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Micheal Nunn sentenced to 24 years
I grabbed this from another forum:
Nunn's Story: Don't Blame Boxing When One-Way Streets Lead Fighters Down
by Michael Katz (February 3, 2004)
LAS VEGAS, Feb. 3 -
Michael (Second to) Nunn was sentenced to more than 24 years in Federal prison last month. This is no "he coulda been a contender" type story. Michael Nunn, 40 years old, was a world champion and a millionaire and the sad thing is that maybe it did have to end this way.
It wasn't boxing's fault that Nunn, a world champion at middleweight and super middleweight, the No. 1 light-heavyweight contender Roy Jones Jr. didn 't want to face, scored a kilo of coke from an undercover Federal agent for $200. He shoulda seen it coming, but he didn't duck. For $200 in New York, you couldn't get eight grams of coke, let alone a thousand. Nunn obviously never thought there was a reason he was getting such a bargain. Maybe when the big bucks come so easy and you think it'll never end, then suddenly you' re pushing 40 and there will be no more big fights..
"Cars, ***elry, homes, all have a high price," said Dan Goossen, who used to promote Second to Nunn. "Once you have it, it's hard to live any other way. It's a very toxic potion - Steve Wynn sending his private jet for you, Steve Wynn giving you carte blanche at the Mirage."
Nunn had it all. He could box with what looked like effortless grace, a 6-foot-3 left-handed middleweight who could dance. But even more than the athletic abilities was the wholesome look that, back in the Eighties, made him appear to be a second to Nunn coming of Sugar Ray Leonard, the heir apparent..
"He was infectious," said Bob Halloran, the longtime Vegas casino executive who helped Wynn, then just opening the Mirage, forge the multimillion-dollar deal with Goossen for Nunn's services. "When you met him, you wanted to take him home. He was cleancut, soft-spoken and polite."
Fighters don't come from that side of the tracks. The gym can be the door through which they pass to a better life. Too often, it is a cruel hoax, a flash of riches that quickly disappears in boxing's version of long division. But don't think the dividing is done only by evil managers and promoters. The meanest cuts of all are usually taken by friends and relatives, wives and lovers. Michael was second to Nunn in that regard.
The first time the Goossens, promoter Dan and his trainer brother Joe, saw Nunn was at the 1984 Olympic Trials. It was a loaded field: Pernell Whitaker, Evander Holyfield, Meldrick Taylor, Mark Breland and such. The Goossens walked into the Texas arena just as Nunn was in the ring. They knew that Shelly Finkel and Main Events were going to sign up the '84 stars. "We were looking for some of the other guys," said Dan Goossen. "We looked at Nunn and said, that guy's good."
Better than that, said Goossen, "he was on nobody's radar screen." Well, not exactly nobody. The Goossens had an intro to Bob Surkein, then head of U.S. amateur boxing, and Surkein would recommend they look at this fighter he had in mind. It was Nunn.
Nunn didn't make it to the Los Angeles Games. He lost to Virgil Hill in the 168-pound Boxoffs in Vegas, but by the end of the year, he turned pro with Ten-Goose. The key, Surkein advised the Goossens, was "to keep Michael out of Iowa."
They moved Nunn to California. Dan made him his next-door neighbor "to shall we say 'oversee' his day-to-day activities." For the first five years, as Nunn rapidly progressed through the middleweight ranks, Goossen said "there was not one argument."
He said he was "shocked" when Nunn suddenly left in 1990, not long after the deal with Steve Wynn and the new Mirage resort was cut. It was a "multi, multi-million-dollar deal," said Goossen.
"Michael was an established star already," said Goossen. "Leonard and Hearns were still around, but our deal with Steve Wynn virtually changed the way casinos operated with fighters."
Wynn later cut a deal with James (Buster) Douglas. The MGM came along and made Jose Luis Gonzalez, a Cuban heavyweight with great amateur credentials but a bust as a pro, its house fighter. Later, the MGM sank a fortune into another heavyweight, Mike Tyson. Nunn was the prototype, though, and Goossen said the Mirage deal was not all that he had lined up.
"Besides getting multi-millions a fight, we had him ready to sign with CAA, Creative Artist Agency, Mike Ovitz's company," he said. "Michael would have been the third athlete to sign there. The other two were Wayne Gretzky and Magic Johnson."
