Part I
“You’ll never find me announcing myself as the former super middleweight champion of the world,” said Scotland’s Murray Sutherland. “Never, ever.”
This, as well as being a demonstration of the man’s humility, is also funny. It is funny because more than just a former super middleweight champion of the world, Murray Sutherland is in fact the first of his kind; that is, boxing’s first ever super middleweight champion. That he chooses to not flaunt this distinction is perhaps the reason why so many boxing fans are totally unaware of it. “I’ll never bring it up in conversation and I try my damnedest to gloss over the fact I was ever even a boxer,” he once told me. “But sometimes a friend of mine will mention it to someone – you know, ‘Well, Murray used to be a world champion…’ – and that's how the conversations get initiated. That’s how my past comes back into the present. It only ever happens like that, though. And, of course, when people hear this, they don’t believe it's true. How could that old guy ever be a world champion boxer?”
Born in 1953, Murray Sutherland initially lived in Scotland until he was two weeks shy of his 21st birthday. It was then, on April 1, 1974, he moved to Canada, where he lived for four years before uprooting to and settling in the USA. “My older brother got a job in Canada in the January and the company he worked for – we were both machinists at the time – were looking for good, qualified machinists,” Sutherland, now 71, explained. “My brother put a word in for me and said, ‘Hey, how about my younger brother? He can come over here and do the same thing I can do.’ So, after that, they interviewed me over the phone, offered me the job, and then about a month later I visited the embassy to get the immigration papers in order and that was it: goodbye Scotland.”
Although the reason for Sutherland moving to the States in ’78 was to pursue his boxing career, it actually started, his boxing career, a year prior to that, with Sutherland boxing twice in his native Canada. The first of these fights took place in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and resulted in a loss, while the second was in Toronto, Ontario, and that too resulted in a loss. Two fights down, two defeats on his record, Sutherland, the machinist, was soon on his way to becoming a journeyman professional; the kind accustomed to taking short-notice fights against young prospects promoters were looking to feed. Indeed, Sutherland would go on to lose four of his first 13 fights, form he attributes to the intense level of competition he had to endure during boxing’s golden age.
“Man,” he said, trying not to laugh, “that was a tough time to be around in the sport.” Then, finally, he let it go, the laugh. “I look at the divisions nowadays and I see maybe two or three quality fighters in each of them. But that really wasn’t the case in the mid-seventies. Every single weight class, from heavyweight down to flyweight, was just loaded with talent.
“In the first years of my career I boxed as a light heavyweight, 175 pounds, and that division was full of animals. You had Michael Spinks, Matthew Saad Muhammad, Howard Johnson, Victor Galindez.
“It was definitely an education of sorts,” he added. “During the early part of ’78, before I moved stateside, I remember a guy called Matt Franklin beating Howard Johnson for the title and seeing him on his stool and thinking, How the hell can anyone compete with this guy? He's a savage. Little did I know that two years later I’d be stepping into the ring with this Matt Franklin, then known as Matthew Saad Muhammad, and trying to figure out a way to compete with him.”
Sutherland would compete for his first world title, the WBC light heavyweight crown, against Saad Muhammad in April ‘81 at Atlantic City’s Resorts International. His second title shot, meanwhile, arrived just 12 months later against Michael Spinks. Naturally, both challenges were unsuccessful.
Truth be told, Hall of Famers with concussive power were not Sutherland’s only problems during the 1980s. Like so many others, he too bore his weight struggles and was, for all his trying and cutting, never quite sure in which division he should sit. There were fights at middleweight, light heavyweight and even at catchweights. Yet never did Sutherland truly feel comfortable.
“My walking-around weight was between 178 and 181, tops,” he said. “Two or three weeks into my training – let’s say five weeks from the fight – I’d already be below my fighting weight of 175. I’d eventually be walking around at 170 or 171 during fight week.
“Basically, I was much too small to be a proper, strong light heavyweight contender; the likes of Saad Muhammad and Spinks would walk around at anything between 195 and 200 pounds and would then have to train down to the 175 limit. They were big, strong animals at that weight.
“Also, back then you weighed in on the day of the fight, whereas nowadays you weigh in the day before, which would have helped me, because maybe I could have packed on a few more pounds.”
Ultimately, what Sutherland needed more than anything was a new weight class, one tucked neatly between both middleweight and light heavyweight. Enter, then, the fledgling International Boxing Federation (IBF) and a fresh concept: boxing’s super middleweight division, set at a weight of 168 pounds (or 12 stone). It was pitched as something to entice boxers, like Sutherland, who were caught between weight classes and in need of a permanent home. It was also, presumably, another way for the organization to grab attention and make even more money from sanctioning fees.
Part II
Between them, Murray Sutherland and Ernie Singletary shared 16 professional defeats, with 11 of those defeats suffered by the man who would later go on to lift the first IBF super middleweight title. In other words, for men like Sutherland and Singletary, title fights hardly came around often and, when they did, tended to result only in defeat.
