Q&A WITH LARRY MERCHANT: “IF I WAS 50 YEARS YOUNGER ...”
by Joseph Santoliquito
Dec 21st, 2011
Note: This story originally appeared in THE RING magazine. You can pick up the January 2011 issue on newsstands or in our new digital format.
We’re used to him coming through our TV screen in measured, rhythmic tones. Hall of Fame commentator Larry Merchant has been part of this generation’s boxing lexicon since HBO began broadcasting fights. Merchant brings a clever, old-school sports columnist’s charm each time he speaks -- a rare, august air at ringside that fight fans might never see again.
What no one expected to see was the pugnacious side of Merchant after the mid-September Floyd Mayweather-Victor Ortiz fight. “Money May” flipped out on Merchant when the HBO analyst challenged him about the controversial ending of the fight, prompting Merchant to respond, “If I was 50 years younger, I’d kick your ass.”
The remark created a firestorm on the internet and in boxing chat rooms throughout the world. Mayweather never backed off from his stance that “HBO should fire [Merchant],” nor has Merchant backed away, either.
What Mayweather probably doesn’t know is that the Merchant of 50 years ago could have very well flattened him. Merchant remembers, bemusedly, drawing a 15-yard penalty on his first varsity football play at Ebbets Field, for hitting a little too enthusiastically as a hard-nosed defensive back for Lafayette High School. He grew up on the rough streets in the Bronx, N.Y., and had a few scraps here and there in his youth. What the public witnessed on national TV Sept. 17 was a part of Merchant not many know.
The Ring:We know quite a bit about you, but we don’t know much about your background?
Larry Merchant:I was born in 1931 in New York City, lived in the Bronx and Manhattan, went to Lafayette High School in Brooklyn. I'm the oldest of three, which made me a first child, grandchild, nephew, which resulted in a lot of attention. I was given a lot of freedom to go and see and do. I loved all sports, played football best. I went off to college, half a continent away, before I was 17. I had a kind of oblivious self-confidence that things would always work out.
The Ring:What position did you play?
LM:I was a fullback/cornerback. We were unbeaten in my senior year. I went to Oklahoma, which wasn’t a major power then but was about to become one. I was on the freshmen team and played the bench as a sop****re, including a Sugar Bowl, under Bud Wilkinson. I injured my shoulder in practice -- I can still feel it if I fall asleep awkwardly -- and started journalism school. I decided the pressbox was more suitable to my talent (laughs).
The Ring:How was that to give up football?
LM:Football was a deep part of who I was. I cried for a few days and got over it. But I went back to it as a backfield coach for three seasons at Lafayette. An assistant coach at OU gave me a playbook with his personal notes. We installed the Oklahoma offense and had dominant championship teams. My high school coach, Harry Ostro, is 96 or 97 and probably still doing pushups (laughs). As I do.
The Ring: What kind of player were you?
LM:I was a better player on defense. Dan Jenkins used to write for Sports Illustrated and we were covering a Cotton Bowl together and he told me he had asked Darrell Royal, who was then the coach at Texas, what kind of player I was, and Royal told him, “He’d go after you” (laughs). I told Dan that I wouldn’t always catch you, but I would go after you (laughs). I loved to hit.
The Ring:What did your father do?
LM:My father ran a little family laundry in Greenwich Village that was started by his parents. He played baseball in high school. My maternal grandfather was a longshoreman. From the ages of about 10 to 12 I’d travel on the subway alone for an hour on Saturdays to help my father out. I was raised during "The Great Depression." But I wasn’t depressed (laughs). I was too young. I didn’t know much about it. I had a happy childhood, but I was hardly raised with a golden spoon in my mouth.
The Ring:You came up under some gritty circumstances then.
LM:My recollection of my childhood was always seeing my father on Sundays, because he left for work before I got up, and came home after I went to sleep. They were hard times, and everybody worked hard. On my maternal side, I can remember going with my uncle for something called home relief, which was to get a box of food from the government. My maternal grandmother was a great cook. My mother was a legal secretary, when few married women went to work.
The Ring: How did your early years shape you?
LM:Of course all of those experiences shape you. My father was a serious sports fan. He took a job as a teenager as an usher at Madison Square Garden, so he could watch the fights (laughs). We went to a lot of baseball games at Yankees Stadium. I had uncles who took me to ballgames and took me fishing.
When I was around 13, an uncle who was an amateur fighter took me to the Garden to see a fight for the first time. I remember it was decent seat, and it was a lightweight fight between a kid from Canada and a kid from Queens. Good scrap. Next day I read in the newspaper that one of them threw up in his corner. It was a revelation. Things were going on I couldn’t see. I had to find a way to get closer to the ring (laughs). I wasn’t fully conscious of it, but writers were as much my heroes as fighters. Unless you listened to a fight on the radio, usually a Joe Louis fight, newspaper reports were my experience of prize fighting. That’s how you found out about the fights.
The Ring: I’m assuming you’ve witnessed live some incredible things being in New York?
