BACK TO THE SPECTRUM
broadcast live via closed-circuit TV at Boston Garden, thanks to Rip Valenti. The fight was the largest gate at The Spectrum at the time, proving that Marvin was not only a legitimate contender, but also a box-office draw. The power brokers in the sport were starting to take notice. Tickets were just seven, ten, and fifteen dollars and fans got more than their money’s worth. The two men were as advertised, showing why they were widely known as two of the division’s hardest punchers. In the second round, Marvin rocked Briscoe with a straight right, bloodying Briscoe’s nose and knocking him sideways. In the third, Marvin was cut along his right eye from what appeared to be a headbutt. Blood poured down Marvin’s face and there were concerns from his corner that the fight could be stopped if the cut was not closed. Goody went to work. “I’m not sure what coagulant he used, but I’m pretty sure it was illegal,” said author and fight analyst Carlos Acevedo. “I felt the coldness coming down my eye,” Marvin said of the gash. “I got my confidence back by taking care of the fight and letting my trainer take care of my eye.” Briscoe had a great seventh round, but Marvin won the later rounds and took home a unanimous decision. The victory ran Marvin’s record to 41-2-1 with 33 KOs and elevated him to the eighth-ranked middleweight in the world. It also inched him closer to a title shot, but there would be more work to do. One person who was sure of Marvin’s greatness was Briscoe’s trainer, George Benton, whose nickname in the boxing world was “The Professor.” “This guy will beat the champ. This guy can beat anybody,” Benton said. The Philly press, too, left no doubt as to Marvin’s performance. The rarely understated Philadelphia Daily
Hagler was battle-tested long before he reached the championship.
and anyone else who refused to use his “Marvelous” ring name. To him, it was maddening that announcers would refer to Joe Frazier as “Smokin’ Joe,” or Ray Leonard as “Sugar,” but would not say “Marvelous.” So changing his name legally precluded anyone from ever disrespecting him again. The press called the Briscoe fight “The Battle of the Balds” because both fighters sported clean-shaven heads. The Spectrum was packed that night with more than fourteen thousand fans. To this day, it was the biggest non-title fight crowd in Philadelphia history. There was also an interesting side story to the fight, as Peltz nearly booked an undercard exhibition match that would have pitted outspoken Philadelphia City Councilor Francis Rafferty – who boxed amateur in the U.S. Army – against Black activist Milton Street. The two nearly fought on the floor of the Philly City Council a few weeks before the fight over a proposal to end term limits for the
city’s mayor. During the dustup, Rafferty called Street a “faggot,” which prompted Street to call the councilor a “racist.” But the state boxing commission blocked the novelty bout, robbing Peltz of a few headlines. It turned out that the main event was all anyone needed. Marvin again locked down in Provincetown to train. He had six different sparring partners, including Tiger Moore, and swapped them in and out to simulate different styles that Briscoe might use. He and Goody ran their miles in the hot August sand out on Race Point on the tip of Cape Cod. “All I do when I’m running is dream,” Marvin said. “I dream of being the champion. … All I want is a shot. Give me a shot.” Goody continued to talk up his fighter to the press every chance he got. He knew Marvin was ready to beat anyone who came along. “Marvin is the most feared fighter in the world today,” Goody said.
Hagler and the Petronelli brothers enjoyed incredible success together.
News plastered the sports page with a headline that read: “HAGLER HUMILIATES AN OLD HERO.” Boxing writer Thom Greer, meanwhile, called it a “boxing clinic” and said the decision was “a gross understatement.” “Bennie Briscoe was totally outclassed,” Greer wrote. Briscoe went on to fight thirteen more times, losing seven. He remained a humble, dedicated city worker in the Philly sanitation department until he died in 2010 at sixty-seven. In one of his last interviews, he said: “Other guys that started out when I started out, they’re either in jail or on drugs, or they’re dead, and I’m still here. I love my mother and my father, and that’s why I think I lasted so long.” The victory was sweet for Marvin and ran his record at the dreaded Spectrum to 3-2, with victories over Briscoe, Willie Monroe and Cyclone Hart. His
In another interview, Marvin predicted he would send Briscoe, then thirty-five, into retirement. “This is the fight I’ve been waiting for,” Marvin said. “I want that man bad.” Briscoe, meanwhile, was confident. He had a tradition of calling his mother immediately after he won a fight. He predicted he would be dialing her number in Georgia shortly after the final bell at The Spectrum. “I can’t wait till it’s all over,” he said. “Then I can call my mother and tell her I won again.” Marvin countered: “This is Bennie’s last hurrah and he knows it. I want to dispose of him in front of his people.” With Wainwright backing up Pat on the business side, Marvin was paid $17,500 for the bout, which was also
work with Goody and Pat, his tenacity, and his willingness to fight anyone and beat them convincingly left little doubt that he was the best middleweight in the world, or at least worthy of a shot at proving it. There were still many obstacles ahead, including a shot at revenge for the Boogaloo Watts decision. But most of all, he wanted respect and a chance to fight for the belts that so many thought he deserved. Dave Wedge, a Brockton native, was an award-winning investigative journalist for the Boston Herald for 14 years. He is a writer for Boston magazine. Find him on Instagram @davidmwedge
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