15 Great Kickboxing Knockouts
Compiled some 15 great knockouts that I love, mostly without music excluding the few sec intro and one clip having background music
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
Bob Foster vs Frank DePaula
Bob Foster vs Frank DePaula
FEBRUARY 03, 1969
FRANKIE THE BANGER GETS BOMBED
A ROUGH STREET FIGHTER, DEPAULA WAS OBLIGED TO APPEAR INDOORS AT THE GARDEN, AND FOSTER WON EASILY
BY MARTIN KANE
After the fight Frankie DePaula dourly refused to take a shower—on the sound theory that he had not had a chance to work up a proper sweat. For that matter, neither had his opponent, Bob Foster, a fellow who is built rather more like a pipe cleaner than a prizefighter but, for all that, is light heavyweight champion of the world.
It was at Madison Square Garden, this first defense of Foster's title since he took it by knocking out the elderly Dick Tiger of Biafra last May. That had been the 24th knockout of Fosters 33-fight professional career. Over DePaula's floundering form last week he made it 25 KOs, though this last one was only technically a knockout, made mandatory by the New York boxing commission rule that, even in a championship bout, after three knockdowns in a round a fighter is automatically disqualified, supposedly to prevent serious injury.
DePaula had indeed gone to the canvas three times in that first round—and Foster had been down once—but there was a dubiousness about a couple of what Referee Johnny LoBianco ruled were true knockdowns and not slips. It is rare, for instance, to see a good fighter go to the canvas from a punch to his body but that is what Foster did soon after the starting bell rang. Most ringsiders thought it a slip, and after the bout both boxers agreed that the newly laid canvas was slippery.
So, after Foster retaliated three times, the fight ended in two minutes and 17 seconds of the first round without either man truly hurt. This was in line with Foster's prefight prediction that it would not go more than three rounds. Gambling professionals agreed with him to the extent that they refused to accept bets.
Despite this rather poor publicity, the fight attracted a near-capacity crowd of 16,129, most of it a rabid lot from De-Paula's home state of New Jersey. There he is, or was, highly regarded as a brawling type reminiscent of the great Rocky Marciano, though on his record DePaula would appear to lack something—quite a lot, in fact—that Rocky had.
The crowd contributed to a gross gate of $189,992 over and above television money. It was the biggest purse either fighter had ever earned—about $75,000 for Foster, $37,500 for DePaula.
If DePaula had been able to survive that first round and a few more it might have made for an interesting evening. Contrast was written all over the match—in the fighters' physiques, their styles and their personalities.
Foster stands 6'3½", boxes well and generally is a somber man who broods even now over the fact that during his early days in the ring he was so little appreciated that he had to quit the sport and take a menial machinist's job in a York, Pa. bomb factory. Now he makes bombs with his fists. His jab, hook and right are all good and he puts his punches together. He towered over DePaula—who stands 5'8½"—yet at 171½ pounds was outweighed 1½ pounds by the challenger.
A former saloon bouncer, DePaula fights like one and has terrified some less experienced opponents with his incessant fist-flailing charges. Last October he won a bit of a reputation as a game loser against Tiger during an evening when each fighter was on the canvas twice.
He likes to get in close and deprive his opponents of punching room, and once he gets there he punches hard.
To build the challenger's ego to fighting pitch there was much prefight chatter, in his presence, about what a great scrapper Frankie was.
His manager, Gary Garafola, who also used to box and is owner of Garafola's Rag Doll—a go-go joint in Union City, N.J., where Frankie served as a too-efficient bouncer—brought up the subject.
He asked a simple, direct question: "How many knockouts you got in the street, Frank?"
A truck driver named Tony from the old neighborhood gave the proud answer. "Frankie has maybe a thousand knockouts in the street," Tony said. "Frankie's a banger."
"I got the equalizer," Frankie agreed. "I can bang with either hand. Box! I can't box a little bit. Boxing's for grocery clerks—apples, oranges. Me, I'm a banger. Anybody I been in with I hurt."
One of those he was in with as a teenager was hurt to the extent that his jaw was broken in seven places—but it did not happen in the ring. "I got a bad deal," Frankie protested. "I was 15 and the other guy was 28. He had been drinking and threw a punch at me and I duck, throw a right hand and land on his jaw. The guy's relative was a big-shot cop. You can see it was bad luck. It cost me a five-year stretch."
