Nigel Benn (14 page)

Sparring with top-class fighters had also done wonders for my confidence. In three months I had learned more than in the previous three years. Freddie Pendleton, a world-class boxer, taught me to stay cool and pick my punches. I also learned to pace myself and not go hell for leather like I did against Watson. I used to go out and try to blow away my opponent and wouldn’t listen to a word anyone said before the next round when I would carry on in exactly the same way. That had all changed.

In the three months I was away, I was missing my family and Sharron and the kids terribly and made up my mind to return to England immediately after my fight. During my absence I had spent thousands of dollars on phonecalls to Sharron and had even considered marriage to her the following year, but right now the most important thing was to win.

When they put me in the ring with Jorge, I took one look at him and thought they’d put me in the ring with an animal. He was tough. No boy this one. He was a grown man. This guy had fought with the top men — the real McCoy. I instantly realised that winning this fight was going to be worth all my previous victories put together. It’s
not until you step into the ring with fighters like Amparo that you find out how good you are. And especially for me, because I knew that if I lost this fight I was finished. I was more scared of losing than of anything else.

In the first round I was banging away, but I knew I had to be careful not to tire myself out. I had to make a good impression, so I was jabbing and hitting, but my hand kept bouncing of his head. At one point, I flung myself back on the ropes, and then threw myself forward, punching him in the head. I hit him so hard I thought he would be out cold. It felt like my hand had shattered, but the guy just shook his head and took it.

The fight went the full ten rounds, and I got a conclusive win on points. Afterwards, I remember crying with relief. This win meant I had my foothold in America, but it also made me realise I had a lot to learn. If I’d had that fight a year earlier, I’d have been knackered after the sixth round. But now the Dark Destroyer was back on the world stage.

After the fight, I returned to England and was back with Sharron. It was great being back with her and Dominic and Sadé. We were one, big happy family, reunited after my absence. After being separated from them for three months, I realised how important it was for me to have the family. But it was also important to be able to provide for Sharron and the kids and that meant concentrating on my next fight.

During my short visit home, I was invited to
appear on the
Kilroy
programme to discuss whether boxing encouraged violence in youngsters. Ironically, Ambrose, who had come to join me, was involved in a scrap outside the BBC’s Lime Grove Studios in west London. His car nearly collided with another vehicle and the two drivers had something to say about it. The police were called but no charges were brought.

I predicted a one-round victory for my second US fight. My opponent was Jose Quinones, a tough Puerto Rican, and our bout was set for 1 December in Las Vegas. I said I would go out and crack him on the chin in the first round. I needed to do something a little dramatic for America to sit up and take notice. Back in Britain, a number of people, including Mickey Duff, were surprised I was taking on someone as tough as Quinones who had KO’d 20 of his 26 wins. I was feeling good, really fit and 100 per cent psyched for a victory. It was going to be a good Christmas.

I knew Quinones was tough. I’d seen him beat Errol Christie, and he’d flattened Doug De Witt. But I was cool about my fight with him, I felt good and relaxed, and I knew I wasn’t going to waste a lot of shots on him. The fight took place at the Hacienda Hotel in Las Vegas.

People started calling me the English Hagler after my fight with Quinones. That was a bit over the top, but it was a good fight for me and I took him out in 170 seconds of the first round. My new fighting style was beginning to show — I just took my time and picked my shots well, using my jabs. When I caught him with an uppercut, I didn’t
realise how much I’d hurt him. There were a load of English fans in the audience, though, and when I heard how hard they were cheering, I looked into his eyes and saw they were rolling. Out, mate!

Victory meant that a world title was again within my reach, much closer than I had thought. My promoter Bob Arum wanted me to fight Mike McCallum in England the following February. But there was also a challenge for the new WBO title which Iran Barkley and Doug De Witt were contesting in January. Arum had complete faith in me. He said I was an exception to the usual image Americans had of British fighters. Over there, British boxers were not thought to be much good. I had shown otherwise. He said I could follow Sugar Ray Leonard and Roberto Duran who were the last of the great legends in boxing. I could be his man of the Nineties. He made me feel good.

