Fairlamb fights for more than just a title

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

BY STEVE JANOSKI

In the last "Rocky" movie, Sylvester Stallone gives a monologue to his struggling son that ends with a phrase that speaks to far more than fighting: "It ain't about how hard you hit. It's about how hard you can get hit, and keep movin' forward, how much you can take, and keep movin' forward."

If Butler's Scott Fairlamb hadn't already learned that lesson over his years in the ring, he's well aware of it now.


The 33-year-old, like most fighters, has a direct manner of speaking and doesn't sugarcoat things. He swears and laughs frequently, and doesn't seem like a man staring death in the face.

Standing at an imposing 6 feet 4 inches and weighing in somewhere north of 205, he played on Butler High School's 1994 state championship football team, and later became a two-time All-American linebacker at Jersey City State.

After football, he took up boxing, and he won at that too; he racked up a 5-0-1 record as a heavyweight southpaw before a series of devastating hand injuries ended his run.

But apparently once fighting is in your blood, it's there for good.

Fairlamb soon became involved in the rising sport of Mixed Martial Arts (MMA), and began training at AMA Fight Club in Whippany. He received sponsorships that allowed him to train full time, and last May, he left his job with the carpenters' union to pursue his next career.

His first pro fight was on Sept. 24 in Atlantic City. Although he lost the match, he wryly notes that he got his shots in.

"I heard the guy got like 14 stitches…I went home, he went to the hospital," he said with a laugh.

Over the years, Fairlamb's become accustomed to winning. He's become accustomed to dishing out the beatings.

But, as old boxing trainers always say, it's the punch you don't see coming that knocks you out – and there was no way in the world that Fairlamb, a lifelong athlete, could have seen this one.

'I thought I was having a heart attack'

He has memorized the date: October 10, 2010.

It was a Sunday morning. His roommate had gone to a funeral, and Fairlamb was home alone when things began to go wrong.

"My arms went numb, I got hot and lightheaded…I had a tightness in my chest and I couldn't breathe," he said. "I thought I was having a heart attack."

He took a cold shower, but that didn't help. Still sweating, he put his head under the sink and doused himself in cold water when his sister called.

"She was talking to me, and told me that I wasn't making any sense," he said. "She told me to call our mother, and when I did, my mother said, 'You need to call 911.'"

After a battery of tests at Chilton Hospital, doctors said that Fairlamb looked to be in great shape – until his blood work came back.

His white blood cell count – which is supposed to be around 7,000 for a typical adult – was 54,000. Fairlamb had Chronic Myeloid Leukemia (CML).

Just months later, the sponsorships are gone. He must take the chemotherapy pill Gleevec every day for the rest of his life — but he doesn't have medical insurance.

Although he's responded well to the pills, they don't come cheap: about $2,000 for 30.

A series of fund-raisers have been organized by friends in the past months to help with the bills, and Fairlamb said that he's truly grateful for everything that's being done.

"I couldn't mention just one person, because there's been so many, and that's the one thing that's gotten me the most: the overwhelming support from everyone….it's really humbling," he said.

Returning to the fight

The resolve of some people might fade in the face of such overwhelming adversity, but Fairlamb's spirit never flags — not for a second. He's seen leukemia take those close to him already; his friend, Brian DePascale of Butler, died in 2002 at just 22 due to the disease.

He's also witnessed the struggle of Delaney Brown, the 4-year-old daughter of former BHS teammate Bobby Brown, who has neuroblastoma, a type of cancer that attacks children's nervous systems.

"Seeing her, and how she's able to overcome everything, is an inspiration," he said.

Fairlamb sees his own fight as payback, a kick in the teeth to a disease that causes so much misery, and continually says that there are many who have it worse than he does.

"I want to embarrass cancer for everyone who has passed away from it… I've seen it take too many people, and I owe it a beating," he said. "It's another challenge for me."

And while there might not be much work for the unemployed carpenter, there is one final respite for Fairlamb, the one thing that he's always had: the fight itself.

Even though everyone around him thinks he's crazy for doing it, he's planning a return to MMA's octagon on April 22. He sparred for the first time in months last week.

"I lost my sponsorships, but I'll get 'em back," he said. "People think I'm crazy, but I don't give a f--- what they say."

His trainer, AMA owner/operator Mike Constantino, is hardly surprised.

"He's got a great attitude and he's been a fighter his whole life," said Constantino. "He picked up like he never left off; he's a strong kid mentally and physically."

Constantino said that he'd like to see Fairlamb get back to the point where he's training for two hours a day, five days a week, in preparation for the April bout.

If you talk to Fairlamb, though, he's already there.

After months of treatment, his white blood cell counts are beginning to approach the normal range, and the relentless exhaustion and joint pain is lessening. He takes the Gleevec at night now, so he sleeps through the worst of the nausea that the medication brings.

Fight training isn't easy in the first place; it's even harder when you feel, as Fairlamb said, "like your heart is in a vacuum seal."

"There's times that I feel like I can't breathe, like 10 people are standing on my chest," he said.

But there's also times when he feels like his old self, and that's what he's aiming for.

"I'm not the kind of guy that's going to sit on the couch and whine about getting cancer. It's just another fight and I'm going to come out on top," he said. "I don't know how to lose."

But the concept of "winning" has taken on a whole new meaning for Butler's native son — it's no longer just a mark under the "W" column.

Now, his very life depends on it.

E-mail: janoski@northjersey.com

 

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