Political fallout of a botched weigh-in

Just when we were beginning to wonder whether boxing had lost its position of influence in the sporting world, the politicians go out and prove us wrong. Incredible though it may seem, a botched weigh-in for an under-card fight in New York last month may yet have repercussions sufficiently dire to doom inexorably the vice-presidential aspirations of that state's Republican governor, George Pataki.

A week ago, Joey Gamache, the former world lightweight champion knocked out by Arturo Gatti in the co-featured bout on the February 26th Oscar De La Hoya v Derrell Coley card at Madison Square Garden, convened a press conference at which he announced his intention to file suit against the New York State Athletic Commission (NYSAC) for injuries sustained in that bout.

The day before last month's New York card, the participants had gathered in the bowels of the Garden for an official weigh-in presided over by officials of the NYSAC. Gatti, who stood only briefly on the scale, was announced at 141 ld, although it seemed plain enough that there had not been time for an accurate reading.

When Gamache's manager, Johnny Bos, protested, he was told by NYSAC executive director Tony Russo to "shut up" and to "stop stirring shit". By this time Gatti was 20 feet away and gulping water, thus rendering meaningless any attempt to re-weigh him.

Now, I'll admit it. Although I was there, I did not attach a great deal of significance to these events at the time. For one thing, I've attended hundreds of weigh-ins around the world, and close to half of them have produced some form of controversy.

For another, since there was no meaningful title at stake in either fight, the issue seemed less consequential at the time. And thirdly, since the New York commission bozos had moved the scale from the concrete floor to a wooden television platform and back again - twice - without re-calibrating it, the procedure appeared to have become hopelessly corrupted anyway.

The exercise, however, acquired more meaning the following night. An hour before Gatti and Gamache entered the ring, HBO, the network which was televising the event, as is its practice, re-weighed the boxers. This decidedly unofficial, though by no means inaccurate, process revealed that Gatti, who had supposedly outweighed Gamache by 12 ounces a day earlier, now weighed 160 lb. to Gamache's 146 lb.

Once they shed their robes, it looked as if a linebacker had been matched against a jockey, and once the bell rung it became evident that a mismatch of the first order was in progress. The much larger Gatti knocked Gamache down twice in the first round and knocked him unconscious 30 seconds into the second. Gamache suffered a severe concussion and was hospitalised for several days.

"It was supposed to be a fair fight," said Paul Callan, the attorney retained by Gamache to handle the lawsuit. "In fact, it was a mismatch." Gamache's boxing career, needless to say, is over.

In the face of the threatened $5 million lawsuit, New York commission officials attempted to cover their backsides.

"The original weights that were recorded were accurate," claimed NYSAC spokesman Scott Trent. "There was no objection raised at the time Gatti and Gamache were weighed." He also denied that Bos was told to shut up.

Both claims, as it turned out, were bald-faced lies. A cameraman from the internet website houseofboxing.com videotaped the entire weigh-in. The tape shows the needle going all the way to the top when Gatti stepped on the scale and never budging thereafter. It also reveals Johnny Bos protesting, and Tony Russo telling him to shut up.

The Manhattan District Attorney's office has subpoenaed the commission's records of the fight, and the entire episode has brought the commission under such unwelcome scrutiny that the question is no longer whether Russo and his friends can weather the storm, but how badly it will damage Pataki, who appointed them. Russo's principal qualification for his patronage job, it turns out, is that he used to be the chauffeur for former heavyweight champion Floyd Patterson when he was the head of the NYSAC.

The governor had shamelessly appointed Patterson, a revered figure and, not coincidentally, a prominent Republican, to the job in 1995, despite evidence that he was already suffering the effects of Alzheimer's Disease.

In a deposition taken two years ago, the man responsible for overseeing boxing in New York State could not remember what he had eaten for breakfast that day, the name of the fighter (Archie Moore) he had beaten to win the heavyweight title in 1956 or the name of his own wife. After the New York Post published a transcript of the deposition, Pataki was forced to request Patterson's resignation.

By focusing the spotlight on February's prefight procedures, it has also come to light that while New York weigh-ins were normally conducted by another official, Bob Duffy, on the day of the Gatti-Gamache weigh-in, Russo virtually shoved his subordinate out of the way, brusquely telling Duffy "I'll handle this one".

The Post suggested a possible motive this week, revealing that Russo and Gary Shaw, who is now Gatti's promoter, are old friends, and that Shaw had arranged for Russo to travel to Poland (at the expense of the Polish government) two years ago to "supervise" a fight between Andrew Golota and former champion Tim Witherspoon.

Only in the sport of boxing could an all-expense-paid weekend in Warsaw be deemed a plum worthy of a quid pro quo.

Now, boxing commissions have traditionally served as a watering trough for dispensing political patronage, but Pataki's appointment procedures have been especially preposterous. Under his stewardship, the principal qualifications for membership on the New York commission appear to have been a history of campaign contributions and loyalty to the Republican party.

At one New York card a few years back, a suspicious Thomas Hauser, the Muhammad Ali biographer who serves as vice-president of the Boxing Writers Association of America, asked one apparently bewildered ringside inspector what he knew about boxing.

"Nothing," replied the ring official. "But I know every registered voter in Utica."