Loftus Road, Shepherd’s Bush, London

8 June 1985

Every so often in life there is a marker that appears illustrating the passage of time and today (8 June 2010) is no exception. It was exactly twenty five years ago that my boyhood idol the ‘Clones Cyclone’ Barry McGuigan fought Panama’s legendary all time great world champion Eusebio Pedroza for the WBA version of the world featherweight title. Contests like this don’t come any bigger and even as a young lad I could sense that this was huge (on a par with Randolph Turpin beating Sugar Ray Robinson in 1951 and England winning the World Cup in 1966).

I can clearly remember the nerves and excitement in my household as my parents together with my brother and I tuned in like millions across the UK and Ireland that Saturday night to hopefully witness something special. It is only with the passage of time and the benefit of hindsight that I now realise just how important and special that night was, not just for boxing but for sport in general.

In Eusebio Pedroza the world had a true great of the featherweight division. He was 32 years old at the time of the defence against McGuigan. He had up till then made 19 successful defences of his title, a record that still stands. That is how good he was. He had not lost a fight since 1976 and since becoming world champion in 1978 fought and beat off a variety of world class contenders. He had faced and beaten the best, showing outstanding footwork, fast hands, a lethal bolo punch, sound chin and an excellent tactical brain. He had defended his title in Puerto Rico, Japan, America, Korea, Venezuela, Italy, St Vincent and Papua New Guinea. He was used to fighting and winning away from home and at five feet 8 inches tall he was two inches taller than his challenger also with a 39 – 3 – 1 (24 KO’s) record he was vastly more experienced. To say it was a daunting task for McGuigan is an understatement.

McGuigan in the mid 1980s was the biggest name in British and Irish boxing. He was a superstar when the epithet really meant something. His Promoter-Manager the shrewd Barney Eastwood had done an excellent job in marketing his protégé; by the time of the world title fight the 24 year old with a choir boy’s face and the modest, likeable manner was a household name. Such was McGuigan’s crossover appeal that he could name schoolchildren, men, women and even old grannies among his many fans.

More importantly in his own back yard of Clones, just outside of the border with Northern Ireland he enjoyed support from both Catholics and Protestants. No one sporting or political had managed to bring two warring factions together like McGuigan had. As McGuigan said himself (in the excellent ‘Barry McGuigan: The Untold Story’): ‘I knew that I didn’t make peace, but I knew that there was peace when I fought, that these boys were holding each other’s hands and saying ‘Come on, cheer this young kid on. He’s fighting for us.’

So these were unprecedented times for the troubled area and the media lapped it up. The Catholic McGuigan was married to a Protestant girl (literally the girl next door and childhood sweetheart). A Hollywood scriptwriter would have blushed to make this all up, but it was real! That McGuigan could also fight helped of course.

On his way up the featherweight ranks since his pro debut in 1981 he had beaten quality boxers like: Jose Caba (a former Pedroza victim in a losing title effort in 1983), Esteban Eguia (when McGuigan won the European title) and Juan Laporte (the Puerto Rican iron man who had given Pedroza such a torrid time in a foul-filled and ill-tempered defence in 1982). By the time he stepped into the ring against Pedroza he was 26 – 1 (his sole defeat in only his third contest later avenged) with 23 inside the distance wins.

If Pedroza was the flashy matador then McGuigan was the aggressive bull. In compiling his record McGuigan had shown an impressive ring brain, but his real strength was the enormous unremitting pressure he put on opponents. His jab was unerringly accurate and his hooks to the head and particularly to the body (an often neglected area by modern boxers) were often devastating. He was brimming with confidence and energy and raring to prove himself at the highest level.

Pedroza’s manager Santiago Del Rio was as shrewd as Barney Eastwood and he knew that if his man fought McGuigan at the King’s Hall, Belfast there would not be a single friend in the house; such was the passionate and extremely vocal support McGuigan enjoyed there. So that venue was out of the question. The negotiations were thorough with Del Rio attempting to get the champion the best possible deal. When it was finally over it was agreed that the contest would take place at the beginning of the summer on Saturday 8 June at Loftus Road, home of football team Queens Park Rangers.

On the night there was an amazing atmosphere nearly rivalling those at the King’s Hall as 26,000 fans packed the arena on that warm June evening. At least three quarters of those fans would be Irish or of Irish decent, so Del Rio’s plans to minimise the impact of the partisan support the challenger could expect had backfired!

I can remember feeling physically sick to my stomach with nerves before the bout and nearly shaking as McGuigan’s father, Pat sang ‘Danny Boy’ with 26,000 backing singers helping him out! Eastwood had even managed to produce an Irish leprechaun to the surprise and delight of legendary commentator Harry Carpenter. The champion looked less amused as for a moment with his back turned and the crowd roaring he turned in instinctive shock half expecting perhaps McGuigan to take a ‘cheap shot’ before proceedings only to see a midget dressed in a green bowler hat and shorts waving his fists theatrically at him!

