Now he was being asked to swallow it again and forfeit millions of dollars as Jones and Rappaport insisted on an even split of the riches instead of the customary arrangement of the champion getting the larger purse. “If Cooney wasn’t white, he wouldn’t be nothing,” declared the champion who had come up the ranks the hard way and had swallowed his pride more than once after finally winning his championship. This fact wasn’t lost on Holmes, who resented Cooney’s success and didn’t shy away from bluntly stating the truth. Cooney may have been unproven as a legitimate championship fighter, but Madison Avenue already loved him and he had celebrity status and major endorsements despite having yet to face a true ring threat. There’s a difference.”įollowing the Norton win, negotiations began in earnest for a Holmes vs Cooney title match, negotiations which dragged on for months as Jones and Rappaport, knowing exactly what their fighter was worth, insisted on big money. He can punch, but I don’t know if he can fight. As boxing trainer Paddy Flood put it, “I don’t get a sense of confidence from him. Son of a domineering father, at times he appeared to lack belief in himself and was only too quick to defer decisions to his handlers. Close observers did note that Cooney exhibited a sensitivity and psychological fragility unusual in a prizefighter. Jones and Rappaport refused to risk the huge payday guaranteed by Cooney’s sudden stardom with more challenging matches, perhaps because they knew something about “Gentleman” Gerry that everyone else did not. Cooney’s demolition of Norton made a huge impact and cemented his reputation as the hardest puncher in the heavyweight division and a logical challenger for the title. Cooney again impressed by viciously pounding Norton’s head like it was a speed bag and forcing a stoppage in just 54 seconds, a Garden record, but hard-nosed boxing experts held out for more competitive matches against some of the younger contenders, like Michael Dokes and Greg Page.īut if some boxing people remained skeptical, the public did not. His victories over Young and Lyle should have been the precursors to clashes with younger, tougher competition but instead they matched Cooney with an over-the-hill Ken Norton in Madison Square Garden. To his credit, Cooney eschewed all talk of race and insisted he just wanted to become the best boxer he could be, but that ambition proved difficult to pursue given the nervous tendencies of his managers, Dennis Rappaport and Mike Jones. Just like that, boxing had a new star and the first white American heavyweight with the goods since at least Jerry Quarry, maybe since Marciano. He started to attract attention in boxing circles in 1979 with brutal knockouts over Eddie Lopez and Dino Denis, but it was on national television that he electrified millions by demolishing long-time contenders Jimmy Young and Ron Lyle. From Huntington, New York, Cooney had both a massive left hook and a soft-spoken manner, a welcome change for many after Ali’s brash ways. And in fact, what no one could admit openly was that after two decades of Ali rubbing America’s face in its own racism, the nation was more than ready for that novelty called a white heavyweight champion.Īs if on cue, along came Gerry Cooney, a big, strong, powerful puncher with Irish roots and a pasty complexion. Holmes’ battering of Ali in 1980 didn’t satisfy anyone the public wanted a reason to be excited again about the big men. By comparison, he seemed ordinary, uninspiring. In addition to being a flashy boxer, Ali had a mouth that never stopped jabbering away, political significance and sex appeal. The general public had become accustomed to the heavyweight champion being a larger-than-life character, someone with charisma and mass appeal. Muhammad Ali had retired after his rematch win against Leon Spinks two years before and while Larry Holmes had since established himself as the best big man around, he just didn’t excite anyone outside of hardcore boxing fans. The only thing missing was a popular heavyweight champion. As it began, the sporting world was buzzing about a Sugar Ray Leonard-Roberto Duran superfight and championship matches featuring stars such as Marvin Hagler, Alexis Arguello, and Thomas Hearns, were a staple of the major networks’ weekend sports shows, with even occasional prime time specials. Exciting prospects like Ray Mancini and Hector Camacho were emerging and Sylvester Stallone was writing the script for Rocky III. In terms of sheer popularity, exposure, and the money that goes with it, the 1980s has to be the most successful decade in the long history of professional prizefighting. It was boxing’s biggest night, but for all the wrong reasons.
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