A website bought the broadcast rights to a ‘redneck’ boxing event but each of the fighters from impoverished West Virginia has his own hopes and dreams

George White is eating pizza in the living area of his one-bedroom trailer in Princeton, West Virginia.

He seems calm, which is striking. In a few hours, White will be fighting a man who is a foot taller than him in front of thousands of people.

White will be taking part in Rough N’ Rowdy, an amateur fighting competition based in his home state. It’s a chance for men from the local area to climb into a ring and pummel each other for three minutes.

Rough N’ Rowdy is nominally a boxing competition, but given the fighters don’t have to be in good shape – and most aren’t – and aren’t allowed to have any formal boxing training, it more resembles a barroom brawl.

In this part of the country, the event is a big deal.



“Around here there’s really nothing to do,” said George White. “You’re basically sitting around doing nothing unless you’re doing something illegal. You either fight or sell drugs and this is what we choose to do.”

With his spiky hair and sloping shoulders, White does not look like your typical boxer. He is stocky, but he’s never had any formal training and has never fought in a ring before. He doesn’t run or lift weights. At 19 years old, he is one of the youngest fighters, and at 5ft 9in and 205lb, he is the shortest man in Rough N’ Rowdy’s heavyweight division.

Despite this, White decided to challenge the tallest man in the heavyweight division: 25-year-old Chance Fudge. Fudge is 6ft 9in tall, and works as a personal trainer.

This doesn’t seem to faze White, who sees this as an opportunity to make a name for himself. “I feel like I’m going to be the center of attention because I’m fighting a giant,” he says.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest George White on the afternoon of his fight. Photograph: Tom Silverstone

• • •

Rough N’ Rowdy is technically a boxing competition, and the fighters wear gloves. But unlike most amateur fights, competitors do not wear headgear, and the rounds are shorter than standard boxing matches, to encourage aggressive brawling.

White would be fighting in Bluefield, West Virginia, about 10 miles from Princeton. Fighters must live within a 75-mile radius of the event, and the brawls draw scores of competitors and thousands of spectators.

One of White’s motivations is the $1,000 prize money. White recently lost his job washing dishes, and he and his mother, Angie White, have been surviving on food stamps.

White is not the only person struggling here; the state has the third lowest median income in the US. As the coalmining industry has declined young people have been leaving West Virginia to work elsewhere.

Their trailer park is on the outskirts of town, nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The mountains loom over, with leafless trees lending an eerie, ominous atmosphere. Princeton is not a town on the up: the median household income, at $30,523, is more than $20,000 less than the US average, and the 6,400 population has been in decline since the 1970s.

“That money is mainly going to be for her when I win,” White said of his potential earnings. “I can pay a few months’ rent up on this place, pay the water up a bit, pay the electric up a bit.”



But beyond money, White was also motivated by the potential exposure.

It’s going to let a lot of people reali​​se that there is somebody with skills and talent in this piece of shit town Ronnie Barrett

In November, the Rough N’ Rowdy contest was bought by the website Barstool Sports. The controversial satirical website is perhaps best known for having a partnership with ESPN torn up in October after it emerged Barstool’s CEO, Dave Portnoy, had called ESPN sportscaster Sam Ponder a “slut” in a blogpost. Portnoy also stated that Ponder’s role was to “make men hard”. He said he stands by the latter statement.

Portnoy had decided to buy Rough N’ Rowdy to live stream it after someone sent him footage of some of the fights. In a video posted before the event, he referred to the competitors as “rednecks” and described the event as “hilarious”, which didn’t seem entirely fair on people like White, who wanted his boxing skills, rather than his background, to be the subject of interest.

“It’s comedy to a degree,” Portnoy said. “But it’s not because of them. If you watch any fight that is just wild action, there is definitely the entertainment value to me. It would be no different I don’t think [than] if you’re looking at, like, Jersey Shore on MTV or you’re looking at Floribama. There is that aspect that people like to watch. Because – I don’t want to say it’s the circus – but it’s colourful people.”

Portnoy said he was expecting 30,000 people to pay for the live stream. At $9.99 – $15 if purchased on the day of the fight – Barstool Sports was looking at an income of $300,000 through the pay-per-view fees alone.

Given the fighters would earn only $1,000 if they won their weight class, it left a sour taste in the mouth. And given Portnoy’s views on these people he was making money from, I asked if his venture could come across as exploitative. He disagreed.

“No, because they were doing it anyway,” Portnoy said. “I don’t feel like we’re leading them on, primarily because this has been going on for decades before this event. And we just are adding the pay-per-view.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Ronnie Barrett works the heavy bag. Photograph: Tom Silverstone

• • •

On the afternoon of the fight, I traveled with White to his friend Ronnie Barrett’s house, in a wood high in the hills of Princeton. Barrett, fighting in the bantamweight class, also hoped to get spotted and maybe even turn pro.

The pair had been training together for months. Barrett, who is 26 and works as a certified nursing assistant in a nursing home, said he runs two miles a day, alongside sparring with White and others in his cramped basement. He pointed to some blood on the floor to prove it.



“It’s about the only trade you can have under your belt coming from this town,” he said of his fighting.

“And everyone that buys this pay per view is gonna see me. Everybody that buys it is going to see that I’m a cut above the rest of these guys.

“It’s going to let a lot of people realise that there is somebody with skills and talent in this piece of shit town. That’s the biggest motivator, that’s what’s gonna get the eyes on me.”

