By Thomas Gerbasi

I’ve seen the word “legend” tossed about more than a few times when discussing the death of former junior middleweight contender Tony Ayala Jr. Tuesday at the age of 52.

I guess by that definition, Ayala Jr. was a legend from 1981 to 1982, when he terrorized the 154-pound weight class and seemed destined for greatness. Unfortunately, he was a terror to women as well, in particular a New Jersey woman he raped in 1983. It wasn’t his first assault, as he had also beat and raped a teenager in the bathroom of a San Antonio drive-in theater when he was only 15 himself. Tried as an adult, he was sentenced to 10 years in prison. An alleged $40,000 payment to the victim encouraged her to plead for leniency for him. He was granted probation.

That’s unfortunately what happens when you can tame an animal to the point where he can perform for the masses, entertain them, and make those around him enough money for them to turn their heads when he takes his behavior outside of society’s accepted norms. A harsh assessment? Absolutely, but what else would you call the Texas native, who was most certainly entertaining and on the verge of making a lot of people a lot of money as the mandatory challenger for WBA champion Davey Moore’s title.

But eventually, the blinders had to come off, and after the 1983 rape, the 19-year-old Ayala was found guilty and sentenced to 35 years in jail, 15 to be served before being eligible for parole.

That should have been the end of the story, but nothing appeals to sports fans more than a redemption story, and after admitting to being sexually abused as a child and also revealing that his alcohol and drug use only pushed him further in terms of acting out his rage, he said he was a changed man. The world bought it, and so did the parole board, releasing him in 1999, when he resumed his boxing career.

In 2000, he was four fights (all wins) into his comeback when he was slated to face Yory Boy Campas in July of that year. I had the opportunity to interview him and I accepted it, wanting to hit him with the tough questions I didn’t believe were ever answered.

I asked. He answered. He didn’t avoid any talk of the past and his transgressions against women and society. I asked him how he felt he was treated by the media. He said everything you hoped he would say.

“The negative press that I got was a result of me having committed a crime,” Ayala said. “And it should have been negative.  It should have been critical.  I committed a crime against this nation, I committed a crime against a woman.  I violated her life, and as a result of that I went to prison.  I did my time, got out.  When I came out I think a lot of people were wondering whether or not I had changed; whether or not I was the same person; whether or not I was dangerous.  Some rushed to judgment, assumed that I was the same person, and thought I was saying the right things to get back into the good graces of people.  I think that over the course of the year and a half I've been out it's been clear that they weren't just words.  I really did change, and I've turned my life around.  I'm certainly no angel, but I'm certainly not a criminal anymore.”

When the interview was over, I told him my thoughts on him going into our talk. He understood and I hung up the phone thinking that he was telling the truth, that he had truly changed.

I was sold. And I was wrong.

He wasn’t a changed man. It was just that his con game got stronger. Before prison, he didn’t hide anything, and his vicious approach to boxing and life made him a star. No one cared that he spit at an opponent after stopping him, that he once needed his trainer to pull him off a downed foe, or that he admitted to shooting heroin before three bouts. That only added to what could easily be described as – yes - his legend. He was a man-child with no filter, no restraint and no mercy. What most of us didn’t know at the time was that this savagery extended beyond the prize ring.

Post-prison, Ayala was craftier. He couldn’t fight like he did when he was a ferocious teenage prodigy, as evidenced by the Campas fight, in which he quit after the eighth round. He fought five more times, winning four, and when he couldn’t convince his opponents to be scared and fall down, he tried to sell the media on being a reformed human being. It didn’t work anymore.

Sandwiched between his loss to Campas in 2000 and his final bout, a 2003 loss to Anthony Bonsante, there were more legal woes, including the 2000 incident where Ayala was charged with burglary of a habitation with intent to commit assault. During that break-in in San Antonio, an 18-year-old woman he had met in a local gym shot Ayala in the shoulder. She was lucky, as all the signs were consistent with another brutal crime like the one that put Ayala behind bars in 1982.

In the San Antonio Police Department report, one of the house's inhabitants was sleeping on a sofa when she awoke from sleep to see a dark figure (Ayala) standing near her. Ayala was dressed in dark clothing, and he walked from the living room to the kitchen. At this time the woman on the sofa went to the bedroom, and told the other woman, “There's someone in the house, get the gun.” Shortly after, Ayala was confronted in the kitchen of the house, and after advancing towards the woman, he was shot. “

“At this time we feel she was right and justified in what she did,” Deputy Police Chief Richard Gleinser said.

Ayala was given probation, only to fall once again when he violated that parole, being found with heroin and pornography in his vehicle after being pulled over for speeding and driving without a license. In April of 2014, he was released, nine days after being allowed to attend the funeral of his father Tony Sr.

What did Tony Ayala Sr. think of his son when he died? What did Tony Ayala Jr. think of his own life when he died, reportedly from cardiac arrest, Tuesday morning?

“Legend” probably wasn’t a word that came up in either case.

2000 interview with Tony Ayala Jr. from the CyberBoxingZone
http://www.cyberboxingzone.com/boxing/tg72600.htm