Tony Wilson: That’s Shoebiz

FOR those with only a fleeting interest in the game, Tony Wilson will forever be remembered for one bizarre moment of boxing madness.

They will recall the unbelievable mayhem at Southampton Guildhall on September 21, 1989. They will recall Tony’s God-fearing, but fiery mum, Minna, entering the ring and repeatedly clobber opponent Steve McCarthy over the head with her stiletto shoe.

McCarthy was struck with such venom in that third round, blood seeped from his scalp.

That is how history will remember Wolverhampton’s Tony Wilson.

Casual fans are probably oblivious to the fact Tony – admittedly under pressure before his mother’s intervention – won the fight. McCarthy refused to continue and, therefore, forfeited the contest.

They’re probably unaware a full scale riot erupted in the hall after Wilson’s hand was raised.

Ask them what they know about Tony Wilson and they’ll respond: “Isn’t he the guy whose mum…?”

That’s an injustice. Wilson was a top-notch boxer who possessed concussive power and a jab that slid out with the accuracy and authority of a greased piston.

Tall and sinewy, he threw that left lead as if spearing fish. Critics will say his punch resistance could be suspect, but Tony hauled himself off the canvas against Brian Simon Harris and Brian Schumacher before gaining spectacular victory.

As an outstanding amateur, he won two senior ABA titles and fought in the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics, reaching the quarter-finals.

As a pro, he won the British light-heavyweight title and successfully defended it twice.

Tony, now 61 and living in Wednesfield, remains fit, healthy and involved in the game as a trainer. He’s also taken the noble art into schools.

He is content with his achievements. He is laid-back. Remarkably, his sharp features have changed little since the glory days.

And the man who quit the pro game in 1993 with 20 wins, eight losses and a draw is surprisingly comfortable with the topic of his mum’s ring invasion.

“She’s still with us,” he said. “She’s 97 and living in Jamaica.

“Listen, it’s part of the story. We were sitting down (before the fight), they were all swearing at me and my mum was there. She became over-sensitive with what was going on. She’s a mum, a mum’s a mum. She’d been to fights before and there was never a problem.”

The atmosphere was certainly hostile. The crowd solidly behind Southampton’s McCarthy.

Tony added: “She probably regrets it, but if my son was stepping in the ring and everyone was slagging him off I’d feel like doing the same thing.”

One thousand people bayed for blood that night and Tony was forced to flee to the safety of a dressing room, shielded by manager Jimmy Tibbs.

The fighter was struck by objects, Minna dragged from the ring by security.

Tibbs – a very hard man – later sympathised with Mrs Wilson. He said: “She’s been quoted in the paper as saying she is ashamed, but she shouldn’t be ashamed.

“She’s done what any mum would do under the circumstances. She just blacked out. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

Tony Wilson’s career deserves to be so much more than a comic sporting footnote.

He has adopted an “it is what it is” approach to the many achievements. He doesn’t brood over the money. He doesn’t torture himself over what might have been.

“There were good times, there were bad times,” Wilson shrugged. “Not everything you see is gold. It’s all an experience.

“It’s a bit like prostitution, we (boxers) never got what we deserved. It’s all about time and place. Things happened to me at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

“I think I changed too much and should’ve stuck with my amateur style.”

Tony was introduced to boxing by his school maths teacher.

A stellar amateur career with Bilston Golden Gloves and Wolverhampton ABC led to the Whitmore Reans sporting hero being courted by the biggest names on a domestic, professional landscape dominated by Mickey Duff and Mike Barrett.

But Tony, having witnessed his brother Neville’s pro career, entertained suitors with caution.

Middleweight Neville won eight of 21. He was matched tough.

“I’d go to the fights and think, ‘he shouldn’t be fighting those people’. He was overmatched.”

Tony signed with Terry Lawless whose Royal Oak, Canning Town, gym had already produced world champs Charlie Magri, Jim Watt and Maurice Hope.

The deal ensured Wilson television exposure and bookings on major London shows.

He harbours no ill-will, but hardly oozes respect for Lawless who died in 2009. The partnership was a mistake, he now believes.

“I looked at the fighters he had, they were all ABA champions. He didn’t have to do too much to make them professional champions. I looked at him and he was just a man trying to be something he wasn’t. Best trainer in the world? He wasn’t that good.”

Once the relationship between boxer and manager had run its course, Jimmy Tibbs guided Tony’s career.

He made his debut in 1985, stopping big punching Blaine Logsdon at the Royal Albert Hall.

Tony was pretty much matched with Britain’s best from the get-go.

In his 10th fight, he stopped Keith Bristol in a final eliminator for the British title. In his next fight, he tasted defeat for the first time, being stopped by decent American Jesse Shelby.

Two bouts later Tony was champion courtesy of victory over Logsdon. That December, 1987, encounter ended on cuts at the end of the sixth.

Tony defended the title twice – both times against Schumacher – before Leeds veteran Tom Collins violently removed his belt in March, 1989.

After controlling the first behind a smooth jab, he was staggered by a right in the second, then floored by a left hook. Tony, badly dazed and on disobedient legs, beat the count, but was done for the night.

He would return to action six months later for that notorious encounter in Southampton.

After that, Tony’s form was patchy, though he did squeeze-in two American contests, stopping Steve Harvey in Bois and losing on points to James Flowers in Chicago.

“I wanted to try America,” he said. “It was good. I went to Compton and met Mike Tyson, we talked a lot. He’d say, ‘come out tonight’, but I couldn’t because I was in camp.

1991 proved a tough year. There was a sole victory over former opponent Cordwell Hytlon, from Walsall – “a very nice man, we were always very respectful to each other” – but losses to Glazz Campbell and Noel Magee suggested the champ was slipping. The fire was dimming.

1992 saw losses to future two weight world champ Fabrice Tiozzo in France and Ginger Tshabalala.

Although Wilson pushed Tiozzo to a hard fought, eight round decision, South African Tshabalala halted him in three at the NEC.

Wilson called time on his career after a February, 1993, points loss to Tony Booth in his hometown of Wolverhampton.

The good memories outweigh the bad, he stressed.

“The best I fought?” he repeated, pondering the question. “Probably Tiozzo. He was very strong, that was a hard fight.

“I still follow the sport. It’s changed in a lot of ways, it could be better.”

As a parting shot, Tony added: “Me and the missus went to Africa and someone comes over, shakes my hand and says, ‘you’re Tony Wilson the boxer’. Can you believe that? Africa.”

I can. Wilson was a skilful performer who brought a Lonsdale Belt back to Wolverhampton. That’s what he should be remembered for rather than a flailing stiletto shoe.