"You're going to hurt Foster," Trainer Al Braverman assured him. "Did you see the long body with the skinny ribs? That's where you want to aim."
Aim there he did, and caught Foster directly after the bell with two right hands to the body, the second of which put the champion down—or so it seemed to the referee. Foster furiously protested that it was a slip, but the referee went relentlessly through the eight-count routine, after which a flustered Foster stalked about the ring like a wading bird looking for a frog.
Like an angry wading bird, Foster speared his prey quickly with two jabs and a hook, and DePaula was on the deck, up instantly and waving to his corner that he was all right, but forced to take the eight-count nonetheless.
Seconds later, after sustaining a right and left to the head, he charged into what could only have been construed as a right-hand push, and was on the floor again. The formality of that particular eight-count over, Foster hit his man on the head with a right uppercut—the best punch of the fight—and that was the end of Frankie DePaula's dreams of glory.
The crowd contributed to a gross gate of $189,992 over and above television money. It was the biggest purse either fighter had ever earned—about $75,000 for Foster, $37,500 for DePaula.
If DePaula had been able to survive that first round and a few more it might have made for an interesting evening. Contrast was written all over the match—in the fighters' physiques, their styles and their personalities.
Foster stands 6'3½", boxes well and generally is a somber man who broods even now over the fact that during his early days in the ring he was so little appreciated that he had to quit the sport and take a menial machinist's job in a York, Pa. bomb factory. Now he makes bombs with his fists. His jab, hook and right are all good and he puts his punches together. He towered over DePaula—who stands 5'8½"—yet at 171½ pounds was outweighed 1½ pounds by the challenger.
A former saloon bouncer, DePaula fights like one and has terrified some less experienced opponents with his incessant fist-flailing charges. Last October he won a bit of a reputation as a game loser against Tiger during an evening when each fighter was on the canvas twice.
He likes to get in close and deprive his opponents of punching room, and once he gets there he punches hard.
To build the challenger's ego to fighting pitch there was much prefight chatter, in his presence, about what a great scrapper Frankie was.
His manager, Gary Garafola, who also used to box and is owner of Garafola's Rag Doll—a go-go joint in Union City, N.J., where Frankie served as a too-efficient bouncer—brought up the subject.
He asked a simple, direct question: "How many knockouts you got in the street, Frank?"
A truck driver named Tony from the old neighborhood gave the proud answer. "Frankie has maybe a thousand knockouts in the street," Tony said. "Frankie's a banger."
"I got the equalizer," Frankie agreed. "I can bang with either hand. Box! I can't box a little bit. Boxing's for grocery clerks—apples, oranges. Me, I'm a banger. Anybody I been in with I hurt."
One of those he was in with as a teenager was hurt to the extent that his jaw was broken in seven places—but it did not happen in the ring. "I got a bad deal," Frankie protested. "I was 15 and the other guy was 28. He had been drinking and threw a punch at me and I duck, throw a right hand and land on his jaw. The guy's relative was a big-shot cop. You can see it was bad luck. It cost me a five-year stretch."
"You're going to hurt Foster," Trainer Al Braverman assured him. "Did you see the long body with the skinny ribs? That's where you want to aim."
Aim there he did, and caught Foster directly after the bell with two right hands to the body, the second of which put the champion down—or so it seemed to the referee. Foster furiously protested that it was a slip, but the referee went relentlessly through the eight-count routine, after which a flustered Foster stalked about the ring like a wading bird looking for a frog.
Like an angry wading bird, Foster speared his prey quickly with two jabs and a hook, and DePaula was on the deck, up instantly and waving to his corner that he was all right, but forced to take the eight-count nonetheless.
Seconds later, after sustaining a right and left to the head, he charged into what could only have been construed as a right-hand push, and was on the floor again. The formality of that particular eight-count over, Foster hit his man on the head with a right uppercut—the best punch of the fight—and that was the end of Frankie DePaula's dreams of glory.
Monday, April 8, 2019
Sunday, April 7, 2019
The Woman Who Changed Her Brain: Barbara Arrowsmith-Young at TEDxToronto
Barbara Arrowsmith-Young is the Creator and Director of Arrowsmith School and Arrowsmith Program, and the author of the international best-selling book The Woman Who Changed Her Brain (www.barbaraarrowsmithyoung.com/book). She holds a B.A.Sc. in Child Studies from the University of Guelph, and a Master's degree in School Psychology from the University of Toronto (Ontario Institute for Studies in Education). Arrowsmith-Young is recognized as the creator of one of the first practical applications of the principles of neuroplasticity to the treatment of learning disorders. Her program is implemented in 54 schools internationally.
