The similarities had not been so obvious during their first meeting, because they were coming from opposite sides of the track. Benn had been champion then and Eubank strutted in from nowhere and took his rival’s title. During the intervening three years, both had struggled with certain things. Eubank’s involvement in the ring tragedy that nearly cost Watson his life had stripped him of the sense of fun that he brought to proceedings. Benn’s inability to get himself back into the middleweight picture until beating Galvano, and the continual battles in his private life, saw him retreat further into the darkness. But while Eubank continued to box for money, to maintain his standard of living, Benn fought on for revenge. He’d never have the chance to fight Watson again and part of him acknowledged that a victory in that rematch might have been beyond him. But Eubank was different – it was personal and, also, he didn’t think the WBO champion was better.
What was not debated was the reality of the dislike between the two men. It was not manufactured, something created by a series of stage-managed exchanges. The feud brought out the worst in both of them. Benn became more confrontational than normal and Eubank projected greater arrogance. The problem for Eubank was that it encouraged him to take his opponent lightly this time round and the worry in his corner was that he had been reading the papers too much and believed it when some writers said that Benn was past his best, based on a year which had not been his most impressive. Against Piper, Galvano and Gent, Benn had shown little to fear. And Eubank was telling everyone who would listen that he had suffered from a lack of motivation since his second bout with Watson. It was a case, apparently, of needing the fear again. But was he really fearful? Benn was afraid of one thing – of losing to the man he hated losing to the most, again. He also seemed relaxed, but inside there was fury. Nearly three years had passed since that night in Birmingham. He had never questioned the validity of Eubank’s win. ‘He prepared like a champion, and I didn’t.’ This time, with the man he considered the best trainer he’d had in his corner and a different, less hectic strategy, he was confident he would change things round. The reward of fighting Michael Nunn was secondary – all he wanted was revenge. That was all the motivation he required.
At the final press conference, Benn said nothing. He didn’t show up. Was it hate or hype? No one really knew but it all seemed slightly childish. Was it that he loathed Eubank so much he couldn’t stand to be in the same place as him? You could only guess but the situation meant that anyone at the press conference had to face up to a twin ordeal. Don King’s pre-fight shtick was known around the world. It was seldom revealing and whether or not anyone had ever told him, he carried on regardless, whether the listening crowd showed interest or not. ‘The Marquess of Queensberry is smiling over me now,’ King said. ‘I can feel his spirit.’ And then came the sermons of Eubank. He had been a breath of fresh air when he first burst on to the scene, but now the same reporters had heard enough. The sound bites weren’t choreographed in the way they might have been had he had been sponsored by a sportswear company. Eubank’s pressers would normally include some kind of ‘increase the peace’ comment and his musings on the state of the world. After that he lectured journalists about the articles they wrote, and he was asked why he had agreed to a rematch with a man who had hurt him so badly three years earlier that he had begged to be taken to hospital. ‘When women have babies the pain is excruciating. At the time you say “Never again” but afterwards, because of what you have produced, you forget the pain. I use that example because I am a woman’s man’ was the response. Even King rolled his eyes. Eubank managed to hold court for nearly ninety minutes. Of the rematch and what it meant to him in terms of his game plan and how it would affect him, these were his comments: ‘Fighting Nigel will give me that kick. He punches like no other fighter. My mind will be more alert and I will be more alive than I have been for a long time. I relish the thought of getting into the ring with him again. I almost relish the thought of taking another one of those big punches, of sucking them in and coming back with my own.’
It was the theatre of the sport that still appealed. The idea that when he got into the ring people had come to see him. And he could define himself – boxer, entertainer and tough guy. More often than not, he would not have to prove the toughness, but against Benn and Watson he did. Now it was Benn’s turn again and Eubank was sure that, having beaten him once, the mental advantages were all his. The moment he hit Benn with a right hand with all the force he could muster, it would surely be all over. That was his mindset. He had not considered that Benn had improved. Or that he had a game plan different from the first fight. For Benn, this was the moment he had been denied for three years. Being the underdog suited him – against DeWitt, Barkley and Galvano he had not been favoured but had come through. What drove him was the fear of failure and the look on Eubank’s face. That perceived arrogance, which he took to be a superiority complex. It didn’t matter how he won, as long as he did.
Scene V
‘Only educated to a certain extent. Under different circumstances he would be a bouncer on some door in the West End and he’d have three kids from three different women. I’m a superior person to that’
– Chris Eubank speaking about Nigel Benn in 1992
‘I don’t fucking like you’
– Nigel Benn to Chris Eubank at a press conference before the rematch in 1993
With Don King, Barry Hearn and Frank Warren, who walked to the ring with Benn and who would soon be promoting him again full time, involved in the promotion for ‘Judgement Day’, the show had more to it than previous ones seen in a British ring. For a start there was another world title fight that night, featuring the impressive welterweight Crisanto España, a Venezuelan based in Belfast, defending his WBA title against Canadian Donovan Boucher. The South American would win in ten rounds, clearing the way for the main event.
