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Call
me a weed, but I'm no good at gory leisure. I could barely watch a man's
ear being sawn off in the Quentin Tarantino film Reservoir Dogs, let alone
see one being bitten off, live. It may not happen in every boxing bout
but it did to Evander Holyfield, when he took on Mike Tyson. As far as
I could ever tell, violence and boxing went hand in hand. But sometimes
you're tempted to test your nerve, and so I headed off to London's Leicester
Square.
Beside the Empire Cinema, the Equinox Discotheque is difficult to spot.
Its dusty name is far smaller and lower down than the cinema sign and
has lost some of the neon lights on its lettering. But tonight, deep down
inside, top entertainment is taking place. Flanking the door to a cave-like
entrance are two guards you wouldn't want to argue with. Inside I'm frisked
by a tough-looking woman, checking for weapons no doubt.
Since I'm early for the show (the first bout is at 7.45pm), I'm invited
'to meet the guys'. Sounds ideal - the boxing lowdown, straight from the
combatants. 'Round here', someone points and I'm nudged down a corridor
to a small room. Sprawled inside are four lean boys in baggy tracksuits.
I reckon they must be the boxer's younger brothers until one of them smiles,
'Hi, I'm Ashley.'
Full-time boxer Ashley Theophane will be fighting in the first bout. He
has a warm voice, cropped hair and bare arms bound in tattoos. His slim,
toned body could pass for a dancer's. He says he lost his last fight but
this time he's feeling good. I ask how he deals with nerves.
'The adrenaline challenges them,' he says. 'Actually, it's worse before
the fight. I feel safe in the ring.'
Theopane started boxing aged seven, inspired by the likes of Mike Tyson.
His mother, perhaps understandably, doesn't like to watch him fight, although
his girlfriend's 'cool' about it.
'I've been very lucky - she's coming to see me tonight. But I keep focused.
I won't see her the week before a bout.'
Next, I meet South African Ruben Groenewald, relaxing until the fifth
bout. Dressed in a grey and white tracksuit, a vest and short, white tennis
socks, the super middleweight seems as gentle as Theopane. His slender
feet are resting on the seat opposite.
'I started boxing when I was eight years old. My mum's OK about me boxing
and my dad's boxing mad. He lost a son of 11 from his previous marriage
in a car crash. That son had been a very good amateur boxer. So when I
was born, 11 years later, Dad felt like God had given him a sign. They
were both here when I won World Title in Manchester, at the MEN Arena,
in front of 18,000 people.'
So far, these boxers seem pretty civilised. "That's right" says
Lawrence Lustig, our (sport) photographer and once-amateur-boxer. "They're
very controlled people. A boxer knows that if he loses his temper he'll
get knocked down."
Then I meet David Kehoe.
'My car just got clamped,' he snarls. 'I'm in a really bad mood…'.
Kehoe really can't keep still. He has barbed wire tattoos over both biceps
and a flame creeping up his lower back. Wearing black booties, white socks,
a mouthguard, white silk shorts and a boxing belt, he's sparring. This
entails pounding-away at the gloves of a skinny assistant.
Medical officer Dr Ashwin Patel is standing by. With impressions of the
hard- core combat to come, I hadn't expected to meet a doctor. But the
British Board of Boxing Control (BBBC) rules there must always be at least
two doctors, an anaesthetist and medical officer at every bout. Patel
points out resuscitation equipment and a long red stretcher lying beside
the ring. I'm amazed that a sport founded on the intent to harm can be
so well
medically attended. According to Patel, all boxers have to have an annual
full medical including blood tests for hepatitis and HIV, X-rays and MRI
head scans. There are smaller checks before and after every fight. Before
a fight can even begin, a document has to be signed and given to an inspector.
We'll also inform the nearest neuro unit.'
The first bout is announced: David Kehoe vs Ashley Theopane. Popping into
the ring, the boxers already seem to be competing- but in tattoos. Kehoe's
left bicep reads ME AGAINST THE WORLD; THUG LIFE shrugs Theopane's abdomen.