After the fight, I had planned to return immediately to England but stayed on a few days in Las Vegas for the Sugar Ray Leonard-Roberto Duran fight. I wished I had come home earlier. Along with others, I left disgusted after the eleventh round. It was pathetic. Leonard held on to his WBC world super-middleweight title against Duran and I never felt so let down. That was the biggest disappointment for me. I’d been looking forward to the fight all week and it turned out to be boring rubbish.

Given the opportunity, I would have got in the ring with either of them. Duran put up a pathetic fight. He used to be a god among fighters, the most ferocious of them all. What a let down. I wanted it
to be a proud moment in boxing. I was all keyed up and sitting with my idol Mike Tyson and showbusiness celebrities like Michael Jackson. I’d even bought a special suit and was looking really smart. But I might have as well come in a tracksuit and trainers. It taught me one thing — you have to know when to quit.

W
e called the Billionaire Boys Club the BBC. It was my idea to start this small and exclusive club with about five or six pals, all of whom had deep pockets and long arms and liked enjoying themselves. It is still going today although some of the faces have changed. Of the original club members, two of them are doing very long prison sentences, including 14 years for armed robbery, one is dead and another went off his head.

There are five of us now — Rolex Ray; Chris, a diamond broker; Geoff; Albert, a Chechen who lives in Moscow and was Soviet light-heavyweight boxing champion; and me.

We live life to the full, have been known to take over front-row seats at events and always insist on the best tables at clubs and restaurants. We drive the biggest cars and live like pop stars, or possibly even better, because we have the good fortune to conduct most of our activities with a degree of anonymity and so rarely get reported.

One of the boys once booked a yacht for the
weekend for £12,000 and then flew us out to its Mediterranean berth by aeroplane. Once there, he ferried in some lady friends by helicopter and we enjoyed a millionaire’s break. When the good times rolled, they really rolled. We once had a stretch limousine to take us partying to the Barbican Hotel and spent three days and three nights there with an unlimited supply of vintage champagne and classy ladies.

We always did things in style, no matter what our circumstances might have been at the time. Albert, who lives in Moscow, was brought over to Canada to box after becoming Soviet champion. He was only about 21 at the time and, when we met, he was with a group of Russian boxers in Miami who weren’t getting much money while training for fights. Ray took Albert under his wing and became his manager. We called Albert ‘Gucci man’ because he was given $100 subsistence which was meant to last him one month and he spent it all on the first day on a $100 Gucci shirt.

He was a good fighter but, after the break-up of the Soviet Union, he returned to Grozny on the Caspian Sea. His father was an influential businessman and friend of the President. The next we heard of Albert was that he was living in Moscow and had two Mercedes 500SL convertibles and was worth pots of money. He’d made it big in banking and didn’t bother returning to his architectural studies at a famous Moscow college. Since we became friends, he comes to all my fights and after-fight parties. The Chechens would like him to return home and become mayor of Grozny
but he is presently recovering from some bullet wounds that he sustained while on a home visit.

Like the others, he has a great sense of humour, loves dance, techno and garage music and is a hit with the ladies. Once, he spent
£
40,000 in two days while courting a beautiful Israeli girl who works for a top jeweller. He and Ray met her in Stringfellow’s where she was a bit stand-offish at first, but she soon became very much friendlier. Not so long ago, Albert brought over one of his Chechen friends and his five-year-old son. They went shopping in Harrods and Ray offered to buy the little boy a toy machine-gun. The lad cast it aside with contempt and his father had to explain to Ray that, back home, he owned a real
machine-gun
. Albert always said he loved the circus and pageantry involved in boxing as much as the sport itself. We trained together in Miami and he never forgot Ray’s generosity to him.

I returned to London after my second victory to spend Christmas at home with Sharron and the children. It was great to see them all and one of the first things I did was to go on a shopping spree for some clothes. I spent £25,000 in less than half an hour. I wanted to look the part when I returned to America for my next fight against Sanderline Williams who’d been substituted for Michael Olajide at Atlantic City on 14 January. That fight was going to be one of my most important because a win would get me a chance at a title match.

All the boxers and stars I had met in the States dressed beautifully and I wasn’t going to be outdone by them. I bought 20 suits, 30 pairs of
shoes and 40 shirts as well as ties and belts. I could afford the money because I’d just signed a fresh five-fight deal with Bob Arum for £1.25 million.

