THE MAN IN THE MIDDLE
Ian Probert talks to former referee Richie Davies, who not so long ago was one of the finest officials in the world, and finds out exactly what it’s like to be the man in the middle
Richie Davies reveals what it is like to be the third man in a boxing ring
THE fact that you are currently reading boxing’s longestrunning magazine most likely says something about who you are. Unless you happen to have picked up Boxing News by accident it’s safe to assume that you are familiar with the unique spectacle of two partially undressed athletes aiming punches at one another with the intention of causing physical harm. It’s also something of a given that you are aware of the largely anonymous presence in the ring of the referee – often called the ‘third man’.
With a – some might say ludicrously – incongruous uniform of pristine white shirt and bow tie, the referee exerts a powerful influence over what happens inside the ropes. Indeed, since the establishment of the Marquess of Queensbury Rules in 1867, his presence has become central to the sport; helping to transform what is an undoubtedly brutal endeavour into something that is more socially acceptable.
It’s important to point out, however, that the referee doesn’t so much control the action as
facilitate it. Moreover, he is generally remembered more for his mistakes than his successes – American referee Richard Steele’s notorious final seconds stoppage of Meldrick Taylor is an example that immediately springs to mind. When the reward for performing to the very best of your ability can often be invisibility, one wonders what could compel a person to choose such a career. This – among others – is a question I’ve come to ask Richie Davies, once Britain’s top boxing referee.
“If you screw up you’re remembered for that,” he tells me. “No one remembers the thousands of good things that you did. I used to get a bit prickly early
on in my career when somebody criticised me but Harry Gibbs told me, ‘We’ve all got opinions – you know what they can do with their opinions? They can shove ‘em up their arse!”’
Richie was just a teenager when he first donned that starched white shirt. Alongside him was a friend who was designed to achieve great things as a fighter.
“I’m the same age as Charlie Magri and we used to knock about together,” explains Richie, who fought 21 times as an amateur. “We went down the boxing club to play football. One day the football trainer never turned up. So my uncle said: ‘Charlie – you hit the bag.’ And he went on to become the WBC flyweight champion and I went on to referee. “I wanted to stay involved in boxing but I was never that good a fighter. The secretary of the club said: ‘Why don’t you become a judge?’ So I applied and I found the judges exams fairly easy because you can take so much more in when you’re younger. I became the youngest judge in the world at 17 and the youngest referee in the world at 19.” We’re currently sitting in one of those selfconsciously upwardly mobile bars in Shoreditch, London, not far from Richie’s home. Now in his sixties, Richie is nothing like you’d expect a seasoned boxing referee to be. Instead of the barked orders that we are used to hearing on TV he is softly spoken and, like so many of the fighters he once controlled, gentle in nature.
“I did 10 years as an amateur referee,” he continues. “So I had a terrific grounding before turning pro. A lot of referees have to learn how to walk when they first turn pro. You’ve got to be on your toes. You’ve got to be able to slip around. You’ve got to know how to control the ring.”
Born in Mile End, London, Richie was a judge ➤
or referee for more than 80 world title fights, as well as some 1,000 pro and 2,000 amateur contests. It was a role that put him inches away from some of the best fighters of modern times. I ask him what was it like to witness the action from the unique vantage point of a referee.
“At close quarters you really hear the punches,” he tells me. “There’s little nuances you spot as a referee. And the more experienced you become the more you notice them.
“The change in the fighter’s breathing… The change in his whole demeanour. At one stage of the contest he’ll be light on his feet, and then he’ll take a few heavy blows and you’ll start seeing him slow down. You hear those punches go in. You can hear him wince, hear the breath sucked out of him. One or two fighters have actually said to me, ‘Please ref – I’ve had enough.’ Which is not a great thing because I should have noticed that anyway. But sometimes they’re just looking for an easy way out.”
During a professional career that spanned 34 years, regular appearances on terrestrial and cable TV made Richie a familiar figure to both boxing fans and casual observers. In contrast to so many of his contemporaries he managed to end his career with reputation intact. Indeed, you’d be hard-pressed to find a bad word said against him on any of the hypercritical boxing forums that litter the web. As Richie sips at a glass of red wine I ask him to take me through a typical evening’s work in his former occupation.
“You arrive at the arena. Chill out for a while. Try to get your wages first!” he grins. “Then you walk up the stairs to the ring.” “Are you aware of the crowd?” I ask. “Not really. They might boo once you’re announced,” he shrugs. “You just get in the ring and wait for the fighters to arrive. You go to their corners and check their gloves.” “What are you checking for?” “Let me tell you a story: when Carl Thompson fought Sebastiaan Rothmann in 2004, the night before we had the rules meeting and the boxers picked their gloves, signed them and gave them to me to look after. The night of the fight I go into the dressing room and give them their pre-fight instructions, give them their gloves. We get in the ring and I go over to check Thompson’s gloves.” “For what?” “To make sure the padding’s still there. And what had happened was somebody had cut the glove attachment that attaches the thumb to the glove. And no-one would admit to doing it. So we had to change the gloves and later there was a disciplinary hearing where Thompson was fined and banned for six months.
