View Full Version : Wanted!Johnny Owen vs Lupe Pintor

10-16-2007, 11:50 AM
Hi guys,

I'm looking to trade for a good copy of this fight.


10-16-2007, 02:42 PM
I don´t know if there is a full copy around from US or Mexican TV. UK TV would have sent the fight deleyed, but only sent a h/l version with Harry Carpenter in the studio. Of course there is "The long journey back" with Pintor and the Owen family.

10-16-2007, 03:25 PM
I read a great article about this fight in an anthology of boxing literature; it was enough to make you cry.

Michael Frank
10-16-2007, 04:24 PM
I have this bout complete, American call, probably 2 generations on VHS. Problem: I can't readily locate it. If you don't find a copy after a period of a few weeks and still need it, I'll probably have located mine by then! Sorry for not having it handy now.

10-16-2007, 05:56 PM
An excerpt from The Big If by Rick Broadbent, I found online...It namechecks CBZer Rick Farris, who was at ringside that night!


The Olympic Auditorium was a snarling cesspit of bias. It throbbed with the sweaty sabre-rattling of hopes and dreams. Johnny Owen, the Matchstick Man, ignored the cans of urine hurled by spiteful hands and the savage mien of the hateful crowd. This was his moment, this was his destiny.

The previous night, 18 September 1980, in their humble room at the Gala Inn Motor Hotel, Dick Owens had held his son close to him. The iron bars on the window locked out downtown Los Angeles. The police cars sounding another night of chaos faded. The guns and the drugs and dimly lit dangers shimmered like rippled memories and, for a brief moment, father and son were back in Merthyr Tydfil. Dick’s eyes glazed over. The days of torturous runs through saturnine streets, of chopping wood with a blunt axe, the interminable pounding of a bag bearing the scars of ingrained fantasies all crystallized into proud
satisfaction. This was journey’s end.

‘Come on, Dad,’ whispered a soft, calming voice. ‘Don’t get emotional.’

The following day the Mexicans had left the laundromat, the kitchens, the car washes and the factories and headed for the Olympic, where 10,000 lives merged.

At the side of the ring sat Rick Farris, an American who had been a boxer. He had exchanged a few words with the challenger the previous day and had been taken by his prosaic grace. Now he looked at the scrawny body of the Welshman moving awkwardly in his corner and crossed his fingers.

Byron Board, Johnny’s biggest fan, took his place and surveyed the scene. He was still shaken. As usual he had walked in front of his boy, carrying the trademark skeleton standard, but he had been shocked by the hostility of the crowd. He had been scratched and pushed and spat at. He remembered Almeria the previous year and how they had grown from their experience in that rancorous bullring. He thought about how they were robbed on that occasion, about the wintergreen oil, the trouble over the purse and how old Harry Vines, the boxing official, had been carried from the ring before being roughed up by La Guarda. He sighed and hoped they would not be victims again.

The press row was full. A dozen journalists had made the trip from Britain. Gareth Jones, who had got to know the Owens family while working the boxing beat for the Western Mail in Cardiff, was sure the Mexicans would not have it all their own way. Even though he was doused by the sports writer’s natural cynicism, he nevertheless felt the magic coursing through him that night. This was a world title fight and he had known Johnny Owen since he had tentatively made his first telephone call, ringing him at the Mail office to inform him of an early victory. A few seats away was Hugh McIlvanney of the Observer. The previous year McIlvanney had christened Johnny ‘the virgin soldier’. In that article he recalled someone turning to Dick Owens at a fight and telling him that his son should be put in a shawl, carried home and given a good basin of broth. The Americans were similarly deceived by his size. Jim Murray, of the Los Angeles Times, had labelled him ‘the world’s biggest pipe cleaner with ears’ in the edition that was being sold on the news-stands outside. He had also suggested, in a protracted Charles Dickens analogy, that the boxer was ‘Tiny Tim withoutthe crutches’ and a ‘classic victim of the industrial revolution’.

At least that was better than the image conjured up by his colleague, John Hall, where the challenger had ‘the skinniest limbs this side of an ostrich farm’. Both expected him to lose. Back home in Merthyr they listened and formed pictures in their minds’ eyes. In the tiny council house on the Gellideg estate, Kelvin Owens felt his brother would do well. He knew the champion was good and had even beaten Carlos Zarate, a genuine legend, but his brother was special. When there were street fights on that blackened Merthyr canvas, its edges daubed with blood and alcohol, it was Johnny who was the peacemaker.

Everybody loved him. And he had the stamina. By God, he had the stamina.

Jesse Harris knew about that. A Welsh schoolboy champion, Jesse had long since succumbed to the sirens that wreck all but the most dedicated of fighters. He had lived atop an elephantine hill, chased horses and pounded a bag hung in a stable. Johnny had looked after him when he first went down the hill and into the frantic world of a valley gym, and had even stood in his corner at the Welsh championships to massage his confidence. Jesse now fiddled with the radio and battled against the fizz and crack of the airwaves.

The sisters could barely imagine the Olympic, but they were there in spirit. From the Gellideg estate, its greying council houses bleached by incessant rain, they tried to picture Johnny. Susan sat and drank her tea. This time there was no need to put her hair up tight, dress as a boy and speak in a comically gruff voice to get into the working men’s club to see him fight. Shereen went about her daily routine, killing time with the familiar, and then rose to go to bed, wondering whether her brother would be a hero when she woke.

There were lots more people thinking about Johnny Owen that night. One of them was Eddie Thomas, the ruggedly handsome former welterweight champion. Since he had stopped boxing, Eddie had become embroiled in the other side of the sport that had given him his status and the squat nose, like a melted candle, that parted his rough-hewn features. His gym in Penydarren High Street was famous for spawning two world champions, Howard Winstone and Ken Buchanan, and Eddie’s place in Merthyr folklore was cast in the cement foundations on that steep, arcing road.

Thomas poured a whisky and recalled the night Buchanan had fought Ismael Laguna at Madison Square Garden in New York in 1971. The world lightweight title was at stake and Ken’s eye was puffed up like a balloon. The glory was slipping away and the referee was frowning at the eye, teetering on the verge of a shattering decision. That was why Eddie had taken out the razor blade and slit the swelling early on. Sometimes destiny needs a helping hand.

10-16-2007, 06:30 PM
I have a good copy, but it will likely fall short of your standards.


10-20-2007, 01:49 PM
Thanks for the offers gentlemen, I have a copy on the way.

Doc McCoy
10-24-2007, 02:09 AM
Evander, when you get it in can you give an indication on the quality as Lupe's one of my favourite boxers and I'm always on the lookout for very good copies of his bouts,

muchas gracias.

PS. Still looking for a copy of his first bout with Alberto Davila if anyone has it.

01-29-2008, 07:58 PM
Well...i'm still looking for a good copy of this fight.The copy i was supposed to get fell through. If any of you fellas would like to trade for it please let me know.

01-30-2008, 12:49 AM
I have two copies, one PAL and one in NTSC. More than happy to trade. If you want it shoot me a pm. I can drop it in the post tomorrow...I can also do screenshots so you have an idea of the quality.

01-30-2008, 02:30 AM
I have two copies, one PAL and one in NTSC. More than happy to trade. If you want it shoot me a pm. I can drop it in the post tomorrow...I can also do screenshots so you have an idea of the quality.

I will pm you.