BIG DADDY BUNCE

So Bernard Dunne is ripping the gym to bits out in California. It is every Irishman’s dream. He is at home in Santa Monica and that is good. He will not be back to fight in Ireland or Britain in the near future. I can see him fighting for the European title in Las Vegas against a German on a Klitschko undercard. Good luck to him, the kid can fight.

At Freddie Roach’s gym, Dunne has sparred with a lot of quality fighters. He has put rounds in with Shane Mosley for a bit of strength, Paul Spadafora and Manny Pacquiao. I have been promised a tape but there will be no film of the Mosley session. They were, I’m told, very private.

“Steve, he looks a million dollars,” insisted Brian Peters, who is looking after Dunne’s affairs. Peters is an Irish businessman with a good record, a cool head and a sense of humour. A rare triumvirate of compliments in the boxing world. Peters was involved in the second Chris Eubank and Steve Collins fight in Cork. It was one of the finest nights that I have had in 19 years at ringside as a writer.

However, Peters really went up in my estimation after I heard about his meeting with John Hyland a few years ago. At the time, Johnny Shake Hands, as everybody in Liverpool knows Hyland, was causing a few waves with Shea Neary on ITV. Neary against Andy Holligan remains one of the best fights and events in Britain in the ‘90s.

So, one day Hyland and Peters agree to meet. Peters is in Dublin and Neary, I seem to recall, was born in Dublin and an American TV company wanted Neary. I think Oscar De La Hoya and Arturo Gatti had been mentioned. American TV loves the Irish. Anyway, Shake Hands got up one morning kissed all his kids when they left for school, put on about six layers of Versace, including his trademark mauve suede shoes, and drove to the airport in his Lexus to catch a plane to Dublin.

In Dublin there was a man to meet Hyland with a hand-written sign. He was a big fella, in jeans, dirty old shirt and a filthy old pair of boots. “He looked like a farmer but you know me Steve, I will talk to anyone,” Hyland told me.

The pair walked out of the airport together and right at the back of the car park was a big red tractor. The fella jumped up, took Shake Hands by the hand and pulled him up. Hyland was sitting on a wheel arch and clinging on for dear life but he never said a word. Peters had been recommended to him and he was keen not to offend his host.

The pair set off from Dublin airport. A farmer and a man in an immaculate Italian outfit of silk and velvet. After about 10 minutes the tractor turned off the road. Johnny Shake Hands had, so he claimed, realised it was a test. The tractor was now moving slowly up a drive with a white fence on either side. “It was like something out of Dallas.” At the top of the drive was a big house, a Mercedes or two and there on the porch laughing his head off was Peters.

“John, you are a man I can do business with,” Peters said when Hyland jumped down.

I wanted to start with a nice tale today because I have been going over some grim ground recently as I’m helping Michael Watson with his autobiography. It is amazing how petty most things in modern boxing are compared to Watson’s life. It is a truly amazing story. He belongs to a different time, a time when 15 million or more watched boxing the few times that it was on each year.

The name of Darren Dyer came up one day. Watson and Dyer boxed for the same amateur club. I mentioned to Michael that I had seen Dyer a few months earlier. He had looked fine but he seemed on edge as he waited at Stratford tube for John “The Beast” Mugabi to arrive. “John called and wanted me to meet him. He wouldn’t say anymore,” said Dyer. It sounded like a lie and I knew there was more to it. I will try and find out.

The Beast at Stratford tube, Johnny Shake Hands in a tractor and Dunne mixing with the world’s elite. What more do you want for your £3.20 or $5.95?
Adios.