Rumble along the Passaic leads to rude awakening

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15, 2011

BY STEVE JANOSKI

The air is charged at the packed AmeriHealth Pavilion on fight night, especially among the followers of boxer Vinny O’Brien, the local kid from Morris County who’s seeking his third professional victory in as many bouts.

This show, smaller in nature, isn’t like a title match — if you’re here, you probably know one of the fighters. That alone changes the dynamics of watching the encounter, as your heart somersaults with each punch, and for six or 10 rounds, you feel that you share your fighter’s fate.When I get there, I find out that O’Brien’s fight, which was supposedly going to be televised nationwide on ESPN, has been made the "swing bout." This, more or less, means that he’ll go on whenever they need him to, which plays hell with both his mind and his adrenal glands.The night turns out to be a jumbled mess. One fight gets pulled at the last minute, and the arena’s lights fail in the middle of another, a la "Ocean’s Eleven."

The half-hour delay lets an already drunk crowd slip further into inebriation, and the atmosphere grows tense as time ticks by.

The redeeming quality is that Main Events has matched good boxers, and the action is ferocious. Several fights are near upsets, and knockdowns are plentiful.

Unfortunately, O’Brien somehow becomes the last bout of the night, and as the welterweight begins to carve his way toward the ring to a recording of a lion’s roar, the ESPN crews are rolling up the electrical cords and dragging out their camera booms.

O’Brien is adorned in white trunks with a blue and red stripe down the side; his opponent, a Puerto Rican from Philadelphia named Rafael Montalvo, wears trunks decorated with the Puerto Rican flag.

The first round starts slowly as both fighters feel each other out. O’Brien takes some punches; he hasn’t yet learned to slip the jab. Brief, sharp exchanges seem to favor Montalvo, but no one lands anything of consequence.

The intensity rises in the second round. Initially they’re content to box from a distance, but eventually they close on each other, and Montalvo lands a hard left hook and a straight right that wobbles O’Brien.

They separate briefly but engage again, two ships of the line going volley for volley. Montalvo lands another damaging blow but, as he comes in, O’Brien comes back with a magnificent left hook that whips the Puerto Rican’s head around and drops him to the canvas. For a moment I think, "Vin’s done it again."

But Montalvo is different. He rises quickly and is on his toes, dancing, nodding his head to referee Earl Morton as he takes an eight count.

O’Brien thinks there’s blood in the water, and he approaches looking to land the Sunday punch that will send Montalvo across the Delaware in shame.

In his eagerness, though, he leaves himself open, and gets caught with a momentous hook that sends him to the ground, sprawling backward against the ropes.

He rises quickly as well, but he’s got the legs of a newborn calf and can’t seem to gain his balance, and I know right then that the fight could be, maybe should be, called.

Morton lets it continue however, and gives him a standing eight count that finishes out the round. The bell sounds, and O’Brien staggers back to his corner as his cutman flings water onto his face from a sponge and his trainer, Lou Esa, tries to bring him back to the world of the living.

Montalvo begins to take over in the third. He’s landing crisp jabs that swell O’Brien’s face and heavy hooks that begin to rob him of his faculties, but the brawler never takes a backward step — he’s determined to a fault now even though it’s clear that he’s in with a slicker, more experienced fighter.


He spends the end of the third and the start of the fourth round trying to line up a knockout punch that never comes; blood is coursing down his cheeks and his mop of black hair is sweat soaked and wild.

In the final round O’Brien takes a beating that would level most men. He’s still swinging and landing the occasional blow, but Montalvo’s hooks are too devastating, and when one catches him on the temple, he stumbles backward and falls into the ropes.

Before he rises, Morton waves the bout off. O’Brien was right – there will be no decision here tonight… but he is the one who has been knocked out.

