Hands of Stone - Christian Giudice [74]
The problem with the state boxing commission arose when co-promoter Don King moved the bout to a Sunday to fit the prime-time TV slot. “Back in those days in Pennsylvania they had the ‘blue laws,’ where there was no professional boxing on a Sunday,” explained Lou Bizzarro. “The fight was supposed to be on Saturday, but King changed it to that Sunday and knew that the fight would be outlawed, and if I won I wouldn’t get the belt because the Pennsylvania State Athletic Commission wasn’t involved. King was going to do it his way. But what was I going to do? I wanted the fight.” The blue laws, a legacy of the state’s Puritan past, forbade certain activities on Sundays, such as liquor sales and boxing matches.
Sanctioned or not, the title fight had the city buzzing. “It was the biggest thing ever in Erie,” said King’s co-promoter, Don Elbaum. “We paid him about $125,000 for him and King. It was either that or Duran got $125,000 and King got $10,000. We thought we could steal the title.”
After getting lost in Erie trying to find the commission, the Duran camp was then astonished to see the boxing ring that Elbaum had erected. Bizzarro was a noted “runner” and so the bigger the ring, the better his chances. “The day before the fight, we go to see the ring and it was like one for a bull fighter,” said Eleta. “It was huge, so Bizzarro would run all over the ring. They didn’t even have any cushion, all they had was a table and the canvas, all so he could run – and he did. The only problem was that because there was no padding, Bizzarro got blisters on his feet.” Seeking any advantage for his fighter, Elbaum had apparently found a ring big enough for Bizzarro and all his family. “It was the biggest ring ever made,” admitted Elbaum. “I actually had a thirty-foot ring built. When Ray Arcel came in with Duran, he looked at the ring and then looked right at me and said, ‘I thought you had class.’”
Eleta joked, “I didn’t believe in the mafia until I saw that ring.”
Lou Bizzarro, however, dismisses the stories as yet another boxing myth and says he has the evidence next to him every day of his life. “The ring was twenty-four by twenty-four feet,” he said. “I know because I still have it sitting in my restaurant.”
Born near Naples in 1948, Bizzarro had moved with his family to the USA soon after. His brother Johnny built the family boxing name while facing and losing to lightweight greats like Carlos Ortiz and Flash Elorde, and skinny young Lou followed him into the pro ranks without having a single amateur fight. Sparring with his highly ranked brother and others had already given him a thorough grounding in the game. “Not having any amateur fights actually made my career go faster,” he said. “By that time, I had gotten a lot of good ring work and felt I could handle some of the top fighters in the world.”
A sometime Sears model, the good-looking Italian prospect went undefeated in his first twenty-four fights. With wins over common Duran opponents Hector Matta and Benny Huertas, Bizzarro used both those fights as a measurement of how he’d fare against the great Duran. “Huertas was a tough kid who hit hard and walked right through you and threw bombs,” said Bizzarro. “In fact, he hurt Duran before getting knocked out. Matta was a slick kid and when I beat him it moved me into the top ten.”
Lou was a local hero in the small, blue-collar city, and talked up his chances to the press. “I look at it this way,” he told reporters. “Duran is only human like anyone else.” But having previously visited the notorious Fifth Street Gym in Miami, he knew what he was up against: a twenty-four-year-old terror already considered by some to be the best fighter, pound-for-pound, in the world.
“I knew Roberto because he was the talk of the Miami Beach Gym,” said Bizzarro. “He was knocking out middleweights with sixteen-ounce gloves and headgear. He’d just kick them right out of the gym. And he was sparring with the toughest guys from Miami. He was just so vicious that nobody wanted