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Note: He won the USBA title the day this came out (YESTERDAY).....
Hartford's Oliver Making Push For Recognition
`Ready To Fight' As He Faces Carrera At Mohegan Sun Tonight
October 27, 2006
By TOM PULEO, Courant Staff Writer
Mike Oliver survived one of Hartford's toughest neighborhoods by taking shelter in a one-room boxing gym called the Bellevue Square Boys Club.
It was there, along downtown's frayed northern edge, that the slender kid known as "Mike-Mike" grew into a decorated amateur known as much for his athletic promise as for his casual approach to training.
Tonight, Oliver takes the biggest step of his career when he fights for the vacant USBA junior featherweight title at the Mohegan Sun.It's an opportunity he almost didn't get after disappearing into the Connecticut prison system for much of 2004. But Oliver is focused under new trainer John Scully, who has urged the undefeated fighter to trust someone he had been ducking for years - himself.
"If I wasn't boxing I'd probably end up in jail somewhere," Oliver said. "I think I'd be in trouble. But now I'm doing everything right. I'm following the right steps. I'm ready to fight, ready to go."
Oliver (16-0, seven KOs) will fight California's Adam Carrera (18-1, eight KOs) in the main event - a fight that could earn the winner a world ranking. Carrera is the USBA's No. 3 junior featherweight. Oliver, who weighed in at 1213/4 pounds Friday, is No. 4.
Oliver, 26, will need all of his newfound dedication to defeat Carrera, a brawler who goes by the nickname "El Torito," Spanish for "Little Bull."
"This is a crossroads type of fight," Scully said. "The loser takes two steps backward and the winner - you're talking top 10 in the world and a realistic chance at a world title."
Oliver saw Carrera fight in 1996 at a national amateur tournament. He said that's one advantage. The other is geography.
"He's coming to my home state," Oliver said. "There's no pressure on me. He's got all the pressure on him. I've fought tougher guys than [Carrera]."
Bellevue Beginning
Few fighters illustrate Hartford's boxing story like Oliver, who first showed up at the Bellevue Square Boys Club in 1981, when he was 2 years old. Back then Hartford had several boxing gyms that regularly sent dozens of kids to the regional Golden Gloves tournaments.
Johnny Duke, who ran Bellevue Square for 38 years as a haven for city youth, took Oliver under his sizeable wing, gave him a key so he could train on weekends, taught him how to drive off his spindly legs and swarm opponents with punches.
Oliver became a seven-time regional Junior Olympics champion. In 2000, he became only the third boxer from the Hartford area to qualify for the U.S. Olympic Boxing Trials, joining Scully (1988) and Lawrence Clay-Bey (1996).
In many ways, Oliver is the last active link to the Duke era.
"There is literally nobody from Bellevue Square boxing anymore," Scully said. "I don't see any fighters who were born and raised in Hartford and learned to box here."
When Oliver wasn't hitting the bag at Bellevue Square, he bounced between the homes of family members. His father, Michael Oliver, wasn't around much, and in high school, Oliver lived with his grandmother, Laura Martin.
Those who know Oliver say he took shelter in the gym mainly to get off the streets, and that boxing was almost secondary. Oliver was "socially promoted" through grade school and in 1996 was enrolled at Hartford Public, where he was a student at the Special Education Learning Center, a last stop for children who are deemed socially and emotionally maladjusted.
Oliver did not graduate and today struggles to read and write, say those close to him.
"His only hope was boxing," said Sammy Vega, a boyhood pal who will be in Oliver's corner with Scully tonight. "The only thing he knew how to do was box."
Oliver rents an apartment in Hartford's South End. He lives with his 4-year-old daughter, Melanie, whose picture he keeps on the front screen of his cellular phone.
Oliver, who has no other job besides training, said Melanie's mother helps with day care. Oliver gets financial support from his managers, Marc Shafer, a West Hartford entrepreneur, and Jeff Chervenak, a Bloomfield mortgage broker.
