A SLICE OF BOXING
is the lead cornerman (chief second) during a fight. He’s the one who gets in the ring between rounds and gives instructions to the fighter. Other responsibilities are shared and include duties like closing cuts, applying an enswell to reduce swelling, wiping the fighter down, handling the water bottle and being the bucket carrier. Being a bucket carrier can be an interesting proposition. “Remember,” one well-respected trainer (who shall remain anonymous) told the bucket carrier just before leaving the dressing room for a championship fight. “If I tell you, ‘Bucket,’ you know what to do.” “Bucket” was code for “Knock the bucket over and spill water and ice into the ring to get us another 20 seconds while the referee or inspector cleans up the mess.” But there are limits to what a cornerman can do. Prior to fighting Max Baer in 1935, Joe Louis was asked if he was worried by the fact that Jack Dempsey would be in Baer’s corner during the fight. “The rules say Dempsey can’t hit me, don’t they?” Louis replied. Elite fighters tend to work with the same cornermen fight after fight. At the other end of the spectrum, B-side fighters, particularly if they’re from out of town, often pick up one or more cornermen on the night of a fight. Ferdie Pacheco, who was in Muhammad Ali’s corner for most of Ali’s ring career, observed, “It’s a huge rush to go up in the corner with a great fighter. There’s only three of you there with him and the entire world sees it. It’s unvarnished ego.” The problem is that sometimes ego leads a manager or someone else who craves the limelight to insert himself in a fighter’s corner against good practice. Sometimes the fighter wants them there. Johnny Tapia’s cornermen over the years included superb trainers like Eddie Futch, Freddie Roach, Teddy Atlas and Jesse Reid. But his cornermen also included Mickey Rooney (whose boxing experience was limited to a
role in the film version of Requiem for a Heavyweight), Mr. T (Clubber Lang in Rocky III), and Rock & Roll Hall of Famer Sammy Hagar (a member of Van Halen). Vanity cornermen, celebrity cornermen, dilettantes – call them what you will – are generally deadweight. And their presence in a fighter’s corner on fight night can be counterproductive. “Putting a manager, a celebrity or a friend in the corner is dangerous, egomaniacal idiocy,” says the always opinionated Lou DiBella. “It ain’t your lane, bro. I’d make an exception for Frank Warren. Frank knew what he was doing. He was a street guy. He grew up around fighting and knows boxing better than most trainers. But I know more about boxing than 99% of the people in the sport and I’d never do it.” “These people don’t understand how important a cornerman can be,” adds Hall of Fame trainer Russ Anber. “I want to tell them, ‘Hey, guy, this isn’t about being a fan and having a great seat for the fight.’ There’s no downside if everything goes according to plan. The fighter looks great. Knockout. They give him his belts. Everybody’s happy. Things never get to a point where you see what the corner might have been most needed for. But if things start to break down, every person in the corner has a role to play. And that’s when having an amateur in the corner can be a problem.” Don Turner, who trained Evander Holyfield and Larry Holmes, is in accord. “It’s all about ego,” Turner says. “These guys want to be part of the show so their friends can see them on television. So they push a guy who should be in the corner out of the corner. And if something goes wrong, they say it was somebody else’s fault. You want boxing guys who know what’s going on in the corner.” “There are people who belong in the corner and people who don’t,” Craig Hamilton explains. “I managed Michael Grant and I never worked his corner. It wasn’t my place. Jerry Jones thinks he can make football decisions for the
Dallas Cowboys. And we’ve seen how that works out. Dallas hasn’t reached the NFL championship game in 30 years. These people don’t belong in a fighter’s corner. It’s not a problem until it is. The fighter gets in trouble. He goes back to his corner, looks around, and sees a knucklehead. What do you think that does to his confidence?” “This isn’t fantasy baseball camp,” Hall of Fame promoter Russell Peltz notes. “You don’t see a player’s agent or a club owner coaching third base in a Major League Baseball game. But there are almost no barriers to doing whatever you want to do in boxing. Nonsense like this doesn’t make things better, and it might hurt. Either you’re doing things professionally or you aren’t.” “I worked a corner once,” Peltz continues. “Rogers Mtagwa fought in Evansville, Indiana, against Orlando Salido [in 2006]. Joe Parella, who was Mtagwa’s manager, asked me to carry the bucket because they were short a man. But the truth is, I had no more business being in the corner that night than a cutman would have promoting a fight.” Mtagwa was knocked out in the fifth round. More troubling, a fighter named Kevin Payne won a split decision over Ryan Maraldo on the same card. One day later, Payne died from injuries that he’d suffered during the fight. “I have no idea what went on in Payne’s corner that night,” Peltz says. “I’m not saying they did anything wrong. But it tells you that boxing isn’t a game, doesn’t it.” Thomas Hauser’s email address is thomashauserwriter@gmail.com. His most recent book – The Universal Sport – was published by the University of Arkansas Press. In 2004, the Boxing Writers Association of America honored Hauser with the Nat Fleischer Award for career excellence in boxing journalism. In 2019, Hauser was selected for boxing’s highest honor – induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame.
WHO’S THAT IN THE CORNER? By Thomas Hauser
Joe Bugner and Marvis Frazier following their 1983 bout.
Frazier won a 100-90, 98-92, 96-94 decision. The 98-92 scorecard, which Warren remembers as being “probably the most accurate of the three,” was turned in by Harold Lederman. “Then I stopped working corners,” Warren says. “I just didn’t have the time.” What stands out in Warren’s mind about his experiences as a cornerman? “Being up close; living in the moment with the fighter. You’re right there, watching his trials and tribulations. To this day, there are times when I’ll go to the corner during a fight and offer advice to the trainer. I know what’s going on. I’ve been there.” Almost always, a fighter’s trainer
W hat was Hall of Fame promoter Frank Warren doing in Joe Bugner’s corner when Bugner fought Marvis Frazier in Atlantic City more than 40 years ago? Working. “I worked the corner for many of my early fighters,” Warren recalls. “The first time I did it was around 1977 and I did it dozens of times after that. Ernie Fossey, who was also my matchmaker, trained fighters and was probably the best cutman in the U.K. back then. Ernie
was very blunt. He had no diplomacy. He would tell a fighter how it was before, during and after a fight. My job was to wipe the fighter down, put some Vaseline on his face and pass the water bottle to Ernie when he wanted it. There should be one voice – and only one voice – in the corner, and that was Ernie’s.” Bugner fought Frazier at The Sands Casino Hotel on June 4, 1983. “It wasn’t very exciting,” Warren remembers. “Joe was well past his prime by then. He just couldn’t do it anymore. And Marvis wasn’t very good.”
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