WILD WEST CHALLENGE BOXING

I’ve always been a huge fan of combat sports, boxing, karate, Taekwondo, Muay Thai, and now mixed martial arts and the UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship). 

Back in the day I organized and promoted several old-school “Tough Man” boxing shows in Lawton, Oklahoma.

We recruited local tough guys, barroom brawlers, military guys, college football players, ANYONE willing to strap on a pair of boxing gloves and slug it out in the ring.

It was a round-robin tournament, keep fighting until you lose, winner takes all, two weight classes, each winner takes home $1,000 cash, ten crisp $100 bills, which were presented right there in the ring after they won their final match. 

It was a wildly exciting promotion. We had some spectacular knockouts, some wild fights, even several fights in the stands among spectators . . . it was a wild and crazy time.

I’ll never forget the very first show we put on back in the early 1980s. I had arranged for a local doctor in Oklahoma City to drive the 90 miles southwest down I-44 to Lawton that night to do the cursory pre-fight physicals for our fighters. Everyone signed a waiver. There was tension and excitement in the air.

Now, since this was 1980, we had no cell phones or email or text messaging or twitter or facebook or anything. It turns out that my doctor had a medical emergency come up at the very last minute and couldn’t drive down to Lawton after all. He called my office in Oklahoma City and left a message for me on my cassette tape answering machine (my trusty little iPhone was still 27 years in the future). The doctor had no way to contact me directly. I never received his message.

So here I am in the basement of the Lawton Coliseum in this room full of local tough guys, thugs, motorcyclists, boxing wannabees, ex-cons, and it’s fight time. They’re all amped up and ready to slug it out and there’s no doctor to do the physicals. I start to get nervous. 

Then the stands started filling up with paying customers . . . and they're slugging down pitchers of Coors and Bud and eating jalapeno cheese nachos and yelling for the big rumble to get started.

The fighters are jacked up. “Hey, what’s going on? Where’s the doctor? What’s the deal, man?” . . . . Now I’m getting really, really nervous.

Suddenly I recognized this good ol’ boy in overalls and an OSU t-shirt, a back country cowboy I had met just the week before when I was putting up fight posters in local bars. He said he knew a doctor in Lawton that was a big boxing fan and might possibly be able to come in and do our physicals. I was desperate. Yeah, I said, PLEASE, let's call him . . . right now!

ANSWERED PRAYER:  So, together we ran upstairs to the coliseum business office and called this local Lawton physician who, incredibly, arrived just 20 minutes later. The doctor did all the physicals, joked around with the fighters, even had a great "bedside manner." He did a fantastic job. Then he graciously stayed for the whole evening as our ringside physician. It all worked out so beautifully.

The fights went on as scheduled. A lot of beer was sold that night. Nobody was hurt (at least not seriously). The crowd loved it. My investors made some good money. It was an absolutely fantastic tough man promotion.

 

"IT'S TIME!"

I never told anyone that our official ringside physician that very first night of my career as a toughman boxing promoter was actually NOT a medical doctor. To be totally honest, the doctor who saved my butt that steamy night at the Lawton Coliseum in Oklahoma was, in fact, a veterinarian!

Taking a cue from my esteemed mentor Bob Arum, founder and CEO of Top Rank, a premier boxing promotion company based in Las Vegas (who's also a cum laude graduate of the Harvard Law School), I quickly deduced that some details in the Sweet Science are better left unsaid. 

Keep your hands up. Protect yourself at all times. And, no matter what happens, the show must go on. 

Thank you Bob. 

Lesson learned.  

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OTHER ARTICLES BY ARENA CREATIVE GROUP

MMA Fight Card: "I Love You Grandma"

Mni Wiconi: Sacred Stand at Standing Rock

My Crazy Escape from Alcatraz

Football Lessons, Life Lessons

Vision Quest on Mount Shasta

www.billarena.net


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FOOTBALL LESSONS, LIFE LESSONS

It was with deep sadness that I learned of the recent passing of Raymond Vaccaro of Rome, NY, my high school football coach at Rome Catholic High School. He was a great coach and a great mentor.

I’ll never forget one game in particular my senior year at RCH in the fall of 1970. It was an away game, we had already suited up, everyone wearing full pads and equipment, and we were taking a short bus ride from the locker room to the football field. I was crammed in at an angle in the aisle row, towards the back of the bus, sort of crunched in my seat next to another player, our gear and shoulder pads squeezing all the room between us. It was very quiet on the bus.


FOCUS & DISCIPLINE __ Coach Vaccaro liked everyone to stay quiet and focused right before our games, to think about the game plan and mentally get into the zone. He was a big proponent of staying focused on what you had to do. Don’t allow distractions. Don’t let your mind wander. He taught us an excellent philosophy for football. It was also an excellent philosophy for life.


POWERFUL & FEARLESS __ Raymond Vaccaro was born in 1929, first year of the Great Depression. He was captain of the varsity football team at Rome Free Academy in 1949 and was an excellent athlete despite being shorter than most of the other players. He was tough, built low to the ground, extremely powerful and absolutely fearless. He served with distinction in the U.S. Army in Korea. He was devoted and focused and always gave it all he had . . . as an athlete, as a soldier, as a leader, as a coach.

