LOOKING BACK
Aaron Davis looks back on his career and threatens to teach the unsuspecting Chris Walker a lesson or two about the problems of the current era
Former WBA welterweight champion Davis recalls his highs and lows
THE BOXING BUSINESS IS A CRUEL BUSINESS BECAUSE YOU ARE ONLY JUDGED ON THE 12 ROUNDS THAT PEOPLE SEE”
AARON DAVIS shows me around his beloved Bronx neighbourhood with the knowledge and enthusiasm of a local tour guide. Darkness has blanketed the streets he knows intimately, and during Davis’ adolescence this was the signal for chaos to ensue. Times are somewhat different now, the north New York City borough is alive with peace and vibrancy, and the happy faces get happier as the former WBA welterweight champion exchanges pleasantries with them.
Greetings of “Hey Champ” are handed out, presumably to Davis and not me, as we continue our stroll towards Aaron’s favourite diner where he is given a warm welcome by the elderly Asian lady patrolling the front counter. The restaurant is narrow, a typical New York eatery, the type of place you see TV or movie cops discussing their latest bust. We climb into a booth at the rear and Davis’ full attention is finally mine.
“You from London?” he growls. “Because I used to go over there quite a lot when I was younger to see a girlfriend.” “She must’ve been something special for you to travel all that way.” “Oh she was worth it.” Although there’s a desire to hear more about Davis’ transatlantic romance, the brief time that he has granted me needs to be focused on his fighting career. Sixteen years that stretched from the eighties to the turn of the century took a mouthy Bronx teenager to the pinnacle of the sport in an era where success didn’t come easy. “Do you know what annoys me about boxing now?” asks Davis. “None of these guys really want to fight no more. They’ve seen guys like Floyd Mayweather make so much money from being a defensive fighter and now they think they can do that. Boxing shouldn’t be like that. We had to fight. The gyms of New York were full of fighters when I was coming up. Each and everyone of them wanted to fight.” His assessment of contemporary boxing continues as he provides a full demonstration of how fighters perform their tasks today. Slightly crouched, Davis throws a jab that falls just short of my face and, perhaps enlivened by my obvious concern, he immediately takes a step forward to close the distance between us. ³
“This is how it used to be,” he roars. “You’d land your jab and straight away you’d be on top of your opponent trying to build on it, but you don’t see that s**t anymore.”
Davis throws the same shot at me, this time in front of the chefs who have made their way from the kitchen to see what all the commotion is, but – thankfully – there’s no follow up. He instead takes a step back and nods his head, perhaps indicating that today’s fighters are happy to score with a jab then retreat to assess their next move. It’s a style of combat that bothers Davis, but one could argue that the defining style of any chosen era is governed by its leaders.
Davis threw gloves when “The Fab Four” of Marvin Hagler, Roberto Duran, Thomas Hearns and Sugar Ray Leonard were trading leather before the torch was passed to Mike Tyson. The boxing ring was a playground of violence when Davis began his ascent, therefore his style might be a more conservative one if he was starting out today.
“Not at all. Boxing is fighting, and no matter how many people want to dress it up and call it something else, it’s fighting in every sense. Fighters love knockouts, the fans love knockouts. The sport used to be about toughening up and giving it everything you got, but now people don’t want to fight. They want to build up points and steal rounds. I give credit to Floyd for how he performed in his
MAYWEATHER’S STYLE WAS UNIQUE TO HIM. PEOPLE WILL COME UNSTUCK TRYING TO BE LIKE HIM”
career, but that style was unique to only him, and so many will come unstuck trying to be like him. We need the fighters back, the guys who put it all on the line, the Arturo Gattis and Micky Wards.”
Davis’ upbringing in the volatile Bronx setting of the turbulent 1970s certainly helped create an inner toughness that would serve him well once his boxing career began. Surrounded by social unrest, political chaos and landmark happenings such as the development of hip hop and the NYC blackout of 1977, he searched frantically for any sort of identity to stand out from the disgruntled crowd. Boxing soon provided that identity.
