The amateur

It is 16 August 2016 and Michael Conlan is standing in the centre of the ring as a chorus of outraged jeers echo around the Riocentre arena. The blood of Vladimir Nikitin, the Russian who has just been out-boxed, is still fresh on the white band of his red shorts. As Nikitin exits between the ropes, the boos suddenly and unexpectedly morph into defiant cheers. Out of shot, Conlan has ripped off his vest, stretched out his arms and is spinning slowly to ensure each ringside judge feels the wrath of his middle-finger salute. In one raging heartbeat, an amateur dream has been killed and a professional one has been born in its place.

A few minutes later, with his fury still unfettered and unfiltered, Conlan is live on television. “The Aiba are fucking cheats,” he begins, his voice choked with emotion. “They’re cheating bastards. They’re paying everybody. My dream has been shattered now. But you know what, I’ve a big career ahead of me. These ones, they’re known for being cheats, and they’ll always be cheats. Amateur boxing stinks from the core to the very top.”

Conlan has moved on and can now look back with a slightly calmer soul. “It was funny,” he says. “I was out jogging with [Irish welterweight] Steven Donnelly on the day of the draw and he asked me who I hoped I’d get. I said I wanted the Armenian [Aram] Avagayan first and then the Russian Nikitin. Then the draw is made and those were the two I got. Donnelly looked at me funny and actually asked if this was all set up for me to win.”

“I was sort of aware of the rumours circulating,” says Conlan about allegations that bouts would be fixed at the Games. “But I tried to keep myself away from all that. I didn’t want the negativity. I was very contained and focused on winning gold. I wasn’t on social media or worrying about judges’ decisions. I actually said, not even a judge’s decision can stop me from winning the gold.”

“But then I watched the big Russian [Evgency Tishchenko] get the decision over the Kazakh [Vassiliy Levit] in the heavyweight final the night before my fight. Then I was like: ‘Fuck, if they can do Kazakhstan, who are the biggest amateur boxing nation in the world, they can definitely do Ireland.’”

Conlan didn’t yet know the half of it. A Russian coach, friendly with the Georgian-born Ireland coach Zaur Antia, let it be known that Ireland’s greatest hope for a medal had no chance. The Ireland team tried to contact the president of the Irish Olympic Council, Pat Hickey, but Brazilian police were already hot on his trail and Hickey had more pressing personal troubles to contend with. They had no one else to turn to so hoped for the best.

“My whole family knew what was coming, but they wisely kept it from me so I wouldn’t go in there like a wild man. But my brother Jamie [the unbeaten Commonwealth champion] said they all went to the arena that day like they were going to a funeral. They were hoping it wouldn’t happen, but they knew it would.”

And it did.

“I outclassed him in the first round, then sat down in my corner and found out they’ve given it to him. My dad [coach John Conlan] was in my corner and he turned around and said to the officials: ‘The whole world is watching.’ He meant, you can’t do this to us, but it was too late. So I decided to go out and beat him up, to beat him at his own game. I did just that, and they gave me the second to make it not look so bad, but…”

Nikitin was given a unanimous decision and Conlan was out.

“Olympic boxing is a dirty old game,” he says. “They’re like Fifa but it’s easier to cheat an individual boxer than an entire football team. I’d been robbed many times before. Once in Kazakhstan against a home fighter in the WSB [World Series Boxing] and I thought it would cost me qualification to Rio. I had one fight left in Venezuela and I actually thought about giving the WSB judges the finger after it, but the crowd in Caracas were so good I just clapped them and walked away.

“But in Rio there was no such plan because I was sure I was going to win. So the reaction was instinctive, from the heart. And if it wasn’t for the discipline of boxing, I probably would have physically attacked one of those judges. They stole my Olympic gold from me. That was always the biggest goal I had, including pro titles. It was completely heartbreaking, devastating. And that’s why I reacted the way I did.

“It was also a reaction against all the bad decisions I’d been on the end of throughout my years as an amateur. It was more than just that one. It had built up. I’d lost out on world medals, losing fights by a point when I knew I really won. I hoped maybe if I opened the eyes of the world to what goes on then other boxers wouldn’t suffer the same fate as me.”

