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Beneath the crystal chandeliers in the Westin Hotel in Washington, D.C., Sugar Ray Leonard's eyes twinkled as he reveled in yet another valedictory speech.
"That itch, that burning desire which I talked about, I think it has been taken care of, so I'm retiring again," he told the assembled reporters. "But you guys know me."
Six weeks had passed since his epic victory over "Marvelous" Marvin Hagler in"The Super Fight" when he confounded expert opinion, coming back after a five-year layoff -- with only a meaningless fight against Kevin Howard in between -- to dethrone the long-reigning middleweight king, who had been unbeaten for 11 years.
That night he addressed the crowd at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas and hinted that he would step up to challenge Tommy Hearns, who had recently won a world light heavyweight title against Dennis Andries.
"See you in six months and 15 pounds later," he declared. Not for the first time, or the last, Leonard opted for the unexpected again.
Leonard's passion to fight was fueled by his intense, competitive edge.
Ego and vanity fueled his fire, often contributing to unpredictable career decisions, but his narcissism was underpinned by diamond-hard nerve, which made him as reliable as the rising sun as soon as he stepped in the ring.
"Whenever people ask me who's the best fighter I've ever seen I always say Ray Leonard," said Colin Hart, who reported from ringside on all of Leonard's major fights for The Sun newspaper in London. "He had a heart like a lion, a chin like granite and he could do everything, things that Muhammad Ali, for example, could never do."
"This kid could feint you out of your jockstrap," Leonard's trainer, Angelo Dundee, once said -- and in Leonard's greatest performances he was an awesome embodiment of fistic impertinence and raw courage.
The ultimate demonstration of these qualities came in his first encounter against Hearns in 1981. Outboxed through most of the first five rounds and again from Rounds 9 to 12, Leonard assumed the uncharacteristic role of a vengeful gunslinger. Clint Eastwood could not have carried it off better.
His relentless assaults in Rounds 6 and 7 almost stopped Hearns before "The Hitman" got back on his toes during Round 8 and pumped the jab with such force and accuracy over the ensuing rounds that Leonard's left eye was closed when Dundee was forced to issue the immortal words, "You're blowin' it now, son, you're blowin' it," at the end of the 12th.
Despite the fact Hearns had won all but two of his previous 32 bouts inside the distance, Dundee had predicted that Leonard would be the puncher in that fight -- and so it happened.
With an attack that, in the words of Hugh McIlvanney, the doyen of British sportswriters, was "fierce enough to justify heat shields and asbestos balaclavas at the ringside," Leonard consumed Hearns and ended his resistance in the 14th round. Hearns was ahead on the judges' scorecards by totals of 125-121, 125-122 and 124-122 when referee Dave Pearl intervened.
"I've covered nearly 400 world title bouts since but, with all its nuances, Leonard-Hearns I remains the best fight I was ever privileged to watch," ESPN.com contributor George Kimball wrote in his book, "Four Kings: Leonard, Hearns, Hagler, Duran and the Last Great Era of Boxing." "That magical evening in the desert, in the estimation of most boxing historians, was the greatest welterweight fight of all time."
But Leonard's Hall of Fame career, in which he won titles from welterweight to light heavyweight, followed its own defiant course. He was stubborn, doing things his way and protecting his independence fiercely.
Sometimes this streak was a double-edged sword, such as when he resolved to stand toe-to-toe in his first fight against Roberto Duran in 1980 because Duran had insulted him and his first wife, Juanita, and a whisper had been doing the rounds: Can Leonard take a shot?
"I'm a nonconformist, so what you say I cannot do, I will go and do it," Leonard told ESPN.com. "They said that I couldn't trade punches with this bully, Roberto Duran, but that's what I did to him that night in Montreal. Physically, it was one of the greatest challenges of my life and, even though I lost the fight on the judges' scorecards, it was close and I knew I would beat him next time we fought. I just needed to fight my fight."
Five months later at the Superdome in New Orleans, Leonard did, unleashing a psychological strike so devastating that it caused one of boxing's ultimate warriors to do the unthinkable. Facing humiliation as Leonard wound up his right hand theatrically and nailed him with a straight left to the jaw, Duran turned his back on his tormentor in the eighth round and quit.
"It was such an unbelievable moment that people needed an explanation, so Duran's camp came up with the excuse that stomach cramps had caused him to quit," Leonard said. "Stomach cramps? That was baloney. I made Duran quit and, believe me, it was the sweetest thing for me -- and horrible for him."