“The Bronx wasn’t all that bad, but New York was,” reflects Davis, quickly digesting his noodles and vegetables that he’s been served yet he didn’t appear to order. “People would say so many bad things about The Bronx but it was home to me and I was cool with everyone who was from around these ways. There were horror stories about places in Brooklyn and Queens, but when you spoke with guys from those communities, they’d say the same thing about The Bronx. I think certain hoods had reputations outside of their boundaries, but if you were from there then everything was good.”
Davis collected amateur honours while representing Gleason’s and Morris Park boxing clubs, and his 1986 Golden Gloves title was the platform required to begin his gruelling trek through the professional ranks. Sporting the “Superman” moniker, Davis blazed through his apprenticeship before his development really took off. At 29-0 and occupying lofty vantage points within the rankings of the governing bodies, Davis took on New York rival, Mark Breland, for the Brooklyn star’s WBA welterweight title in 1990.
“I had known Mark for a long time, I think there was a time I even called him a p***y or a f **** t, and he was someone I knew I’d end up fighting at some point. I don’t even remember if we sparred that much, but he had all of Brooklyn behind him, and with his Olympic gold medal, he was quite the star in New York and every single person knew who he was whenever he walked into a gym.
“Breland had what I wanted and that was the world title. It just happened to be that he was from New York, and that the whole Bronx v Brooklyn thing threatened to get out of hand, but it was just a fight for me. The back story did help with some motivation during camp.”
Despite having all the ingredients of a definitive Big Apple turf war, it was Reno, Nevada, which stumped up the money for the clash. Even so, the East Coast pair fought like it was a Madison Square Garden classic with the whole Empire State watching on.
After several exchanges that tipped the fight one way and then the other, Davis found the shot to halt the threat of Breland. A vicious right hand, thrown seconds after commentators suggested there was a problem with Davis’ exhausted body, spectacularly felled Breland for the entirety of referee Mills Lane’s count late in the ninth round.
“I done okay in that fight didn’t I?” asks Davis, smiling at last. “The money wasn’t the best because Breland’s people went back on their original offer, but I figured that if I won that more money would come my way. My manager at the time [Billy Giles] had a big bet on me too, so he also gave me a good amount seeing as I made him a lot of money.
“A boxer always believes he will win, but with Breland, I knew in my heart that I was going to knock him out. We had worked on that shot and when the opportunity arrived, there it was. I took him out.”
Davis’ glory was shortlived as he surrendered his title to the outstanding Meldrick Taylor in his first defence in 1991. On paper, defeat to Taylor is nothing to be ashamed of, but the manner of Davis’ loss was criticised heavily at the time as he failed to create the same intensity and ferociousness that was the theme of the Breland contest. Taylor took home the strap with a routine unanimous decision.
“The boxing business is a cruel business because you are judged on the 12 rounds that the people see. No one saw the camp me and my team had to endure, and if they did then they’d understand why I performed the way I performed. Injuries got to me throughout that camp, and I think it was my elbow that was hurting real bad.
“By the time the fight came along, I was feeling just okay. But I’m a fighter, and I believed I had enough to go in there and give a good account of myself. I shouldn’t have been anywhere near the ring that night, but I had to fight because I didn’t know anything else.”
A tight points loss to WBA 154lb boss Julio Cesar Vasquez in 1993 was followed by a reverse to Tony Marshall and Davis’ peak was done. His fighting days continued, as fighting days nearly always do, but wins over the likes of Simon Brown and Vinny Pazienza could not mask his decline. He walked away in 2002, aged 35.
“I had to retire,” remembers Davis. “Not a lot of people know this but my retina was detached and there was no way I was going to continue fighting. I felt okay and was getting some much needed wins, but was it worth it to continue on like that knowing full well my best was behind me and that the chance of a big fight didn’t look good at all. Who was going to take a chance on an injured fighter?”
Today, Davis lives a full life with no regrets from a vicious career that brought happiness and heartbreak in equal measure. He dedicates a vast portion of his time to the Morris Park Boxing Club that served him well as a youngster, and he doesn’t rule out making the switch to the corner on a more regular basis in the near future.
“It’s something I’d love to do, but I need the right fighter. Any fighter of mine that throws the jab and takes a step back will know full well that they are not going to fight like that with me in their corner.”
I ALWAYS KNEW I’D FIGHT BRELAND AND I ALWAYS KNEW I WOULD KNOCK HIM OUT”