Under the terms of their three-year contract, Shafer and Chervenak pay Oliver a salary so he can focus on training, and the managers keep 30 percent of his winnings. Oliver will earn about $10,000 tonight, Shafer said.
`Some ****** Stuff'
Things were looking up for Oliver in spring 2003. In May at Foxwoods Resort Casino, Oliver knocked Hassan Wasswa to the canvas three times. He opened a cut above Wasswa's eye with his third knockdown in the fifth round and the referee stopped the fight.
Oliver was 6-0 as a pro and seemingly on his way. Then he dropped out of sight, spending a year in the Connecticut prison system on convictions for first-degree unlawful restraint, third-degree robbery and third-degree assault.
The convictions stemmed from a domestic incident in West Hartford and an incident at Bushnell Park in Hartford.
Shafer said Oliver did "some ****** stuff" and wants to keep it behind him.
Shortly after getting out of prison on Dec. 6, 2004, Oliver went looking for Scully, who had helped train him as an amateur. Oliver had a reputation for poor work habits and would blow off training sessions. Inside the ring, he would get winded from swinging wildly.
In a sport where mind games count, Scully started the makeover by working on Oliver's posture. He said Oliver no longer slumps his shoulders during low points in fights.
"It's a submitting posture that says, `I'm tired, take it easy on me,'" Scully said. "I told him, `Hey, don't do it, you look silly, you look ridiculous.' I tried to get into his head that you want people to ask for breaks from you. You have to be a monster. Now that he's doing it, I think he likes it. He's starting to grasp the concept of what it means to be a pro."
Oliver is using his hands better. He's throwing fewer punches and landing at a higher percentage. Vega, who has sparred with Oliver for years, said the punches now hurt. That wasn't always the case.
"I used to go six or seven rounds with Mike," Vega said. "Now I can't even do four. When he went with Scully, it all changed. It was hard for him to get used to. He never used to run in the mornings."
Shafer said the training structure has helped Oliver inside the ring and out.
"He's so much more relaxed about his personal life," Shafer said. "He's a better father for it. He's a better everything."
New Challenge
Twice a week, Scully teaches a boxing class for adults at the LA Boxing franchise in Glastonbury. Oliver joins him to get some extra work and also to help out.
While others sputter and howl in pain while getting pummeled in the stomach with medicine balls, Oliver cruises through his workouts with remarkable ease. He finishes a few dozen "scissors" - sit-up maneuvers with legs slightly raised - and lets out a satisfied whistle.
Scully pushes Oliver hard. He increases the resistance on the exercise bike, challenges Oliver to hit the bag harder.
"Dig in, dig in," Scully says. "Speed is power. Turn. Turn. C'mon Mike-Mike. Faster. There's no tomorrow. You gotta get nasty."
"He works me to death," Oliver said. "He's pushing me to the limit - to where I've never been pushed before, to see if I can be where I want to be."
Scully (38-11, 21 KOs) won a bronze medal at the 1988 U.S. Olympic trials and fought Henry Maske for the IBF light heavyweight title in 1996, losing a 12-round decision in Germany. Despite success, Scully - nicknamed the "Iceman" - said he underachieved.
When he looks at Oliver, Scully sees a part of himself.
"I tell him, `Don't be like me. Don't wish you could go back and do it again. Leave it all out there today.'"
Oliver enjoys himself. He shadow boxes with Vega, or the Gatorade vending machine, whatever catches his eye. Vega, a paralegal, said Oliver seems to have turned a corner in his life.
"Hopefully he's realizing that boxing is the only thing he knows, the only thing he can do," Vega said. "After boxing, it would be hard for him to do something else. He doesn't have the skills to do anything else."
Shafer, looking down the road, wants to get Oliver back in school. He wants Oliver to learn to read and write and lead a productive life outside of boxing.
"He doesn't want to be a kid walking around in Hartford," Shafer said.
