Nigel Benn (12 page)

Apparently the victim, who had been shot in the thigh, had identified his attacker by pointing to my picture in a magazine. The
Evening
Standard
then published a slightly touched up photograph they had received from Scotland Yard and the first I knew about it was when a member of the public jumped on me, attempting a citizen’s arrest. In the scuffle, I bruised my knuckle which became quite swollen and I had to receive intensive treatment before I could fight.

In fact, the doctors used a special, vibrating black box normally used to heal injured race horses. I was desperate for the hand to heal because I was still impatient to fight Michael Watson, having got nowhere with our offers to Herol Graham who was the current British Champion. We’d offered him £200,000 to put his British title on the line against me. After they’d heard about my injuries and Ambrose’s threatened action regarding the photofit picture, both Scotland Yard and the newspaper apologised profusely for their mistake.

On top of everything else, I nearly had a
bust-up
at the press conference publicising the title defence. Anthony Logan, who was boxing on the undercard and had been sparring with Chilambe, was asked his opinion on how the bout would go. Instead of commenting on that, he asked for a return round with me. I’d beaten him the previous October and, as far as I was concerned, he was history. I was stopped from getting closer to him at the conference because somebody feared I might land one on him. They claimed they heard me say,
‘I’m going to hurt you,’ but I don’t recall that.

The African Lion turned out to be a cub. I gave him a mauling and he went down in just 67 seconds of the first round. It should have been sooner, but I wanted to see if he could give anything worthwhile.

Chilambe said afterwards that he had never been hit so hard before. He said he knew I was a big hitter but hadn’t realised just how big.

My next victory was in the High Court seven days later, when three Appeal Court judges dismissed Frank Warren’s attempt to obtain a temporary order stopping Ambrose from advising me.

In his judgment, Lord Justice Nourse said I had become very disillusioned with Mr Warren’s management agreement, which I had signed in January 1988, and that, by June, I had formed the view that Frank and I would not be able to resolve our differences. After issuing my writ against Frank the following month, I had asked Ambrose to act as my agent and advise on my career.

The judge commented that, thereafter, Mendy’s activities included introducing commercial opportunities to me. He said Frank Warren had then started proceedings against Mendy, seeking injunctions and claiming that he had induced me to break the management agreement.

What was important in his judgment was the recognition by the Lord Justice that the trade of a professional boxer was a very specialist one. He said it required dedication, extensive training and
expertise and that the boxer’s professional life was short. The judge accepted that a high degree of mutual trust and confidence was required between boxer and manager.

However, even more important aspects arose from the case, which affected British boxing and the British Boxing Board of Control. The judges invited the BBBC to look at situations where a manager also holds a promoter’s licence. Lord Justice Nourse said it might be of advantage to the fighter in some circumstances but not in others. The judges clearly saw the dangers of one person having too much control over a fighter’s career.

John Morris, who was then general secretary of the BBBC, said the board would consider changing its regulations. He said the stewards had, in the past, tried to separate the job of manager and promoter but were voted down by the licence holders. None of this would affect Ambrose, however, as he did not hold a licence and could not act in an official capacity. After the case, Frank said he would continue his legal fight and his lawyer told the judges that we had won the battle but not the war. After this case the BBBC changed the standard manager–boxer contract.

I had one more fight, to be held in Scotland, before my life would be turned upside down. Bagpipes heralded my entry to Glasgow. Ambrose had suggested I dress as the Tartan Terror to promote the bout against Mbayo Wa Mbayo from Zaïre. The French-based boxer was ranked number eight in Europe and was reckoned to be my toughest fight to date. Part of the proceeds were to
go to the Lockerbie Disaster Appeal.

At the time, I was asked what I thought of my contemporaries in international boxing. Being me, I had plenty to say!

Herol Graham was, in my view, the perfect example of a second-rate fighter. He was just wasting his time hanging around for a title fight. I said he was not in the top drawer and that is why he wouldn’t fight me.

Thomas Hearns was a legend, one of the
all-time
greats. I said I loved to watch him fight when I was a kid but I reckoned he would be about the easiest to beat because you can’t go on forever, no matter how good you are.