LM: I did. I was at Yankees Stadium the day Lou Gehrig made his famous “I’m the luckiest man on the face of the earth” speech. I was about 9 or 10, and I knew he had retired and that he was sick, but I wasn’t fully aware that he was dying. People were very somber, and I just didn’t fully get that. I was a kid. I can still remember Gehrig standing there. I was in the lower stands, and I remember it being a dark day. I remember the lineups of players out there, and there was this light peering right down on Gehrig.
I was also there when Babe Ruth made his farewell speech at Yankees Stadium, when he said “Baseball is the greatest game ever invented.” I remember seeing him as a kid as a first base coach for the Brooklyn Dodgers. They put him on first base, maybe as a publicity stunt, for a month or two as a coach. Those memories are there. I was a street urchin baseball sophisticate. I knew all the batting averages day to day. If the Yankees lost but Joe DiMaggio got a hit, it was a good day.
The Ring: I’m assuming you were a great student. Were you?
LM: I was a little precocious perhaps in writing, because I loved to read. I was a good enough student to skip three grades, which is what they did in those days and which is why I graduated so young. But I was less than stellar in the area of “conduct.” I guess even then I was a bit of a troublemaker. My mother would ask about those C’s and D’s, but must have thought some mischief was OK because she never made a fuss about it. When I was maybe seven, I had a skirmish with a few bigger kids and ran into an alley and called up to my mother and said they were picking on me. She leaned out of the window and yelled, “Fight your own battles (laughs).” I learned early in life, you have to fight your battles (laughs).
The Ring: Would you consider yourself a tough kid growing up?
LM:I wasn’t a tough kid (laughs). I just played ball from sun up until sun down, no matter what the season was. If I didn’t get home for lunch, it was OK. But I was smart enough to show up for dinner (laughs).
The Ring: Did your parents have aspirations for you?
LM:My parents hoped I would grow up to be a professional in something. They never directed me anywhere. My father went to night school at NYU, but no one in the family had gone to college or completed college, anything like that. They had aspirations that I would go to college. I did too. I knew I wasn’t going into the laundry business.
The Ring: But the writers were your heroes?
LM: Yes, they were. Red Smith was our god, then there was Jimmy Cannon, John Lardner, who wrote a column in Newsweek, another wonderful writer; A.J. Liebling in the New Yorker; there was Dan Parker, who sort of informed us that the best writing in the newspaper came generally in the sports sections. They had the most freedom. They were stylists. Some of them were just beautiful writers, and that was one of the attractions of going into journalism for me -- how well these guys wrote, and how vividly they wrote, and how funny some of them can be.
by Joseph Santoliquito
Dec 21st, 2011
Note: This story originally appeared in THE RING magazine. You can pick up the January 2011 issue on newsstands or in our new digital format.
We’re used to him coming through our TV screen in measured, rhythmic tones. Hall of Fame commentator Larry Merchant has been part of this generation’s boxing lexicon since HBO began broadcasting fights. Merchant brings a clever, old-school sports columnist’s charm each time he speaks -- a rare, august air at ringside that fight fans might never see again.
What no one expected to see was the pugnacious side of Merchant after the mid-September Floyd Mayweather-Victor Ortiz fight. “Money May” flipped out on Merchant when the HBO analyst challenged him about the controversial ending of the fight, prompting Merchant to respond, “If I was 50 years younger, I’d kick your ass.”
The remark created a firestorm on the internet and in boxing chat rooms throughout the world. Mayweather never backed off from his stance that “HBO should fire [Merchant],” nor has Merchant backed away, either.
What Mayweather probably doesn’t know is that the Merchant of 50 years ago could have very well flattened him. Merchant remembers, bemusedly, drawing a 15-yard penalty on his first varsity football play at Ebbets Field, for hitting a little too enthusiastically as a hard-nosed defensive back for Lafayette High School. He grew up on the rough streets in the Bronx, N.Y., and had a few scraps here and there in his youth. What the public witnessed on national TV Sept. 17 was a part of Merchant not many know.
The Ring:We know quite a bit about you, but we don’t know much about your background?
Larry Merchant:I was born in 1931 in New York City, lived in the Bronx and Manhattan, went to Lafayette High School in Brooklyn. I'm the oldest of three, which made me a first child, grandchild, nephew, which resulted in a lot of attention. I was given a lot of freedom to go and see and do. I loved all sports, played football best. I went off to college, half a continent away, before I was 17. I had a kind of oblivious self-confidence that things would always work out.
The Ring:What position did you play?
LM:I was a fullback/cornerback. We were unbeaten in my senior year. I went to Oklahoma, which wasn’t a major power then but was about to become one. I was on the freshmen team and played the bench as a sop****re, including a Sugar Bowl, under Bud Wilkinson. I injured my shoulder in practice -- I can still feel it if I fall asleep awkwardly -- and started journalism school. I decided the pressbox was more suitable to my talent (laughs).
The Ring:How was that to give up football?