Hartford's Oliver Making Push For Recognition
`Ready To Fight' As He Faces Carrera At Mohegan Sun Tonight
October 27, 2006
By TOM PULEO, Courant Staff Writer
Mike Oliver survived one of Hartford's toughest neighborhoods by taking shelter in a one-room boxing gym called the Bellevue Square Boys Club.
It was there, along downtown's frayed northern edge, that the slender kid known as "Mike-Mike" grew into a decorated amateur known as much for his athletic promise as for his casual approach to training.
Tonight, Oliver takes the biggest step of his career when he fights for the vacant USBA junior featherweight title at the Mohegan Sun.It's an opportunity he almost didn't get after disappearing into the Connecticut prison system for much of 2004. But Oliver is focused under new trainer John Scully, who has urged the undefeated fighter to trust someone he had been ducking for years - himself.
"If I wasn't boxing I'd probably end up in jail somewhere," Oliver said. "I think I'd be in trouble. But now I'm doing everything right. I'm following the right steps. I'm ready to fight, ready to go."
Oliver (16-0, seven KOs) will fight California's Adam Carrera (18-1, eight KOs) in the main event - a fight that could earn the winner a world ranking. Carrera is the USBA's No. 3 junior featherweight. Oliver, who weighed in at 1213/4 pounds Friday, is No. 4.
Oliver, 26, will need all of his newfound dedication to defeat Carrera, a brawler who goes by the nickname "El Torito," Spanish for "Little Bull."
"This is a crossroads type of fight," Scully said. "The loser takes two steps backward and the winner - you're talking top 10 in the world and a realistic chance at a world title."
Oliver saw Carrera fight in 1996 at a national amateur tournament. He said that's one advantage. The other is geography.
"He's coming to my home state," Oliver said. "There's no pressure on me. He's got all the pressure on him. I've fought tougher guys than [Carrera]."
Bellevue Beginning
Few fighters illustrate Hartford's boxing story like Oliver, who first showed up at the Bellevue Square Boys Club in 1981, when he was 2 years old. Back then Hartford had several boxing gyms that regularly sent dozens of kids to the regional Golden Gloves tournaments.
Johnny Duke, who ran Bellevue Square for 38 years as a haven for city youth, took Oliver under his sizeable wing, gave him a key so he could train on weekends, taught him how to drive off his spindly legs and swarm opponents with punches.
Oliver became a seven-time regional Junior Olympics champion. In 2000, he became only the third boxer from the Hartford area to qualify for the U.S. Olympic Boxing Trials, joining Scully (1988) and Lawrence Clay-Bey (1996).
In many ways, Oliver is the last active link to the Duke era.
"There is literally nobody from Bellevue Square boxing anymore," Scully said. "I don't see any fighters who were born and raised in Hartford and learned to box here."
When Oliver wasn't hitting the bag at Bellevue Square, he bounced between the homes of family members. His father, Michael Oliver, wasn't around much, and in high school, Oliver lived with his grandmother, Laura Martin.
Those who know Oliver say he took shelter in the gym mainly to get off the streets, and that boxing was almost secondary. Oliver was "socially promoted" through grade school and in 1996 was enrolled at Hartford Public, where he was a student at the Special Education Learning Center, a last stop for children who are deemed socially and emotionally maladjusted.
Oliver did not graduate and today struggles to read and write, say those close to him.
"His only hope was boxing," said Sammy Vega, a boyhood pal who will be in Oliver's corner with Scully tonight. "The only thing he knew how to do was box."
Oliver rents an apartment in Hartford's South End. He lives with his 4-year-old daughter, Melanie, whose picture he keeps on the front screen of his cellular phone.
Oliver, who has no other job besides training, said Melanie's mother helps with day care. Oliver gets financial support from his managers, Marc Shafer, a West Hartford entrepreneur, and Jeff Chervenak, a Bloomfield mortgage broker.