Michael Watson was an interesting case — I was due to fight him next after Mbayo. I asked if he could still make the weight as a middleweight. In all his fights he had weighed about 4lb over the limit but I said there was nothing more I wanted than to get in the ring with him.

Sumbu Kalambay — I said he was the best of the three world champions although he’d been around a long time without anybody taking much notice. He beat Herol by a mile when he was 30. I said if anyone wanted to call themselves a true world champion, he’s the man they had to beat.

Iran Barkley — I fought him in America but, before then, I thought he was probably the strongest middleweight in the world. However, even though he was the WBC champion, I believed he was the weakest of the world’s leading fighters in the division. He had knocked Tommy Hearns spark out, but the way his chin was then, so could
anybody. Barkley’s weakness was that he wasn’t much of a technician.

Roberto Duran I rated for his achievements. He was an idol to so many young fighters and was still going for another world title at the age of 37. He was one of the most feared opponents in the world.

Michael Nunn was to be a future opponent and was then possibly one of the best middleweight fighters. I said at the time that he deserved to be IBF champion because he was such a good all-round fighter and the fittest middleweight in the world. He was a bit of a rarity in that he could punch as well as box.

The fight at Kelvin Hall, Glasgow, on 28 March, received less publicity than the excitement it generated over my coming match with Michael Watson. Some people were even saying it should not go ahead because of the small chance that I might not win. Mickey Duff, Watson’s manager, had a get-out clause if I lost to Mbayo and, with my share of the purse amounting to £150,000, there was a lot to lose.

However, I had promised to go ahead with the Glasgow fight and didn’t want to let down the Lockerbie Disaster Appeal. Nor did I have the slightest doubt that I would beat my opponent. When we got into the ring he took what was coming. You can tell a lot by a man’s hands and eyes. His hands were like granite. Rough,
hard-working
hands, the hardest hands I had ever felt in my life. He had come to fight but, looking at his eyes, I knew I would win.

I took him out in two rounds. My last punch actually lifted him off his feet and he ended up half out of the ring.

After-fight parties were virtually obligatory as a release from all the pre-fight tension and
after-fight
‘high’. The Glasgow whorehouse hired by Ambrose for partying following the Mbayo fight was one of the more memorable evenings. All my close buddies, like Rolex Ray, had flown up for the fight and had already tasted the exotic offerings this brothel had made available during the day. Ray, always the big spender, had parted with £1,500 before the party had even begun. The premises were normally used as a sauna and massage salon.

I was feeling pretty good having knocked out Mbayo in two rounds, so I wasn’t exhausted. I don’t know if it was Ray or Ambrose who organised it but, on our arrival at the brothel, a live sex show was immediately staged. Three girls stripped off their clothes until they were entirely naked and then put on a lesbian act for us. We were then invited to join them in a group orgy. Few refused. Ambrose had brought along his teenage son to initiate him into the ways of the world, although I don’t think he personally took part in any of the activities.

After the live show, we played music, drank more champagne and for those who wanted more, and a lot of my mates did, about 20 girls were available for sex at a reasonable rate. As the night drew on, things got pretty wild and, at one stage, Rolex Ray did some rude things to a lady using her
stiletto heel.

One of the people who were there told us he got more than he bargained for and returned home with a ‘social’ disease which he would have to explain to his lady. We were there until about 6.00am and I doubt if the girls would have been able to cope with going to work the next day.

The partying was good, but it was secondary. Now, finally, with 22 fights under my belt, I felt ready for Michael Watson. Until I fought him, only two men, Winston Burnett and Reggie Miller, had lasted beyond the second round. I had reached another turning point in my life.

I
f Ambrose Mendy could have had his own way, I would have been a legend by lunchtime and a boxing deity by dinner. If he had had a war cry, it would have been ‘Gimme a gimmick — as many as possible’. He was as economical with the truth as he was generous with bullshit but, somehow, his outrageous hype caught the imagination and both the press and television were happy to come along for the ride, until it all went sour.