Michael Conlan sticks it to the judges after his defeat at the Olympics in Rio Photograph: Christian Petersen/Getty Images

Aiba stood several officials down in the aftermath and have since sidelined all 36 of the judges and referees on duty in Rio, but they still decided to discipline and fine Conlan – a fine he says they can sing for. The conclusions of Aiba’s Special Investigation Committee review were published last week and a line admitting to “an unwelcome axis of influence … had led to a lack of due process being carried out” stood out among 1,000 words of measured obfuscation, but it remains to be seen whether genuine reforms will be instigated. For his part, Conlan is simply doing his best to move on.

“It is a dream I’ll never achieve but there’s nothing I can do about it. I brought my 17-month-old daughter to Brazil so she could see her daddy win Olympic gold and we’d have a nice memory to look back on, but it didn’t work out that way. The hardest thing about putting it behind me is everyone loves to talk about it.

“In every interview it still gets brought up. When people stop and ask for a photo, they ask me to give the finger. So it’ll always be there, but it doesn’t bother me anymore because I am going to go on to bigger things. When the professional chapter opens on 17 March, the amateur chapter of my book will close forever.”

With clouds as black as shattered life-long dreams it is difficult to find silver linings but, six months on from Rio, Conlan is benefitting from a profile few novice pros enjoy, regardless of how many amateur medals they have won. He was never going to struggle either way, but he’s wise enough to acknowledge that the Olympic publicity has given him a helping hand.

“It’s giving me a bigger pro career boost than had I won gold. I wouldn’t be topping the bill in Madison Square Garden off the back of a gold medal. Lomachenko didn’t even top the bill in his debut and he’s a double Olympic gold medallist. Although my ability also plays a part, I know my reaction and the media hype post-Rio has got me a headline slot. That’s fine, but now it’s time for my ability to control things again.”

The professional

It is the 18 January 2017 and Conlan is barely a minute into his maiden press conference on American soil when he spells out how he envisions his career unfolding. “The journey is going to be a good one,” he begins rather conservatively, before ramping things up. “I’m planning to win world titles in the super bantamweight division, the featherweight division and the super featherweight division.”

Good? If the boxing odyssey of the boy from west Belfast goes according to his three-weight plan, we’ll need a stronger adjective than good. But it was classic Conlan: apparent understatement and potential tumidity within the same breath. He often mixes the two but avoids duplicity and, even more importantly given his nationality, jarring bombast as he goes. You can achieve a position close to deity in Irish life if you excel in your chosen athletic field, but only if you don’t create your own song and dance about it along the way. Stars are expected to wear their humility on their sleeves at all times.

Conlan is only too aware of the potential pitfalls of losing the run of himself. “Listen,” he says, “I know Ireland doesn’t really take to the whole superstar thing. It’s ingrained in us to be more inward and not that brash, look-at-me character. And it is more natural for us to be humble too. But all I ever do is be myself and that is someone who speaks honestly but confidently at all times.”

His self-confidence is striking so early in his professional career. His elder brother Jamie would be loath to make such bold pronouncements. “That’s right,” Mick laughs. “We’re different characters when it comes to that stuff. Jamie is probably a bit more laid back and reserved. Our goals in boxing and life are very similar, but the difference is I’ve never been afraid to go out and say exactly what I believe I’m going to do. Jamie still sometimes asks me what I’m playing at, saying I’m going to do this and that when I haven’t even fought as a pro. Because I am really still a nobody.”

But the thing is, Top Rank promotions don’t sign nobodies, certainly not for a rumoured seven-figure fee anyway. The company has promoted Muhammad Ali, Joe Frazier, Marvin Hagler, Ray Leonard, Oscar de la Hoya, Floyd Mayweather Jr and Manny Pacquiao. In recent times, signing amateur stars has become their speciality. Mayweather and De la Hoya fit that template, as do later additions such as Miguel Cotto, Vasyl Lomachenko, Zou Shimming and Óscar Valdez. All were guided to world titles as promised, so Conlan didn’t hesitate when Top Rank came calling. The career move required Conlan, his fiancée Shauna and daughter Luisne to relocate to Marina del Rey in Los Angeles, where he has settled quickly and is enjoying training under Manny Roble at the Rock Gym in Carson.

“Everyone has been great with me. Our gym is attached to a church, so it was closed over the Martin Luther King holiday weekend and Manny told me to come to another place. When I got there it was just him and his two world champions, Óscar Valdez and Jessie Magdaleno. It was really nice to be brought into that circle. He didn’t leave me with a secondary trainer or tell me to get on with something on my own for the day. It made me feel like I was meant to be there, with world champions.”

