Vinny Paz looks the same as he ever did.
He’s thickset, there’s a humour to his grin and when he fixes his stare on you, it feels like you’re sitting next to a stick of dynamite with the fuse lit.
Paz was a renowned wild child and hardman of boxing and, aged 60, he’s not mellowed yet.
The look remains the same; sleeveless shirt, a flat cap, a thick silver chain around his thick, rebuilt neck and a gruffness in his voice that belies emotion, until you can either get him to laugh or bristle.
I’d expected a chip on Paz’s shoulder, and I don’t know why. I remember the bad blood feuds with Greg Haugen and Dana Rosenblatt, the highlight reel knockouts, the movie, the Roberto Duran fights, and I’d typecast Paz in my own mind.
Part fighter, part-gangster, part hoodlum. Was it the Italian-American stereotype in him? Was it the reputation? The attitude? The swagger? Or all of the above? Because it’s all still there, and it’s on the surface, but Paz is not mad like I thought he might be.
Many talk to him about Bleed for This, the cinematic story of his life with Miles Teller in the lead role, and Paz was happy for that recognition.
Of course, the real plan was for Paz to be appreciated as a fighter first and the guy who had the movie of his life made second, and to different generations maybe that’s the case, but more on that later.
“Yeah, that’s pretty cool, I didn’t mean for it to be that way, but it just happened,” Paz said, of those coming up to him to talk about his astonishing life away from boxing before the actual sport itself.
The tale everyone wants to discuss is how Paz’s neck was turned into mush from a head-on car crash and how he was left fighting for his life, unlikely to walk again and damn sure never to return to the ring. That is the dark centrepiece of the movie and Paz as the man who never knew when to quit. He had no respect for the odds or those taking bets that he would not box again. Fighting was all he knew, and he had a huge one on his hands. Rehabilitation couldn’t be rushed, but he only knew one way to do it.
“In my mind, I was fighting, or that was it,” he snarled. “Balls to the wall. I went through everything. It felt like I was going through brick walls, like it couldn’t be done. Like, ‘What am I doing? Am I doing this? Are you crazy? Just stop.’ But I kept going, and I worked hard.”
Paz had won world titles at lightweight and junior-middle before fate tossed him that unwanted curveball. He was the passenger in a car going around 60kmph and in a resulting wreck so grim the car had to be sawn in half to get him out.
There were multiple fractures in his neck. He had to relinquish his title. He had to have a metal orb, called a halo, screwed into his head and into his neck, fixing him in position, to aid his recovery.
Instantly those around him understood Vinny’s career was over. Instantly, Vinny knew there was more left in the tank.
A year later, ferociously-stubborn Paz was back in fighting shape and ready to return to the ring. There had been depression, darkness, tears, defiance, but never acceptance.
“It was like I was on the verge of being handicapped, to be held in a wheelchair, who wants to do that?” Paz explained. “I would tell myself, ‘What are you doing, you moron? You’re an idiot.” Then I said, “You’re doing it, and that’s how it’s going down. That’s the bottom line. So suck it up.”
That mentality has inspired two generations, those who were fight fans when Paz was boxing and who saw his incredible comeback playing out, and those who recognise his name and his story through pop-culture references.
As Paz talks, he folds his arms but it’s not seemingly a defensive position and he leans forwards. His biceps flex, he smiles and he talks with pride and satisfaction. Is he okay with that, being the guy from the film to some and the fighter to others? Of course, there are some who just know him as a walking miracle.
“A thousand per cent, yeah, and I get at least one message a day, every day. It’s unbelievable,” Paz said. “It’s cool, I feel like I put a lot of heart and soul into people. I made quite a few people do things that they didn’t think they could do. It’s a cool thing for me.”
There is also an enjoyable self-deprecating side to Paz. In 1994 and 1995 he had two bouts with a very old Roberto Duran, who still had 15 fights to go but not much left to offer. Duran had been at his best 10-20 years earlier, but he first fought Paz in Las Vegas, and they rematched in Atlantic City, where Paz was a bona fide attraction. Paz won both 12-rounders on points and quipped, “He [Duran] was 52 when I fought him the first time, he was 74 when I fought him the second time!”
There was six months between the fights.
“The first fight was incredible but he got old the second fight,” surmised Paz. “He fought way closer to when he was a champion when he fought me the first fight. He was awesome. I was like, ‘Oh my God, I can’t hit this guy.’ I’ve only said that in a couple of fights… Roy Jones, and Roberto Duran. In the second [Duran] fight, we fought in Atlantic City [at the Convention Hall near the Trump Plaza]. [Donald] Trump’s cool as hell, I hope he gets back in the presidency… Anyways, the second fight with Roberto, I was moving around in the first and second round, in the third round I go, ‘Wow! This guy slowed up.’ He got old overnight. When you’re in your 40s, you can’t fight nobody at the top level. You can’t fight at that top level, but when you’re in your early 30s, your 20s, you’re an animal. He [Duran] was an animal, but I was saying, ‘Wow, did he get old?’ In the first fight, I couldn’t hit him.”
Now they are pals. There is mutual respect and they have been known to be drinking partners. “I got him drunk,” Paz smiled.
Along with Muhammad Ali, it was Duran who got Paz into boxing. Vinny was inspired by both warriors and their differing styles and identities. “It didn’t get any better than that for me,” he said, talking about the greats. “Y’know, that’s what made me box, I wouldn’t be here now [doing an interview] if I hadn’t seen them, I probably would’ve been a DJ somewhere, a DJ in Rhode Island. I went to the Olympic training centre, and I was just good. I don’t know why, I was just good.”
Paz jokes that he is 48, and dares anyone to laugh at his deduction of 15 years. This year he made it into the International Boxing Hall Fame.
“Well, I think I should 1,000 per cent be in the Hall of Fame, for obvious reasons, and for not so obvious reasons,” Paz said.
“People tuned in when I fought on TV, I got so many people into boxing. I won 50 pro fights, five different world titles, but the main thing is that I got people into boxing that never turned to boxing. Ever. They tuned in when I fought. It’s big. It made the game of boxing a little bit better, a little bigger, for everybody,” Paz said.
“Whenever I fought on TV, it was No. 1 rated a bunch of times,” Paz said. “I brought people to boxing. I made people watch boxing and never mind the broken neck, coming back and winning world titles.”