At 25, I had the world at my feet. I had everything a young man could ever wish for — fame, fast cars, a beautiful woman, two children, property and thousands of adoring fans. As undefeated Commonwealth middleweight champion, I had 22 wins under my belt and Michael Nunn had made an offer of £2 million to fight me. On the home front, I was besieged almost daily by the media who were clamouring for interviews in the run-up to my fight with Michael Watson on 21 May 1989, at Finsbury Park, London.

Mendy’s marketing skills, learned in prison, were a tribute to that institution. Love him or hate
him, he did the job brilliantly, and I had never earned as much money before. The World Sports Corporation (Ambrose’s grandly named company), which was really a one-man-band, used a motto which pleased as it teased: ‘You ain’t seen nuthin yet’. Now it went into overdrive to publicise my next fight.

Ambrose was master of the oral grand slam. He announced that everyone from Benny Hill, Page Three girls, Bob Geldof, Paula Yates, Engelbert Humperdinck and a host of other stars and sporting personalities had already bought tickets for the Benn-Watson fight to be held in a ‘supertent’ at Finsbury Park. Ambrose was never happier than when he held the floor and imagined he was manipulating the proceedings.

I went along with my guru’s ‘Benn’s Bad’ image. Lecturing to the eager journalists, Mendy agreed that style was more important than substance and added, ‘The first thing to create is brand awareness. We are about Nigel Benn the name rather than Nigel Benn the boxer.’ He boasted, ‘I was the first to see the importance of brand awareness in boxing and, in general, I see sport as a stall for your goods.’

He claimed that all 7,000 tickets to the fight had been sold although this was a little wide of the mark. Ambrose made sure my name was never out of the news. One day he leaked the story that my fists had been insured for £10 million at an annual cost of £35,000. Another day, my £60,000 white Carrera Turbo Cabriolet Porsche 911 had increased in value to £120,000. Mendy claimed someone had
offered to buy it from me for that price.

Posters of me shaking my fist with the words ‘Michael, I’m Bad and You Know It’ were posted all round London. This backfired a little as police and local authorities were becoming concerned over security arrangements at the tent in case fans were whipped up into a fighting frenzy. The British Boxing Board of Control said they were watching the situation closely.

With all the non-stop hype, Ambrose was publicly criticised by Frank Maloney, my promoter. He said, ‘They try to outshine the boxers when they really only work for them.’

Ambrose would hold court at the Phoenix Apollo restaurant in Stratford which had become known as the local for the ‘black pack’, a group which included successful sportsmen. The name was a misnomer, however, as we were not all black. Members of this high-earning group included John Barnes, Vinny Jones, Linford Christie, Chris Waddle, Garth Crooks, Michael Thomas, Cyril Regis, Laurie Cunningham, David Rocastle, John Fashanu and Paul Davies. Mendy would inevitably arrive late for meetings and make a grand entrance so that all eyes would be on him. Our photographs, dominated by a large central one of Ambrose, gave us celebrity status on the restaurant walls.

Some of our group would also meet in the West End, usually at Brown’s nightclub, and be ushered to the VIP room upstairs which was frequented by pop superstars like George Michael and Elton John.

If we had it, we flashed it. I showed off my
gold bracelets and my £21,000 watch which, to the surprise and initial consternation of the shop manager, I had paid for in cash. He thought he was going to be mugged when I reached into my pocket for a wad of notes. Pictures were taken of me in my designer clothes. Encouraged by Ambrose, I was now spending £5,000 a month on clothes for myself, Sharron and the kids.

Around this time, an offer of $3 million was made by Michael ‘Second To’ Nunn, the International Boxing Federation champion, to fight me but we rejected it out of hand. Nunn was my age and had just knocked out World Boxing Association champion Sumbu Kalambay in 88 seconds in Las Vegas. He was undefeated in 33 fights, 23 of them inside the distance. Ambrose told the press that the American could stick his offer. I would continue fighting for British and European titles before thinking about the World Championship, and by the time I got around to him, his offer would be $5 million.

Magazines were invited into my home and photographs taken of my £10,000 stereo, the Porsche, the jewellery and an
Italian
-
designed
oasis of plastic trees which would light up above our double bed. I was described as being a ‘real-life Rocky’.

