ELIO COTENA fought for Mickey Duff, Klaus Peter Kohl was Duff’s partner, and I was banned by Duff. Welcome to boxing in the Nineties.
My ban lasted nearly three years, it cost me a fortune, gave me a delicious reputation and Duff told me he regretted it. I know what he means, a real ban is not a good look for anybody in the boxing business. However, real bans are rare and should never be confused with being refused a pass.
At some point in 1992, Duff put the ban in place; I had written something about one of his fighters. It was a throwaway line, a tiny mention in a preview piece for Colin McMillan’s WBO featherweight title fight against Mauricio Stecca.
McMillan had been training above the Henry Cooper in the Old Kent Road. I went to see him, saw a boxer in the gym I knew well from the amateurs and took down a few notes. Well, in court, a couple of years later, Duff’s legal team were able to prove that the fighter had lied to me, I wrote the lie, Duff proved it was a lie and he won damages against the Sunday Telegraph. Obviously, it was not a lie, but a real ban was in place until it was settled, and I was on the outside.
As a freelance, I had to somehow keep covering fights and conferences and at the time, Duff had a lot of boxers, including Frank Bruno. The fight was on for me to get ringside as often as possible during the time I was banned. I won on some nights and lost on other nights.
In March of 1993, at the NEC, I lost heavily when Bruno demolished Jesse Ferguson. I nearly got in and was still trying when Big Frank finished it in the first. I still filed copy.
In September of that year, Duff followed me into a toilet at a hotel in Brentwood and evicted me. It was a Bruno conference, publicity for the fight against Lennox Lewis. I told Duff, as he stood screaming in front of urinals, that Kellie Maloney, the promoter of the fight, had given me permission. I was asked to leave and had to wait for Steve Lillis of the Sunday Sport to give me the quotes.
A few weeks later, he spent a few days in Cardiff during the week of the fight glaring that ferocious death stare of his every time he saw me; Maloney had refused to ban me, and Duff was not happy. The ban gave me the freedom to be quite harsh on Bruno and his hopes.
There were a lot of nights at venues in England where I did manage to slip in, either by buying the cheapest ticket or contacts. At all venues, from York Hall to the Elephant and Castle, Duff would look for me. At Stevenage in February 1994, I hid in the leisure centre manager’s office and watched through his window as Billy Schwer beat Sean Murphy in a European lightweight fight. At a fight like that, on a chilly Wednesday, I could file to three or four papers; it was a big earner and that is why I had to find ways in.
In the July of 1994, as negotiations to settle the Duff dispute continued, I went on a journey to Italy and Germany; Duff had his fighters in European title fights on shows with foreign promoters – I still knew I could not apply through the legitimate channels. Duff was a brilliant boxing man, a man with connections everywhere.
Neville Brown was fighting Agostino Cardamone for the European middle title in the town square at Solofra, 80 kilometres from Naples in the hills. Obviously, I could not use the media bus from the fight hotel in Naples. Solofra was a tiny little town and its baroque church, Collegiata di San Michele Arcangelo, dominated the square. I took the local bus. One side of the ring was dominated by a fountain. It was glorious on a hot summer night, but Duff was looking for me. I could see him peering out into the crowd when Brown entered the ring. I hid behind the lion’s head fountain. Someone in the travelling press pack had tipped him off. My fight ticket was cheap, a fistful of lira, my safety probably as cheap.
The promoter was Elio Cotena and in 1976 he had beaten Vernon Sollas in a European title fight at York Hall on a Duff show. I was taking no chances with Cotena’s boys. Neville lost, I found a pay phone and filed all my copy using the Italian freephone number. At about midnight, stranded in Solofra, my troubles started. The local bus had stopped and there were no cabs – the town had shutdown. The ban was suddenly not quite so funny.
I did get back, a high-speed car journey with some very lively men. The story is in the book.
Three days later, I followed Duff to Berlin for a Henry Akinwande European title fight against Mario Schiesser. It was a time of endless previews, reports and follow-ups; I probably had three different names in three different papers. In Berlin, by mad coincidence, I was in Duff’s hotel. That was tricky, but nothing compared to getting a safe place to sit at the Sportforum in Lichtenberg. It was in East Berlin, and it had a Cold War feel – it added to my anxiety.
I bought a cheap ticket and Duff spotted me. The show was promoted by Klaus Peter Kohl, an old and loyal friend of Duff. I changed seats, went higher, kept my head down. The security was looking for me. It was difficult and I remember right on the opening bell a man called Dave Field, who worked for PA, joined me. We were in the gods. Big Henry won easily – I guess I also won.
The next morning, at about 8am, I stepped out of the steam room at the hotel and Duff and Dennie Mancini, wrapped in towels, were walking in. “Morning boys,” I tried. “F****** smartarse,” Duff replied.
The ban was lifted in 1995. It was back to normal then and that was a great relief. Having a real ban in place is no fun, trust me.
