I was about 18/19 at the time. I trained for a couple of years and then I found out what they were taking to get big; so I started taking the same thing: steroids.
I was always into my martial arts, and I was one of those guys who responded well to the training I was doing. About ’86/’87, I started doing my first bodybuilding shows and I knew I looked good. But guys who came first, second and third were on more gear – or ‘bigger’ gear – than I was taking. I wouldn’t take a jab. These guys would say, ‘You need to start taking this/that so you can get bigger,’ but I wouldn’t because I was always shit-scared of needles.
But I got into it. I carried on training; I was downing more tablets and getting bigger and bigger. My first thought was always for my martial arts and, as I was getting more into bodybuilding, I was finding it difficult to walk because my legs were getting so big. I actually had to walk around with talcum powder because I was getting sores between my legs.
I carried on doing kickboxing and bodybuilding at the same time, and then the guy I was training with entered a competition. There was always banter between me and Charlie about who was better and we both entered for Mr Birmingham. He was taller than me and I always thought he looked better than me, but on the day I beat him and he’s never lived it down. (He came second and a lad called Terry White came third.)
I had abs all the year round, so I never had to diet for a show. I had a fast metabolism so I was one of the lucky ones; I never had to do anything. I went to quite a few bodybuilding shows and I’ve won a few: Mr Birmingham in 1988; Mr East Anglia in Great Yarmouth, 1988 and 1989. One Friday, I was in the gym training and I needed some money; I was running short. There was a competition on the Sunday so I went there, entered it and won the £500 first-prize money. I even entered a show last year in Coventry for the over-40s and came second.
I enjoyed the competitions, but now that I’m getting a bit older my metabolism’s slowing down. You’ve got to get into the diet part, which I’m not really keen on, but I still enjoy the bodybuilding. It’s not just posing; there’s an art to bodybuilding as well, just like there is to fighting.
When I first started I did it to pull girls, I did it to stand on the door – plus I did it to fight as well. You’ve got a lot of guys who are bodybuilders and stand on the door, but they can’t fight fucking sleep. So I did it for all those reasons but my interest in sport was always martial arts. The bodybuilding was to make me look good for the martial arts, as well as showing me how to look after my body. I want to be able to walk down the street or walk on the beach and stand out a mile off.
When I’ve gone in the ring and taken my shirt off, sometimes I didn’t even need to throw a punch. Guys would just look at me and start shitting themselves.
I joined Dev Barrett’s club in 1989, when I’d just got out of bodybuilding and wanted to get into kickboxing.
DEV
In 1971, I was introduced to the martial arts by a friend called John Johnson. There was no such thing as kickboxing then; we practised a style called shotokan karate at the Longford skating rink in Coventry and we had two amazing martial artists as instructors: Mick and Rick Jackson. I stayed loyal to that style, to that club and to those instructors for many years. The only time I did anything different was when I worked as a contract electrician and often travelled to many different cities up and down the country. At these times I would join the best martial arts club in that city, so I had a chance to experience training in taekwondo in Oxford, shotokan in Leeds, wado ryu in Swindon, kyokushinkai in Bridgend and kung fu in Swansea. But I always looked forward to coming back to the rink.
When Barrington turned up at my gym in the late 1980s, I at first thought he was one of these people who caused some trouble the week before, when I was away; I was expecting to hear something from them. I didn’t think Barrington and this guy John were going to stick out the training; I was quite confused about what they were doing there.
Barrington trained really well and he did show ability, but he was just so much of a bodybuilder at the time. He’d just won a Mr Birmingham competition so he was really defined when he came to me. He loved his weights as well and in the back of my mind I was thinking, What do you want? I was thinking of explaining my situation with rugby: I was also doing boxing, karate and full contact at the same time too. But you have to make a decision. If you want to make it to the top in something, you can’t do everything, then you’d just be a jack of all trades.
We were obviously doing the regular training and I always encourage people to train for competition and self-defence, but first to learn the basics and then go on towards the fighting. Barrington started off that way. Whenever he was training, obviously he was just interested in the main thing: fights. But you have to do conditioning, like flexibility. So when we’d exercise we’d always hear him crack some smartarse thing like: ‘Are we doing fucking ballet then?’ I’d say, ‘Listen, I’m not joking, if you carry on doing that sort of thing, you’ll be out of the class!’ I remember one time we were exercising and I said, ‘OK, legs apart!’ And then he turned to this girl training beside him: ‘You should be used to that, shouldn’t you?’ She looked at him and said, ‘Fuck off!’ But he was always like that. You could never teach a serious class when Barrington was around, he knew how far to push but would never go too far. Classes were quite fun sometimes though – he took the seriousness out of the class.
When Barrington had a big fight coming up, we would sometimes go to Bedford to spar with Matt Skelton, and to find someone who could actually push him around was an eye-opener. I wasn’t surprised because I knew that, when he was at that level, no matter how big and how strong Barrington was, Matt would have the advantage because of his experience; he was an amazing Thai boxer. He was a big fellow but a real athlete as well. He went on to box pro as British and European champion, and he was a tough fighter.