LM:Football was a deep part of who I was. I cried for a few days and got over it. But I went back to it as a backfield coach for three seasons at Lafayette. An assistant coach at OU gave me a playbook with his personal notes. We installed the Oklahoma offense and had dominant championship teams. My high school coach, Harry Ostro, is 96 or 97 and probably still doing pushups (laughs). As I do.
The Ring: What kind of player were you?
LM:I was a better player on defense. Dan Jenkins used to write for Sports Illustrated and we were covering a Cotton Bowl together and he told me he had asked Darrell Royal, who was then the coach at Texas, what kind of player I was, and Royal told him, “He’d go after you” (laughs). I told Dan that I wouldn’t always catch you, but I would go after you (laughs). I loved to hit.
The Ring:What did your father do?
LM:My father ran a little family laundry in Greenwich Village that was started by his parents. He played baseball in high school. My maternal grandfather was a longshoreman. From the ages of about 10 to 12 I’d travel on the subway alone for an hour on Saturdays to help my father out. I was raised during "The Great Depression." But I wasn’t depressed (laughs). I was too young. I didn’t know much about it. I had a happy childhood, but I was hardly raised with a golden spoon in my mouth.
The Ring:You came up under some gritty circumstances then.
LM:My recollection of my childhood was always seeing my father on Sundays, because he left for work before I got up, and came home after I went to sleep. They were hard times, and everybody worked hard. On my maternal side, I can remember going with my uncle for something called home relief, which was to get a box of food from the government. My maternal grandmother was a great cook. My mother was a legal secretary, when few married women went to work.
The Ring: How did your early years shape you?
LM:Of course all of those experiences shape you. My father was a serious sports fan. He took a job as a teenager as an usher at Madison Square Garden, so he could watch the fights (laughs). We went to a lot of baseball games at Yankees Stadium. I had uncles who took me to ballgames and took me fishing.
When I was around 13, an uncle who was an amateur fighter took me to the Garden to see a fight for the first time. I remember it was decent seat, and it was a lightweight fight between a kid from Canada and a kid from Queens. Good scrap. Next day I read in the newspaper that one of them threw up in his corner. It was a revelation. Things were going on I couldn’t see. I had to find a way to get closer to the ring (laughs). I wasn’t fully conscious of it, but writers were as much my heroes as fighters. Unless you listened to a fight on the radio, usually a Joe Louis fight, newspaper reports were my experience of prize fighting. That’s how you found out about the fights.
The Ring: I’m assuming you’ve witnessed live some incredible things being in New York?
LM: I did. I was at Yankees Stadium the day Lou Gehrig made his famous “I’m the luckiest man on the face of the earth” speech. I was about 9 or 10, and I knew he had retired and that he was sick, but I wasn’t fully aware that he was dying. People were very somber, and I just didn’t fully get that. I was a kid. I can still remember Gehrig standing there. I was in the lower stands, and I remember it being a dark day. I remember the lineups of players out there, and there was this light peering right down on Gehrig.
I was also there when Babe Ruth made his farewell speech at Yankees Stadium, when he said “Baseball is the greatest game ever invented.” I remember seeing him as a kid as a first base coach for the Brooklyn Dodgers. They put him on first base, maybe as a publicity stunt, for a month or two as a coach. Those memories are there. I was a street urchin baseball sophisticate. I knew all the batting averages day to day. If the Yankees lost but Joe DiMaggio got a hit, it was a good day.
The Ring: I’m assuming you were a great student. Were you?
LM: I was a little precocious perhaps in writing, because I loved to read. I was a good enough student to skip three grades, which is what they did in those days and which is why I graduated so young. But I was less than stellar in the area of “conduct.” I guess even then I was a bit of a troublemaker. My mother would ask about those C’s and D’s, but must have thought some mischief was OK because she never made a fuss about it. When I was maybe seven, I had a skirmish with a few bigger kids and ran into an alley and called up to my mother and said they were picking on me. She leaned out of the window and yelled, “Fight your own battles (laughs).” I learned early in life, you have to fight your battles (laughs).
The Ring: Would you consider yourself a tough kid growing up?
LM:I wasn’t a tough kid (laughs). I just played ball from sun up until sun down, no matter what the season was. If I didn’t get home for lunch, it was OK. But I was smart enough to show up for dinner (laughs).
The Ring: Did your parents have aspirations for you?
LM:My parents hoped I would grow up to be a professional in something. They never directed me anywhere. My father went to night school at NYU, but no one in the family had gone to college or completed college, anything like that. They had aspirations that I would go to college. I did too. I knew I wasn’t going into the laundry business.
The Ring: But the writers were your heroes?
LM: Yes, they were. Red Smith was our god, then there was Jimmy Cannon, John Lardner, who wrote a column in Newsweek, another wonderful writer; A.J. Liebling in the New Yorker; there was Dan Parker, who sort of informed us that the best writing in the newspaper came generally in the sports sections. They had the most freedom. They were stylists. Some of them were just beautiful writers, and that was one of the attractions of going into journalism for me -- how well these guys wrote, and how vividly they wrote, and how funny some of them can be.
Comment