FLOAT LIKE A BEE
get in line to challenge for boxing’s greatest prize. Gerry Cooney was one of those kids, with not only the punch but also the build to transform his life. And with a robust amateur and pro boxing system in his native New York, the stage was set for him to succeed. And succeed he did, becoming a legit heavyweight contender who defeated Ken Norton, Jimmy Young and Ron Lyle before losing in a memorable championship fight with Larry Holmes in 1982. Today, it’s not the same. “They moved on,” said Cooney. “There’s so many other sports and so many things that heavyweights can do. And now, these guys, I don’t know how it happened, but it must be in the milk. They went from 6-3, 6-4, 6-5, 220, 230, and all of a sudden they’re 6-9, 6-10, 300 pounds.” That’s bad news for fighters like Torrez, who checked in for the Vianello fight at 6-foot-2, 229¼. He’s shown no issues competing against bigger opponents thus far. But when they are also better, some wonder if the Californian will simply be overwhelmed physically. “Styles make fights, and my style is very good for [facing] a tall fighter,” said Torrez. “I think that me being able to come inside and work hard, me pushing that pace, you get a big guy, they’re going to need a really big tank to last all those rounds. And having a smaller stature and being able to move quicker around the ring, I think it plays really well into the heavyweight style. Especially nowadays, a lot of these heavyweights, they want to throw one-hitter quitters. They don’t rely on conditioning anymore. They don’t even rely on technique too much. But they know they have power – and a lot of these guys do have power. So there’s always an equalizer. But I think having the fundamentals and just having a tank on you is going to take anybody pretty far in this game.” If you think Torrez is flustered by any of this talk of being the last American standing and about what he doesn’t
have, as opposed to what he does, you’d be mistaken. Because for all the options he has in life, he’s a fighter. He was not thinking about becoming a tight end in football or a point guard in basketball. In fact, he doesn’t think things are as bad as they seem these days. “There’s less promotion of boxing nowadays, but, at the same time, if I’m stopped on the side of the street and someone’s playing basketball, someone’s playing football and there’s two guys fighting, I’m going to watch the guys fighting,” said Torrez. “So I don’t think boxing has lost its flavor at all. I just think maybe it’s a little under- promoted. And a lot of these kids, they see the professional guys that made it already, but they don’t see the grind that goes into it. And if you’re a kid going to football, you at least see a pathway. You see, oh, high school, college, this is where it goes. You don’t really have a pathway in boxing, or at least not a publicized pathway. So if we can just fund the grassroots and get a pathway for these kids to know that, hey, I can have all that and more. Because I’ll tell you what: If I was a kid and I knew that people would cheer my team or would cheer [my name], I’d want them to cheer my name. I’m a little selfish in that sense. (laughs) I want people to cheer for me, and I think that other kids might be able to resonate with that as well and to just have a pathway to see that dream come true.” If boxing ever appoints a czar to take over things and save the sport, Torrez might be the guy for the job. But all jokes aside, one of the reasons why he’s been anointed the next big thing for American heavyweight boxing is because we believe he can handle that pressure. That’s not something someone is born with. It comes from someplace, and Torrez believes he can pinpoint exactly where. “I honestly believe it’s because I grew up in a fishbowl in a small farm town, and my dad was a teacher and an administrator in the local high school,” he said. “So if I ever did anything wrong or thought about doing anything
wrong, the teacher would be like, ‘Do you want me to tell your dad?’ So I always had to grow up knowing that whatever I did, I was going to end up getting caught, because there’s only like 15 people there and everyone knows everybody. I think that helped a lot in my professional career because, on a bigger scale, everyone’s watching you. There’s always cameras around. There’s always something going on. And so you might as well learn to act proper when the lights aren’t on, because there might be a camera on you still.” By now, you’ll probably agree that Torrez has the story, personality and drive to be a star. Now all that’s left is to see if he can not just be the Great American Hope, but the Next Great American Heavyweight. “You’ve just got to think that somebody is meant to be here and show up,” said Cooney. “Somebody really special.” Maybe Richard Torrez Jr. is that somebody. “I’m not really sure if I look at the rankings and I’m like, ‘Where’s everybody else in the USA at?’” he laughs. “I’m looking at where I’m at. I’m trying to achieve a goal for myself, and I’m very proud that the USA flag is right next to my name in these rankings. But I want that flag to be on top.” And, for the record, he’s still got a healthy fear of his father. “I’m still afraid of somebody telling Dad,” Torrez laughs. “He’s always the head honcho. But this is what I’ve dreamed of. This is what I’ve worked so hard for, and I’m ready for it. The good and the bad. I can’t wait to be able to come back and tell everybody it was worth it. The biggest thing is that I want to make sure that the sacrifices not only I made, but my entire family made, were worth it. My dad missing Christmas, New Year’s, all these things to help train me, missing my sister’s birthday, my mom having to tear out her hair every time I fight. I want to make sure that their sacrifices and my sacrifices weren’t in vain. And that’s what I’m working so hard for.”
Two-handed punching power has given Torrez 11 KOs in 13 professional fights.
remains in the mix, Jarrell Miller. It’s far from a distinguished lineup, and with Torrez and Anderson the only ones under the age of 30, the future looks as bleak as the present. “I think if we talk about any decline of boxing, it starts with the grassroots,” said Torrez. “And I think [the way] to fix that and bring boxing back in a way that everyone will really appreciate it is to start funding these grassroots organizations like USA Boxing and the amateur programs that got everyone to where they needed to be. It’s really hard to have a great pro if you just want to start them out as a pro. You need those grassroots, the kids that are going through this at 8, 9, 10 years old, being able to experience what boxing is really like and fall in love with the sport. I
Major League Baseball salaries have exploded,” said DiBella. “And particularly the kind of salaries that would apply to a tremendous athlete who weighs over 200 pounds and is 6-2, 6-3 or above. Those guys all have way better alternatives [in] other sports. And that’s the bottom line. Nobody’s investing in young kids to turn them into heavyweights in the United States, and the amateur program stinks. There’s a lot of reasons for it, but it’s not a great time to be an American heavyweight.” At one time, boxing was an escape for kids in the United States, a way out in a world where the options weren’t as plentiful as they are now. A tough kid with a big punch could parlay that into some good money in the ring. A talented athlete with a heavyweight’s build could
think that’s what needs to change a little bit in order to bring American boxing back.” DiBella agrees with Torrez’s assessment that the amateur boxing system in the United States is far removed from the glory days of 1976 and 1984, when an Olympic medal of any sort would be a ticket to big money and big opportunities in the pro game. And he adds that with other sports providing another path for talented young athletes, boxing is an option but not a particularly attractive one. “NBA salaries, NFL salaries and
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