Boxer Kevin McCauley is highly respected in the sport, and has shared the ring with champions and challengers over his long career. He tells me about life in the 'away corner', and why his distinctive record is not what it seems.
Kevin McCauley had “itchy fists” ahead of his most recent fight, a four-round bout at London’s York Hall against professional debutant Joshua Frankham, having been out of action for months due to coronavirus.
“I hadn't fought since March, so I was dying to get back in there,” he says. “He’s a good kid, very sharp, but it was an easy night at the office. He was the one bleeding not me, but youth showed.”
Referee Marcus McDonnell awarded the win to Frankham on points, 4 rounds to 0. McCauley thought it was closer but was not surprised.
The defeat was number two hundred and eight for McCauley in a career spanning thirteen years and two hundred and thirty-five fights, in which he has tasted victory just fifteen times. There is probably no active boxer in the UK who has accumulated as many losses. But whilst the record books suggest a hard life taking punishment on the road, the reality is quite different.
“I've been at uni the last four years doing a Criminology and Social Care degree, so that's kept me busy,” he tells me. “[Boxing] is my job. That's what I do.”
His father boxed as an amateur in the West Midlands, but it was only whilst working as a roofer and aged 27 that the younger first tried his hand at the sport. After four amateur fights, he turned pro.
“I prefer a bit more of a scrap, so I thought I'll give up roofing, I'd much rather get punched than do forty hours a week at work,” he says. “I thought, let's get paid and see what I can do, and I’ll go and get myself an education. Thirteen years later, and I ain't done too bad.”
McCauley is one of a breed of boxers commonly called ‘journeymen’: experienced professional fighters who keep the boxing world turning, testing the mettle of youngsters who need to learn, and stepping in at the last minute to replace injured opponents.
“A lot of prospects don't want to fight prospects, and a lot of people don't want to jump in with certain fighters,” he says. “I've got myself to a standard where I can jump in with anyone now.”
McCauley’s manager, Errol Johnson, knows he has one of the best and most reliable to call upon.
“It's literally just a text nowadays, saying ‘Four rounds; money; see you on Saturday’. Sometimes I'm even like, ‘What's the opponent’s name?’” he says. “The worst I've had is ten hours’ notice in the pub on a Friday night. I've had a call, and I'm saying, ‘I've had 12 pints forget about it!’. They call me ‘the 999 boxer’. There's an emergency, I'll step in. He knows I won't say no.”
He is comfortable competing anywhere around welterweight (10st 7 or 147lbs), but occasionally must hold his own against much bigger opponents.
“I fought in Liverpool last Christmas,” he remembers. “He was massive, like David and Goliath, and I thought f*** it, just run around and don't get knocked out! I got paid, and actually it was an easy night.”
McCauley tells such stories with humour that may seem absurd to those on the outside, but it reflects the nature of a sport blended with sports-entertainment. A promising boxer must sell hundreds of tickets and give refunds if their opponent drops out, risking going months without being paid. ‘Journeymen’ like McCauley keep the show running, but they do not expect to win. It begins to explain how a record of hundreds of losses is not what it seems.
“I just get in there and have a scrap,” he says. “If they're a bit chinny [vulnerable] you can push forward, if they’re decent you're on the back foot, take the money, and [box again] the week after.”
Knitted subtly within the statement is his insistence that the fights are not fixed. He is free to go for the win, and feels he has had plenty taken away from him in his career. Usually referees score fights, and they can be influenced by the atmosphere.
“The home crowds have such an effect – I've clearly won some fights and not even been given a round,” he says.
McCauley has a mental list of his fights he believes he should have won, but never does any bitterness come across. For him, there is the reality of making a living. If he wins too often, or knocks out a rising star, he might not get a call next time.
