Dopey Yank Doesn’t Know Duddy

Irish Voice Sport

Dopey Yank Doesn’t Know Duddy

July 13, 2007

By Cathal Dervan

THE last thing you expect to do on a Sunday night is Google an American boxing writer by the name of Don Stradley, but hey, the blood was boiling on this side of the Atlantic Ocean and it was time to stand by John Duddy before he stands up to be counted in Dublin’s National Stadium this coming weekend. Duddy is a man you all know a lot about in New York, even if you’re only half a sports fan. A professional boxer with a 100% record in his 20 paid for fights to date, he is a middleweight on the rise and a damn nice fellow to boot.

Too nice it seems for the aforementioned Mr. Stradley, who first came to my attention in the press center at the European Open golf tournament in the K Club last Wednesday afternoon as we waited for the rain to stop long enough to hear our laptops think.

My Irish Daily Star colleague Gerry Callan the most knowledgeable boxing writer in Ireland by the way was the man who introduced Stradley’s name into the conversation as we awaited the arrival of the new U.S. Open champion Angel Cabrera into the press conference room.

I’d never heard of him previously Stradley that is, not Cabrera which isn’t all that big a surprise.

Apparently Super Stradley is a journalist of such note that Google was able to tell me that he won a “tied third” prize for a news story on the late Floyd Paterson in the Boxing Writers Associa-tion of America awards last year, awards otherwise known for what it is worth as the Barneys.

Well, a right barney Mr. Stradley was responsible for in the sedate surroundings of the K Club last week when Gerry read out a passage from an article by Super Stradley in the latest edition of The Ring, the boxing bible.

Setting out to offer a reality check on John Duddy, Super Stradley attempted to classify Derry’s finest as just another great Irish hope in a land, he claims, that has been happy to cash in on great Irish hopes ever since television made a star of a college boy called Chuck Davey in the 1950s.

The article was doing fine — you can read it online if you like at www.thering-online.com — until Super Stradley fell into a stage Oirish trap all of his own making, and insulted my good friend Gerry Callan as well as this fine Irish organ amongst others in the process.

“HBO could definitely use Duddy,” claimed Super Stradley. “He has a background it could exploit, complete with an uncle killed in Northern Ireland by British paratroopers on Bloody Sunday, January 30, 1972. We can almost hear Jim Lampley now, talking about homemade bombs and the IRA.

“But Duddy will handle HBO with ease when the time comes. If Duddy hasn’t yet learned every nuance of the sweet science, he’s become a sort of dancing master of the media, granting time to not only the American press, but also to every Irish rag in existence, including overseas newspapers and the numerous Irish American periodicals that cater to Irish readers stateside. The exposure has given Duddy a poise that can’t be learned in a gym.

“The payback has been two-fold. Not only does every reporter who meets Duddy come off sounding like a press agent, but being in the center of New York’s media swirl has given Duddy a touch of glamour. His fights attract a surprising number of celebrities, including tennis legend John McEnroe, Oscar-winning actor Liam Neeson, and novelist Tom Wolfe.

“We’re not sure about Neeson and McEnroe, but we’re pretty sure Wolfe hasn’t been to a fight since Cassius Clay fought Doug Jones in 1963. In this era of Russian monsters and Mexican brawlers, an Irish contender may seem as outdated as a rotary telephone, but to paraphrase a line from Field Of Dreams: If you give them an Irishman, they will come.”

In the space of four paragraphs Super Stradley managed not just to annoy Gerry, myself and the “rags” we work for, he also insulted Duddy’s intelligence, his boxing ability and his fans, those of you who have been more than happy to jump on the bandwagon at the Theater in Madison Square Garden.

Before you pay too much attention to Super Stradley let me tell that I am proud to have jumped on that media bandwagon myself when I was in New York last month and spent an afternoon in the company of John and his manager Tony McLoughlin.

I met them not because I am interested in extending the myth but simply because, as a trained sportswriter, I happen to believe that John Duddy is a bloody good boxer with an even better story to tell ahead of his homecoming this Saturday night.

He didn’t disappoint on any front when we shot the breeze for two hours and more in Mustang Harry’s.

And, I have to stress, he never once sought to use the Bloody Sunday storyline that Super Stradley has so callously referred to. It was quite the opposite in fact.

John and I did discuss his late uncle and the circumstances of his death, but he made it clear that his family’s grief is not something that has any place in his life as a professional boxer nor would he ever wish to exploit it.

That may upset Super Stradley and his conception of us Irish as a race of people happy to build up heroes without any foundation, but I would remind him that we built America -– and the foundations were none too bad.

Dismissing John Duddy, who should make it 21-0 against the Italian Alessio Forlan at the Stadium this Saturday night, as just another great white Irish hope is a cheap shot from a journalist who really should try better if he wants to improve on his joint third finish in the next Barney Awards! Blarney more like.

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