Under the terms of their three-year contract, Shafer and Chervenak pay Oliver a salary so he can focus on training, and the managers keep 30 percent of his winnings. Oliver will earn about $10,000 tonight, Shafer said.
`Some ****** Stuff'
Things were looking up for Oliver in spring 2003. In May at Foxwoods Resort Casino, Oliver knocked Hassan Wasswa to the canvas three times. He opened a cut above Wasswa's eye with his third knockdown in the fifth round and the referee stopped the fight.
Oliver was 6-0 as a pro and seemingly on his way. Then he dropped out of sight, spending a year in the Connecticut prison system on convictions for first-degree unlawful restraint, third-degree robbery and third-degree assault.
The convictions stemmed from a domestic incident in West Hartford and an incident at Bushnell Park in Hartford.
Shafer said Oliver did "some ****** stuff" and wants to keep it behind him.
Shortly after getting out of prison on Dec. 6, 2004, Oliver went looking for Scully, who had helped train him as an amateur. Oliver had a reputation for poor work habits and would blow off training sessions. Inside the ring, he would get winded from swinging wildly.
In a sport where mind games count, Scully started the makeover by working on Oliver's posture. He said Oliver no longer slumps his shoulders during low points in fights.
"It's a submitting posture that says, `I'm tired, take it easy on me,'" Scully said. "I told him, `Hey, don't do it, you look silly, you look ridiculous.' I tried to get into his head that you want people to ask for breaks from you. You have to be a monster. Now that he's doing it, I think he likes it. He's starting to grasp the concept of what it means to be a pro."
Oliver is using his hands better. He's throwing fewer punches and landing at a higher percentage. Vega, who has sparred with Oliver for years, said the punches now hurt. That wasn't always the case.
"I used to go six or seven rounds with Mike," Vega said. "Now I can't even do four. When he went with Scully, it all changed. It was hard for him to get used to. He never used to run in the mornings."
Shafer said the training structure has helped Oliver inside the ring and out.
"He's so much more relaxed about his personal life," Shafer said. "He's a better father for it. He's a better everything."
New Challenge
Twice a week, Scully teaches a boxing class for adults at the LA Boxing franchise in Glastonbury. Oliver joins him to get some extra work and also to help out.
While others sputter and howl in pain while getting pummeled in the stomach with medicine balls, Oliver cruises through his workouts with remarkable ease. He finishes a few dozen "scissors" - sit-up maneuvers with legs slightly raised - and lets out a satisfied whistle.
Scully pushes Oliver hard. He increases the resistance on the exercise bike, challenges Oliver to hit the bag harder.
"Dig in, dig in," Scully says. "Speed is power. Turn. Turn. C'mon Mike-Mike. Faster. There's no tomorrow. You gotta get nasty."
"He works me to death," Oliver said. "He's pushing me to the limit - to where I've never been pushed before, to see if I can be where I want to be."
Scully (38-11, 21 KOs) won a bronze medal at the 1988 U.S. Olympic trials and fought Henry Maske for the IBF light heavyweight title in 1996, losing a 12-round decision in Germany. Despite success, Scully - nicknamed the "Iceman" - said he underachieved.
When he looks at Oliver, Scully sees a part of himself.
"I tell him, `Don't be like me. Don't wish you could go back and do it again. Leave it all out there today.'"
Oliver enjoys himself. He shadow boxes with Vega, or the Gatorade vending machine, whatever catches his eye. Vega, a paralegal, said Oliver seems to have turned a corner in his life.
"Hopefully he's realizing that boxing is the only thing he knows, the only thing he can do," Vega said. "After boxing, it would be hard for him to do something else. He doesn't have the skills to do anything else."
Shafer, looking down the road, wants to get Oliver back in school. He wants Oliver to learn to read and write and lead a productive life outside of boxing.
"He doesn't want to be a kid walking around in Hartford," Shafer said.
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