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By
Zachary
Levin
FightBeat Staff Writer
Mention the name Joey Gamache
to the average fight fan and the first memory likely to pop up is Arturo Gatti
knocking his block off (almost literally) in February 2000 at Madison Square
Garden. Gatti, who had a 15-pound advantage the night of the fight, and the
punching power that goes with it, had the Maine native seriously hurt several
times in the first round. At 2:19 of the second round, Gamache was caught clean
with a hideous three-punch combination: the first punch, a right uppercut, had
him out on his feet; the left hook and right hand that followed were target
practice, and dropped him like an elephant gun fired point blank.
As an unconscious Gamache lay
on his back for several minutes, a funereal silence settled over the Garden. It
wasn’t a matter of whether the 33-year-old would ever fight again; would he ever
get up? The fallen warrior eventually rose to his feet, insisting, “Don’t put
me on a stretcher. I want to walk out.”
Thankfully, Gamache recovered
from the incident and is now a trainer at Gleason’s Gym in Brooklyn, working
with such talents as welterweight Chris Smith. In a sport populated by tough
guys with disarmingly soft handshakes and gentle voices, Gamache may be the
nicest of the lot. He’s also a gifted trainer with immense ring knowledge.
With a little luck and patience, the former WBA Lightweight Champ who retired
with a stellar record of 55-4 (against credible opposition) will no doubt
produce some fine boxers in his second career.
When the following article
was written in January 1997, Gamache was in the autumn of his career—yet still
11 fights away from his ultimate clash against Gatti—and facing arguably the
greatest Mexican fighter ever, Julio Cesar Chavez. While Chavez was no spring
chicken himself, the veteran of 100 pro fights, he was, well, still J.C.
Chavez. Remarkably, Chavez is still fighting and will be taking on Ivan
Robinson at the end of this month, in what is laughably dubbed his “Farewell
Bout.” (Uh-huh, and the ageless Cher’s “Farewell Tour” is the last we’ll be
hearing from her, too.) And Arturo Gatti, for his part, just might be getting
better with age; he’ll be in a position to prove it when he takes on Floyd
Mayweather on June 26.
Joey Gamache, the fighter,
will not be remembered in the same gilded light of the above two ring legends.
But he was damn good at what he did, around the 99th percentile—and
the best pugilist Maine ever produced! If you ever get a chance to go to
Gleason’s Gym, and Gamache happens to be there, go up and talk to him.
Guaranteed you’ll leave with the impression you just encountered all that is,
and can be, good about boxing.
* * *
As I watched Joey Gamache leave his modest
Upper East Side apartment and make his way to Stryker’s Gym at Times Square, I
wondered how many people were aware of the muscular body that exists beneath his
street clothes or if they knew his hands are considered lethal weapons.
With his diminutive frame and soft step, he
looked like he was heading to choir practice, rather than the foul-smelling gym
where he would pound other men senseless. But close up, you notice the
30-year-old, 140-pound junior welterweight's flattened nose and the scar tissue
around his eyes. Gamache's jaw tells the tale of many brutal confrontations--the
kind most men would avoid. Gamache, however, is not most men. He was once
champion of the world.
Once he steps out of the ring, this miniature
gladiator is surprisingly gentle and easygoing. He speaks with the flattened
A's of his hometown, Lewiston, Maine.
"It's a working-class town," he said, "and I
was once a big deal there."
Gamache has worn six title belts. Most
recently he held the WBU super-lightweight title, winning a 12-round decision
over Rocky Martinez. But he lost all of his titles, as well. "I lost out on
being a hero, too," he said. "Oh, they're still some guys who called me champ,
but a lot of folks jumped off the bandwagon, too. It really hurt."
He doesn't blame defeat on anyone but
himself. And when it comes to his success in the ring--his record is 45-3 (29
knockouts)--he is self-effacing. He says in an almost practiced manner, like a
mantra he delivers in front of the bathroom mirror every morning, "I'm not a
great fighter, but a good one."
He developed this grounded self-perception
after those two shattering losses--an 11th-round technical knockout
at the hands of a seasoned veteran, Toney Lopez; and a crushing knockout in the
2nd-round by rangy Russian WBA champion, Orzubek Nazarov.
The defeats made Gamache realize how
ephemeral fame can be. He felt he could no longer fight in Maine before his
hometown fans. He decided to go back to basics, become anonymous, take his show
on the road and fight where the crowds were unfamiliar. He did this for 18
months and developed resolve, gathering a string of impressive victories that
put him back in contention for the title.
"I could go into a town that wasn't my own, I
could fight my own fight," Gamache said. "It was like going back to school.
And you know what? I got to see the world."
For the fighters who ply the "sweet science"
in Gamache's weight-class, speed is essential. Although a knockout punch is
always a useful weapon, guile, elusiveness and excellent footwork are the
cornerstone of his division.
At Gamache's age, his legs may not have too
many rounds left; indeed, he believes he's in the twilight of his career.
Although he admits to never having had a million-dollar payday, Gamache has been
a good provider--one of his first investments was a new home for his parents.
"Sure, I always boxed for money but it
wasn't about that," he said. "I did it for pride--respect. I wasn't in it just
to make a buck. I figured I could always go back and do what my old man did."
His father was a dry wall plasterer.
Before Gamache got another title shot, he'd
have to take out Julio Cesar Chavez, a legend who boasts a record of 97-2-1 (79
KOs). Although many consider him a shell of his former self, when he strikes,
it can still be lethal.
Chavez fans come out in droves whenever he
fights. On the night of the fight, Oct. 12, in the Anaheim (Calif.) Civic
Center,
Chavez was shrewd enough to make Gamache wait alone in the ring for 20 minutes,
stewing in the crowd's epithets. You could have thrown a blanket over all the
Gamache fans that showed up to cheer their man. By the time Chavez finally
presented himself, disrobed, and observed the Mexican national anthem, Gamache
was ice cold.
Things were different at the bell. The first
two rounds belonged to Gamache. He stuck to an intelligent fight plan of
constant side-to-side movement, never allowing the punishing Mexican to set
himself or take a solid shot. By the third round, Gamache was putting on the
fight of his life, boxing beautifully, imposing his will over Chavez.
He would throw a rapid-fire series of jabs, a
stiff right uppercut, and then he would dance away. Movement, movement, and a
flurry of stinging combination punches. Soon Chavez's face was blood red and
swollen. The older boxer looked tired, his body heavy, his legs appeared unable
to go the distance.
Suddenly, in the fourth round, something
happened. Later, Gamache would only say, "I didn't stick with the game-plan. I
guess I had something to prove."
But it may have been a taunt uttered by
Chavez. Possibly it was an insult to Gamache's masculinity, a common taunt by
macho fighters from south of the border. Maybe it was simply pride that made
him lose touch with reality, made him think that he could vanquish the old pro,
beat him before his adoring fans, at his own specialty--brawling.
Surprisingly, Gamache was toe to toe with
the granite-fisted Chavez. The working-class man from Lewiston had ceased to
fight his prescribed plan. He had followed a lion into its den. Gamache, an
excellent boxer, found himself in the street with a brutal, cagey street
fighter; guts alone would not deliver victory.
The Chavez-Gamache fight had no "Rocky"
ending. He will receive no title shot.
I saw Gamache two weeks after the fight, his
face still lumpy and swollen. I thought about whether he would keep fighting,
whether he would take a chance on getting punchy, like so many victims of his
profession. Or would he go into his father's dry wall business? We spoke
briefly.
"I hope when they remember me, they'll say,
'Joey Gamache could fight with anybody,'" he said, before disappearing into the
bustling midday crowd.
****
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