Badou Jack is not done yet
NEWSApril 5, 2019 John Dennen
‘Most people who lost that much blood would pass out. I went the 12 rounds’ – Badou Jack is not done yet
Despite enduring one of the most horrific cuts seen in boxing, Badou Jack is gunning for a rematch with Marcus Browne
Esther Lin/Showtime
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AN injury as horrific as the cut Badou Jack suffered against Marcus Browne in January could bring a boxer’s career to an end, especially at the age of 35 and with a sequence of world title fights already behind him.
But Jack intends to come back, targeting a return later this year and he wants a rematch. “I would love a rematch with Marcus Browne,” he told Boxing News. “I had that big cut but it’s healing good now. I think August, September I would love to be back in the ring.”
He is adamant the cut affected his performance and was a key factor in his points loss to Browne over 12 rounds. “Oh definitely. I could barely see I had like a yellow layer over my eyes I was trying to wipe it off it was still there. I mean, I could barely see,” Jack said. “That guy was getting tired and I’m known for finishing strong. This guy has never been on this level before and I thought I could stop him, I’m going to break him down and get him out of there. It was kind of hard. I couldn’t see.”
It was an accidental head butt hat did the damage. Jack had to admit, “I lost a lot of blood, I don’t know exactly how much. But yeah, there was a doctor there, a friend of mine, he said most people if they lose that much blood they’re going to pass out. But it’s amazing that you went 12 rounds with it. I mean half of that fight, I got the cut in the seventh round, it was pretty hard but I’m a fighter, I’m going to keep fighting.
“I’m not going to quit I’m going to continue to fight as long as I can… It was bleeding really bad and I could barely see during the fight but I didn’t know it was that big, that the gap was that big so I just saw it when I got in the locker room so I was like wow.”
The cut needed a lot of stitches. “It was three layers. I don’t remember exactly [how many stitches], between 75 and 100 maybe,” he noted.
He has been recovering and starting to train, though won’t be sparring for a while yet. In the meantime he is starting his own promotional company and will be staging an event in Dubai on May 3. “I wanted to try something different and I’m very excited,” he said. “I think that’d be a great place to start it’s like kind of the Las Vegas of the Middle East.
“I take one fight at a time and see how it goes and same thing with the promotional company we’re going to take one show at a time. This is a learning experience, this is my first show so I don’t really know how things are going to play out, just work hard and hope for the best so yeah, we’ll see what’s going to happen.”
Badou Jack (148)
Link: http://www.boxingnewsonline.net/badou-jack-most-people-who-lost-that-much-blood-would-pass-out/
Saturday, April 6, 2019
Friday, April 5, 2019
Michael Bentt was forced into boxing by his domineering father
Guardian Sport Network
Boxing
The world champion who survived boxing and thrived in Hollywood
Michael Bentt was forced into boxing by his domineering father but now he is plotting his own path among the stars
Jonathan Drennan
Thu 4 Apr 2019
Michael Bentt beats Tommy Morrison to become a world champion. Photograph: Mark Morrison/Getty Images
The former WBO heavyweight champion, Michael Bentt, is taking a break from writing a screenplay. He expresses himself on stage and screen as an actor and director these days, but thoughts of his life in boxing are never far from his mind. “My earliest memory as a young kid growing up in Queens was Muhammad Ali fighting in Germany. My dad was a huge admirer of Ali, or Cassius Clay as he insisted on calling him. He wanted a mascot who would become the next Ali and, unfortunately, I was that mascot.”
Bentt was born in London and grew up in a middle-class suburb of New York with a boxing-obsessed father who was intent on creating a champion, whether or not his son had any interest in the sport. Bentt’s father had built a reputation as a fierce street fighter on the streets of Kingston, before emigrating from Jamaica to the US to make his fortune. “Where I grew up was a decent and affluent place but some horrible stories went on behind those manicured lawns and nice cars. The niceness could be a mask.”
