You can always tell what kind of mood Johnny Bos is in by the music on his answering machine.

Today, it’s Juelz Santana’s Mic Check—at 53, he’s still got his ear to the street. An unexpected prophecy from The Daily News is the reason for the upbeat rhythms and Bos’ good spirits.

“Hang in there Aquarians, the stars really are smiling down on you,” he recites. “Things have a way of sorting itself out. Life is like shifting sands, every move someone makes changes the status quo for others.”

The words of encouragement emit a chuckle from the eccentric matchmaker – good news has been scarce these days. Poor health and financial woes have got him down; the game he’s given so much to hasn’t reciprocated in kind. Leo Durocher had it right about nice guys. 

“How the hell do I know?” he bellows when asked about his future. It’s hard to tell if Bos is still in a good mood, his grating tone is impossible to gauge over the phone. “It’s hard enough to make matches these days; you can thank promotional contracts for that.”

The last line is a Bos mantra – he believes the axis of evil comprised of fighter, promoter and network has stunted the sport’s growth. True matchmakers are an endangered species; fights boil down to who’s fighting for what network or, if the boxer hasn’t reached that plateau, how many stiffs his handlers can feed him before talking heads swoon at his record. Matchmaking the way the Wizard of Bos does it is an endangered art form, possibly extinct. Compounding matters is boxing’s unforgiving nature; fighters who once swore by Bos’ every word can’t be bothered to return his calls, promoters hound for (free) advice but little else.

Still, Bos remains loyal to his craft—the sweet science is a hard habit to kick. Getting off the sauce, which he accomplished 25 years ago, was easy by comparison. Partying was just something he liked to do. But boxing is and has always been his entire life—put his cells under a microscope and you’re liable to find zillions of tiny leather gloves floating around.

“There aren’t too many honorable guys like Johnny left in the game,” says former fighter turned trainer Joey Gamache, who benefited under Bos’ tutelage. “I’m amazed today how easy it is for fighters to just stiff him or just cut him off totally. In the old days, a handshake was good enough. That’s all we ever had and it worked out pretty good.” They went 55-4 together, won a couple titles together and were the hottest thing in Maine since Ali dropped by Lewiston.

Bos has worn a lot of hats since he got in the game; 45 years has taught him plenty. First he tried his hand as a fighter before realizing he was better off outside the ring—asthma killed his wind. He wrote for numerous boxing publications in the late sixties and early seventies before turning his attention to management.

In 1977, on the recommendation of NY judge Harold Lederman, he got his first matchmaking gig alongside Dennis Rappaport, Mike Jones, and promoter Mike Glass of Tiffany promotions. The quartet was instrumental in guiding Gerry Cooney to the top. Bos still freelanced, working with nearly 50 world champions at different points in their career.

And he got his hands dirty when need be. “Johnny and I built Telstar Gym in Chelsea some thirty-odd years ago,” says Jimmy Glenn, owner of Jimmy’s Corner Bar in New York and one of the sport’s venerable jack of all trades. Glenn would open Times Square Gym several years later. “Johnny always did things other matchmakers couldn’t do, whether it was finding the right opponent to help your fighter grow or negotiating a better deal for them. There wasn’t a fight in England by Mickey Duff without Johnny’s blessing.”

Bos’ work with Duff, who at one time was Don King and Shelly Finkel rolled into one, made him an international powerhouse. At one point, he represented almost three-quarters of overseas promotions.

Bos’ knowledge of the sport is unmatched. “Get online and look at David Capo’s record,” he tells me. The record reads 2-19. “Pretty terrible, right? Now look at the list of people he fought.”

It’s astounding. A decision loss to Juan LaPorte in his pro debut, another to Freddie Roach a couple years later and one to a 4-0 Azumah Nelson in “The Professor’s” native Ghana. Capo fought at least five or six future champions and hung tough with each one.

“This was the kind of guy who won half of his fights but never got the decision,” Bos reveals. “Capo was a good fighter but look at his record. If you sent him overseas, they wouldn’t care about those stats, just who he fought—people wanna see good fights. Nowadays, they look for a 16-0 Glass Joe who never fought anybody. And you wonder what’s wrong with boxing.”

The fall of the Berlin Wall and the Soviet Union slowed Bos’ overseas earnings; a slew of new fighters hit the market at more affordable rates. But Bos still made a decent living in the States.

“There are an awful lot of people who owe their careers in boxing to Johnny,” says promoter Lou DiBella. “Disciples of Bos are what we used to call them. You get a guy dressed in a white fur pimp coat, looking like Hulk Hogan and with this incredible love and knowledge of the sport; people are going to pay attention.”

Bos’ success climaxed in ’92 when three of his fighters won world titles in the month of June.

“I thought I had it made,” he reflects. “I bought a house in Florida, a condo, more outfits, I always took a chauffeured limo to AC…man, you couldn’t tell me nothin’!”

Then the mid-90s struck, with pay-per-views featuring star fighters, one major network and a name promoter. Sadly, Bos’ point is well-taken: the pay-per-view shows of 15 years ago gave us great match-ups. Today, it’s one main event and two mismatches. Matchmaking has become an afterthought.

“Let’s face facts: boxing is fading,” DiBella states matter-of-factly. “I don’t care if people want to admit it or not. It won’t get any easier for a lone wolf like Johnny. A lot of these fighters have short memories, especially when it comes to money. So what happens? He gets screwed more times than a porno star.”

The backstabbing hurt, but not quite like learning he had congestive heart failure in 2001. The condition slows blood flow to the heart while retaining excess fluids – Bos ballooned over 300lbs. Much of the weight came off as he altered his diet. Medical bills, however, remain. Recently, he’s been diagnosed with osteoporosis. The health issues, coupled with boxing’s new direction and certain fighters’ disloyalty, have led him to question his future in the sport. Others disagree.

“Johnny Bos has been a great asset to my team,” says Calvance Brock, father of undefeated heavyweight Calvin Brock. “Calvin has made incredible strides with Bos' knowledge—he picked Jameel McCline and then Zuri Lawrence to give Calvin that much-needed experience. Some fighters just don’t appreciate his sincerity and honesty—too many experts whispering in their ear, I guess. But I’m grateful for everything he’s done with my son; he’s been tremendous.”

As Bos and I watch the Barrera-Juarez II card from his midtown studio/boxing enclave - replete with so much eye-popping sports memorabilia and paperwork I sometimes wonder where he sleeps - I suggest some new names for his fighters. A roast honoring his career, and to defray debt he’s incurred from medical bills and paychecks he earned but never came, has been scheduled for November 17^th. What better time to announce the new name and new lease on life?

“How about Bosmaniacs?” I suggest.

“You could rock your old outfits and maybe create some buzz.” Bos’ glare is meant to be withering but, with his oversized track bottoms, 50 Cent tee shirt and Simba-like mane, I can’t help but snicker.

“I just don’t want anyone feeling bad for me,” he says. “I mean, I’m honored by this roast. It shows that someone recognizes all I’ve done for the sport. But I’m still torn.”

“What’s the problem?” I ask.

“It’s hard to explain,” he says with a sigh. “I gave so much and then everything changed…maybe I didn’t change with it. But I didn’t want to. To me, if you’re doing the right thing, you keep doing the right thing.”

The November 17^th roast shows a willingness by the sport’s powers to do the right thing. But Bos is still haunted by the changes to the sweet science; boxing’s ailments hurt him as much as his own.

“You look at the state of the game right now and it’s crazy: Boxer’s don’t want to help promote fights, too many pay-per-views…it’s getting worse year after year. I try not to get too down about it but I can’t help but think that, with all my problems, boxing may go quicker than me.”

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