“Some of the prospects are crap if I'm honest, they can just sell tickets,” he says. “But if I go and beat him, I’m not going to be on the TV show the week after. I was boxing a kid on an Eddie Hearn show and dropped him – still lost by a point! – but didn't box on his show again. He likes to pick people to make [his boxers] look good on TV.”
If a fight is stopped because one boxer is unfit to continue, they are suspended and must undergo medical tests. Attacking carries the risk of taking punches himself, and it is enough to make him think twice about going for a win.
“If I have a go and I get bruised, I'm fighting the week after and the kid is just aiming for last week's bruise,” he says. “Obviously if you get stopped you can't box for four weeks so that's not great when it's your main income.”
His defensive skills, ring acumen, and sheer toughness are seen in how those two hundred or so losses have happened. Only fourteen have come via stoppage, and most of these McCauley says he was not fit to be fighting. He will not name the opponents, reluctant to take away from their victories, but there has been illness - he was once sick on his way to the ring - and injury, and the time he was boxing for the ninth weekend in a row and was so tired he went down.
“There's a few times where I've had stuff going on in my life and I've just took a knee,” he says. “Once I had food poisoning, but they offered me decent money [the day before]. I got in, done one round and said to my corner, ‘I'm going now, let's get out of here’.”
Occasionally, though, he knows he is in with someone dangerous, and it is wise to retreat, and live to fight another day. In 2011 he was a late replacement to fight Siarhei Rabchanka, a heavy-handed Belarussian who went on to challenge for a world title.
“They couldn't get anyone, and I hadn’t trained but took the fight,” he says. “I got good money, got a pair of shorts off Ricky Hatton! Even the referee said, ‘You know this boy can bang’, and I went ‘Don't worry I'm not going to be here long’. I’m not a hero, I've got to fend for my kids, and I want a life. I've got nothing to prove.”
He feels there are six of those fourteen stoppage defeats where he was shocked by the quality of the opponent, impressive considering he has shared the ring with so many future champions. Amid talk of stoppage defeats I press him on the long-term risks of boxing. Somewhat poignant on McCauley’s record is the name of Mike Towell. The Scotsman was undefeated until being taken from the ring on a stretcher in 2016. He died the following day.
“That played on my mind a lot, he was a good lad,” says McCauley, after a long pause. “A lot happens through the way you make weight; dehydrating your body so there's no protection around the brain. Maybe genetics has something to do with it, I don’t know. But every year I pass my brain scan and full medical, and my functions are ok unless I've had a beer.”
Despite the risks he is never nervous, and has found himself in trouble at times for laughing and showboating in the ring.
“You do a job that many times it becomes easy, so you'll find a way to make it exciting, I’m not being disrespectful,” he says. “If I'm in with somebody who is not going to hurt me I’m smiling because I'm earning a week's wage and I'll be [boxing] next week. Happy days!”
Naturally, McCauley is looking ahead to life after boxing, and providing for his two children, Lily and Harry. The degree is part of it, and he will be opening a gym next year. He intends to manage and train professionals, and pass on some of his experience.
“I can give a little bit back from the stuff I've learnt, get some kids to box and make a better living and better decisions than I did,” he says. “That's the future, in boxing definitely.”
Will his own children reluctantly follow their father into the sport, as he did fifteen years ago?
“They’re not interested at the moment, and their mum doesn’t want them to do it,” he says. “Harry likes punching me, so maybe he'll do the same thing [I did].”
McCauley stays fit training full-time during the week and fighting most weekends. Sunday is for a few beers in the pub, or to take the kids out for lunch. When Monday comes, he is back in the gym, until recently fitting it all around his studies. Even after so many years he still loves the buzz of being in the ring on fight night.
But aged 41, and having been held back by the pandemic, he knows he will not make it to three hundred fights like fellow ‘journeymen’ Peter Buckley and Kristian Laight.
“Starting so late [at 27] has made it difficult, but 250 [fights] would be nice get to. My head is ok, but I’ve been punched over a thousand rounds now. I could do with an easier job."
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