It was the last trick used to unsettle the Pedroza camp, there had been much needle and bitterness in the build up to the fight, with Pedroza jumping on and off the scales at the weigh-in earlier that morning quick as a flash and Eastwood demanding that the champion re-weigh-in as no one from the McGuigan camp could verify that he had in fact made the nine stone (126 pound) limit. There were ugly scenes and Eastwood threatened that there would be no fight until better heads prevailed. Santiago Del Rio was clearly amused at Eastwood’s discomfort and annoyance; it would be the last time he would smile for a while as events unfolded.

Back to the fight and the opening bell could just about be heard over the roar of the crowd. Pedroza was still on one knee crossing himself and McGuigan showed true sportsmanship and class by allowing the champion to finish this ritual before going on the attack. This was a key moment as there had been fears that with all the hype, needle and gamesmanship as well as Pedroza’s reputation as a sometimes ‘dirty’ fighter and McGuigan’s body shots sometimes straying below the belt that this contest could degenerate into an untidy, foul-filled maul. With one simple, patient gesture all of that had been defused and thankfully the contest would be a spirited but clean affair.

I sat pensive with my family in those early rounds watching in awe at the smoothness of Pedroza’s footwork and the speed and accuracy of his punches. For the first few rounds all McGuigan could do was try to work his way in, slipping the jab and unsettle the champ’s rhythm. He kept storming forward but Pedroza looked so dangerous as he landed several jabs, right uppercuts and a hellish looking bolo shot that landed right on McGuigan’s heart. Barry amazingly walked through it all, but there were plenty of anxious moments earlier on.

Slowly though McGuigan’s aggression and non-stop pressure began to tell. He managed to get in a few meaty hooks of his own and the champion was frowning in deep concentration as he tried to keep the terrier that was McGuigan at bay. After six action packed rounds which had flown by most observers had them both even.

The seventh round, oh the seventh round! It produced for me one of the most special moments in any sports event I have ever witnessed. Nostalgia can make things more rose tinted than they actually were, but believe me, even now when I watch the fight on an old battered VHS tape I still get shivers down the back of my spine!

The round followed the by now familiar pattern of Pedroza circling and countering effectively and McGuigan pursuing, looking to unload. Pedroza retreated to the ropes, dropped his left slightly as he jabbed and then McGuigan fired a beautifully timed right hand that landed right on the button sending Pedroza sideways to the canvas. I can still hear Harry Carpenter’s commentary: ‘McGuigan hasn’t quite found the range….Oh but he has, he’s got him with a right!’ In those brief seconds I think the whole crowd stood up and cheered as Pedroza desperately tried to clear his head as the referee South Africa’s Stanley Christodolou completed the mandatory eight count.

McGuigan was on fire now and he pressed forward both fists flying while Pedroza employed all of his twelve years experience as a professional to slip, clutch, clinch and maul his way to the safety of the bell. He managed to do this but a huge psychological point had been scored and it was the turning point we had all been waiting for. That Pedroza raised his arms in defiance at the sound of the bell was more an indication of his acknowledgement of how desperate the situation had become. It was yet more gamesmanship from the Panamanian’s camp but they were fooling nobody.

Amazingly in the eighth Pedroza showed just why he had been champion so long by taking the round thanks to some excellent boxing on his toes. He was enjoying a good spell in the ninth too until another big right smashed home sending the crowd wild and the champion’s legs wobbly. The bell rang to save the champion and Santiago Del Rio nearly went apoplectic with rage at the referee for halting the action so late, but he just could not hear the bell over the din of the super enthusiastic crowd.

There was a palpable feeling in the air that the title really could be about to change hands. McGuigan was remorseless and although Pedroza won a round here and there he was soon back into survival mode in the thirteenth a McGuigan attack had Pedroza reeling and staggering around the ring like a drunk in a funhouse. The bell saved him but he must have realised that the title was slipping from his grasp. McGuigan would just not be denied.

The fourteenth and fifteenth rounds went by in a wonderful blur with the crowd singing their hero home to victory and the magnificent champion showing courage, pride and tenacity to survive to the final bell. When it was finally over Pedroza showed true class when he walked over to McGuigan and threw his arms around him saying ‘You will be a great champion.’

Not long after that McGuigan was hoisted on to the shoulders of his cornermen and held aloft, he modestly kept his head down as he raised his gloves in triumph, almost as if not to jinx the decision which was yet to be announced.

When it was the place erupted (as did the Cann household!) Barry McGuigan was the new WBA world featherweight champion! It had been an unforgettable evening and occasion and in those forty five minutes of unrelenting action McGuigan sealed his place in the Parthenon of great boxers. Since then I have witnessed many contests and seen a lot of boxing stars come and go, but none have managed to recapture the drama and magic of that very special summers night.