HARD ROAD TO GLORY
JOHNNY NELSON WITH RICHARD COOMBER
This book is dedicated with my love to the women who made a difference in my life: My wife Debbie and my girls, who truly amaze me every day.
And to McAuley Mitchell born 31 January 2007 at 7.33am weighing 8lb 11oz who died of Meconium Aspiration. She only lived two hours but in that short time touched so many people in so many different ways. She will never be far from the thoughts of her mother Caroline and her father and my friend Clifton Mitchell. Only time will heal the pain but her memory will last forever.
At the time of finishing this book, my life long friend ‘Mark Willie’ lost his oldest sister to ovarian cancer. I saw him and his family in pain in their loss, but could do or say nothing I felt would have eased their heartache. I admired the closeness displayed by his family in their time of grief. This is my chance to show my sincere sorrow and sadness for the loss of a daughter, sister, wife, mother and grandmother. She was a very respected, intelligent and warm woman. In life, her aim was to learn from her experiences and share her knowledge with others she met, regardless of race, creed or colour.
Yvonne Beverley Forsythe-Wenham JP
10 July 1954 – 8 May 2007
The secret of success is the ability to survive failure. Noel Coward
I would like to thank Simon Meeks and Jane Salt of the Sheffield Star for their help with the research when I needed to jog my memory; Kate Fowle whose comments on the draft were most helpful; Tanya Arnold, who made the phone call; Lucian Randall at John Blake Publishing for his encouragement from the word go; my wife Debbie, who gave me the drive to succeed; my sister Theresa Smith; and my friends, Clifton Mitchell, Kevin Adamson, Mark Willie, Ryan Rhodes, Stinger Mason, Danny Thompson, Godwin Allert, John ‘Buster’ Keeton and Carl Baker, for helping me put the pieces together for this book.
Most importantly, thanks to my mentor and friend Brendan Ingle, along with his sons John and Dominic Ingle, who taught me self-belief can change everything.
I have tried to set down the events in my life as I experienced them at the time and as I remember them now. Naturally, the dialogue as I have reproduced it will not be word for word as it was said, but it is how I remember it and, I believe, true to what was said. Others may recall some events slightly differently but this is my memory of them and my view of how and why they occurred.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Chapter 1 NO MORE MR COOL
Chapter 2 JESUS WASN’T WHITE
Chapter 3 ONE BLACK KID WENT TO MOW
Chapter 4 THE GYM FIXED IT
Chapter 5 SOMEONE IS SHAGGING YOUR DOG
Chapter 6 TWO MINUTES IS A LONG, LONG TIME
Chapter 7 OH SHIT, I WON
Chapter 8 UNDER BOMBER’S WING
Chapter 9 FIDEL CASTRO AND THE RUBBER GLOVE
Chapter 10 HOW COME ALL THESE PEOPLE KNOW ME?
Chapter 11 WHITE FEATHERS FROM RAMBO
Chapter 12 BREAK-UP AND REVENGE
Chapter 13 GET-AWAY DRIVER IN THE PASSENGER SEAT
Chapter 14 RAT LUNGS IN MAGALUF
Chapter 15 FRESH MEAT OFF THE PLANE
Chapter 16 YOU’RE MY DAD, AREN’T YOU?
Chapter 17 SO THAT’S WHY HARLEYS HAVE BIG SEATS
Chapter 18 LOOK OUT, NAZ IS ON THE PROWL
Chapter 19 SURPRISE, SURPRISE, PATRICE
Chapter 20 I’LL PAY YOU NOT TO FIGHT
Chapter 21 TOO COLD TO HUG MY GIRLS
Chapter 22 PUTTING THE CAT OUT
Chapter 23 ONE SOLICITOR, SEVERAL CLIENTS
Chapter 24 IS IT SENSIBLE TO CALL TYSON ‘FAT BOY’?
Chapter 25 HUNTING AN ADRENALINE RUSH
Chapter 26 THERE’S A PLOT TO KIDNAP YOU
Chapter 27 MR NELSON, YOU MAY NEVER FIGHT AGAIN
Copyright
Even as I lay sobbing on the canvas, my brain was telling me this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t the way winners reacted. I’d visualised the moment so many times in the build-up to fighting Carl Thompson for the WBO world cruiserweight title but it had never looked like this.
In my mind I’d seen my mentor Brendan Ingle, his sons John and Dominic, and the other guys from the gym hugging each other and going crazy. Outside the ring, the crowd were always on their feet cheering and chanting my name. But, whenever I pictured it, I was just standing there, Mr Cool, looking at them as if to say, ‘What’s the fuss about? I always knew this would happen.’
Some hope.
One minute and forty-two seconds into the fifth round, referee Paul Thomas stepped in to stop Carl taking any more punishment and I knew I was finally world champion. That’s when I lost it. I dropped to my knees and rolled over on to my back as though I had been shot. I heard myself scream. It felt as though a spirit was released from somewhere deep inside me, taking with it all the pain of the last few years, the humiliation of being called a coward and the stigma of being tagged the worst boxer ever to fight for a world championship belt.
It had been a hard road. There had been many times I didn’t know if I would make it, times when only my stubborn streak and the persistent encouragement of Brendan kept me going. My own family had laughed at me and told me I was wasting my time. Two of my best friends, Herol Graham and Naseem Hamed, had in turn fallen out with me. Even that night, my third and last chance to be a world champion, my ‘brother’ Naz seemed to stare back at me, his image all over the T-shirts worn by the men in my opponent’s corner. I could only guess at Naz’s motivation but he had underestimated me. Nothing could intimidate me any more. I was a different person from the guy who froze like a terrified animal when the spotlight above the ring first burned down on me.
Brendan had always said I’d never get anywhere in boxing until I was 30 and he’d been right. He and his family had stuck by me throughout and I was also lucky to have the backing of my wife, Debbie. Usually she didn’t watch me work but she was at ringside for the first time for the Thompson fight because I wanted to pile the pressure on myself as never before.
Later that night, when she and I went into our favourite Sheffield club to celebrate, people stood and applauded. It was nice but it didn’t mean much because I knew some of them had been among the crowd who had turned their back