Barrett had already fought in Rough N’ Rowdy twice. He won his first fight both times, but lost the second. It’s an elimination tournament, one loss and you’re out. Barrett had high hopes this time round. “Make no mistake. I’m gonna win,” he said.

It was bitterly cold, but White and Barrett braved the elements to train outside on Barrett’s porch. Barrett, at 6ft 2in and 136lb, is whippet thin with short brown hair. He stretched and jumped rope for a couple of minutes while White punched the bag.

Barrett’s brother, Harold “Savage” Roberts, had joined the pair to oversee their workout. White was battering the bag ferociously, but some of Savage’s 11th-hour advice didn’t inspire a great deal of confidence for that night’s fight.

“You need to keep your chin down,” Savage told White, who was merrily pounding away at the bag with his head in the air. “And put your gloves up.”

It was difficult to see how someone’s technique could be overhauled on the afternoon of the fight, but White was bullish about his chances.

“I’m going to break his ribs,” White said of his opponent. “Everyone of them.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Fighters waiting to go in the ring. They have to live within 75 miles of the venue. Photograph: Tom Silverstone

• • •

Rough N’ Rowdy was started 21 years ago by Chris Smith, a former heavyweight boxer from West Virginia. His fighting career ended at 24 when he injured his right shoulder, at which point he started hosting amateur brawls, mostly in West Virginia.

“It’s kind of like part of the local heritage. It’s part of a right of passage for a lot of guys around here,” Smith said.



Smith thinks a lot of people fight for local bragging rights and recognition.

“In one weekend they can come out swinging and be a well-known person in the community, just like that.”

On the night of the fight, contestants gathered at the Brushfork Armory, a looming arena which seats up to 2,000 people. There was a boxing ring in the middle of the floor, with tables surrounding it for the fight judges and Smith, who would be commentating.

Some of the fighters wore calf-high boxing boots, others had silky shorts, and a couple even had theatrical gowns. At the other end of the scale, one man was wearing denim jeans. White showed no sign of nerves. He was telling anyone who would listen that the hulking 6ft 9in Fudge was much smaller and skinnier than he’d imagined.

Fudge, who was wearing a tight grey vest that showed off his bulging chest and shoulders, was baffled as to why White had chosen to fight him.

“I don’t know why he would do that. That’s not too smart,” he said.

By 7pm, the arena was pretty much full. Chris Smith, in his role as announcer and commentator, was blasting out a playlist of motivational music, including Eye of the Tiger.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Ronnie Barrett after his defeat. He said he’d be back. Photograph: Tom Silverstone

• • •

The first match started at 7.30pm, to wild cheers from the crowd fuelled by Bud Light and Michelob Ultra. The two fighters charged at each other as soon as the bell rang, throwing wild punches. Not many were landing.

It continued this way for the full three rounds, with the judges deciding the winner. In Rough N’ Rowdy a round is only one minute long – compared with three minutes for professional and most amateur fights. It lends itself to more frantic fighting, as people desperately try to knock each other out in a short time span.

Soon after, two giant men – each 6ft 6in, and weighing more than 350lb – tested the strength of the surface for about 15 seconds before one of them got knocked out. Another was hopelessly mismatched against someone who actually looked like a professional boxer; he was swiftly knocked unconscious and had to be examined by a doctor. The man wearing jeans battered his opponent into submission.

It’s part of a right of passage for a lot of guys around here Chris Smith

White was summoned to the ring just before 10pm. He was still relaxed. In the crowd, his mother Angie, was not.

“I’m a little nervous,” she said. “That’s my baby. I mean, that’s my baby.”

Angie White said she was powerless to stop her son from fighting. But she also gave a new insight into why White was so determined to make a name for himself.

“On his dad’s deathbed, he promised his dad he would take care of me. And that’s why he tells me he’s going to do this and win the money.”

White clambered into the ring and raised his hands to rouse the crowd. They cheered. Fudge stood quietly in his corner, eyes on his opponent. The bell rang.

Although Fudge had a huge height advantage, it was soon apparent that he wasn’t very skilled at boxing. He threw looping punches, which White easily blocked. Alas, White wasn’t on top form either – he hammered away at Fudge but few of his punches connected.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest The Brushfork Armory in Bluefield, West Virginia. Photograph: Tom Silverstone

At the end of the round, it was unclear if either of them had actually been hit. But White already looked exhausted. He slumped on his stool, face bright red, and desperately tried to catch his breath. When he went out for the second round his lack of physical preparation became apparent. He could barely lift his arms.

The referee insisted he quit the fight. White stumbled out of the ring, sweat pouring down his temples, and slumped on a bench away to the side.

West Virginians struggle for answers in America's worst hit opioid epidemic state Read more

“I didn’t expect him to be as quick as he was,” he said. “I gotta learn to keep my hands up better and I need to train cardio a hell of a lot, man. I got winded way too fast.”

Barrett didn’t win either; the fight went the full three rounds, but the three judges unanimously scored it for Barrett’s foe. It was the third tournament in a row that Barrett had lost, but he said he’d be back.



White is planning the same. There isn’t much else to do around here, he said, and there also isn’t any other way to swiftly earn $1,000 to fulfill the promise he made to his dad.

For them, these competitions are not comedy. They’re not a joke. Here in the deep south of West Virginia, the fights offer something that is otherwise in short supply: hope.



