Cleaning out a desk brought back some great memories.
I've been fortunate in a 35-year journalism career to witness some exciting events. One stands alone, however. I was reminded of a special night when I found some of the media credentials I have compiled.
June 7, 2003. Atlantic City, N.J. The final bout of Micky Ward's legendary boxing career, "The Final Chapter," the last bout between Ward and Arturo Gatti, two men forever linked by three classic fights which will be talked about for decades.
I was assigned to cover the bout for the Lowell Sun, where I was the assistant sports editor.
What a day. I flew into Philadelphia, rented a car, and drove south to Atlantic City. Visibility was poor. It got worse. By the time I reached my destination, it was raining buckets. Sheets of rain fell all day.
The real storm, however, occurred in the ring. As the fighters made their way into the ring, I couldn't believe the noise. I'm not sure I wrote down any notes in the first two rounds. Talk about sensory overload. I literally had to calm my breathing and remind myself I had a job to do.
Ward, the pride of Lowell, and Gatti waged a war like few have witnessed. Unless you saw the first two bouts. Two men. Two warriors. Neither giving an inch. When the final buzzer sounded and the 10th round ended, the place went nuts. Officially, Gatti won by decision. Unofficially, everyone lucky enough to be in that arena won.
How do you describe the indescribable? A Saturday night deadline, always the toughest to make, loomed.
My job became tougher when I learned there would be no post-fight press conference. Both fighters were too injured to attend. They both required hospitalization.
I panicked. An event like this needed quotes, it needed words from Ward, our hometown hero. What was I going to do? Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Ward's nephew, Sean Eklund. I asked Sean if he could sneak me into Micky's locker room. Sean said he would try.
At the entrance, a security guard stopped us.
"He's with me," Sean said, pointing at me. The security guard let me pass.
Walking into the room, I heard a doctor tell Micky, in no uncertain terms, his boxing career was over. Soon Micky was placed on a stretcher. As he was being wheeled toward an ambulance, I greeted Micky.
I asked a couple of questions and the always affable Ward granted me one of the most memorable interviews of my career. It was tough to see when we reached the bowels of the arena. There was little light. I thanked Micky for his time and wished him luck.
Seconds later, I heard a voice. "Make way for the great Micky Ward!" I turned to see who said those words. It was Jim Lampley, the famous boxing announcer who had called the fight. As I got closer, I noticed that Lampley was crying. I asked for an interview, explaining I was from Micky's hometown newspaper.
He agreed but asked if he could compose himself. He apologized for crying. He was so overcome with emotion from witnessing the epic battle. Lampley also wanted to pay tribute to Micky's career.
What an interview. What a night.
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