Warrior

Tris Dixon

Description

Matthew Saad Muhammad was arguably the most exciting fighter of all time. He was WBC light-heavyweight champion from 1979 to 1981, but it wasn't what he did that captured the hearts of fight fans, it was how he did it. Fight after fight was war after war. He would get beaten up, cut, dropped and virtually knocked out only to astonishingly rally and score come-from-behind victories. But through it all there was a shocking backstory. Abandoned by his birth parents aged just four, Matthew was raised in a Catholic orphanage and then adopted by a Portuguese family. He fell into a life of gangs and prison before boxing provided an escape, becoming a vehicle for him to find his real identity: who was he, and who were his parents? His rise to stardom was followed by a long, sad decline as he travelled the world trying to reclaim his former glories. He spent his final years in a Philadelphia homeless shelter, plagued by health issues. This is the definitive account of Matthew's incredible but heart-rending story.

Sujets

• Catholicisme
• Xian de Boxing
• Boxing

Informations

• Publié par: Pitch Publishing
• Date de parution: 03 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781801502986
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

First published by Pitch Publishing, 2022
Pitch Publishing
A2 Yeoman Gate
Yeoman Way
Durrington
BN13 3QZ
www.pitchpublishing.co.uk
Tris Dixon, 2022
Every effort has been made to trace the copyright.
Any oversight will be rectified in future editions at the earliest opportunity by the publisher.
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A CIP catalogue record is available for this book from the British Library
Print ISBN 9781801500708
eBook ISBN 9781801502986
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CONTENTS
Foreword by Frank Stallone
Prologue: Abandoned
1. No Going Back
2. Nothing Else But to Box
3. The Shaft
4. Swapping Thunderbolts
5. A Matt Franklin Special
6. Uncrowned Champions
7. The Champ
8. Picking the Lock
9. The Masterpiece
10. I Cannot Keep This Type of Thing Up
11. That Was That
12. I Have to Look for Other Goals
13. I Knew I Was Going to Find Them
14. Burden and Guilt
15. Peanuts
16. Mercy Killing
17. Coming Apart at the Seams
18. The Crash
19. Scrambling
20. Reality Check
21. Hall of Famer
22. Roving
23. Homeless
24. The End
25. Identification
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Matthew Saad Muhammad Fight Record
References
Photos
FOREWORD by FRANK STALLONE
THE FIRST time I met Matthew Saad Muhammad, he was still Matthew Franklin. I tapped him on his back. It was like concrete. Inside his sharp white suit was a physique of solid muscle and on his face was that great, unforgettable smile. He was such a handsome guy and always so well-dressed. But he was never a bragger and had such a nice way about him.
He was about 6ft tall, a good-sized light-heavyweight and very strong. I would go to his fights at the Spectrum in Philadelphia. I d sit at ringside, and watch Matthew Franklin go to work.
His best defence was his offence. I used to yell at his corner, Keep your fucking right hand up, because he was getting hit by left hooks all the time. He d look over at me and I d say, Don t look at me, look at the guy punching you!
But if Matthew caught you, he d really hurt you. His chin was incredible, too, and his recuperative powers were as amazing as his will to win. He was a real warrior. You couldn t hurt him and Matthew got hit by the best of them. They d think they had him but he d catch them with a shot and that was it. For a time, he was unstoppable.
Matthew fought Marvin Johnson twice and Marvin was a tough bastard. He could punch, he was left-handed, an Olympic bronze medallist. You had two young guys in their twenties, hard as nails. Marvin had skills, then it turned into a war. Matthew won both of those fights.
I was at the first John Conteh fight in Atlantic City, and I thought Conteh was an excellent fighter. A good boxer and a good puncher. It was another great bout. Conteh was winning but Matthew, like he always used to, started getting to him later and John just couldn t keep him off. Saad was so damn strong. He was a tough, tough guy.
I knew Nick and Joe Belfiore, his first trainers. I went backstage after the Conteh fight to say hello to Matt, who had recently changed his name, and he s surrounded by people with sunglasses and bow ties. They were giving me some attitude before Nick told them I was okay. Who were these guys? Nick explained that Matthew had joined the Nation of Islam. He said, You know what the sad thing is, Frank? He s going to end up broke and punchy. And that s how he ended up.
Nick and Joe loved Matt. They treated him like he was a son. When the Nation of Islam took over, he put those guys on the back shelf. I think it broke their hearts, because they thought of him so highly.
Back in the day, Matthew had it all. He had a white Steinway piano, a Rolls-Royce, all the bullshit. He had a really nice life yet ended up living in a hostel, which was terrible because he made good money.
By the time he fought Dwight Braxton, who would later be known as Dwight Muhammad Qawi, Matthew had taken too many shots and he d taken a lot of punishment. He went for the Clubber Lang part in Rocky III . I remember me and Sly talked about him, but I was only there when Earnie Shavers and Joe Frazier came down and read. I knew they weren t going to get the part.
