SANDY— I first met "Irish" Tony Doyle 10 days ago in a diner. He said he used to spar with Muhammad Ali, to which I replied I once covered the champ in a fight against Larry Holmes.
After that, the conversation went as rhythmically as the patter of a speed bag.
I liked him for the same reason I've always liked boxers: He wasn't wearing varnish.
I got his phone number and called a week later to ask if we could meet, same diner, different day. When we talked again Thursday, he said what every true fighter believes: He coulda been a contender.
"If I could have relaxed in all my fights, there's no end to where I could have gone," said the Utah native. "I could have gone all the way."
Doyle seemed like a good column idea for the same reason all boxers are interesting: They're raw and unrehearsed. Thus, when I asked why he never got a title shot, even though he had 57 fights, winning 40, he said his manager never worked it out. He went on to say his front guy once negotiated a fight with Jerry Quarry for just $750, which even in '65 probably wasn't worth chancing a wrecking ball of a hook.
When he lost to Joe Frazier in '67 in Philadelphia, Doyle dropped his right just as Smokin' Joe rushed in with a hook that rang the Liberty Bell. As he wobbled to his feet, the ref said, "You're not going anywhere!"
Like the diner where we sat Thursday, Doyle is a reminder of another era. An era when boxing mattered. He fought into the mid-'70s, which is just about the time the sport started slipping into confusion, thanks to dubious promoter Don King.
"I just got so sour on the fights and what Mr. King did to boxing," said Doyle. "He ruined it. He learned in prison how to con people, and he's still a con man."
Doyle never did get his big payday. He decisioned Frazier at the Gold Gloves nationals when they were teens but lost the aforementioned pro match. He lost to Quarry three times, Joe Bugner once, and got KO'd by Jimmy Ellis. Ellis and Frazier won world titles, Bugner and Quarry had title fights.
But ask Doyle who is the greatest boxer of all time and he doesn't hesitate — Ali. The light dancing. The blurring jabs. The supreme confidence. Doyle spent two years sparring with Ali at his training camp in the Pennsylvania hills. Each day they did road work together.
"He treated me better than I've ever been treated," said Doyle. "And he paid me top money."
Doyle's career ended with a ninth-round TKO loss to Mike Weaver in 1975.
Today, following summer heart surgery, he lives in Sandy and works as a paint contractor. Want your house freshened, he'll do it up right and won't skimp on the groundwork.
Train four months for fights, you learn all about preparation.
Doyle seems slightly wistful he didn't get his title shot but not melancholy. He's forgotten a few details but clearly not all. He remembers Ali draping his arm around him in friendship; the ringside talks at training camp. He remembers, too, the big fight against Frazier, while Doyle's wife was back in Salt Lake delivering premature twins.
Doyle says his mind just wasn't on his fight that night.
"But," Doyle said happily, "my wife and kids turned out fine."
He remembers all three losses to Quarry. The last one, a split decision in L.A., still bothers him.
"Nothing against Quarry, he was a great guy, but I beat him," said Doyle. "They stopped the fight. It was his hometown."
Doyle tried repeatedly to get a bout with Ali, but it never happened.
"I moved the same as him," said Doyle, bobbing and jabbing for emphasis. "I knew what he did and didn't do."
As I got up to leave, he shook his head slightly, his thoughts in a different time and place.
"I had that hot Irish temper," he said. "I never learned to relax while I was fighting."
It made me wish I had seen Irish Tony Doyle fight, just the same.
E-mail: rock@desnews.com