Everything was being planned for a fight between me and Roberto Duran in London in May if certain obstacles could be overcome. Barry Hearn and his Matchroom organisation had linked up with Bob Arum to stage the fight but were having problems with the British Boxing Board of Control. Doubts had been expressed over Duran’s fitness and Ambrose angrily announced that I would never again fight in Britain if the council prevented the bout from going ahead. I had been promised a purse of £650,000 if the fight took place, although it was dependent on me winning all my bouts in the States.

Other British boxers, including Herol Graham and Michael Watson, got the hump over the proposed match saying they were ahead of me in ratings and should therefore be given the opportunity to challenge for a world title ahead of me. After the Williams fight I was rated number 5 in the World Boxing Organisation, number 6 in the International Boxing Federation, number 7 in the World Boxing Association and number 9 in the World Boxing Council.

Liverpool-born Canadian Michael Olajide had to pull out of our fight because of a cut hand and I had to fight Williams who was from Cleveland and had gone the distance with Iran Barkley and Frank Tate and had never been knocked out. I had asked Sharron to come to the fight and made the mistake of looking for her in the crowds during the bout. In
that brief distraction, Williams smacked me on the chin and knocked out my gumshield, so I told her not to come to future fights.

I beat Olajide on points, though, and was looking forward to being able to challenge Roberto Duran for his WBC title. I was really disappointed when I heard the news that the fight with Duran had fallen through. It would have been a big draw and the purse could have increased to
£
1 million.

The WBC had stripped him of his title because he didn’t defend it within the required period. Roberto had until 24 January to appeal but nothing was heard from him. Instead, I challenged Doug De Witt for his World Boxing Organisation middleweight title in Atlantic City on 29 April.

John Morris, the secretary of the British Boxing Board of Control, said his organisation would not recognise me as champion if I won the title. He said, ‘We do not recognise the WBO.’

My fight was to be part of a triple bill. George Foreman would be fighting Cuban Jose Ribalta and Hearns would defend against Michael Olajide.

I flew back to London with Terry Marsh and Ambrose, arriving at Gatwick on 17 January. That was when Terry was arrested and charged with Frank’s attempted murder. I went with him when he was taken under escort to Hackney police station where a special squad interrogated him. We were both surprised and shocked at his arrest. A few days later, we were told that Ambrose Mendy’s offices in Tower Bridge had been broken into and secret documents relating to Terry and me had been taken. Mendy said, ‘Whoever did this
knew exactly what they were looking for,’ and claimed that boxing enemies had paid to have his offices ransacked.

One of my favourite London nightclubs at this time was Jacqueline’s, run by David Simones. I used to go there at weekends to relax and listen to music, and I got pally with David who, as I said, became my agent. One of our favourite tricks was to do wheelies with my Porsche in Wardour Street. He claims I went through four clutches and two gearboxes in less than a year, but I think it was only three clutches. Dave said my wheelie was the longest he had ever seen in the West End.

We had lots of parties down at his club. Kissogram girls would be invited to my birthday celebrations and stag parties, and there were always Page Three girls among the fun crowd who frequented the Soho club. When David launched his Dream Girls dance troupe, I was at the club with Gazza, John Barnes, Gary Mason and a load of other top sporting personalities, as well as most of the cast of
The
Bill
and
EastEnders.
Gazza and I tried to jump on stage and dance with the girls, but David stopped us.

Shortly before I was due to leave for Miami to train for the fight against Doug De Witt, an incident from the past reared its ugly head and I was attacked with ammonia which was squirted into my face as I parked my Porsche. The attacker ran off and I had to be helped to hospital. Thankfully, there was no permanent damage but I was temporarily blinded in one eye.

I knew who my assailant was. He was a
former friend who, oddly enough, would become so again. At that time, however, if I’d tried to get even with him, our vendetta would have continued until one of us had been killed.

The problem arose over my cheque book which someone else had taken and this chap had somehow become involved. Friction was building up between us and, at one point, I considered shooting him but then decided that everyone would know it was me. It’s just as well I didn’t because he was the one who saved me when I reached a really low point in my life.