Many years later, he was on the Rocky Balboa set and Sly said, Saad s here . I could tell Matthew was shot . He was a little heavier, maybe 205lbs, and when I talked to him, he sounded a little slurry. But that great smile was still there. He should have retired after that first Qawi fight and he might have been okay. It s always after they lose the title that the downside comes, when the accumulated punches take hold.
People talked about his life story becoming a movie and I don t know why it didn t happen. Boxing movies are a really hard sell. I think Rocky was big because it s more of a love story and Rocky just happens to be a boxer. In boxing, there are a lot of tragic stories but Matthew was always Matt, this nice guy with a great heart. I saw him at a reunion with Yaqui Lopez and they were getting on so well but Matthew was friends with everyone he fought.
Back in the day, he was always trying to better himself. One time I tried to get him to come out with me and he said he couldn t come because he had elocution lessons.
He was my man. I loved him.
PROLOGUE
ABANDONED 15-16 JUNE, 1959
STAY CLOSE together.
The youngest boy was almost out of the front door when the older child spun around and nodded subtly to the woman.
The door slammed behind the boys and they were off and running down the street.
They laughed and joked, pushed one another and played and then, with time passing by, the older boy vanished.
The younger child, only four or five, grinned happily and began to search for his brother.
They had gone from tag to hide and seek , clearly. The boy looked excitedly behind parked cars, then started checking beneath them.
He ran down one end of a bustling street and investigated heaving avenues. No luck. He ran back to where he last saw his brother but the older boy hadn t returned.
The youngster s enthusiasm wasn t dampened. He crossed the street and went the other way, peering through doorways, running in front of slow walkers and shoppers to try and catch up with his brother.
Was he somewhere out of sight, watching the little boy s every move?
Was he about to jump out and start laughing again?
Time started to get on and the young lad s excitement and optimism were starting to transform in to a panic.
His legs were growing tired, his feet were getting sore.
He ran and ran, not knowing where he was going and before long, he didn t know how to get back to where he had started, either.
It started to get dark. The boy was so shy he couldn t bring himself to ask for help and as the sun started to shrink and the night air began to bite, he thought he might get in trouble when he got home for catching a cold.
Distress and desperation replaced expectation. If it had been a game, he was losing badly.
He tried to talk to several strangers but couldn t form words, let alone sentences and then he d run off, terrified. Sometimes he would run up to a person but be so scared he would just run again. He muttered, panicked, a shocked look across his face and then he d sprint on, hoping to catch his brother.
Time ticked by, minutes turned into hours, and he had no idea where he was and the busy period when no one stopped to talk was replaced by a still, urban quiet.
That despair gave way to a lonely, silent acceptance that he could do no more.
His legs betrayed him so he found some steps to perch on.
Lit glumly by streetlights, he soon curled into a ball and rested. Rarely someone would walk by, the echoes of sirens blared in the distance, but soon the noise faded and his only memory years later was of lying down there, thinking he could do nothing and no one could help him.
Then his eyes closed.
***
The morning traffic brought him round.
The boy stirred, hearing busy commuters and the sound of leather shoes on tarmac, horns tooting and engines revving. He had no idea where he was but in the bright sun, he saw a police officer directing traffic.
Hungry and lost, he made his way towards her, eventually stood next to her and froze.
Hello, she said, ushering him to the pavement.
He looked at her.
She repeated herself. Hello.
Nothing.
What s your name?
Where are your parents?
Nothing.
She looked around, over his shoulders and across the street, half expecting a mother or father to be frenetically running around looking for the boy, but there was no one.
She asked the same questions again. The boy didn t say anything but he didn t take his gaze off her.
A few minutes went by and the police officer started to realise that the little boy was lost.
She led him to her police car, letting him sit up front, and they made their way through busy Philadelphia.
The boy stared anxiously out of the car window, hoping to see his brother or recognise another relative, but there were strangers everywhere.
At the police station he waited.
Occasionally someone would ask him his name but he couldn t get any words out. Hours dragged by. Every time a door opened, he looked up, expecting a family member to come and pick him up.
No one came to claim me, he would say mournfully, shaking his head decades later.
He spent a night at the police station anxiously waiting, managing little sleep but the next morning two women came