Bentt began fighting regularly in amateur contests aged nine, winning some and “getting tuned up” in others. He was academically gifted and a keen reader, but was also becoming more fluent with his fists. Despite his natural ability, the sport was never a natural fit and, after a year in the ring, he finally plucked up the courage to tell his father that his nascent boxing career was over. “I went to school, thought about it all day and resolved to tell dad I wanted out. I said: ‘Dad, I don’t want to box anymore.’ He went ballistic. When someone opposed his masculinity, it was time to clear out. He went over to our black and white television, broke off the antenna and did a number on me.”
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Bentt took a vicious beating that day, but he also won a precious victory by standing up to his father. He went on to become one of the US’s most decorated amateur boxers ever but always had a complicated relationship with the sport. “I still had a fascination with boxing, I just didn’t want to get hit. I was becoming a chronic truant at school. I would go into the school library, pick out some books and ride the subway all day reading them.
“One day I read in the New York Daily News about boxers representing the United States who had perished in a plane crash in Poland. One of the boxers who died was a fighter who had shown me kindness and was really my first mentor. I decided to fight on for him, even though the whole time my father thought I fought because of his enthusiasm for boxing.”
After just missing out on qualification to the Seoul Olympics after a defeat to eventual gold medallist Ray Mercer, Bentt returned home determined to hang up the gloves. However, interest from a legendary trainer pulled him back in. “I was flying back from the trials in San Francisco and a teammate told me he was signing with Emanuel Steward and that he could put in a good word for me. I had no interest but Emanuel drove up to our house and wanted me to sign. He and my dad got on so well. They were both larger-than-life personalities. My dad had built a huge amount of resentment at me not making the 88 Olympics and this was my ticket out, so I said: ‘Let’s sign.’”
The former WBO heavyweight champion, Michael Bentt, is taking a break from writing a screenplay. He expresses himself on stage and screen as an actor and director these days, but thoughts of his life in boxing are never far from his mind. “My earliest memory as a young kid growing up in Queens was Muhammad Ali fighting in Germany. My dad was a huge admirer of Ali, or Cassius Clay as he insisted on calling him. He wanted a mascot who would become the next Ali and, unfortunately, I was that mascot.”
Bentt was born in London and grew up in a middle-class suburb of New York with a boxing-obsessed father who was intent on creating a champion, whether or not his son had any interest in the sport. Bentt’s father had built a reputation as a fierce street fighter on the streets of Kingston, before emigrating from Jamaica to the US to make his fortune. “Where I grew up was a decent and affluent place but some horrible stories went on behind those manicured lawns and nice cars. The niceness could be a mask.”
Bentt began fighting regularly in amateur contests aged nine, winning some and “getting tuned up” in others. He was academically gifted and a keen reader, but was also becoming more fluent with his fists. Despite his natural ability, the sport was never a natural fit and, after a year in the ring, he finally plucked up the courage to tell his father that his nascent boxing career was over. “I went to school, thought about it all day and resolved to tell dad I wanted out. I said: ‘Dad, I don’t want to box anymore.’ He went ballistic. When someone opposed his masculinity, it was time to clear out. He went over to our black and white television, broke off the antenna and did a number on me.”
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Bentt took a vicious beating that day, but he also won a precious victory by standing up to his father. He went on to become one of the US’s most decorated amateur boxers ever but always had a complicated relationship with the sport. “I still had a fascination with boxing, I just didn’t want to get hit. I was becoming a chronic truant at school. I would go into the school library, pick out some books and ride the subway all day reading them.
“One day I read in the New York Daily News about boxers representing the United States who had perished in a plane crash in Poland. One of the boxers who died was a fighter who had shown me kindness and was really my first mentor. I decided to fight on for him, even though the whole time my father thought I fought because of his enthusiasm for boxing.”
After just missing out on qualification to the Seoul Olympics after a defeat to eventual gold medallist Ray Mercer, Bentt returned home determined to hang up the gloves. However, interest from a legendary trainer pulled him back in. “I was flying back from the trials in San Francisco and a teammate told me he was signing with Emanuel Steward and that he could put in a good word for me. I had no interest but Emanuel drove up to our house and wanted me to sign. He and my dad got on so well. They were both larger-than-life personalities. My dad had built a huge amount of resentment at me not making the 88 Olympics and this was my ticket out, so I said: ‘Let’s sign.’”