Variations of the ‘Dark Destroyer’ tag were also applied to me: ‘Rambo’, ‘The Mean Machine’, ‘The People’s Champion’, ‘Mr Punch’. Ambrose’s philosophy was the more, the merrier. Another name could mean another bum on a seat, another ticket, a bigger purse. All news was good news.
Yesterday’s news, like yesterday’s blues, would soon be forgotten. Ambrose hinted to the press that over the next few years I would earn £10 million and they loved quoting big figures.

The boxing writers were also having a field day. My style was described as being what the Americans wanted: ‘Vicious, clinical winner … Benn is their kind of fighter, but in embryo, a man with natural gifts who knows that he needs a bit more study before going for broke.’ They said I had been: ‘… brilliantly marketed and promoted — so much so, the Americans have suddenly woken up to the fact there’s a second Big Benn in Britain.’

Just ten days before the fight, I was being lined up for a £1 million showdown with middleweight Mike McCallum, the new WBA champion, after he got a split decision against Herol Graham at the Albert Hall that month. However, the offer hinged on me beating Michael Watson.

The boxing experts were hedging their bets (mostly in favour of me) over the outcome of the fight, although all payed homage to my punching capacity. One wrote, ‘The Benn punch is a phenomenon which happens maybe on six occasions in a lifetime. Backed up by other qualities it makes for an outstanding champion, a Mike Tyson for instance.’

But Michael Watson, who is a good friend, was not to be dismissed. Respected boxing writer Colin Hart, who matched us evenly, predicted a sixth-round win for Michael and told his
Sun
readers it might be worth a 7-1 punt on Michael. Watson had more experience than me but even so I was the 3-1
on favourite with the bookies while Michael’s odds were 9-4. To win inside the distance I was 2-1 on and Michael 7-1. Former champions Alan Minter, Tony Sibson, Terry Downes and Herol Graham selected me to retain the Commonwealth title.

My trainer Brian Lynch still wouldn’t let me do much sparring before the fight and, on hindsight, that may have been a mistake. He said, ‘Nigel would have liked to but I wouldn’t — and don’t — let him do much. He’s not getting in there having the life bashed out of him … you don’t need to be walloped all the time.’

Others were not sure that this was a good idea and said so. Colin Hart remarked, ‘There’s a tremendous contrast in the way these two have prepared for their £300,000 battle. Benn has sparred only 12 rounds in training, while Watson will have done nearly 60 when he winds up today.

‘Surely no fighter on earth can learn to avoid blows unless he gets the right sparring practice? It’s a method that has been used by boxers from great champions to novices — from Johnny L Sullivan’s time to the present day.

‘Lynch may well be right, but I have a feeling the trainers who look after the likes of Joe Louis, Robinson, Ali, and Leonard would violently disagree.’

Michael had also been training with Rod Douglas, whom I had beaten as an amateur to win the ABA championship.

My fight with Michael was the biggest of my life. There were 8,000 people in the tent at Finsbury Park and all the razzmatazz was beginning to
affect me. I was over the moon at the £150,000 purse. It was the most I had ever been paid. However, in spite of all the hype, I always respected Michael’s ability. He was a good boxer with a superb boxing brain and he had more experience than me. I thought I would stop him but it turned out to be the other way.

I had been locked away from my family in preparation for the fight and the day before the bout I wanted to change my hairstyle. I had extensions put in and then had it all pulled back so tight it stretched my whole face. I became so
slant-eyed
that it would only need buck teeth for me to look like the first black Chinese in the ring.

I entered the arena with all the glitz and glamour of a movie star. I’d told Michael Watson I was bad, and I was looking badder than ever. Michael, though, looked twice my size, built like a brick shithouse. I thought, ‘It’s do or die here.’ Michael was looking cool and collected; I was giving it
large,
the Charley big potatoes.

We started eyeballing each other, and I became convinced that he couldn’t manage me. I didn’t think he was good enough to fight me — not in the same league. When the bell went for round one, I thought ‘This is it, let’s get started,’ and went for him hammer and tongs. I was throwing big bombs, trying to explode on his chin. I kept on blasting him, but he was covering up well and this went on for three rounds. All of a sudden I said to myself, ‘Fucking hell, nothing’s happening!’