It was not a very complicated deal, said Halloran, now based at the MGM as part of the MGM-Mirage conglomerate. "It was a very simple deal," he said, "just a few pages of an agreement."
Nunn, in effect, became the Mirage's house fighter. But it was at this time that the Goossens began hearing rumors.
Drugs.
"I always had people telling me, but I never sensed it myself," said Dan Goossen.
He saw "it was party time" every time a bunch of his "friends" showed up from Davenport. "I told 'em to leave Michael alone at least until after the fight," said Goossen. He knew Nunn had problems with the police back in Davenport, but in part put that down to overzealous locals. It was tough to see anything wrong in the ring. Nunn may have had the Sugar Ray smile, but he was more style than substance until he suddenly ran off a string of impressive knockouts - including a first-round stoppage of Sumbu Kalambay, to unify the IBF and WBA 160-pound titles; and Juan Roldan, the tough Argentine who gave Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Thomas Hearns good battles. But he struggled to majority decisions over Hearns's old nemesis, Iran Barkley, and then in his Mirage debut was held to another majority decision by welterweight champion Marlon Starling in a stinker of a match.
"He looked terrible against Starling," said Goossen. "There were problems. An uncle came in from Davenport and said things were going to change. How little did I know."
And then Nunn was gone from the Goossens. "I knew it wasn't unusual for people in boxing to be unloyal," said Goossen, "the grass is always greener on the other side. What shocked me was not the disloyalty he had to us, but to Bob Surkein, who was in on the deal with the Mirage and who never took a cent from Michael."
There was the uncle. There were friends from Davenport. Suddenly, Nunn was
surrounded by Iowa and the Goossens were cut off. Suddenly, there were boxing "experts" in Davenport, "the second coming of Angelo Dundee," said Goossen sarcastically. Nunn went to Paris and stopped the already somewhat faded Donald Curry. Then he did what Surkein had warned against.
He went home to Davenport to fight.
It was supposed to be a homecoming party. The minor league baseball stadium, beneath a bridge, was all lit up like a birthday cake. And for most of ten rounds, Nunn gave a boxing exhibition to a young, undefeated bull named James (Lights Out) Toney.
But Nunn was not in the best of shape. In the 10th round, it was Lights Out, with a single left hook, that sent Nunn crashing, in effect, to the streets, back into the gutter. That was in 1991. By 1993, he was regularly getting arrested in Davenport for drug offenses.
He wound up with Don King as his promoter, won a super middleweight title. But he wasn't the same.
In 1995, after losing the 168-pound title to Steve Little, after losing to Frankie Liles, he went home to the Goossens. His career, though, was forever sputtering. Long periods of inactivity, interrupted by drug busts in Davenport, though he still had enough natural ability to become the No. 1 challenger for Roy Jones Jr. at light-heavyweight.
Irony: Jones didn't want to fight Nunn because he had trouble with Liles in the amateurs. He didn't like the idea of facing southpaws. Irony, Jones would make a living fighting one left-hander after another.
There was a dinner at Foxwoods one night. Goossen brought Nunn and some of his homies to meet the press, such as it was. He was as charming as ever. It was impossible to picture this guy carrying guns into drug deals. That's what got him the 292 months from U.S. District Judge William Gritzer, not the kilo of coke, but the penchant for using firearms.
He fought as late as 2002, beating a journeyman, Vinson Durham. That same year, he fell into the Fed trap. He bought a long time in prison. But do not blame boxing. Blame the streets, maybe. Most of all, blame Nunn.
"Boxing kept Nunn off the streets," said Goossen. "It gave him discipline, it made him lots of money. I know boxing can help kids. I look up (in my office) and I see Gabe Ruelas working here. Raffie (Ruelas's brother, Rafael, another former champion trained, managed and promoted by the Goossens) is selling real estate. They had nothing when they started boxing.
"It's not boxing that's ruined people. It's people who ruined boxing. Boxing is no different than other businesses. Enron wasn't a bad company. Some of the people who ran it were bad."
Yeah, fighters go bad despite fame and fortune. So do stock brokers, who put their first million up their noses. It's amazing, perhaps, that there aren't more Michael Nunn stories, more Mike Tyson tales, sad endings virtually ordained by the lack of preparation for success.