Devoting three hours of air time to the bout – including the pre-recorded interviews with Jonathan Ross – on prime time was the biggest indication of how big the rivalry had become. The biggest sporting entity in the country at the time was Manchester United, but beyond that it was hard to see past Benn and Eubank. What made it even bigger was the fact that it was a global event taking place in England. Nearly five years earlier, Frank Bruno’s failed challenge for Mike Tyson’s world title had captivated the country, but that fight had taken place in Las Vegas and was shown live on the still emerging Sky. And no one really thought Bruno could win. Benn versus Eubank was a much more balanced contest between two men who had become household names by virtue of their regular exposure on terrestrial TV. Barry Hearn had said in private to Trevor East, head of ITV Sport, that he didn’t need to take his boxers to America because there was enough money to be made in the UK. Delaying the rematch for three years had proved to be the right decision; it had stimulated demand and increased anticipation. The live and television audiences were massive and it was hard to think of a boxing event in the UK that had such pre-eminence.
With over 40,000 fans in attendance, controlling every aspect of the promotion was a near impossibility. Matchroom’s John Wischhusen admits it had gone beyond his control with half an hour to go as he paced back and forth from the stadium tunnel to ringside. ‘It all got so out of hand. It wasn’t falling apart, but getting people to sit down was one problem. The police were trying to get them to sit down, I was getting half a dozen different messages and in the end, I just thought, this is going to happen. It had a momentum of its own. They are going to fight.’ Writing in the Guardian, John Rodda said: ‘The security was totally inadequate to cope with spectators from faraway seats who drifted down to the outer ringside and stood in the gangways for the main event. Even when the police arrived they seemed unable to dislodge all of them, and there must have been some very disgruntled punters in very expensive seats who had to stand to get a view of some of the rounds.’
It had already been decided that Eubank would come out first. The American ring announcer was J
immy Lennon Junior, whose father had been an MC during the fifties and sixties. His signature phrase was ‘It’s show time’ but for now it was his job to inform the expectant crowd that on his way to the ring was Chris Eubank. Making his way from the home dressing room, Eubank was still out of view when instrumental gladiatorial music started to play. Those expecting and hoping to hear Tina Turner’s familiar throaty lines would not to be disappointed. Wearing a red robe with yellow trim, Eubank looked happy, as if this was yet another moment he had been waiting for, rather than it being forced on him, and this time no one stopped the music early. There had been rumours that the somersault into the ring would be jettisoned for this one, but the show was as important as the performance for Eubank. ‘The ego has landed,’ proclaimed Reg Gutteridge as the WBO champion vaulted in. The reception for Eubank was mixed – there were cheers, but there were boos, too. He’d almost become the professional wrestler who was generally the bad guy, but his gimmick had become so good it was impossible not to admire him. The essential difference between wrestling and boxing is that the grappler knows what’s going to happen when he steps through the ropes.
Eubank began shadow-boxing, as was his custom, while his music was silenced by the sound of the chimes of Big Ben. The WBC champion had used those tones at the start of his career and they were making a return now. The next thing you heard was dance music, something that Benn had no doubt heard or played during his stints in Tenerife. Then he appeared, with former manager Frank Warren leading him down the path to the ring. Whatever issues had existed between the pair previously seemed to have been settled for this night and in the future. Benn was in white satin, sporting a skull cap against the weather. But he looked relaxed. And, it must be said, smaller than Eubank. Benn’s status as one of the country’s most popular fighters was reinforced by the reception he received that night: cheered from the moment he appeared until he walked into the ring, with sections of the crowd already in unison to ‘There’s only one Nigel Benn’. He was also the underdog. In his mind, with so many behind him, Benn said to himself, ‘I dare not lose’. Three years earlier, the former squaddie had been tipped for an early win. This time the smart money was on Eubank to win late or by decision. Boxing odds are notoriously unfavourable for the punter, unless you pick a round for the bout to end in, but there was one other bet worth considering – the draw would pay you thirty-three times your stake. Draws used to be commonplace in the sport, when fights were judged by the majority opinion of news writers or by the sole arbitrator, the referee. But that was at the beginning of the 1900s. Two exceptions of recent vintage stood out. In 1989, Thomas Hearns floored Sugar Ray Leonard twice during a twelve-round contest, only to receive a tie. The fight was also a rematch, with Leonard having won the first by knockout, despite being behind on points. No one, including Leonard, seemed to think he deserved a share of the spoils second time round. And in September of that year, Julio César Chávez, the most dominant fighter in the world, appeared very fortunate to earn a draw against Pernell Whitaker, with few writers prepared to give him more than three rounds over the course of the twelve they fought. The draw suited Chávez’s promoter, Don King, who could continue to sell the Mexican’s undefeated record, which was now approaching the one hundred mark.
