"Lazzari's Sports Roundup" -- 11-13-04

"It's like being in love with a woman. She can be unfaithful, she can be mean, she can be cruel, but it doesn't matter. If you love her, you want her, even though she can do you all kinds of harm. It's the same with me and boxing. It can do me all kinds of harm, but I love it."

--Floyd Patterson

The Wiltwyck reform school seemed to do wonders for a kid named Floyd Patterson. Sent there as a ten-year-old due to his troubled ways, he found boxing and, a few years later, a trainer named Cus D'Amato. He became a Golden Gloves champion--winning national titles as a teenager. A middleweight, he was a natural in the ring--developing a unique defensive style which set up unexpected, powerful hooks that opponents often had trouble deciphering. He'd go on to win the gold medal at the '52 Olympics in Helsinki and, in 1956, knock out the great Archie Moore for the heavyweight championship of the world. Yes, the kid from the Brooklyn ghetto became boxing's youngest heavyweight champion in history (at age 21). However, being involved in such a brutal sport always seemed in direct contradiction to his pleasant personality--the type not usually associated with participants in the "sweet science."

Floyd Patterson had always been a quiet man--almost painfully shy and equally conscientious. When he became champion, there was no noticeable change in his personality, nor did his head swell like the fighters he'd often punish inside the ropes. Writers such as Howard Cosell loved the guy; he was always approachable and gracious to those who admired his pugilistic abilities. A prime example of Floyd Patterson's unique personality was witnessed during his infamous trio of fights vs. Sweden's Ingemar Johansson. Having lost his title by TKO to the Swede in 1959, Patterson rebounded during the 1960 rematch to crush his opponent with what Howard Cosell referred to (in his self-titled book Cosell) "as strong and as clean and as pulverizing a left hook as I had ever seen;" it is often referred to as the best punch ever thrown in boxing history. But one thing bothered Patterson around that time: he had gone into that rematch with a certain amount of hate for his opponent--something he had never experienced before or felt comfortable with. "It's wrong to hate the way I hated," he'd say after the fight. Yes, he'd defeat Johansson again in 1961 to regain his title, but it seemed that Patterson's concern with his conscience had affected him as a fighter. He was sloppy and careless against an out-of-shape Johansson in that rubber match; back-to-back, devastating first round knockouts at the hands of Sonny Liston would follow in 1962 and 1963. A split with Cus D'Amato in the early 1960s--a man who always knew Patterson's limitations as a fighter and would instruct accordingly—appeared to signal the end of Floyd Patterson’s boxing excellence (sound familiar, Mike Tyson?).

Sure, he'd get more fights throughout the ‘60s—including title shots against the likes of Muhammad Ali and Jimmy Ellis. He’d come up a bit short in those bouts, although most ringside observers determined that Patterson had actually beaten Ellis--and was robbed of the decision. But in typical Floyd fashion, he decided not to question the verdict as it could have made him appear to be a "poor sport." Kinda refreshing as we look back on it now, huh? Floyd Patterson retired in 1972 at the age of 37 with a professional record of 55-8-1 with 40 knockouts; he was also the first Olympic gold medalist to hold the heavyweight championship and the first fighter to lose and then regain the elusive title. He now stands as a member of the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

In doing my research on Floyd Patterson, I was hugely impressed with the universal respect he gained over the years after overcoming such humble beginnings. It almost seems as if NO ONE ever said a bad word about Patterson; he was a gentleman in a brute's game, a nice guy who DIDN'T finish last. It's no surprise that he and his old foe, Johansson, became close friends after their careers ended; they'd frequently fly across the Atlantic (almost yearly) to visit one another and exchange pleasantries instead of left hooks. Patterson's strong reputation enabled him to be named chairman of the New York State Athletic Commission during the ‘90s (sadly, he had to resign a few years later due to memory loss). Surely there was no man better equipped to determine the fitness of aspiring boxers. But what always amazed me about one Floyd Patterson was the way he conducted himself in a business not known for its morals/ethics. He was genuine, respectful, good to kids, and downright NICE to people. His sportsmanship will always remain legendary and he is one of the few fighters in history who actually can truthfully say that they attained role model status. Former boxing commentator/N.Y. athletic commissioner Randy Gordon remembers meeting Patterson in Las Vegas while he was training for the second Liston fight in 1963. Writing on cyberboxingzone.com, Gordon remembers Patterson putting his arm around him, shaking his hand, and talking about their New York roots. That day, Patterson signed an autograph for the excited young boy which read as follows: "To Randy. Thank you. Sincerely, Floyd Patterson." Yes, on that sweltering day in the desert, it was a man named Floyd Patterson who thanked a bright-eyed youngster for just ASKING him for his autograph. Strange, huh?

Floyd Patterson will most likely never be mentioned as one of the top heavyweight champions in history; even Cus D'Amato would have attested to that. However, he was perhaps the classiest champion of them all--a man who truly broke the stereotype of the ruthless thug involved in the dirtiest business of them all. He loved what he did, but also found the time to be a decent human being. Perhaps his universal adoration was best demonstrated on March 8, 1971 at Madison Square Garden before the memorable Frazier/Ali brawl, where some great fighters--current and past--were introduced, then cheered: Sugar Ray Robinson, Joe Louis, Jack Dempsey, and others were announced to the crowd. But the biggest applause of the evening would go to an undersized fighter who had honed his craft just blocks away so many years ago--a man by the name of Floyd Patterson.

Bob Lazzari

Reprinted by permission of the Valley Times.