A Boxing Memory: Gerry Cooney

A Boxing Memory: Gerry Cooney

“I was always out boozing, partying, kissing the girls. I’m not sure if first I was an alcoholic or a sex addict.” Gerry Cooney

The words of Gerry Cooney. A brutally honest assessment from the former heavyweight contender. Cooney was talking about the early days. It got worse. Much worse. The demons took away his prime. And more.

Cooney is remembered, perhaps harshly, for one fight that played shamelessly to the race card. In 1982, Cooney and Larry Holmes were pawns in the chase for the dirty dollar. It led to animosity and resentment. They eventually became friends. Trust me, that wasn’t always the case.

Labelled ‘The Great White Hope’ by some and ‘The Great White Hype’ by others. Cooney entered the fight as a beacon of hope for those with prejudice and the complete opposite for the rest. It didn’t just split the boxing world. It split America. The WBC heavyweight bauble was an irrelevance compared to what else was at stake.

It was all too much for Cooney. In many ways, he wasn’t ready for that kind of night. That kind of fight. Holmes beat him. Humbled him even. He couldn’t stop saying sorry. The demons consumed him. His boxing career never really recovered. But Cooney eventually got sober and found peace. A win on his record that meant everything.

“My father was an alcoholic. He beat us every day, I was neglected my whole life,” Cooney once said. The seeds of his own problems down the line. Cooney had his first drink when he was twelve. He got drunk and didn’t like how he felt. There were boasts he would never drink again. The very next day, his vow was already broken. In 1988, Cooney stopped drinking. Too late to save his career. But not his life.

The boxing journey started when he was fifteen. Fifty-five fights, only two defeats, and two New York Golden Gloves titles in the amateur ranks led to the 6’6′ fighter turning pro in 1977. A 1st round stoppage of Bill Jackson started his professional journey off the way it continued. Mike Jones and Dennis Rappaport managed him, and Victor Valle trained him. The early stages of his professional career were one of care, but Cooney was finding momentum. He could punch, and he was white. Make no mistake, the colour of his skin mattered. At least to some.

Cooney was on the rise. When he faced Holmes for the WBC heavyweight championship of the world Cooney was unbeaten in twenty-five fights, and the mighty left hook was already a thing of perceived legendary status. Only three of the Cooney victims had heard the final bell.

In 1980, Jimmy Young fell in four rounds. Ron Lyle and Ken Norton didn’t make it out of the opening round. Norton didn’t see out the first minute. The destruction of Norton in 1981 was frighteningly brutal. A highlight reel knockout for the ages. But the drinking got worse after Norton. Much worse. He didn’t fight for a year. The missing year that cost him plenty.

Inactivity, inexperience, and the battle with the bottle left Cooney needing a miracle in that Las Vegas ring. It didn’t come. Down early, Cooney recovered and more than had his moments. Holmes finished it in round 13, but Cooney wasn’t disgraced. Surely he would come again. Surely, he would get another go at Holmes. The rematch would never come.

After Holmes, there were only five more fights. It took two years before Cooney entered a boxing ring again. When he did return, his prime was gone. Three wins against opposition that didn’t threaten, flattered to deceive.

But reality hit home in his final two fights. Cooney got stopped in five rounds by Michael Spinks in 1987. Cooney was only 30 when he was rescued by the referee, Frank Cappuccino. He was saved from Spinks. And himself. Cooney had been down twice before the fight was waved off. Spinks walked into his own abyss with Mike Tyson. The feeling was that Cooney would just walk away. But he had one fight remaining. And one which would lead to one final ring walk.

Cooney shouldn’t have been in that Atlantic City ring. The drinking had spiralled. He looked as though he wanted to be elsewhere. In truth, he should have been.

April 21st, 1988, a date Cooney has never forgotten. The day the biggest fight of his life started. And one he couldn’t lose. He didn’t. Cooney got sober and stayed sober.

Cooney was promoting George Foreman on his unlikely comeback. Foreman suggested to Cooney that they should fight. Cooney accepted, but his latest comeback ended abruptly. After a decent opener, Cooney was caught in the following round and was blown away in two rounds by the big-punching Foreman. But for Cooney, it was the closure he needed. In 1990, his boxing career was finally over.

Gerry Cooney might not have won his biggest fight. But he won his biggest battle. A far more important one.