Michael Bentt is beaten by the count as he loses his world title to Herbie Hide in London in 1994. Photograph: John Gichigi/Getty Images
Bentt was an exceptional amateur but he was not accustomed to the hard atmosphere among the pros at Steward’s dank basement gym in Detroit. He had grown up in relative comfort and was used to high-quality training facilities in the US boxing team, so the Kronk Gym came as something of a surprise. “I’m a kid from the suburbs and the culture there just bred hunger in the fighters like a disease. They were hard people and it was hardcore within that gym, although some of the champions were sweethearts. I didn’t really like it. I just tried to put on the blinkers and train.”
Bentt made his professional debut in February 1989 against outside prospect Jerry Jones at Trump’s Castle in Atlantic City. The fight was shown live on ESPN and he was knocked out in the last second of the first round. Bentt never returned to Detroit, or the Kronk Gym, and instead took a job in a hospital. He was grateful for the work but “just didn’t belong”. Long after the physical bruises had healed, he remained fragile and that pain was exacerbated when he found a note on his car from a stranger mocking him for the knockout against Jones.
The psychological effect of that defeat is explored in the first episode of the Netflix documentary series Losers. The film shows a boxer who felt he had not only lost a fight but his own masculinity, which had always been framed by boxing and his father. “I was terrified, to be honest, after that defeat. I didn’t want to see anyone. I was working but managed to blow all of my money. Then I would drink. Then I thought I should work out and I sparred with my brother at the gym. It got competitive, like it can do with brothers, then I floored him. I started crying and didn’t go back to boxing for another 18 months.”
Bentt made his way back to boxing as a sparring partner for Gary Mason and then Evander Holyfield. Away from the tyranny of his father’s mental warfare and the expectation of his televised debut, Bentt thrived. “One day Evander’s trainer said to me: ‘Goddamn babycakes, when you fuck around and spar with Evander, I can’t tell who the champion is.’ That was priceless. I took those words with me wherever I went.”
He realised he had more to offer and won his next 10 fights, putting him in line for a showdown with WBO champion Tommy Morrison. Even after this run of victories, he still doubted his decision to keep fighting. “I was still conflicted with professional boxing. It was a mind-fuck. You realise your father will only love you if you get punched in the face in public for a living. That’s a real psychological issue. I used the contempt I had for my father and it was valuable in the ring. If I didn’t have that contempt for my father, I would never have beaten Tommy Morrison.”
Michael Bentt falls to defeat against Herbie Hide at the Den in London.
Photograph: Sean Dempsey/PA
Bentt upset the odds and stopped Morrison in the first round to become a world champion. Even with the belt tied around his waist, he still felt conflicted. “After the fight I didn’t want people telling me I was great. I had seen it all after my first fight, when there was nobody there. Then, after I won, there were 10 people waiting to congratulate me in the dressing room, congratulating each other. I wondered: where would all these have people have been if I lost? I recognised the hypocrisy.”
Bentt would soon find out. In his first title defence, he suffered a brutal knockout against Herbie Hide in London and woke up in hospital. His tumultuous and torturous relationship with boxing was over.
Again, he found solace in reading and writing. His natural gifts as a communicator eventually opened up a new career far from the ring, as an actor and director who has worked with Will Smith, Michael Mann, Clint Eastwood and Johnny Depp. He is probably best known for playing Sonny Liston in the film Ali.
Bentt at the premiere for the Michael Mann film Public Enemies in 2009.
Photograph: Alamy
“Today I’m living between LA and Atlanta and I’m still a full-time actor and director. It’s been a long experience to get to where I am but I’ve found it incredibly gratifying. I have experiences that will last with me forever. Clint Eastwood told me I know what I’m doing when he was directing me; and Michael Mann, who doesn’t smile for anybody, winked at me during a take. I have this tough Jewish acting coach and, when you nail a scene, he hits the table three times. When I nail a scene, it’s honestly better than sex.”
Is nailing a scene better than winning a world title? “I’m appreciative of what the boxing game gave me and I’m appreciative that I survived but, when I’m on set now, there’s nowhere on this Earth I’d rather be.”
Wednesday, April 3, 2019
Judd Reid 100 Man Fight [OFFICIAL DOCUMENTARY] Extra Content
Judd Reid 100 Man Fight [OFFICIAL DOCUMENTARY] Extra Content
Journey to the 100man fight - The Judd Reid Story.
Judd's incredible story of life long dedication to martial arts and his attempt at the 100 man kumite.
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