“I got the fight with Singletary in ’84 and, at the time, it was just a regular TV fight, scheduled for 10 rounds in Atlantic City. Nothing to write home about,” said Sutherland. “There were no titles involved and nobody really took much notice of it. I think we signed to fight at a catchweight of something like 165 pounds.
“So, anyway, I went down to West Virginia to spar with a heavyweight I knew down there who was getting ready for a fight of his own in Vegas. West Virginia was great for training because it was something like 12,000-feet above sea level [editor's note: actually closer to 5,000 feet at the state's highest point]; fantastic for cardio and conditioning.
“Then one day I get a call from my manager to check in and see how we’re doing. I tell him everything’s going great and that we’re right on schedule. He then says, ‘Well, Murray, I’ve got a surprise for you. I just got a call from Bobby Lee at the IBF and you’re going to be fighting for the first ever super middleweight championship of the world.’ I was shocked. I asked him, ‘What the hell is that?’ He said, ‘It's the IBF’s new title.’ And again, I said, ‘What the hell is the IBF?’”
Much of the confusion around that time owed to the fact that the International Boxing Federation was a new term in boxing, and had developed from the ashes of the United States Boxing Association (USBA), which had first materialized in September 1976. Back then the idea had been for a new organisation to be based in the United States and to consist of legitimate boxing commissioners from the States and its territories. It would then act as a kind of springboard for boxers looking to climb the rankings of the World Boxing Association (WBA), which, along with the World Boxing Council (WBC), was one of the main sanctioning bodies at the time.
Later, in April 1983, during an annual convention in Atlantic City, members of the USBA voted to expand the organization and create an international division, which resulted in the formation of the United States Boxing Association-International (USBA-I), with Robert W. Lee, a former deputy commissioner for the New Jersey State Athletic Control Board, as its founding president.
To begin with, the USBA-I kept a check on its ambitions, recognizing already distinguished world champion boxers who could possibly one day desire to fight under the organization's banner. This meant, for example, that Marvin Hagler, the WBC and WBA middleweight titleholder, appeared on the USBA-I’s first list of rankings. It also meant that when Hagler and his next opponent, Wilford Scypion, entered into a dispute with the sanctioning bodies regarding the duration of their May 1983 fight, the USBA-I was able to offer what Hagler, in particular, wanted: a 15-round title fight. As a result of this, the USBA-I ended up sanctioning the bout in place of the WBC and WBA, both of which preferred the fight to be fought over 12 rounds, not 15. Hagler, by now accustomed to fighting 15-rounders, left his WBC and WBA titles at home and instead beat Scypion in a bout sanctioned by the USBA-I.
It didn’t stop there, either. Seven months later, Larry Holmes, the reigning WBC world heavyweight titleholder, also declared an interest in fighting for the USBA-I title and was soon listed at the top of its rankings. Next thing you know, he defeated James “Bonecrusher” Smith the following year to defend his USBA-I belt.
It wasn't until 1984, though, that a vote was passed to change the name of the organization from the USBA-I to the International Boxing Federation (IBF), the name under which it operates to this day.
Cruiserweight Marvin Camel, himself a former WBC belt holder and indeed USBA-I titleholder, was then the first man to become a fully fledged IBF titlist when, in December 1983, he defeated Canada’s Roddy MacDonald in five rounds to retain his strap and make a little history. But still, the organization was nothing to shout about at that stage, and really only the emergence and endorsement of Hagler and Holmes suggested the IBF could one day rival the WBC and WBA.
“My manager said to me, ‘This is the big one, Murray. Just get ready.’ I told him not to worry about that – I’d be more than ready – but now I’m preparing to fight in a new division and for a new title. And I didn’t even know I’d be fighting for a world title until two weeks before the fight,” Sutherland said. “So suddenly I go from preparing for a routine 10-rounder to getting ready for my third world title shot.
“My manager also said it would be a 15-round fight – my first ever – but that didn’t matter to me. I was in great shape and, thanks to the high-altitude training, knew I could go the full 15 rounds if need be.”
Although this would represent a third world title shot for Sutherland, this one would not be like the others. This was not Murray Sutherland, perpetual underdog, preparing to weather the considerable storms generated by the likes of Matthew Saad Muhammad and Michael Spinks. No, this one felt different. This one was different.
Born and raised in Philadelphia, Murray’s opponent, Ernie Singletary, carried the nickname “Grog” and had fought mostly as a middleweight in a 10-year professional career. He boasted a career record of 26-5 at the time of the fight and, like Sutherland, had a habit of beating the nobodies and losing to the somebodies.
“I’d heard of Ernie Singletary,” said Sutherland, “but he wasn’t a [Thomas] Hearns [a Sutherland opponent in ’83], a Spinks or a Saad Muhammad – that much was obvious. Ernie was the sort of guy who would give those guys a good fight but lose on points. He was that sort of fighter. And that was OK for me because I was that sort of fighter, too.