He also has a tiger on his calf and a python in the middle of his back.
By round three, the bouts are getting tougher and 'sweat-spray' is starting
to fly. When Kehoe begins to grin manically, I reckon his temper has got
the better of him. One minute his eyes have glazed over, the next they
have turned pink. When his head starts wobbling like a shellfish on a
stick I start to feel very weird. I can't understand how someone who seems
barely conscious can throw and take punches. But I'm also riveted; right
until the end. And I'm glad that Theophane won, if only because he lost
the last fight. I head to the bar for a celebratory drink - I had survived
my first fight. Suddenly, I get a tap on the shoulder. 'Hi - I'm The Beast.'
The short but attractive, trendy man on my right looks more like an actor
than anything bestial but it turns out he's a hard-core fighter.
'If you thought that was something you should see "cage rage"
- it's ultimate fighting with fewer rules.' This, he tells me, involves
fighters being thrown into a cage together and features none of the niceties
of the boxing ring, such as they are.
The Equinox has got some good acts tonight but, for all its talented inhabitants,
the nightclub seems an unlikely boxing venue. The back rooms have limited
sparring space, forcing warm-ups to take place in corners instead, in
full audience view, before bouts. A glance at the several small rows around
the dance floor says it all.
Lustig explains that boxing isn't especially profitable, at least, not
for the boxers. 'They're paid per fight,' he says. 'Top of the bill, you're
earning £2,000 per fight, but the earlier bouts are about £600
to £800. The trainer takes 25 per cent of the purse [winnings] and
the manager has to be paid. There's BBBC tax and income tax, so not much
money is earned.' In that case why do boxers bother? 'Because, of course,
they all think the big fight is around the corner.'
It's time to meet heavyweight Julius Francis who fought Mike Tyson in
the latter's comeback bout in Manchester five years ago. Francis is having
his thighs oiled. Just one of his would outweigh my two together - and
I'm hardly a nymph. Despite his boxing status, his ego does not match
his build. 'I take every fight as it comes,' he says. 'The size of the
crowd doesn't matter. I'm not fighting them.'
Francis is lovely, for all his four gold teeth and waistline, which is
as big as a tractor tyre and just as rigid. He's taken a moment out to
talk to me. 'I'm most wound up between now and the first punch, and then
I'm focused on the bout,' he says. He's now having a huge, red leather
'protector' installed around his groin, and bandages - or 'wraps' - wound
over his hands. The boxing gloves will come on top, last. 'There's always
a certain amount of fear - but I think that fear is a healthy thing,'
says Francis. 'I keep very sharp and focused.'
Francis's determined, practical attitude is not reserved only for himself.
In his free time he mentors children or takes them on orienteering weekends.
'It's good to give kids a more positive outlook,' he shrugs modestly.
Halfway through the programme, the adrenaline's hotting up, both in and
out of the ring. Someone in the crowd exclaims, 'It's like the Coliseum!'
Testosterone is gathering, a stink of body odour and kebabs as the DJ
turns up a U2 track. I'm back in my seat ringside for the fourth bout:
Julius Francis vs. Micky Steeds. Since it's a heavyweight clash, there
will be eight rounds. The boxers appear in the ring and bounce about a
bit to a track called Elevation. Francis looks even larger in the ring,
and sports a fang-like mouth guard. Steeds, in red suede boxing booties,
looks flabby by comparison. He's white and has a tiny nose, hard blue
eyes and a goatee, as well as straight grey eyebrows that slant upwards
like a roof. The bell tolls and someone shouts, 'Scratch his eyes out!'
After eight rounds of pummelling each other, it's suddenly all over. Francis
launches his arms in the air, thinking he's won. He's wrong, though -
his arms come down and Steeds is declared the winner. There are mixed
boos and cheers.
Soon the booing quietens down, boxers leave the ring and soul legend Jocelyn
Brown steps up. Her voice is like a velvet thunderbolt, massaging me inside
and out. I expected fighting to be mad, cruel and bad. But clearly that's
not what boxing's about. Perhaps I'll call The Beast…
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