For Leonard, however, nothing compares with what he did to Hagler. No performance defined Hagler more purely than his three-round destruction of Hearns in 1985 when a rage that might have been borrowed from Genghis Khan consumed the ring and left an enduringly terrifying memory.
"Who should Hagler fight after that?" asked one awestruck observer, who answered his own question with a shiver: "How about Russia?"
"Marvin was a guy I watched religiously, so I knew he'd fought two tough fights against Hearns and Duran and I knew he was getting older," Leonard said. "Then against John Mugabi I could see that the fights were taking their toll, he was slowing down. I was sitting ringside next to the actor Michael J. Fox, drinking a few beers and I told him, 'I can beat this guy.' He looked at me like I was crazy and said, 'Ray, have another beer.'"
"But I invited Marvin over to my restaurant in Bethesda, Md., a few weeks after the Mugabi fight, opened a magnum of champagne and got him talking. 'Who's next, Marvin?' I asked. He said, 'I don't know. Truth is, I'm not as motivated as I used to be.' 'No s---,' I said. Then I asked him again, 'Marvin, who's next?' 'I don't know,' he said. 'I get cut more easily these days, Ray.' 'No s---,' I said, opening another bottle. All night he told me things, and when I announced two weeks later that I wanted to fight him, he was mad."
Leonard got under Hagler's skin and the champion agreed to the challenger's demands of a large ring and a 12-round fight, as opposed to 15, which was still the championship distance.
Once more, Leonard got his way, and he triumphed over Hagler, magnificently and controversially.
Years later at a dinner in Birmingham, England, Leonard provided an insight into what drove him to Jim Rock, a rugged middleweight from Dublin, who was seeking advice about his own career.
"People don't realize how tough it was for me and my family because their perception of me is that I was the all-American kid," Leonard said. "But I came from the ******, Fourth and L Street in Washington, D.C., and my God, it was tough. My father worked in the S&R grocery store near our home, and did other supplemental jobs. My mother worked in Holy Cross Hospital, but there were seven kids and we never had money.
"So when people throw names at me like Floyd Mayweather and Tommy Hearns I say, 'Listen, I believe I could beat Mike Tyson.' Honestly, I'd go to my grave believing I could beat Tyson. If you don't have self-belief, if you don't have an ego, you should be dead and you should never discount what you have in here."
With his clenched right hand and his eyes narrowed, Sugar Ray Leonard pounded his heart.
"That itch, that burning desire which I talked about, I think it has been taken care of, so I'm retiring again," he told the assembled reporters. "But you guys know me."
Six weeks had passed since his epic victory over "Marvelous" Marvin Hagler in"The Super Fight" when he confounded expert opinion, coming back after a five-year layoff -- with only a meaningless fight against Kevin Howard in between -- to dethrone the long-reigning middleweight king, who had been unbeaten for 11 years.
That night he addressed the crowd at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas and hinted that he would step up to challenge Tommy Hearns, who had recently won a world light heavyweight title against Dennis Andries.
"See you in six months and 15 pounds later," he declared. Not for the first time, or the last, Leonard opted for the unexpected again.
Leonard's passion to fight was fueled by his intense, competitive edge.
Ego and vanity fueled his fire, often contributing to unpredictable career decisions, but his narcissism was underpinned by diamond-hard nerve, which made him as reliable as the rising sun as soon as he stepped in the ring.
"Whenever people ask me who's the best fighter I've ever seen I always say Ray Leonard," said Colin Hart, who reported from ringside on all of Leonard's major fights for The Sun newspaper in London. "He had a heart like a lion, a chin like granite and he could do everything, things that Muhammad Ali, for example, could never do."
"This kid could feint you out of your jockstrap," Leonard's trainer, Angelo Dundee, once said -- and in Leonard's greatest performances he was an awesome embodiment of fistic impertinence and raw courage.
The ultimate demonstration of these qualities came in his first encounter against Hearns in 1981. Outboxed through most of the first five rounds and again from Rounds 9 to 12, Leonard assumed the uncharacteristic role of a vengeful gunslinger. Clint Eastwood could not have carried it off better.
His relentless assaults in Rounds 6 and 7 almost stopped Hearns before "The Hitman" got back on his toes during Round 8 and pumped the jab with such force and accuracy over the ensuing rounds that Leonard's left eye was closed when Dundee was forced to issue the immortal words, "You're blowin' it now, son, you're blowin' it," at the end of the 12th.
Despite the fact Hearns had won all but two of his previous 32 bouts inside the distance, Dundee had predicted that Leonard would be the puncher in that fight -- and so it happened.