E-mail: janoski@northjersey.com

http://www.northjersey.com/sports/123974744_Rumble_along_the_Passaic_leads_to_rude_awakening.html

Iron willed in the Ironbound

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 1, 2011

JANOSKI, STEVE

It's raining heavily in Newark as the final press conference is about to get under way. It's two days before the fight, and the promoters, media, and boxers are gathered on the second floor of the Brick City Bar and Grill in Newark, a restaurant and bar with black hardwood floors and worn brick walls that sits next to the Prudential Center.

Vinny O'Brien sits at a long line of tables against the wall dressed in a black button down shirt and black pants, a huge grilled chicken salad in front of him, and we discuss a few upcoming pro fights before I steal off to sneak some of the bar's offerings.The smallish size of the press conference reflects the humble nature of the show. Kathy Duva, CEO of the promotional company Main Events, later says bluntly that this ticket, which features about a half-dozen lesser known fighters, is "a club show in the truest sense."

"That's what's really nice about a show like this," she says. "We can concentrate on making every single fight matter… and every fight that's going to be on the undercard really matters."

It's clichéd and inaccurate to call a press conference the calm before the storm — it's much more like putting a dozen piranhas in a tank and asking them to play nice for an hour. While it's not always a scene out of "Rocky IV," there is a measured sense of restraint emanating from the men who have trained for months with the singular purpose of collapsing each other's faces.

O'Brien's opponent, a Puerto Rican from Philadelphia named Rafael Montalvo, is not here. But O'Brien is clearly as at home in front of the press's flashing lights as he is in the gym.

As the conference starts, he sits at the end of a long black table filled with fighters, their names printed on cards in front of them. Duva sits in the middle and stands to give her opening remarks and introduce the boxers.

When she gets to O'Brien, a broad smile comes across her face as she talks about the kid from East Hanover and the hordes of fans he's drawn in his first two fights.

"He's truly an individual in every way, and watching him fight is just the most fun I can imagine," she says. "Between Vinny and his crowd, the way they interact… it's worth the price of admission just to see that."

O'Brien gives a standard fighter's statement about how he's excited for the fight and comes to win, but a brief remark hints that overall, he's as concerned with giving people their money's worth as he is with being victorious.

"I come to fight," he says. "So every time people come to see me and watch me fight, I can guarantee that I'm going to go out there and put on a show."

Ironically, the willingness to fight, to put on a spectacle, has been sorely lacking in boxing these days, and it's a refreshing statement, small as it may be, from a fighter who has yet to prove himself on the grand stage.

"You keep selling tickets like that and you'll be running the whole press conference one of these days," quips Duva.

O'Brien is laid back and amiable after the conference. He says that he feels "like a kid before Christmas" and that the only thing better than fight week is fight day.

"When I wake up, I got a big smile on my face," he says.

He's had a good camp, he says, and he can't wait to just get into the ring, and whatever nervousness he feels just feeds the internal fire that swirls in the stomach of a warrior before he goes into the fray.

"At the end of the day, you can talk about what you want to do in this sport, but I gotta take care of what I gotta take care of in the ring, and let the pieces fall where they may," he says.

One thing O'Brien doesn't want, however, is to let the fight go to the scorecards. He's got devastating one-punch power, and he means to use it. He doesn't want any part of a decision.

"Every time I fight, I go out there for a knockout," he says. "I'm not going out there to decision and put it in the judges' hands. I go out to knock out and end it early."

He's got a good feeling though, and he knows that sometimes, you just have to let things happen.

"The one thing I do know is 'Don't force anything.' In life, in boxing, whatever, you don't force anything, so I know that (the knockout) will come," he says.

Later on, we find out that his bout may not be televised on ESPN as previously advertised, but he's unfazed.

"If the cameras are on, the cameras aren't on, I don't really care," he says.

No matter what the network tells him, though, the cameras are always rolling. And the pressure, with the fight looming, is intensifying.

E-mail: janoski@northjersey.com

http://www.northjersey.com/sports/122998243_Iron_willed_in_the_Ironbound.html?c=y&page=1