I have never advocated the gym as the way out of the ******. It would be nicer if the library and the school could provide that kind of breakout. But don't blame boxing if the kids often fall back, the way Nunn did.
by Michael Katz (February 3, 2004)
LAS VEGAS, Feb. 3 -
Michael (Second to) Nunn was sentenced to more than 24 years in Federal prison last month. This is no "he coulda been a contender" type story. Michael Nunn, 40 years old, was a world champion and a millionaire and the sad thing is that maybe it did have to end this way.
It wasn't boxing's fault that Nunn, a world champion at middleweight and super middleweight, the No. 1 light-heavyweight contender Roy Jones Jr. didn 't want to face, scored a kilo of coke from an undercover Federal agent for $200. He shoulda seen it coming, but he didn't duck. For $200 in New York, you couldn't get eight grams of coke, let alone a thousand. Nunn obviously never thought there was a reason he was getting such a bargain. Maybe when the big bucks come so easy and you think it'll never end, then suddenly you' re pushing 40 and there will be no more big fights..
"Cars, ***elry, homes, all have a high price," said Dan Goossen, who used to promote Second to Nunn. "Once you have it, it's hard to live any other way. It's a very toxic potion - Steve Wynn sending his private jet for you, Steve Wynn giving you carte blanche at the Mirage."
Nunn had it all. He could box with what looked like effortless grace, a 6-foot-3 left-handed middleweight who could dance. But even more than the athletic abilities was the wholesome look that, back in the Eighties, made him appear to be a second to Nunn coming of Sugar Ray Leonard, the heir apparent..
"He was infectious," said Bob Halloran, the longtime Vegas casino executive who helped Wynn, then just opening the Mirage, forge the multimillion-dollar deal with Goossen for Nunn's services. "When you met him, you wanted to take him home. He was cleancut, soft-spoken and polite."
Fighters don't come from that side of the tracks. The gym can be the door through which they pass to a better life. Too often, it is a cruel hoax, a flash of riches that quickly disappears in boxing's version of long division. But don't think the dividing is done only by evil managers and promoters. The meanest cuts of all are usually taken by friends and relatives, wives and lovers. Michael was second to Nunn in that regard.
The first time the Goossens, promoter Dan and his trainer brother Joe, saw Nunn was at the 1984 Olympic Trials. It was a loaded field: Pernell Whitaker, Evander Holyfield, Meldrick Taylor, Mark Breland and such. The Goossens walked into the Texas arena just as Nunn was in the ring. They knew that Shelly Finkel and Main Events were going to sign up the '84 stars. "We were looking for some of the other guys," said Dan Goossen. "We looked at Nunn and said, that guy's good."
Better than that, said Goossen, "he was on nobody's radar screen." Well, not exactly nobody. The Goossens had an intro to Bob Surkein, then head of U.S. amateur boxing, and Surkein would recommend they look at this fighter he had in mind. It was Nunn.
Nunn didn't make it to the Los Angeles Games. He lost to Virgil Hill in the 168-pound Boxoffs in Vegas, but by the end of the year, he turned pro with Ten-Goose. The key, Surkein advised the Goossens, was "to keep Michael out of Iowa."
They moved Nunn to California. Dan made him his next-door neighbor "to shall we say 'oversee' his day-to-day activities." For the first five years, as Nunn rapidly progressed through the middleweight ranks, Goossen said "there was not one argument."
He said he was "shocked" when Nunn suddenly left in 1990, not long after the deal with Steve Wynn and the new Mirage resort was cut. It was a "multi, multi-million-dollar deal," said Goossen.
"Michael was an established star already," said Goossen. "Leonard and Hearns were still around, but our deal with Steve Wynn virtually changed the way casinos operated with fighters."
Wynn later cut a deal with James (Buster) Douglas. The MGM came along and made Jose Luis Gonzalez, a Cuban heavyweight with great amateur credentials but a bust as a pro, its house fighter. Later, the MGM sank a fortune into another heavyweight, Mike Tyson. Nunn was the prototype, though, and Goossen said the Mirage deal was not all that he had lined up.
"Besides getting multi-millions a fight, we had him ready to sign with CAA, Creative Artist Agency, Mike Ovitz's company," he said. "Michael would have been the third athlete to sign there. The other two were Wayne Gretzky and Magic Johnson."
It was not a very complicated deal, said Halloran, now based at the MGM as part of the MGM-Mirage conglomerate. "It was a very simple deal," he said, "just a few pages of an agreement."
