ‘Just a dreadful fight.’ Essett was one of the sport’s nearly men – he’d challenged for a world title twice before and come up a little short. He was just as unsuccessful against Eubank, who struggled in the heat and was sluggish. The judges awarded him the win by margins of eight, five and four points and there was no clamour for ‘Simply the Best’ to return to Iberia.

  Stiffer competition would come in the form of another American, Tony Thornton, in Glasgow. Thornton endeared himself to fight fans by combining a ring career with a full-time job as a postman. In front of a raucous and passionate crowd at the Scottish Exhibition Centre, Thornton forced the pace for twelve rounds and threw and landed more punches. But it was yet another of those bouts that seemed open to interpretation. The commentary team of Brenner and Barry McGuigan were unanimous in their feeling that Eubank had done enough to win the decision, oblivious to the boos that rang out around the ring as the champion actually ran away from Thornton in the final round. Eubank’s sharper punches had dominated the early rounds, but there was little doubt that he lost most of the final four, with Thornton’s pressure leaving the champion an exhausted and occasionally dispirited looking figure. Even so, with many at ringside believing Thornton had done enough for a draw at worst, Eubank won a decision by margins of five, three and two points.

  There would be one more outing for Eubank that year, against the Paraguayan Juan Carlos Giménez at the G-Mex Leisure Centre in Manchester. Like both Thornton and Essett, Giménez did not have an especially intimidating record as a puncher, the majority of his wins coming in South America and against a cluster of fighters with no marquee value. His style was basic at best, his arms whirling in a continual cycle of uncultured hooks, which never troubled the champion. Even though Giménez would end his career as a cruiserweight, he looked much the smaller man against the impressively chiselled Eubank. There was no hint that this was a close fight, with the champion able to lean back against the ropes, absorb the best that Giménez had and throw combinations once the Paraguayan had punched himself out. Another unanimous decision went the way of Eubank, who was adjudged to have lost only a couple of rounds.

  It was impossible to ignore the change in Eubank’s ring performances. The grand entrances and showmanship remained, but now, when the bell rang, he appeared cautious. While Hearn believed a sense of Eubank’s own mortality restricted his performances, the fighter thinks otherwise. ‘I lost the ability to finish,’ he said years later. He was no longer the figure of hate he had been before the second Watson fight but he was also struggling to provide value for money. Boxing experts could see the merit of victories over the likes of Malinga, Thornton and Giménez, but with knockout victories at a premium there was a growing air of restlessness among casual fans. They wanted to see Eubank in a fight against a man they knew. There would, of course, be no third fight with Watson. But there had to be a rematch with Benn.

  Like Eubank, Nigel Benn would also cram one more fight in before Christmas 1992, a defence of his title against Welshman Nicky Piper. It had all the hallmarks of an easy night for the Londoner. Piper was basically a light heavyweight who was voluntarily shedding half a stone to make the championship weight. To compound matters, he wasn’t considered that tough, having been knocked out in three rounds by Carl Thompson. In fact, the most sellable quality he possessed was his brain. Piper had an IQ in excess of 150, qualifying him as a member of Mensa. Piper was also one of a growing breed of fi
ghters who advocated taking control of their own careers. Although Eubank is normally credited with the change in the perception of fighters, he, Benn and Watson were all unique in the way they dealt with managers and promoters, sometimes going to court to make sure they could dictate the course of their careers.

  In the future, Piper would play a prominent role in the Professional Boxing Association but while he fought he managed himself and was one of the more accessible men on the circuit. On the night in question at Alexandra Palace, he utilised his considerable height and reach advantages to nullify Benn’s power and one of the judges had him holding a points advantage after ten rounds. Points don’t always tell the story of a fight, however. Advised by his corner that Piper would be drained by fighting at an unnatural weight, Benn targeted the challenger’s ribcage and abdomen. By round eleven, the Welshman was ready to fall and after suffering a knockdown and then several painful punches, he was mercifully prevented from carrying on by referee Larry O’Connell.

  The next destination for Benn was Glasgow and a mandatory rematch with Mauro Galvano. It was a fight that had to happen. The Italian fought as he had the first time round, holding and spoiling and falling well behind on points against a curiously flat Benn. The only moment of real excitement came in the twelfth and final round when the champion was hurt by a big right hand. The problem for Galvano was that it happened with just seconds remaining and Benn survived to hear the final bell and collect a unanimous decision. ‘Survived’ being the operative word – at the sound of the final bell, he stormed to the centre of the ring, expecting to find Galvano there; so disorientated had he been by that final blow that he believed the bell was summoning him to another round. Benn would admit afterwards that his legs had gone. What was evident was that the longer a Benn–Eubank rematch was delayed, the bigger the chance was that one of them might lose a fight in the build-up. Defeat for either would have a detrimental effect on the long-awaited bout. Negotiations for the fight had started but a deal needed to be in place as soon as possible so that the fighters could focus on something more tangible than just the next defence of their title.

  Chris Eubank would defend his title against another fading American fighter at the start of 1993. Lindell Holmes had a wonderful pedigree at world-class level. He had been a world champion and had fought most of the leading contenders for the past five to six years. He was also way past his prime, approaching his thirty-sixth birthday by the time of this final world title challenge. In fact, he’d have just one more fight after taking on Eubank before retirement. The date was 20 February 1993 and the venue another favourite of the champion’s, Earl’s Court in west London. With Eubank’s increasing reluctance to end bouts quickly and engage in the trenches, and his opponent’s age, this fight was billed by some as a contest between a man who wouldn’t and a man who couldn’t. Ever ready with the bombast, Eubank promised to punish Holmes’s first mistake with ‘cold, clinical precision’.