We went to a tournament featuring one of my fighters and I invited Barrington along to see how he did. They were short of a fighter – somebody didn’t turn up, one opponent pulled out – so they were asking if there was a heavyweight around that would take the fight on. So of course Barrington got up, and I think that was where it started. I think he was probably about an orange belt then. With us the belt sequence is red, white, yellow, orange, green, purple, blue, brown and black. At that time, I would have thought he’d been training for up to a year. When he fought for the first time, it was against Clive Tennant’s student. Clive was one of my students but he now had his own club in Rugby; he was one of my first black belts and he actually made it to number-two Light Heavyweight in the country at karate and kickboxing. He also fought for a British title – but he lost.
One Sunday night in 1990, we went to a show at the Tower Ballroom, Edgbaston. Me and a couple of the lads drove down there and there were a couple of lads from our club in Coventry down there too. I think it was about a tenner to get in.
After about three or four fights, the announcer came in the ring and said, ‘There’s a guy here who has trained really hard for his fight and his opponent hasn’t turned up. Is there anybody who would like to fight him?’
I thought, What? ‘Yeah, I’ll fight him!’
This guy was a big fat fucking lump! I didn’t ask about getting paid, I just wanted to fight. My trainer said, ‘Yeah, fight if you want.’
I’d made no preparation but I looked at the guy and thought, You fucking fat cunt! Damn right I’ll give it a go! I had no kit on me but there was a stall selling fighting gear. The promoter got me a pair of shorts and a gum shield; I ran into the kitchen and boiled the shield in the kettle. I was given a box for my groin too.
I went to the changing room and had a 10-to 15-minute warm-up, then put on my long trousers and box. I got bandaged up and came out. Nobody was cheering for me because nobody had expected me to be fighting – including me; I’d just gone there to watch. I felt really nervous as this was my first time. I was shitting myself really.
As I said, the gu
y I was fighting was a big fat lump. I was 16 stone at the time, aged 24–25, and he was a bit older than me. But he was huge! My corner said, ‘Come on, Baz, you can do it!’
‘I’ll give it a bash!’
I came out for the first round and it was jab, jab, jab. It was two-minute rounds and I thought, Yeah, nice and easy, I’m ready for this. I got in there and in the first round I had my guard up.
Then my head went back and I thought, Fucking hell! The very first kick he tried, he ended up ripping his fucking shorts! He was obviously so fat that he couldn’t wear long trousers. I jumped on him and I was like bang! Bang! Bang! Kick! Kick! Kick! I thought, I’m not even touching the fucker! I’m hitting him as hard as I can and it’s not even affecting him.
There were too many rounds. I was unprepared for it and I was just completely fucking dying. I was only used to fighting on the streets and knocking everybody out with one punch, but when you’re in the ring and you’ve got gloves on it’s totally different. He was fat and when I was hitting him I was just bouncing off him.
DEV
In the first round, I thought he was just headhunting and I said to him, ‘Go for the body,’ and I remember him throwing punches into the body. Barrington didn’t take his training so seriously, he took it very light-heartedly but he still managed to do things. I think that was probably one of the things that made me think, Yeah, he could be good, and now he’s going to fight. I know the impact it’ll have on him because I know the difference between fighting in the streets and fighting in the ring. I actually knew what was going to happen to him. I knew he was going to feel like his arms were going to pop and I knew the burning pain he was going to feel. I said to Barrington before the fight, ‘This guy has obviously trained for the fight and you haven’t. You are big and strong but fighting a skilled fighter is different to football hooligans.’
He’s still the same now, but I always advised him to be careful. He just says, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’ He has an attitude which is great really – he’s just so positive. If ever I was away and needed a class covered, I could just ring him and he’d be there. Ninety per cent of the time he is like: ‘Where? When? I’ll be there.’ You’d phone him and say, ‘There’s a guy fighting tonight.’ ‘Where? When?’ He’s just so good in that way – absolutely amazing!
So he plastered this guy not because he was big and strong, but because of his approach to the fight. I didn’t really look for ambition in Barrington before, but after that fight I thought, Wow! I didn’t have to look for it now – it hit me in the face. I thought he could definitely go somewhere and I was getting phone calls left, right and centre. People wanted to fight him.
I backed off and then came forward again. He was so fucking fat that he wasn’t even feeling it. I was punching and kicking but I was out of breath already. It was only the first round and I was panting like fuck! He grabbed on to me and I grabbed on to him. I thought, I ain’t letting go of you, ya bastard!
He’s trying to work me, to punch and kick me, on the inside. I’m just grabbing on for dear life. Now it’s the end of the first round and I’m back in my corner. I say, ‘Fucking hell, Dev! What am I doing?’
‘Come on, Barrington,’ he says, while throwing water over me, ‘you can do it. There’s only four minutes left.’
That was the longest two minutes ever. When you’re in the gym sparring, it goes just like that, but this was the longest two minutes I’ve ever done.
Next thing the bell went. I came out. Bang, bang! He jabbed me in my face and winded me in my stomach. He nearly fucking dropped me. I looked at my trainer and said, ‘I’m all right, Dev, I’m all right.’
‘Come on, get your hands up, work off the jab!’