“Then we get in the ring and make sure that no one’s got too much grease on their bodies, that the tape around the laces is all done up nicely. You make sure that the corner has got two mouthpieces.
“My saying is: ‘Behave yourself and do as you’re told.’ I always said that. And ‘God bless you both.’”
When it came to taking control of fights which threatened to boil over with bad feeling, Richie had an unusual way of calming things down.
“When I knew there was a bit of animosity I would go into the dressing room beforehand to give them their instructions – I did this for example when Paul Smith fought Tony Quigley in 2009 – I said: ‘Behave yourself and do as you’re told,’ and then I kissed them both. I do this quite often because I’m now his mate. It’s a psychological thing.
“I also did it with Kevin Mitchell. I said to him, ‘You step out of line and I’m going to kick your arse all the way down Bethnal Green Road!’ Then I kissed him and he went to kiss me. It was really funny.”
The respect that Richie has for the fighters that he officiated over is abundantly clear. However, there is one aspect of the sport that troubles him greatly: “I’ve travelled the world and met some wonderful people who have become friends for life. But I have a huge
problem with journeymen. Journeymen go in there to lose. Because he knows if he wins that fight he doesn’t get that call next week. That’s conning the public – when they’re paying fifty or sixty quid for a seat they want to see a competitive fight.
“Journeymen are very brave but unfortunately some of them are very naive. Having 100 fights and winning five or six – where’s your dignity? Getting up there to be a loser just because you’re getting a few quid. I don’t understand it.”
There’s a twinkle in Richie’s eye when I ask him if he misses being involved in the sport. He gives me a firm no, but finds it impossible to hide his excitement when I ask him to talk about some of the most memorable fights he has refereed.
“There’s a couple,’ he tells me. ‘One was Thompson’s fight against Rothmann that we already talked about. I came within inches of stopping Thompson in that fight. All I wanted to see from Rothmann was a jab to Thompson’s face and I’d have waved it all over. Thompson couldn’t take any more. I positioned my body to move closer and with that Thompson pulled out this right hand and hit Rothmann so hard. He went down and I couldn’t believe it when he got up. He got the mandatory eight and I asked him to walk towards me and he took three steps backwards. So it was all over.
“I was also very fortunate to have judged Oscar De La Hoya in Atlantic City. He was different class. I also judged Azumah Nelson twice. What a puncher! And the heavyweights can certainly hit. I’ve been in there with the Klitschkos and it’s like being hit with a lump of wood! I’ve had the best job in the world and I did it for 34 years as a pro.”
“What about corruption?” I ask. “Has anyone ever tried to influence your decisions?” “No, I’ve never had that,’ Richie replies. “People talk about corruption but I’ve never come across it – not once. You know, they take you out, wine and dine you, thinking that they’re gonna get favours but it don’t work like that. I go out there and do my job. “I’ve had promoters screaming at me, phoning me up at half past two in the morning. I judged against his fighter and he lost the European title.” “And the fighters themselves?” I ask. “Have you ever seen a fighter take a dive?” “No, but I’ve come across a couple of occasions when a boxer is carrying another fighter. At a dinner show once I could see that this kid weren’t very good. I went over to the corner at the end of the second round and said: ‘Has he been told to hold him up? If you wanna do that let me know. Give me half a chance.’ I said: ‘Look, work with me here. If I’m gonna stop it I’m gonna look at you and I want you to do it rather than me do it’.” “And what did you do?” “Well then I’d make sure I’m looking after him. And I would want a bit more work out of him. But in the long run the kid shouldn’t have been there in the first place. All you’re doing is conning the public. I suppose a fighter had pulled out on that day and they’d put somebody else in to save the show. But I wasn’t happy at all. “My primary role as a referee is the health and safety of that kid. And it might sound a bit twee but every time I referee a fight I think of them as somebody’s kids. And I wouldn’t want anything to happen to them. “Judging’s just an opinion but referring is an art. And you’ve gotta know how to do it properly. If you’re very officious then no one’s gonna like it. That’s going back to what I said earlier: give ‘em a kiss and he ain’t a bad fella.”
THE HEAVYWEIGHTS CAN HIT. I’VE BEEN IN THERE WITH THE KLITSCHKOS AND IT’S LIKE BEING HIT WITH A LUMP OF WOOD!”