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“But I’ve been fighting since I came out of the womb,” Toney says. No fighter is immune to the misery boxing can bring down if he remains in the ring too long. So why should I have stopped fighting?”īoxing can cause brain damage and even death. But I’m the same motherfucker you knew when I was 24. It’s true Toney always spoke with a slur but he is much harder to understand today. James Toney relaxes the morning after taking the IBF crusierweight title from Vassiliy Jirov in Mashantucket, Connecticut, in April 2003. “People go on about my speech but I’ve always had a speech impediment.” He is still amusing today – whether hollering my name as if he is Michael Buffer or telling me he could whip anyone if he put his mind to it – but there is no escaping Toney’s increasingly slurred speech. But, as his artistry faded and he became a fat heavyweight who barely trained, Toney absorbed damaging punches.
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Despite his profane and swaggering threats, he was a slick traditionalist who epitomised the art of hitting while not being hit. He was also the best defensive fighter of the late 20th century and slipped punches better than any of his contemporaries. But apart from some scarring he is relatively unblemished. Toney’s face is bloated compared with the young middleweight I knew.
James lights out toney pro#
“I had 93 pro fights but tell me: Do I look like a punch‑drunk motherfucker?” “I care about you,” I tell my old friend. My answer as to why I wish the 49-year-old was not even involved in an exhibition bout on Saturday night is clear. It took him a long time but he was named fighter of the year in 2003, when he outclassed the previously unbeaten Vassiliy Jirov to become world cruiserweight champion and moved up to heavyweight, where he totally dominated and stopped the once formidable Evander Holyfield.įourteen years later Toney is in Bristol and asking: “Why, why?” when I say I wished he had stopped fighting on the glorious night he beat Holyfield. His mother calmed him down and, slowly, he recovered. “Thank you for being here, man,” he said simply to me.Ī few days later media outlets across America reported that Toney had threatened to shoot Kallen for having allegedly made him fight when he had flu and weight problems. I watched him being kissed by the old Jewish ladies, related to Kallen, and embraced by his homeboys. It took him three hours to leave his dressing room but when he came to the after-party I admired him more than ever. He lost a unanimous points decision and was crushed. In November 1994, lacking the discipline to stay in shape, Toney drained himself trying to make weight. Toney was still ranked the world’s best boxer as he faced the similarly unbeaten Roy Jones Jr in a fight worth a $30m HBO contract for Toney if he won. Twenty-three years ago this month we were in Las Vegas. James Toney lands a right on Evander Holyfield during their heavyweight fight in Las Vegas in October 2003. Dark Trade included other fighters such as Mike Tyson, Oscar De La Hoya, Chris Eubank and Michael Watson – but Toney meant the most to me. Toney was the dark star of a book I wrote about boxing. We forged a surreal friendship and, while following him for five years, Toney allowed me a privileged insight into his world – whether it was at home or being with him in the last anxious hours before world title fights, in hushed dressing rooms and even walking together to the ring. Intrigued by these contrasts, I tracked down Toney and his team. “Oh my God,” Kallen cried as she held a glowering Toney, “you did it.” Jackie Kallen, his manager, was a middle-aged suburban white woman whose Jewish faith was honoured by the yellow Star of David on Toney’s black trunks. Sarah, his beautiful girlfriend and future first wife, did not look much like the psychology student she was in that heaving ring. His mother, the indestructible Sherry, wore a big black hat and flashing red fingernails. I was fascinated by his female entourage. At 22 he had become the youngest world middleweight champion in 50 years. Having lived up to his nickname of “Lights Out”, Toney screamed: “I told ya so!” to the stunned crowd of 10,000. He came from behind to knock out the undefeated and exalted Michael Nunn, the hometown favourite. I fell for the Toney story in May 1991, on a steamy night in Iowa, when he became the world middleweight champion on the banks of the Mississippi.