PERFECT PRACTICE __ Coach Vaccaro channeled the same coaching genius and hands-on leadership power as the late, great Green Bay Packer head coach VINCE LOMBARDI. Perfect technique. Perfect practice. ALWAYS. He explained blocking and tackling techniques, then demonstrated them, then we practiced ourselves, over and over, always with perfect form. When demonstrating tackling drills on the football practice field with us, wearing only shorts, cleats, football jersey and a whistle, he would easily grab us in our full gear and pads and just throw us around like rag dolls. He was strong as a bull and afraid of nothing. We idolized him. 

BUZZING PANDEMONIUM __ As we’re all trying to stay quiet and focused sitting in the moving school bus, suddenly, a huge bumblebee flies in the side window. Pandemonium sets in. The bee is buzzing in between and around our heads. Some of the younger guys in the seat right in front of me start to panic and squeal and yell and flail around. It was chaos. That’s when I spotted him coming down the aisle directly toward us. 
“UH-OH, here comes coach,” 
I thought to myself. 

What happened next was like a scene from a Quentin Tarantino movie.

KUNG FU FOCUS __ Coach Vaccaro quickly motors down the center aisle to the back of the school bus and abruptly stops right there directly in front of me. He never says a word. The bee is buzzing in and out. Everyone’s in a panic and squirming around and squealing, and then, suddenly . . . . WHACK!!! Coach snaps out a sizzling, stinging Bruce Lee backhand and slaps that bee in mid-air about 8 inches in front of my face.

WHACK / SILENCE __ Everything immediately snaps into slow motion. The buzzing stops. Everything goes dead quiet. The bee smacks off coach’s backhand, blasts right in front of my face, past two guys sitting on my left, and smacks into the wall of the bus between the windows. It then bounced about six inches off the wall, hovered there for a nanosecond, and immediately buzzed out the open window.


IT'S TIME FOR FOOTBALL __ Before I could even begin to mentally digest and comprehend this crazy scene that just played out right before my eyes, I immediately turned my head to look back at coach . . . but, NO, he's already gone. He never said a word. No whistle. No clipboard. No play diagram. No Vince Lombardi inspirational quote. No discussion. No Italian pasta. No wasted effort. No nothing. NADA! He simply smacked that bee in mid-air, knocked it flying out the window, and immediately turned around to return to his seat. It's time for football. No distractions . . . BEE IN THE MOMENT BOYS ! ! ! 

MEANINGFUL LIFE LESSON
I was just a 17-year-old kid at the time and this was one of the most amazing things I’d ever witnessed. And now, as I fondly and humbly and lovingly remember our cherished Coach Vaccaro some 40 years later, it’s still one of the most stunningly powerful, realistic, kinesthetic life lessons I’ve ever experienced.

 

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BOYS NEED MEN __ Coach Vaccaro, you were such a powerful, loving inspiration for ALL OF US . . . and so much more than simply an amazing high school varsity football coach. You also boldly and gracefully served as the positive adult male role model that many of us (especially me) really needed during these vulnerable, volatile, influential, wildly-transformative, emotional rollercoaster teenage years. You believed in us. You stood by us. You were there for us. You were a rock for us . . . a solid, stable, loving foundation that allowed us to make mistakes and still learn and grow and mature and help each other develop into good players and good teammates and good men.  

BE ALL YOU CAN BE __ We thank you Coach for the wonderful lessons you graciously taught us about TEAMWORK, DISCIPLINE, doing our BEST, living life to the FULLEST, staying centered and FOCUSED regardless of life's crazy distractions that sometimes try to buzz around and get into our little heads. Powerful lessons. We're all better men today just because YOU WERE THERE FOR US.

Your strong presence and sacred fatherly energy remains in our hearts and souls to this day and continues to motivate us and guide us. 

We love you. We bless you. We behold the Lombardi in you. 

Thanks for everything Coach.   ❤️ 🙏 ❤

❤️  -  🙏  -  ❤️ -  🏈  -  ❤️ -   🙏  -  ❤️ 

OTHER ARTICLES BY ARENA CREATIVE GROUP

Sacred Balance: Soul Quest on Mount Shasta

Mni Wiconi: Sacred Stand at Standing Rock

MMA Fighter: "I Love You Grandma"

Spiritual Enlightenment Fiat Style

My Crazy Escape From Alcatraz

Wild West Challenge Boxing 

www.billarena.net

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SPIRITUAL ENLIGHTENMENT FIAT STYLE

MAY 2, 2011 __ Fiat recently introduced a very cool new sedan to the U.S. market – the Fiat 500, beautiful car, hopefully the handling is similar to the vintage Fiat 600 we owned back in the day in Rome, NY. I loved that car, learned to drive in that car. It was the most fun I’ve ever had driving in my life. 

Four-cylinder rear engine, rear wheel drive, 4-speed manual transmission, suicide doors (opened backwards: easy to get in and out), super tight turning radius. 

