YouTube is the enemy of anyone trying to get any sort of work done. If you’re a boxing fan, amp that statement up ten-fold. I know. I have a problem.
Usually, it’s a fun trip down memory lane. Great fights, great knockouts, great interviews - all reminders of why we care about this sport. But occasionally you run into a clip that will make you think, make you question the way you felt about certain things or the way you even reacted to certain situations.
Four weeks ago, the Rich the Fight Historian account uploaded a video entitled, “The Rise & Fall of El Torito,” focusing on the life and career of the late Tony Ayala Jr. At a little over 46 minutes, it’s a quick primer on the former junior middleweight contender’s run in the sport and how he captivated the world not only when he was in the ring, but in prison as well.
It’s a clip full of fight highlights, one of the most memorable being an amateur bout with Lamont Kirkland that had more action and twists and turns than many 15-round title fights. It was clear that even at 16 years old, the Texan was something special in the ring. That doesn’t mean he was perfect, as evidenced by a 1981 fight with Mario Maldonado that saw “El Torito” rocked and dropped in the first round before he roared back to win two rounds later. But he was still a kid in the ring, destined to get better - possibly great - as the years went on.
By the end of 1982, he was getting close to fulfilling his potential. He was on the cover of The Ring magazine, was a TV darling, and became a fan favorite not just for his aggressive style in the ring, but for being virtually uncontrollable between ropes to the tune of spitting on one fallen foe and belting another one after their fight was stopped.
Ayala was an animal in the ring. That was a good thing. He was also an animal outside of it. That wasn’t a good thing. But his assaults of women, drug and alcohol abuse, and other transgressions were largely swept under the rug because if you were in the Tony Ayala Jr. business, you were likely going to cash in over the next decade as he faced off with the likes of Davey Moore, Roberto Duran, Sugar Ray Leonard and the rest of the big names of the 80s.
Moore, then the WBA champion at 154 pounds, was going to be the sacrificial lamb for Ayala’s coronation in 1983, but finally, a rape of a New Jersey woman early that year wouldn’t be washed away by empty promises and financial settlements. Ayala was going behind bars, and that should have been the last we heard of him.
It wasn’t. And when he was released in 1999, supposedly a changed man, the hype train kicked into high gear again. And unfortunately, many of us were playing conductor as Ayala’s comeback began.
We should have known better. We should have realized that demons deep in Ayala’s soul were always going to be there. That’s not to say he couldn’t ultimately lead a life as a productive member of society. But with the same platform he had back in the early 80s and the same assumption that he could do whatever he pleased because the odds were that he could get away with it because he was a celebrity, Ayala was still a ticking time bomb.
We weren’t paying attention to that part of the story, though. To us, Tony Ayala Jr. was always going to be the ferocious bull that showed up not just to win a fight, but to break his opponent’s will in the process. When he was in the ring, it wasn’t a sporting event; it was a fight. And while the fights with Moore, Duran, Leonard and company were gone forever, there was a new breed out there that Ayala could most certainly face and beat, even 16 years removed from his last fight.
I had the gall of asking Ayala in 2000 if a fight with Oscar De La Hoya was a reality.
“If De La Hoya would sign on the dotted line, we'd be fighting,” said Ayala. “It's never been up to me who I fight. It's always been down to who's wanted to get in the ring with me. That's something that I felt was an issue even when I was 19. I don't care if it's De La Hoya. (Felix) Trinidad's been mentioned and I think he's more likely to get in the ring with me than, say, De La Hoya. I don't think De La Hoya will fight above 154, and it would take a lot of hard work for me to get that low. If the fight was made I would certainly make a try for it. There are other marquee fighters, fighters that I think the public would find interesting to see me fight. I think that fights with some of these big names, these young kids that are out there, would be very interesting, and could generate a lot of money.”
At the time, Ayala was 37 years old and five fights into his comeback. He was about to face Yory Boy Campas in July of 2000, and he was losing on two of the three scorecards when he quit in his corner before round nine due to a broken hand.
Maybe if he wins that fight he gets a De La Hoya or a Trinidad. He didn’t. So the names that made up the closing stages of his career were Cardona, Lopez, Gurrola, Fortune and Bonsante. Along the way there were more legal issues, drug use and a life far removed from what he was preaching upon his release from prison. That’s not to say there weren’t signs if you read between the lines.
“The toughest adjustment has been realizing that I can't have a good time 24 hours a day, 7 days a week,” he laughed. “I have been enjoying myself every day. Basically, life is good for me and people don't grasp what it's like to be free after spending so many years being confined. I'm like a kid in a candy store. I can do whatever I want when I want to. The hardest thing for me, if you want to call it hard, is just being patient, I guess. I haven't overindulged in anything, in my opinion (laughs). Some people may have a different opinion. I like having a good time. Some people think I'm kind of wacked out because of that. I don't believe in wasting time being miserable. I don't believe in wasting time being sad or angry. To me, life is precious, and I realized that while I was inside. I made a promise to myself when I was inside that I wouldn't spend time being miserable or being around miserable people. Time was too valuable for me. Maybe sometimes people are surprised by how open I am and willing to share what I'm thinking. Sometimes it may come across as inappropriate, but it's how I'm feeling or thinking at the time. I'll stop by and talk to cashiers and be like 'Hey, what's going on? How you doin,?' just to stir up some conversation. I guess being isolated for so long and now wearing different shoes by being free, it's like I'd like to talk to the whole world.”
On May 12, 2015, Tony Ayala Jr. died of a heroin overdose, with a needle and a bag of the drug next to his body. He was 52.
Some mourned. Others didn’t. Many called him a legend. As I wrote in this space after his death, he was no legend, either in the ring or outside of it.
Yet he still left an impression that remains today. He is the ultimate example of wasted talent, a prime player in any discussion of boxing’s great What Ifs, and a cautionary tale that will remain unheeded by anyone who sees a talented but troubled kid and is willing to look the other way if that kid can knock out opponents in the ring and captivate a crowd.
For those who do that and put money above trying to get a human being help or at least guide them to a better path, there is always the excuse that the ring will soothe the demons and keep the fighter from doing damage outside the ropes. That’s not necessarily the case, especially for Ayala. But when we spoke and I asked him what he loved about boxing, there was a brief hint of joy, a brief moment where you wanted to believe that all the stories weren’t true, that he was a changed man, one who saved his savagery for ten rounds or less in a sanctioned prizefight.
“The best part of boxing is the battle, when you're in the trenches,” he said. “When you're in the ring it's only you and that guy. There are no politics, there is no help from outside forces, aside from your corner. You're in the heat of battle, and somebody wins, somebody loses. It's not necessarily a thing where you always win. Sometimes there is honor in defeat. You can lose honorably, but you can also win dishonorably. All those things, that to me is the best part of boxing. The competitive nature of it. The honor of battling just one other person. You don't have teammates to deal with or the other nonsense that often enters sports.”
Boxing didn’t save Tony Ayala Jr. Apparently nothing could.