“So it was a strange kind of world title fight. It was a matchup between two guys who give the world champions a good fight but ultimately come up short. We had now been given this shot to finally fulfill a dream – to win a version of the world title – and it was up to me to make it happen. I knew this was as good a chance as I was ever likely going to get.”
That was a belief shared by many leading into the fight. One former opponent, and friend, was even moved to pick up the phone and provide Sutherland with both encouragement and a reminder, if needed, that this was it: his big chance.
“When news broke that this Singletary fight would now be for a title, I got a great call from Tommy Hearns, of all people,” Sutherland recalled. “He had just fought Singletary, probably three or four months prior to my fight with him, and warned me against trying to knock him out. He said, ‘Whatever you do, Murray, don’t try and knock this cat out. He’s like a fireplug. Just box his head off. I hit him with some great shots, but he just shook his head and kept on coming.’”
The March 28 fight between Sutherland and Singletary, scheduled for 15 rounds, was booked for Atlantic City, New Jersey. Interestingly, too, such was the relative insignificance of the bout, Sutherland, when speaking to me, struggled to recall specific details of either the venue or the event. “A small casino somewhere,” he said, before being reminded that the venue where he won his belt was a place called Harrah’s Hotel. “Most of the fights back then were held in the small casinos along the Boardwalk, and this was no different. This was no big fight; there were no bright lights or trumpets. It was just a fight to bring in the gamblers, that’s all, and there might have been 2,500 people there at a push.
“This was a regular fight that got bumped up to world title status at the last minute. Even then we’re not talking about an established world title in an established division. This was all new territory for the lot of us. We didn’t have the first idea whether this IBF super middleweight title would crash and burn after just one fight or would keep on going for years and still be active to this day. We genuinely had no clue.”
For once, the implications of winning a world title were pushed to the back of Sutherland’s mind. This, to him, was instead just another fight. Nothing more, nothing less. If anything, the only difference between the fight with Singletary and his previous 53 pro bouts was the fact it was scheduled for 15 rounds. That aside, the opponent, Singletary, represented no great step up in class, and the weight at which they fought, 168 pounds, was deemed perfect for a man who had struggled to fit in at both middleweight and light heavyweight. It was, or so it felt, a fight seemingly constructed for Sutherland to win; a career lap of honor, a celebratory shindig thrown by loved ones. If ever he was going to fulfill his dream of winning a world championship, of any kind, this was it.
Yet despite so many elements falling into place and the stars appearing to align, Sutherland still had to put his body through the rigors of training and he still had to get the better of Singletary over 15 rounds.
“Basically,” he said, “I took Tommy’s advice and ran with it. Never once did I think about knocking Ernie out. I braced myself for going 15 rounds for the first time, prepared as hard as I could, and then outboxed him during the fight.
“My best weapon – and I used it in this fight – was always my defensive boxing. The difference between learning to box in Scotland and learning to box in America is that you’re taught defense in Scotland, but you’re taught that defense comes before offense in America. Defense sets everything up.”
In this bout, in particular, defense set up the left jab, which in turn set up hooks to the body, and Sutherland would round after round use this sequence – defense, jabs, body assault – to befuddle Singletary and then eventually demoralize him.
“I’ve always said I owe that world title victory to the training I did in West Virginia,” said Sutherland. “Without that, the 15-round distance would have been a damn sight harder for me to complete. But because I went to West Virginia, and because I prepared at altitude, I felt like a machine on the night. That’s why it was so easy for me to go the 15 rounds and still be punching like crazy at the end. That, and I knew this was probably my final shot at ever being able to call myself a world champion. If you can’t punch like crazy in the 15th round of your final world title shot, you’re in the wrong sport. Even if you’re spent, you push through.
“But, yes, looking back, that was definitely the best condition I’d ever been in for a fight. I remember during the later rounds, I was on the stool in the corner, perfectly content, and my trainer said, ‘Murray, you can get this guy out of there if you just keep on him. He’s ready to go.’ But I shook my head and said, calmly, ‘Bob, I’m doing what I’ve got to do to win this title. I’m not taking any chances. I’m boxing this guy and that's all I'm doing.’”
And that’s what Sutherland did for a total of 45 minutes. He outboxed Singletary, he did exactly what he needed to do to win, and he was then rewarded at the end of it all with both a unanimous decision (146-139, 146-139 and 147-140) and the first-ever world super middleweight title. His opponent, meanwhile, having succumbed to his sixth pro defeat, never boxed again.
“With it being such a new title, nobody knew how long it would stick around,” said Sutherland. “We already had the WBC, the WBA and a few others on the periphery. They used to call it ‘alphabet soup’ because you could basically put any number of letters together and come up with a boxing title. Already back then, it was starting to get ridiculous. So this new title I’d won, my world title, was just another one of these letter combinations. None of us knew whether it would be a paper crown or a longstanding, well-respected title. In many ways, then, I wouldn’t even realize I’d become a proper world champion until years later. The title almost needed to prove its worth – just as I had proved mine in winning it.”
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