On those snowy, blustery, freezing winter days in upstate New York when our driveway was a frozen sheet of ice, I could start at the garage, gun the engine, go halfway towards the street, jerk the steering wheel hard to the left, pull hand brake simultaneously, and spin that little Italian hot rod lean machine completely around 180 degrees facing the house before reaching the end of our two-car driveway. It was a total blast to drive, lightweight, maneuverable, and the 40-plus mpg was way ahead of its time (gas was way lower than $4/gallon in 1965).




One distinct memory of my childhood was driving my father to work at Hubbard Tool & Dye in East Rome on the weekends. Now, people have many opinions about the late, great John Arena of Rome, NY, but everyone must agree that this guy was a hard worker. The father of the nine Arena children worked full-time Monday-Friday at Griffiss AFB, then, at night and on weekends, he worked an additional 30-40 hours a week as a tool & dye maker.




On Saturdays he forced me to go to work with him so I could study and do homework. Since I was less than a straight-A student and NEVER did homework, there was some logic to his demands. However, I hated having to take a nap on Saturday afternoon so I could get up at 10 p.m. to go with him for his all-night work shift. The only saving grace for me was getting to drive him to work, a pretty heady experience for a 13-year-old (three years too young for a driver’s license).




And even better than driving TO work was the END of the work shift at 7 AM Sunday morning when he would go to the bathroom to clean up, read the newspaper (I have no idea what else he did in there) and get ready to leave. At this point he allowed me to go outside and “warm up” the Fiat. I’d grab my school books, run outside, throw them in the backseat, punch the key into the ignition, and listen to the loudspeaker in my head boldly announce to the overflow crowd: “Gentlemen, Start Your Engines.”




WOOHOO, party time! I quickly blasted that little Fiat around the corner of the building where I couldn’t be seen from the front door, the production crew already set up in my mind and I was the star of the show . . . “Jackass: Bill’s Fiat Time.”




The parking lot was frozen solid and covered in fresh snow, I went blasting all around doing 360’s on the ice, gunning the engine, doing donuts around light poles and spraying snow and ice everywhere, it was absolutely great. It was the ultimate high for a 13-year-old kid . . . 10-15 minutes by myself driving the Fiat, no rules, nobody watching, let it rip, push the limits, party on Garth!!!!




At the climax of this car driving wet dream, I spotted a fresh snow bank at the far edge of the parking lot that a snowplow had created about an hour earlier. The roar of the loudspeaker: “Gentlemen, take out that snowbank . . . BACKWARDS!!!”




Woohoo, let’s do it! I hit the gas, popped the clutch, and blasted off through the snow, winding it out . . . first gear, bam, second gear, bam, third gear, engine roaring . . . yank the steering wheel, pull the hand brake, the car jerks around 180 degrees, flying backwards now, snow covering all the windows . . . then, suddenly . . . WHAM, a huge thud, the back end lifts up and the car grinds to a sickening halt, front wheels are off the ground, the car now jacked up on its frame in the three-foot snowbank ON TOP of a 10-inch thick layer of solid, frozen ice.



UH-OH, hadn’t planned on this. First gear, nothing, reverse, nothing, the back wheels just spin as I hit the gas, nothing, try to open the door, it won’t open, roll down the window to take a look . . . suddenly, a terrifying sound echoes through the parking lot. It’s my father screaming at me from the other side of the building, “BILL, IT'S TIME TO GO. GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!”




“IN NOMINE PATRIS ET FILII ET SPIRITUS SANCTI”  __ So now, here I am, instead of being in church on Sunday morning serving Mass like a good little Irish-Italian Catholic altar boy, I'm stuck sitting backwards, jacked up in a snowbank, the rear wheels spinning, the front wheels hanging three inches off the ground . . . I start praying. “Oh dear God, please help me. I swear I’ll be good for the rest of my life, I’ll treat my brothers and sisters with respect, I’ll do my homework, I swear, oh please!"


“BILL, STOP PLAYING AROUND, GET THE HELL OVER HERE RIGHT NOW ! ! ! ” . . . Instantly jacked up overload inner explosion of fear and loathing and dread and adrenaline. My life flashes before my eyes (it doesn’t take long, I'm only 13). I'm desperate. "OH PLEASE, GOD, HELP ME!”

Finally, I manage to rock the car back and forth in what seemed like a million times, the front wheels finally hit the ground, mercifully I’m free . . . “Oh thank you God. Thank you!”



Thus commenced the spiritual side of my life, this beautiful, sacred, eternal connection with the divine while living only temporarily in this human flesh & blood & bones container. So grateful as my spiritual connection continues to grow and deepen in a good way. What a wild and crazy ride it's been. And it all started in my Dad's cool little Italian hot rod Fiat 600 . . . Mama Mia, I loved that car!



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OTHER ARTICLES BY ARENA CREATIVE GROUP

MMA Fight Card: "I Love You Grandma"

My Crazy Escape from Alcatraz

Football Lessons, Life Lessons

Vision Quest on Mount Shasta

Wild West Challenge Boxing 

www.billarena.net

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 🙏