With an attack that, in the words of Hugh McIlvanney, the doyen of British sportswriters, was "fierce enough to justify heat shields and asbestos balaclavas at the ringside," Leonard consumed Hearns and ended his resistance in the 14th round. Hearns was ahead on the judges' scorecards by totals of 125-121, 125-122 and 124-122 when referee Dave Pearl intervened.
"I've covered nearly 400 world title bouts since but, with all its nuances, Leonard-Hearns I remains the best fight I was ever privileged to watch," ESPN.com contributor George Kimball wrote in his book, "Four Kings: Leonard, Hearns, Hagler, Duran and the Last Great Era of Boxing." "That magical evening in the desert, in the estimation of most boxing historians, was the greatest welterweight fight of all time."
But Leonard's Hall of Fame career, in which he won titles from welterweight to light heavyweight, followed its own defiant course. He was stubborn, doing things his way and protecting his independence fiercely.
Sometimes this streak was a double-edged sword, such as when he resolved to stand toe-to-toe in his first fight against Roberto Duran in 1980 because Duran had insulted him and his first wife, Juanita, and a whisper had been doing the rounds: Can Leonard take a shot?
"I'm a nonconformist, so what you say I cannot do, I will go and do it," Leonard told ESPN.com. "They said that I couldn't trade punches with this bully, Roberto Duran, but that's what I did to him that night in Montreal. Physically, it was one of the greatest challenges of my life and, even though I lost the fight on the judges' scorecards, it was close and I knew I would beat him next time we fought. I just needed to fight my fight."
Five months later at the Superdome in New Orleans, Leonard did, unleashing a psychological strike so devastating that it caused one of boxing's ultimate warriors to do the unthinkable. Facing humiliation as Leonard wound up his right hand theatrically and nailed him with a straight left to the jaw, Duran turned his back on his tormentor in the eighth round and quit.
"It was such an unbelievable moment that people needed an explanation, so Duran's camp came up with the excuse that stomach cramps had caused him to quit," Leonard said. "Stomach cramps? That was baloney. I made Duran quit and, believe me, it was the sweetest thing for me -- and horrible for him."
For Leonard, however, nothing compares with what he did to Hagler. No performance defined Hagler more purely than his three-round destruction of Hearns in 1985 when a rage that might have been borrowed from Genghis Khan consumed the ring and left an enduringly terrifying memory.
"Who should Hagler fight after that?" asked one awestruck observer, who answered his own question with a shiver: "How about Russia?"
"Marvin was a guy I watched religiously, so I knew he'd fought two tough fights against Hearns and Duran and I knew he was getting older," Leonard said. "Then against John Mugabi I could see that the fights were taking their toll, he was slowing down. I was sitting ringside next to the actor Michael J. Fox, drinking a few beers and I told him, 'I can beat this guy.' He looked at me like I was crazy and said, 'Ray, have another beer.'"
"But I invited Marvin over to my restaurant in Bethesda, Md., a few weeks after the Mugabi fight, opened a magnum of champagne and got him talking. 'Who's next, Marvin?' I asked. He said, 'I don't know. Truth is, I'm not as motivated as I used to be.' 'No s---,' I said. Then I asked him again, 'Marvin, who's next?' 'I don't know,' he said. 'I get cut more easily these days, Ray.' 'No s---,' I said, opening another bottle. All night he told me things, and when I announced two weeks later that I wanted to fight him, he was mad."
Leonard got under Hagler's skin and the champion agreed to the challenger's demands of a large ring and a 12-round fight, as opposed to 15, which was still the championship distance.
Once more, Leonard got his way, and he triumphed over Hagler, magnificently and controversially.
Years later at a dinner in Birmingham, England, Leonard provided an insight into what drove him to Jim Rock, a rugged middleweight from Dublin, who was seeking advice about his own career.
"People don't realize how tough it was for me and my family because their perception of me is that I was the all-American kid," Leonard said. "But I came from the ******, Fourth and L Street in Washington, D.C., and my God, it was tough. My father worked in the S&R grocery store near our home, and did other supplemental jobs. My mother worked in Holy Cross Hospital, but there were seven kids and we never had money.
"So when people throw names at me like Floyd Mayweather and Tommy Hearns I say, 'Listen, I believe I could beat Mike Tyson.' Honestly, I'd go to my grave believing I could beat Tyson. If you don't have self-belief, if you don't have an ego, you should be dead and you should never discount what you have in here."
With his clenched right hand and his eyes narrowed, Sugar Ray Leonard pounded his heart.
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