Thursday, May 06, 2004
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

Trainer knows how to take charge of fighters

Unassuming size doesn't keep Roach from commanding respect of boxers

By KEVIN IOLE
REVIEW-JOURNAL

Freddie Roach works with Manny Pacquiao during a training session Wednesday. Roach, the 2003 Trainer of the Year, is getting Pacquiao ready for an IBF/WBA featherweight title bout Saturday night against Juan Manuel Marquez at the MGM Grand. Photo by John Gurzinski. Photo by John Gurzinski.

The gym, now closed, was alive with music 15 months ago, but it was dominated by the personality of one man. It was Mike Tyson's music that roared over the cheap stereo system. It was Mike Tyson's friends who roamed the floor. It was Mike Tyson's presence that commanded visitors' attention.

Tyson, the former and often fearsome heavyweight champion, was clearly in control, laughing, joking, shouting instructions.

Until a man who stood barely 5 feet 5 inches entered the gym. He had an unruly shock of wavy red hair and thick-rimmed glasses that made him look like 1950s television character Mr. Peepers. He'd shout one word, and it was clear this was his gym and he was in charge.

Freddie Roach, who made a name for himself as one of the fiercest featherweights of the early 1980s, is an unlikely commander.

He's half Tyson's size, frail-looking and non-threatening. His hands tremble slightly from the effects of Parkinson's disease. His neck is crooked to the side. He occasionally slurs his words. But Tyson looks at Freddie Roach as if he is some sort of Svengali.

As their training session moved ahead, Tyson indicated that he was tired. Roach didn't accept that, asking Tyson to work on a combination once more. Tyson complied without complaint, attacking the heavy bag with ferocity.

After completing a fearsome round of hard, thudding shots that resounded throughout the gym, Tyson turned to Roach for approval. Roach simply nodded affirmatively, causing a wide grin to crease Tyson's face.

Roach, 44, has had that effect on fighters for nearly a decade. He trains featherweight Manny Pacquiao, who will face Juan Manuel Marquez in an IBF/WBA title fight at the MGM Grand on Saturday, the latest in a series of big fights Roach has worked.

Roach was the 2003 Trainer of the Year, largely for his work with Pacquiao and heavyweight James Toney. There might be no hotter coach in any sport.

"Freddie knows what to say and when to say it, and he knows what to do and when to do it," Pacquiao said.

Roach has far more boxers who want to hire him than he has time to accept. In addition to training Pacquiao, he's preparing Virgil Hill for a cruiserweight championship fight May 22 in South Africa. He's been rehired as Tyson's trainer, and after he returns from South Africa, he will leave for a camp in Arizona to prepare Tyson for a July 31 fight against Kevin McBride.

Roach's father, Paul, a tree surgeon in Dedham, Mass., got his son into boxing. The family was large and poor, and money was always in short supply, so Roach began working with his father as a 10-year-old, accompanying him to side jobs on the weekend.

"I was running a power saw at 10," Roach said proudly.

He wanted to please his father so much that he threw himself into everything his father did. He wasn't the most talented of the seven Roach brothers, but he was clearly the most willing, always sticking his nose in to take a shot or two and make Dad proud.

Paul Roach, who died in 1995, drove his sons hard, rarely accepting their efforts. It was always, "Do more," "Be faster," "Hit harder," or "Be tougher." Freddie Roach drew immense satisfaction from the compliments he earned from his father, scarce as they were.

"My Dad was a rough guy, and he could be mean," Roach said. "And he knew how tough the boxing business was. He knew there was no going halfway in boxing. If you went halfway, you got hurt."

Roach never went halfway, becoming a furious fighter who never quit. He suffered busted noses, cut lips and bloody eyes, but he never quit, never complained. And when he learned two years after retiring that he had Parkinson's, he didn't make a fuss or complain.

He only made a vow. The disease that silenced perhaps the most loquacious athlete in history, Muhammad Ali, hasn't stopped or even slowed Freddie Roach.

"Muhammad's symptoms are worse than mine, and I don't really think a lot about it unless someone asks me about it," Roach said. "I won't let it get in the way of me living my life. I refuse to let it stop me from doing anything I want to do. I'm not going to lay down. I'll catch the mitts with Tyson 10 rounds a day.

"(Parkinson's is) more embarrassing and more a pain in the butt than anything else. It's not something I'm going to die from. It's just something that has happened, and I have to deal with it."

He learned to deal with the most brutal of sports from perhaps the most genteel and gentle of sportsmen. Eddie Futch is widely regarded as the greatest trainer in boxing history, but Roach said Futch was an even better person.

Futch, who died in Las Vegas on Oct. 10, 2001, at age 90, schooled Roach in the art of preparing some of the most unpredictable people on the planet.

Roach is as subtle as a slap to the face, but he said he learned early from Futch the importance of honesty. Roach is brutally honest, answering questions directly and without spin.

"I have to get them to trust me and to believe that what I'm telling them is true and in their best interests," Roach said. "If they find out you're b.s.ing them or flat-out lying to them, you lose that trust. They just go through the motions, and they tune you out. I need to be able to get inside their heads so I can get them where I need them to be. You get that by being worthy of their trust. If you tell the truth, you can never get in trouble, because you never have to worry about what to say."

And so he'll never hesitate to tell a Tyson he's being lazy or to advise a young fighter he's not talented enough to win a title. A lot comes with being at the top -- plenty of money, plenty of attention -- but Roach is hardly the darling of the paparazzi crowd.

He's still blue-collar Dedham at his core, and said he'll never change.

"Sleep is important to me," he said, chuckling. "And I couldn't sleep if I let any success I've had change me or change the type of person I am. Things change so quickly in this sport. Some people get some money, and they become assholes. If I ever get that way, do me a favor and slap me, will you?"