ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. - Five-time world champion Johnny Tapia promises two things in what's billed as his farewell fight: He's going to cry, and he's not going to lose.
"I'm going to give it all I have. I want to go out with a bang," Tapia said of Friday night's fight against Colombia's Ilido Julio. "I ain't losing here."
The 40-year-old boxer has never lost in his hometown, where he's an icon even if his best days in a turbulent career are long gone.
He was orphaned at 8, his mother stabbed 26 times with a screwdriver and left to die. He has dealt with cocaine addiction, alcohol, depression and run-ins with the law. In his recently published book, "Mi Vida Loca" (My Crazy Life), Tapia says he's been declared clinically dead six times.
When asked if he feels lucky to be alive, Tapia said he's surprised.
"I've done drugs, cocaine, beer, whiskey," he said. "Died the day of my wedding. I've been shot, I've been stabbed in the head."
Tapia (55-5-2) won five titles in three weight classes. Win or lose, he's always put on a good show. And he said that will be the case against Julio (35-10-1).
"I'm really looking forward to this one, making this one my last one," Tapia said.
But he won't say it's definitely the end. After all, five years ago he announced he was retiring, then went out and won another world title.
"If this is my final one, it's my final one. If it's not, what can I do," Tapia said. "I just love it still. I've been doing it all my life."
He's been boxing professionally for 20 years, 31 altogether. He had his first fight at 11 in a dot-on-the-map town west of Albuquerque. He knocked out his 12-year-old opponent in the first round, and Tapia had found his niche.
"I was good at it, I was a natural," he said.
But time may finally have caught up with Tapia. His last fight was 17 months ago in Chicago, where he lost to journeyman Sandro Marcos. Not only did Tapia lose, he was stopped in the second round, the first knockout loss in his career. Unbeaten through his first 48 fights, Tapia is 9-5 in his last 14.
But Tapia, never at a loss for confidence, is sure there's something left in his heavily tattooed body.
"I'm in great shape, mentally, especially," he says. "I'm excited. I've done a lot of road work. I don't want to get stubborn, because this guy's a cabezon (head butter). If he cuts me, he'll never make it out."
His latest trainer, Kevin Henry, said Tapia still has some fight.
"When I got the call to work with him, I thought, 'we've got some work ahead of us,"' Henry said. "He really surprised me. He's mellowed out. It's like he grew up overnight. He's just so happy right now. It makes it easy for him to train."
Tapia escaped the barrio with his fists, but he's always had trouble outrunning his past filled with bad company and bad decisions - a combination that nearly killed his career. Tapia was banned from boxing for 3 1/2 years in the early '90s because of his cocaine addiction.
"There was no life. It was like being in a tunnel, and you couldn't get out," he says. "I just couldn't find the opening."
Once he did, Tapia's career took off. He knocked out Henry Martinez to win the WBO bantamweight title in 1994 and four more over the next eight years.
"I wasn't supposed to win it," Tapia said. "He was going to beat me and give me a scolding. I knocked him out in the 11th round. The whole coliseum was crying the way I was."
Tapia also won the WBA bantamweight title, the IBF and WBO junior bantamweight titles and the IBF featherweight belt.
Still, Tapia was regarded as the consummate underdog by his fans. The more trouble he found outside the ring, the more they rallied around him. In his feud a decade ago with fellow Albuquerque boxer and former world champion Danny Romero, Tapia's fans anointed him with the slang Spanish title of "Burque's Best."
Tapia said his circle of friends has grown smaller as he struggles daily to stay clear of the drugs and booze.
"I've got very few good ones with me," he said. "Misery makes company. I try not to give in no more. I want a new seed. I want to plant a new vision for my kids."
But in the midst of it all, the old Johnny creeps out.
"Everyday, I'm doing good. But if I want to go drink right now, I can. Nobody tells me what I can do or what I want to do. I'm trying to do for my family and myself, but if I want to go party, I'll party."
Tapia and his wife and manager, Teresa, have three sons, ages 15, 7 and 2. Without them, Tapia said, he'd probably be back in the '90s, out on the street, looking for a fix and a place to crash.
"I've had a wonderful life," he said. "You know what's amazing today in my life? Changing my baby's diaper and giving him a bath. I wake up in the morning, and he smiles at me. My kids smile on me. That's so unconditional."