With instructions given to both boxers by referee Larry O’Connell and the only warmth between the two camps coming from the opposing trainers – Tibbs and Davies shook hands in the middle of the ring – both men were ready to go. Three years earlier, Benn had just stared at Eubank in preparation for the first bell. This time, as the WBO champion went into character, Benn mimicked him. Those who knew the Essex man recognised his way of showing he was ready. Others, including TV analyst Jim Watt, felt Benn had a few too many smiles for the crowd, as if the showmanship should be left to his opponent. No matter: style before rounds would win nothing. This was going to be a battle of pride, skill, courage and stamina.
With his head shaved and robe off, Benn looked wiry in comparison to Eubank, whose frame looked brimming with muscle. There was speculation that, with twenty-eight hours between the weigh-in the previous day and the fight, Eubank might have added nearly 14 lb to his body, which had scaled 12 stone, in accordance with the super middleweight limit. Benn had weighed in at 11 stone 13 lb, and some of that could be accounted for by the thick gold chains he wore around his neck. Plenty of people outside his camp thought his best days belonged at middleweight, but, twenty years later, Tibbs told me that by this stage of his career Benn was a super middleweight.
That wiry frame did not lack strength, as it was Benn who moved Eubank into the corner and threw punches into his stomach. What was also apparent was that the WBC champion was not nearly as reckless as he had been in Birmingham. At the NEC, perhaps conscious of his weight-drained state, Benn seemed to gamble everything on an early stoppage. At Old Trafford, the first round was circumspect, a reconnaissance mission if you like. Tibbs had instructed him to bob and weave and make himself a more difficult target. At the same time, he wanted Benn to throw punches, just not wild, heavy ones. There were no power shots from the man in the white trunks, just little hooks to the body and clubbing rights to the head, when the pair were in a clinch.
Eubank spent the opening 180 seconds mostly on the retreat. His jab flickered out impressively on occasion and his movement, in a clockwise circle, was elegant and controlled. But, like Benn, he was wary of overcommitting. He did not throw combinations apart from one moment midway through the round, when it seemed that he had Benn pinned on the ropes. When he realised that his opponent could weave his way out of trouble, Eubank retreated. What was also noticeable was that he had his trunks pulled up so high that the top was less than six inches below his ribcage. Eubank wore two groin protectors, so the chances of him getting hurt were minimal. Even so, a left hook from Benn to belt line drew a warning from referee O’Connell as the bell sounded. This time there was no eyeballing from either man, allowing Eubank the chance to hold centre stage and pose for all four sides of the stadium although, if you were in the stands, you’d need binoculars to see what he was doing. There might be no denying the bond between Eubank and Ronnie Davies, but there was frustration etched all over the trainer’s face as he waited for his man to sit down, almost certainly because he’d seen a different Benn from the one he’d helped Eubank beat three years earlier. By the time Eubank did sit down, Davies had about twenty seconds with him, not enough time to get the message across. Davies had been worried about Eubank’s attitude to the contest, the fact that he seemed overconfident. Having seen a less reckless Benn than three years earlier, he was already wondering whether this was going to be a more difficult night.
Round two saw both men relax a little bit. While it was Benn who, inevitably, forced the pace by moving forward constantly, Eubank was looking to land counters in order to draw Benn’s sting and put him off his strategy. ‘Benn is not getting his punches off,’ said Jim Watt. All the bobbing and weaving seemed to distract him from what he was there to do – hurt his opponent. For the opening minute, Benn struggled to land anything of note, while Eubank impressed the judges with his jab and ring generalship. But then Benn came back with some power punches, which drew a roar from the crowd. A judge can be as neutral as he wants to be, but the fans’ response can make them question what they are watching. Nothing that landed seemed to hurt Eubank or Benn, a surprise given the agony that both had suffered three years earlier. In fact, during the final twenty seconds of round two, Eubank landed with consecutive right hands, the type that had had Benn wobbling three years earlier. This time, Benn tapped his hands together as if to say, hit me again. At the bell, the pair were caught in a clinch and the expectation was that one of them might say something to the other. But Benn simply walked through his opponent and towards his corner.
If the action had not so far surpassed the first fight, the atmosphere had. Despite Old Trafford being an open-air stadium, the noise stayed in and the singing continued all night, mostly in fav
our of Benn, but interrupted more than occasionally by ‘Euuuuuuuuuuuuubank’. And there was enough action to keep both camps interested.
No Middle Ground Page 23