Every time I went forward, the guy was knocking me into the corner or the ropes. I just stood there playing with him for a bit. At the end of the second round, I went back to my corner and dropped on the stool. I reached my hands back to support myself and Dev said, ‘Get your hands off the ropes!’ He stretched my legs out and started massaging them, threw water on me and said, ‘Come on, you can do it. You can do it!’
‘I’ve had enough, man.’
‘Barrington, you’ve only got two minutes left!’
I thought I’d done eight minutes already – it had been the longest four minutes of my life. I managed to get myself together and come back out, but within the first 10 to 15 seconds of the round I was burnt out. The guy was hitting me and I was letting him carry on. I thought, I hope he fucking burns himself out!
Then, in the last 15 seconds, I went bang, bang, bang, bang! I threw about five or six punches. It was the end of the third round so I went back to my corner and Dev threw some water over my neck. I was out of breath, asking him, ‘What happened, Dev?’
Then all I heard was: ‘And the winner is Barrington Patterson!’
I couldn’t believe it! I’d just won my first fight. It was the hardest six minutes of my life and I never wanted to do another one. But Dev said, ‘Well done! We’ll try and get you back in the ring to fight again.’
It got easier after that. I just went with it from there on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I trained for about a year before my next fight. I fought a guy from Wolverhampton, a big Rasta called Victor Gayle. A big fucking dread man! This was for the Midland Area Title so I asked my mum to come and watch, though she’d said she never wanted to see me fight.
It was at the Molineux Centre by the football ground. When I clapped eyes on him, I thought, Fuck me! He’s a big lump of a lad! I’m gonna have my work cut out ’ere. The atmosphere was unbelievable – at least 400 people were there. I’d got there a couple of hours before the fight and sat in the changing room, just cracking jokes with my mates.
My mum and sisters were there so I went over to see them. Then I went back to the changing room, got changed and warmed up. Whenever I get nervous, I go to the toilet all of the time; even though I never piss, I stand there with my dick in my hand but can’t go. It’s just the adrenaline.
There were two more fights before mine so I warmed up and got into a little sweat. I felt good as I knew that I’d trained hard for this fight, although I also thought it was going to be really hard as he was such a big lump. But, in the event, he never had anything to offer me really.
I walked out to my music playing: ‘Walk like a Champion’ by Buju Banton, the song that’s been played throughout my whole career. Gayle came out second because he was on his home turf. Everyone was jumping up and down, clapping him. I came out in the first round and just hit and moved – hit and moved – kicked and moved. He never threw anything back. I stuck a couple of jabs into his face and he was cowering down in the corner. I gave him a couple of kicks too, and then, all of a sudden, he came out and threw this wild punch on my jaw. It threw me back on to the ropes; I bounced back off and shook my head, thinking, Fucking hell! That was the end of the first round.
I went back to the corner and Dev said, ‘Keep your guard up. If that had caught you, you’d have been knocked out.’
I said, ‘Don’t worry. I know what I gotta do.’
It was a five-round fight. I went back out there – jab, jab – left hook – dropped him on his arse. When he landed on the canvas, it was like boom! The guy fell into the ropes and tried to get back up. By this time, I was thinking, Please don’t get up. I don’t want any more – I’m tired! Even though I trained hard for the fight and the adrenaline was pumping, I just didn’t want to do any more. He crawled up to the ref and the ref said, ‘Carry on fighting.’
DEV
He would have got a count of eight and the referee would have said something like, ‘Can you hold your hand up?’ Sometimes they push your hand and if your balance is poor, then you’re obviously unable to continue. Sometimes they’ll just say, ‘Put your hand up!’ and if you put your hand up they’ll say it’s OK.
I just jumped on him: bang, bang – kick, punch – kick, punch. The referee jumped in and stopped th
e fight. I thought, Fucking nice one! My mum came over and I gave her a kiss, but she said, ‘I’m never coming to watch you fight again.’ Even though I’ve had loads of fights since, she’s never been to another.
When I got my belt on, I was so proud to have won the Midland Area Title. Then I got offers to fight, fight, fight. About a year after I had my first fight, I had one in Barnsley – but a couple more had happened before that. Basically, everyone there was white. In those days, Barnsley was a really racist area and I was fighting the Barnsley area champion. They were saying, ‘Look at the size of that fucking nigger!’ and things like that. It was at that fight in Barnsley that they were calling my wife a ‘fucking nigger lover’.
RUPERT
He’s fighting in this ring and when Barrington fights he’s an entertainer, so you’ll hit him and his legs will go but you know he’s entertaining the crowd. So he’s fighting and there’s this table full of lads who are really loud and giving Barrington loads of shit during the fight. Barrington’s keeping this lad up really, as he isn’t in his class, and next thing it’s BANG! He’s knocked the lad out and then got straight out the ring, gone up to them and said, ‘Who the fuck wants it?’ That’s Barrington!
They were all racists, man. We had another one when he went to Barnsley and they were all going, ‘You black bastard!’ He knocked out their local champion. Barrington used to become an angry, angry man when he heard stuff like that. He used to say, ‘Them days are gone, man, them days are gone!’
One-Eyed Baz Page 7