  With an impressively sculpted upper body, Holmes looked like a young man but his reflexes told a different story. When Eubank attacked, Holmes did not have the ability to counter and would have to wait until the champion had punched himself out before launching his own attacks. The pattern would become a familiar one and neither man was ever in any serious danger of a knockout defeat. The anomaly with Eubank was that no one could ever be certain as to how easy it had been for him as he took this fight by a unanimous decision by margins of two, five and eleven points. The questions remained: would Eubank seek a more dangerous opponent next and what about his stamina? He was visibly puffing and panting in most rounds, the exertion of throwing power punches leaving him drained. It was how he trained, he explained. It was all about power, he’d say, and that he wasn’t the only man currently fighting who had an energy issue.

  As for the opposition and its quality, that would never be answered satisfactorily. Eubank could claim, with some justification, that Benn’s opposition was hardly threatening. Piper and Galvano were not superior to the likes of Holmes or Thornton, but the difference was that Benn did all he could to make those bouts exciting and give value for money. In most of Eubank’s contests, it was the opposition that forced the pace and threw more punches. And it was also the case that, for more than a year, he had coasted as a world champion, making comparatively easy money against a string of opponents who offered no threat. If Barry Hearn felt that his man was unwilling to take risks for fear of what might happen to him, he had no reason to worry about the current opposition posing serious danger to either his health or title. After an incredibly tough first year as world champion, which had begun with wresting the title from Benn in a bout that left him urinating blood for days, through to the Watson rematch that put him briefly in a wheelchair, Eubank had needed the time to heal and take stock. He had fought five times in 1992, more than most world champions in that era and considerably more than any of those currently operating. He had now had eleven world title fights in less than two and a half years. And he had not lost. An unbeaten record can play on the minds of many a fighter. The pressure of maintaining it builds and builds until that inevitable first defeat. And once a fighter does lose for the first time, that sense of invincibility disappears, perhaps forever. Maybe that didn’t affect Eubank that much. After all, this was a man with ‘unquestionable physical and emotional ruggedness’, according to Boxing Monthly editor Glyn Leach. And, certainly, Eubank had known what it was like to be on the verge of losing before being able to find a way to win.

  One more examination of that ability would come later in 1993. Glasgow was the venue for the second time in twelve months as Eubank entertained the challenge of Northern Irishman Ray Close, who had earned his challenge by virtue of winning the European title in Italy, against slippery Italian southpaw Vincenzo Nardiello. At just twenty-four, Close was the youngest man Eubank had defended his title against and by virtue of that had the most energy. Of the men who had challenged Eubank in the past two years, only Michael Watson had given the clearest indication of how to beat him. It was, surely, to set a pace that the champion could not operate at. Skilled at stealing rounds by fighting in flashy bursts, Eubank had snatched victory from defeat’s jaws on more than one occasion. Boxing and indeed sport are made up of what ifs, and you can’t help wondering if Eubank would still have been undefeated if Watson had not had the temerity to knock him down during that fateful eleventh round at White Hart Lane. It did not seem likely that Close could inflict similar pain on the champion – he was a grafter and did not have a reputation as a particularly hard puncher.

  That graft gave Eubank problems from the start as Close set a pace that was both frenetic and consistent. Whatever those at ringside thought – and there were many who believed that Close needed to land three punches to every one of the champion’s in order to remain ahead on the scorecards – Close had a lead going into the final two rounds. But a left hook from Eubank at the start of the eleventh changed all that. Close got up and survived the round, before winning the twelfth, but the knockdown in the eleventh meant the round was scored 10-8 in Eubank’s favour. That was enough to earn him a draw on the card of one of the judges, with the other two officials siding with challenger and champion. In the event of a draw, the man with the title retains the belt and so Eubank once again found a way to keep the gravy train rolling. A rematch with Benn still seemed miles away, but at least there was potential for it to happen. And Eubank had shown enough in the Close battle to suggest that some of his old hunger had returned.

  Even so, Eubank had now had seven fights since the Watson rematch and there had been little to suggest that he was boxing for any reason other than money. He’d knocked out one man but for the rest of the time he’d prevailed by taking the long route, against a group of fighters handpicked to ensure that he was never in danger of being hurt. He would not be defined by these bouts, only against opponents who offered something else. Opponents such as Benn, who everyone knew would bring spice, hate and hype to the ring.

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nbsp; Nigel Benn had said he changed his training camp to Tenerife to get away from the distractions of London. In truth, his Canary Islands base was no less fraught. ‘Sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll’ was how he would later describe his lifestyle during those heady days and Tenerife could and would serve as the epicentre for all of that. Benn was treated like royalty on the island, as were a handful of other boxers who set up camp there, including, in later years, Frank Bruno. Benn’s ability to party was matched only by his knack of making sure he never missed training as well as displaying no ill effects from the wear and tear of his social life. A reliance on vitamins as well as those long runs in the altitude of Tenerife’s famous Mount Teide which allowed him to lose himself meant he was able to cling on to his fitness and mental well being for a little bit longer.

  Recently, some have suggested that Benn battled his demons during those years, but those who knew him believe he mostly ignored them. His ability to turn on the charm when he needed it to get him out of many tight situations and, if that didn’t work, the other side of his personality, the intimidating persona, would also serve a purpose. Virtually everyone who speaks of Benn confirms that Jekyll and Hyde nature. Or to put in simpler terms, he can be whoever he wants to be, depending on the situation. Until he had a date for a Eubank rematch, he was also lacking a real focus. As always, the inner anger would be realised in his training and world title defences, but the one thing he really struggled to deal with, that first defeat to Eubank, would be an itch that he could only scratch when he got his nemesis back in the ring.