Valdez and Magdaleno have fought – and won – 45 professional fights between them, but Conlan didn’t feel overawed. “I love it,” he says. “I see a difference between them and me, of course, but it’s not a huge difference and it won’t take me too long to catch up. Probably the main thing is I’m used to boxing and not worrying about hitting hard, whereas those boys throw every single punch with power. All of them seem to have a good bang on them.

“But you know, I’m never going to go that far anyway. I’ll sit down on my punches and develop my power, but what makes me the fighter I am is my ability to move and my boxing skills. I feel like some of the guys in the gym hold their feet too long and it is easy for me to out-think them and outbox them. Manny knows and he appreciates that. He’s not going to change my style, but he will add to my power and my defence. The position I’m in already is I know what I have to do, and I know how to do it. I just need to get in the gym, train hard and put it all into action.”

It is not surprising that Robles is planning to tinker and perfect rather than install wholesale changes. Conlan is already a versatile fighter who can change his style round by round. Jamie loves a war, but the brothers had different boxing heroes growing up.

“Jamie was always watching [Arturo] Gatti, [Marco Antonio] Barerra and [Érik] Morales and saying he’d love to be involved in nights like that. But I always said: ‘Fuck that – I’d love to be able to go in and spark someone out inside a minute or box the head off them and walk away untouched. I don’t need to be punched in the face!’”

Michael Conlan talks to the media at Madison Square Garden. Photograph: Harney/Inpho/Rex/Shutterstock

He had his first serious spar as a pro earlier this month – the first time he had been throwing punches in anger in the ring since Rio. It was just four rounds, but it was legitimate action against a 13-0 super bantamweight. His fitness naturally failed him a little and he took a few shots towards the end but, if it was a four-round fight, he won it easy. Is there a risk he could be moved along too quickly in his quest for titles?

“No chance,” is the resounding answer. “I’d never be stupid enough to go too fast. And Top Rank know that even better than me. They’re the best matchmakers in the business for a reason. I was told a story about them holding De la Hoya back for a year so it was timed perfectly for him to beat a guy who might have troubled him a couple of fights earlier. They’re very smart with fighters’ careers. We’ll pace it correctly. I’ll know more after this first one, but I expect to be in championship fights by year three, 15 or 16 fights down the line.”

The first of those fights will be a six-round contest against American Tim Ibarra at Madison Square Garden on 17 March. Ibarra lost to Manny Robles Jr in 2012 so he is well known by Team Conlan, but it is the date and venue rather than the opponent that make this fight. It’s not every year that an Irishman making his professional debut is asked to headline in New York on St Patrick’s Day.

“It is pretty unreal,” says Conlan. “I had a fair few butterflies in my stomach at the presser. It’s unbelievable that Top Rank are doing all this for me so early in my career. And then I’ve got TV producers calling me about my ideas for the ringwalk. It’s crazy I can be doing this shit on my debut!”

The planned entrance is under wraps for the time being, but Conlan is willing to reveal that Conor McGregor will act as his national flag bearer. “I always liked him to be honest, but then I met him while he was training for the second [Nate] Diaz fight and now I respect him even more. He’s a brilliant guy and was really down to earth with me. Just nice and pretty reserved actually – normal Irish. All that other stuff he just turns off and on to make a noise and sell tickets.”

And is someone behind the scenes busy plotting a raw, cocksure image for Conlan, a la McGregor? “There might be someone with that idea, but that’s just not me. I don’t know if I could be that brash shit-talker. It’s not my natural style and I don’t know if I could turn it on and off the way others can. I’ll just be myself, confident in my own ability. If an opponent starts trash-talking, I’ll probably respond. But it’ll be a reaction. I won’t start it or force it.

“But then again, who knows?” he continues. “Like MMA, boxing is a sport where you’re going to get hurt. We do this for money at the end of the day. Fighters say they love it, and they might, but if there was an easier way to make the same money, they’d do that. I love boxing too, but I’m not going to get punched in the head every day out of love. I’m doing that to make my family comfortable. So if I can earn a lot more money, easier and quicker, by shit-talking, why not I guess? But don’t worry, I’m not going to go full fucking McGregor on my first fight!

“And anyway,” he concludes as assuredly as he began, “I’ve always had my own expectations of where I want to be and how I’m going to get there. I’ve had them for years. So I welcome all the pressure. It means I must be moving in the right direction.”



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