A Beautiful Tribute

Allen Barra remembers boxing writer and legend Bert Sugar, who died Sunday at age 75:

Here's a Bert Sugar story you can believe. I know—I was there. In 1987 a friend and I flew to Las Vegas to do a story on the Sugar Ray Leonard-Marvelous Marvin Hagler fight. All the hotel rooms were long gone so Bert let us sleep on the floor of his room. On fight night, the odds against Leonard went up to 5-to-1, which seemed to me to be a sign from God. We bet all of our available cash—we even, like idiots, bet our expense money. I don't think I've ever been more nervous at a sporting event, but the gentleman seated to my left kept assuring me that Leonard was indeed wining and the decision would go our way. "Don't worry," he told me, Hagler couldn't hit Leonard with a handful of stones." He was right. We won, and I came back from the betting window with more money than I've ever held in my life. When we walked into the press room, Bert -smile on face fedora on head and cigar in hand—said, "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, the most knowledgeable fight expert I know." I turned to shake hands with a beaming Don Rickles, "Nice to meet you," I said. Bert snickered and poked me in the ribs, "You met him two hours ago. You were sitting next to him during the fight."
The worst part about Bert's passing is the tons of information and memories he took with him. He held Mixed Martial Arts in contempt—"Really bad boxing combined with one guy sitting on top of another, punching him in the face. Where's the martial part? Where's the arts part?" Now that Bert's gone they may as well pack up boxing for good. To meet him for a steak at O'Riley's before a fight was to hear stories about fighters like Joe Louis, Billy Conn, Jack Dempsey, Jake LaMotta, and Willie Pepp and trainers like Angelo Dundee and Eddie Futch and even gossip about the media personalities. I once heard him discussion some controversy with Howard Cosell. "Well, you know, Bert," Cosell said to him, "I'm my own worst enemy." "Howard," Sugar replied, patting him on the shoulder, "Not while I'm alive." He was kidding, of course—they were pals.
He knew all the gyms and all the fight clubs, all the trainers and hangers-on, all the politicians, gangsters, and movie stars who came around at fight time. I once went to a fight at the Garden with him, where introduced me to Bill Murray then reached into his briefcase to hand Bill the latest copy of Ring magazine. "Have you seen the March issue yet?"

I have to say, if somebody remembers me like this after I'm gone, I'll say I lived a damn nice life.  You only live once, enjoy it.