Then, at the start of the fourth, he connected with a whole bunch of head shots that had me on
the ropes. I was in real trouble. The guy was taking all my best shots and was still smiling at me, saying, ‘Come on, Nigel!’ I couldn’t understand it, I really couldn’t. I thought I’d had it in the bag, but the man had sussed me.

Then, in the fifth, I heard my trainer call out, ‘Go on, Nige! Steam him!’ Steam him?

How do you do that, I thought. That’s not in any of the boxing pamphlets.

‘Go in there, mate, get in there and steam him!’

Well, I tried, but in the sixth, I realised I was all burned out. I had nothing left and he floored me with a sharp jab. I just lay there watching the ref count me out, and it was at that moment that I realised I wasn’t invincible. I’d lost my Commonwealth title, and I just thought, What am I going to do?

After losing to Michael Watson, I cried my eyes out. It was like having the whole world on my shoulders. A horrible, horrible experience. I was angry with those around me and my whole future, my world, crumbled before my eyes. With all the build up, the adoration, the adulation, defeat was even harder to take. There was an emptiness, a dark void. It was as if I had finished building the Canary Wharf skyscraper the previous day, only to see it crashing to the ground the next. I was utterly devastated.

Brian Lynch’s public criticism of me didn’t help either. He said, ‘Nigel is stark, ravin’ bonkers … We had the simplest plan, but Nigel threw it out of the window — I screamed and pleaded with him in the corner but he just did the opposite. He
certainly daren’t go on taking the kind of head punches Watson caught him with. There’s no doubt we are going to have to do a lot of work on his defence. When it became obvious he wasn’t going to get Watson’s chin, he should have switched his attack to the body to bring Michael’s hands down.’

To this day, I don’t know what Lynch meant by ‘Steam him, Nige.’ As I said, I couldn’t find it in any of the manuals and I think he would have done better to keep his comments to himself. I was upset and humiliated, but Michael deserved praise for what he had done. I paid the price for making mistakes. Every time I threw a punch, Michael seemed to know it was coming and countered me.

My brother John said, ‘I knew Nigel would lose after round one. At that time, he had built such a reputation he was playing too much to the crowd. There was too much of the “I can knock out anybody” syndrome. A lot of that I put down to Ambrose. And his hairstyle didn’t help in the least. It contributed a lot to his face swelling up because his skin was pulled back so tightly. It was all done for image and was totally unnecessary. In addition to that, he’d spent four hours in a chair having his hair plaited.’ I suppose he was right. A lot of things contributed to my defeat that night — maybe my image was one of them.

Michael said he had respected me so much that he had trained like a maniac. ‘I expected Nigel to make an explosive start but never realised just how fast he is. I felt the power of his punches on my gloves and I knew I couldn’t take the risk of
dropping my guard for a second. I knew I had to bide my time and, although I was dazed for a moment in the third round, I never let him land a clean shot on my chin. I did resent it that Nigel was getting all the publicity when I knew I was the better man. But I’ve got to hand it to him that, without Nigel and his image, I wouldn’t have got this fight or the fortune that goes with it.’

Mickey Duff offered me advice for a comeback. Out would go my flamboyant management led by Ambrose Mendy; out would go trainer Brian Lynch’s revolutionary approach to training based on a minimum of sparring; out would go the Hollywood-Rocky-style razzmatazz on big-fight nights. He also said he wouldn’t let me fight for six months.

For my part, there were only two things I could have done: pack in boxing or start again. I thought long and hard and decided that losing was not going to be the end of the world, despite how I felt at the time, and that other people had lost and bounced back to become world champions. This is what I would do. Furthermore, it had become apparent that my previous victories, because they had been so decisive, had given me a limited round experience in the ring. That would now change.

Ambrose was not to be thwarted. The day after my defeat, he announced that my next fight would be in America in September and that American TV were sufficiently impressed by my defeat to feature my comeback. He said they would put up the money for me to meet a top-
ten-rated
fighter.