He was traveling 100 miles an hour or so, the police weren't precise, but they knew it was well past the 35-mph limit, going north on Fort Apache Road on his new Suzuki 1000 when he hit the 1997 Honda Accord in the back, got thrown into the air and landed in the path of an onrushing 2004 Mercedes-Benz that was going south and there was no way either side of Diego (Chico) Corrales was getting up from this one, neither the Jekyll or the Hyde.
Life hits harder than a Jose Luis Castillo left hook, especially when you refuse to duck. Chico Corrales incredibly got up from two of those exactly two years before the night he died and won one of the greatest slugfests in boxing history. The night he died, he was pronounced dead before the Vegas cops knew who he was, or that he had been racing around his neighborhood in the southwest portion of town, about seven miles from the Strip.
It was almost to be expected that there would be a violent end. Not necessarily gang related or criminal, just something right out of a “Survivor” gone wrong. Gary Shaw, his last promoter, said he was as reckless in life as he was in the ring. “He lived an X-Games lifestyle,” said Shaw. “He did everything hard and fast.”
And not too wisely. He once told Kevin Iole, then of the Las Vegas Review-Journal, how he sky-dived from 14,000 feet, scuba-dived with sharks, and explained that until someone showed him differently, “You only live once,” and he didn't want to miss out on anything.
You only live once. He got to swim with the sharks, both in and out of boxing, but he died at 29 and he'll never get to see his kids, six and another on the way, grow up.
On a conference call, before his 2005 rematch with Castillo, Corrales mentioned how he told his now estranged, and pregnant, wife, Michelle, “If anything happens to me, be happy that I was able to do what I loved to do to the very end, which is not something all people can say.”
There was a lot of little boy in Chico, and not all of it very nice. He had a rough childhood in Sacramento, getting in lots of fight. “I was a mean kid,” he said. His stepfather, Ray Woods, took him to a gym and became his first trainer. It's an old story, boxing taking the rough edges off a boy.
But not all of them. He could be charming and loveable, a teddy bear with a left hook and right hand that could knock the stuffing out of anyone who played with him. That's when he was sober.
“Give him a couple of drinks,” said an acquaintance of Chico, “and he was Jekyll and Hyde.”
The police did not find any signs of alcohol or drugs on the accident scene. They said the results of tests would take two weeks.
It could easily, though, have been Chico's exuberance with a new toy, the rush of adrenalin, the joy of speed. He had a sense of fun, even when the game was at its fiercest. It's what we loved about him, the gleeful way he accepted punishment in the ring so he could return such favors. When he talked of being willing to die for his game, he was quite serious.
In 2001, during a 130-pound unification fight with Floyd Mayweather Jr., Corrales was taking a terrible beating. He had trouble making weight, he was facing prison, and he was in with a pretty fair boxer. Mayweather dropped him five times; Corrales got up five times. Finally, in the tenth round, his stepfather could not watch anymore and threw in the towel. Corrales didn't speak to him for years.
There were no towels on May 7, 2005, though I sometimes wonder why not. What had been nine rounds of Hagler-Hearns type of intensity, suddenly escalated. You didn't have to be a genius to know that Corrales-Castillo was going to be Gatti-Ward, but at a higher level. From the start, there was a refreshing respect between them. There would be none of the loudmouthed trash talk, just two warriors who were going to give their all and they didn't have to tell you about it.
Castillo was slowly imposing his will on Corrales, who abstained from fighting on the outside, where he might have had a physical advantage for the fun of getting up close and personal. Then, quickly a Castillo left hook put Corrales down. He got up, somewhat sheepishly, and got dropped again. This was no flash knockdown. He was hurt. Castillo went to apply the finishing touches, but somehow Corrales managed to survive - okay, he bought some precious time by spitting out his mouthpiece, for which he was fined a meaningless point - and somehow Castillo was the one who had punched himself out. Within moments, one of the greatest action fights in history was over. If for nothing else - titles in two weight classes, victories over such as Castillo, Joel Casamayor and Acelino Freitas (the first to beat the Brazilian officially) - maybe Chico deserves recognition in the hall of fame.
That's assuming, of course, that criminal records don't count. He wasn't, I don't think, a bad guy. But he did bad things. There was an early case of hitting a girl. Then, his first marriage ended with Chico going to prison for 14 months for beating his pregnant wife, Maria. Prison came right after suffering his first loss, to Mayweather. He did his time and resumed his boxing career, eventually avenging an early defeat by Casamayor and then winning a title at 135 pounds by making Freitas quit.
But two years - to the day - after that amazing victory over Castillo, he was lying under a sheet on Fort Apache Road. More amazing, that technical knockout of Castillo was his last boxing victory. He lost the rematch to an over-the-weight Castillo, then came in overweight himself and lost to Casamayor before, exactly one month - to the day - before the fatal accident, he lost his last fight, moving up to welterweight and absorbing a beating from Joshua Clottey.
He had told Shaw, his promoter, that despite the well-wishers who wanted him to retire, he still wanted “big fights.” It's why even his rivals loved him. Clottey called from Africa, Castillo - training in Mexico for his challenge next month of Ricky Hatton - issued a statement. “We had what I would call a friendly rivalry when we got into the ring,” he said. “We had two amazing fights and our names will be linked forever.”
He fought hard and he played hard. He died hard, too. He laid there, not far from his house, for at least three hours in the warm desert night, the new helmet still on his head, the body beneath a sheet, while the word went around. His manager, James Prince, was the first to identify the body, then Michelle arrived.
The accident took place on a wide-open stretch of street in a residential area. There was a bump not far before the Honda, though it was not clear whether that had caused Corrales to lose control and create the three-vehicle accident. There was one minor injury, the police said. They also said that Corrales was going too fast and was inexperienced. They said he did not have a driver's license - he lost it because of a DUI infraction.
The police did find a bill of sale for the racing motorcycle, dated April 21. No one knew if he was speeding from someplace, or rushing to another. Maybe he was just trying to clear his head. Not only his boxing career, but his life seemed to be unraveling. There was the separation from the pregnant Michelle. There were considerable financial problems. He owed a lot of money. He apparently signed a promotional deal with Oscar de la Hoya's Golden Boy Promotions with the intention of using the signing bonus to pay off a large tax debt. Trouble was, he was still under contract to Shaw. He was being sued by Joe Goossen, the trainer who helped him beat Casamayor, Freitas and Castillo, for welshing on their contract.
PENTHOUSE: All those kind readers who corrected my errors, starting with the statement that Sports Illustrated was putting a fight preview on its cover for the first time since Larry Holmes-Gerry Cooney a quarter-century ago. There were many such covers, including of course Marvelous Marvin Hagler-Sugar Ray Leonard….Also, of course it raises hackles, not “shackles” as I wearily typed how irate I was at Freitas for quitting the way he did against Chico. Nice to know someone is reading my stuff - my editors obviously aren't.
OUTHOUSE: Tom Kaczmarek once wrote a book on how to judge fights. I repeat what I've often said to him, “Tom, get someone to read it to you.” Obviously, his eyes aren't good enough to handle even the large print as, once again, by having de la Hoya over Mayweather, he makes one wonder why the state of Nevada had to import him from New Jersey, especially since Dalby Shirley is already there.
M
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