Nunn, in effect, became the Mirage's house fighter. But it was at this time that the Goossens began hearing rumors.
Drugs.
"I always had people telling me, but I never sensed it myself," said Dan Goossen.
He saw "it was party time" every time a bunch of his "friends" showed up from Davenport. "I told 'em to leave Michael alone at least until after the fight," said Goossen. He knew Nunn had problems with the police back in Davenport, but in part put that down to overzealous locals. It was tough to see anything wrong in the ring. Nunn may have had the Sugar Ray smile, but he was more style than substance until he suddenly ran off a string of impressive knockouts - including a first-round stoppage of Sumbu Kalambay, to unify the IBF and WBA 160-pound titles; and Juan Roldan, the tough Argentine who gave Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Thomas Hearns good battles. But he struggled to majority decisions over Hearns's old nemesis, Iran Barkley, and then in his Mirage debut was held to another majority decision by welterweight champion Marlon Starling in a stinker of a match.
"He looked terrible against Starling," said Goossen. "There were problems. An uncle came in from Davenport and said things were going to change. How little did I know."
And then Nunn was gone from the Goossens. "I knew it wasn't unusual for people in boxing to be unloyal," said Goossen, "the grass is always greener on the other side. What shocked me was not the disloyalty he had to us, but to Bob Surkein, who was in on the deal with the Mirage and who never took a cent from Michael."
There was the uncle. There were friends from Davenport. Suddenly, Nunn was
surrounded by Iowa and the Goossens were cut off. Suddenly, there were boxing "experts" in Davenport, "the second coming of Angelo Dundee," said Goossen sarcastically. Nunn went to Paris and stopped the already somewhat faded Donald Curry. Then he did what Surkein had warned against.
He went home to Davenport to fight.
It was supposed to be a homecoming party. The minor league baseball stadium, beneath a bridge, was all lit up like a birthday cake. And for most of ten rounds, Nunn gave a boxing exhibition to a young, undefeated bull named James (Lights Out) Toney.
But Nunn was not in the best of shape. In the 10th round, it was Lights Out, with a single left hook, that sent Nunn crashing, in effect, to the streets, back into the gutter. That was in 1991. By 1993, he was regularly getting arrested in Davenport for drug offenses.
He wound up with Don King as his promoter, won a super middleweight title. But he wasn't the same.
In 1995, after losing the 168-pound title to Steve Little, after losing to Frankie Liles, he went home to the Goossens. His career, though, was forever sputtering. Long periods of inactivity, interrupted by drug busts in Davenport, though he still had enough natural ability to become the No. 1 challenger for Roy Jones Jr. at light-heavyweight.
Irony: Jones didn't want to fight Nunn because he had trouble with Liles in the amateurs. He didn't like the idea of facing southpaws. Irony, Jones would make a living fighting one left-hander after another.
There was a dinner at Foxwoods one night. Goossen brought Nunn and some of his homies to meet the press, such as it was. He was as charming as ever. It was impossible to picture this guy carrying guns into drug deals. That's what got him the 292 months from U.S. District Judge William Gritzer, not the kilo of coke, but the penchant for using firearms.
He fought as late as 2002, beating a journeyman, Vinson Durham. That same year, he fell into the Fed trap. He bought a long time in prison. But do not blame boxing. Blame the streets, maybe. Most of all, blame Nunn.
"Boxing kept Nunn off the streets," said Goossen. "It gave him discipline, it made him lots of money. I know boxing can help kids. I look up (in my office) and I see Gabe Ruelas working here. Raffie (Ruelas's brother, Rafael, another former champion trained, managed and promoted by the Goossens) is selling real estate. They had nothing when they started boxing.
"It's not boxing that's ruined people. It's people who ruined boxing. Boxing is no different than other businesses. Enron wasn't a bad company. Some of the people who ran it were bad."
Yeah, fighters go bad despite fame and fortune. So do stock brokers, who put their first million up their noses. It's amazing, perhaps, that there aren't more Michael Nunn stories, more Mike Tyson tales, sad endings virtually ordained by the lack of preparation for success.
I have never advocated the gym as the way out of the ******. It would be nicer if the library and the school could provide that kind of breakout. But don't blame boxing if the kids often fall back, the way Nunn did.
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