A great deal of pressure was being piled on me from every corner over the next fight. I had many detractors who were envious of the amount of publicity my fights were getting. There was jealousy from other British boxers who could not get a title fight and then there was pressure from my promoters. I not only had to win the next fight but I had to win it in style. It had to look spectacular, otherwise the paying public would not be interested in watching me fight on television. If I looked good, then future prize money could be measured in millions. Bob Arum was talking about setting up a fight with Tommy Hearns if I beat De Witt.

The British press were not too optimistic about my chances with De Witt and harped on about my defeat by Watson. Even Colin Hart, who’d accurately predicted the round in which I’d lose to Watson, thought I’d be out by the sixth round.

Doug De Witt, the man described as having an ‘iron hand’, said there would be no contest in the
fight against me. ‘Benn doesn’t know what he’s in for,’ he said, ‘because whichever way he wants to fight, I’m much better than him … I should enjoy myself with Benn because he’s definitely the world’s most over-hyped fighter. He’s going to have a war on his hands and it’s going to be interesting to see his reaction when he discovers he can’t hurt me.’

De Witt’s career had been quite impressive. In 42 fights he had lost 6 and drawn 4 against
high-class
opponents. He sparred with Marvin Hagler when he was 18 and 7 years later became number 3 to the world champion. The fight was at Caesar’s Palace in Atlantic City. What a run-down, seedy dump that town was. There were drug pushers and prostitutes on every corner. I hated the place. But that’s where the fight was, so that’s where I went.

De Witt was a serious fighter, but I knew he didn’t have my determination and, as soon as I set eyes on him in the ring, I knew I was going to win. When you’ve got a world title within your grasp, it gives you the balls to give what it takes. He was a mean-looking man, though. The guy looked like he’d had his face kicked in by a mule. His nose had been broken and pushed flat, which made him look even more menacing. Before the fight started, De Witt walked over to me in the ring and said, ‘You’re going down.’

‘I might be going down.’ I replied, ‘but you’re
staying
down!’

And then the bell rang.

From the beginning of the first round, the
punches were heavy, and it wasn’t long before blood began to trickle from De Witt’s left eye. I could see it was bothering him, which gave me all the confidence I needed. In the second round, I kept going for the cut. It was a real slugfest on both sides, punch after punch after punch. Suddenly, I found myself taking a left hook which put me on the floor. But even when he put me down it didn’t hurt me — I stayed down until the ref counted eight, and then I was up again, hitting him with a big left hook. There were only a few seconds remaining in the round, and De Witt had lost his chance.

I carried on battering him all over the place throughout the next few rounds, bashing the granny out of him. When you have to cut down a big tree, you keep chopping away and eventually it will fall — you don’t just knock it down with one blow. That’s what it was like with De Witt. He went down in the eighth when I bashed him with a left hook and then a right — just to be sure. He fell to his knees, with his hands stretched out in front of him. The count went to nine before he struggled to his feet and took the hardest right uppercut I could muster before going down again. He hit the canvas for a third time in the round after a final left hook, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to go on.

We both took some punishment that night. De Witt saved every punch with his face, and I’d bashed him round the ring and split both his eyes. His ear was so smashed up it had turned blue, and his trainer said it was the worst injury he’d ever seen in his life. I’d never seen a man take so much
pain. After eight rounds, his body just couldn’t take any more.

My eye was split as well, and had to be stiched up. I also broke my wrist with the very last punch of the fight. But, you know, I hardly thought about that — I was 25 years old and had just been declared WBO World Middleweight Champion. Now the sky was the limit.

A lot of people think that was my best fight. Bob Arum was delighted. ‘I told you he was the British Marvin Hagler,’ he told everyone.

It was a fantastic night for British boxing, too, even if the British Boxing Board of Control didn’t recognise my WBO title. The secretary, John Morris, said afterwards, ‘… I take great pleasure in Nigel’s victory and in fact have sent him a letter of warm congratulation. Personally, I am delighted by a result which is good for British boxing. However, the fact remains that we do not at the present time recognise the WBO … Certainly Benn could defend his title here and the WBO could provide officials, if they were recognised as judges and referees by a commission we recognised, New Jersey, for instance. We aim to control firmly but I don’t think public confrontation benefits anyone.’