Could Boxing Deaths be Prevented?
An expert look at the cases of Maxim Dadashev and Hugo Santillan, and recommendations for coaches, cornermen, officials, and fighters.
When Maxim Dadashev, 28, staggers into his corner at the end of the 11th round of his IBF junior welterweight fight against Subriel Matias, his trainer Buddy McGirt begins pleading with him. Desperately trying to make eye contact with his fighter, whose eyes are unfocused and vague, McGirt urges, “I’m gonna stop the fight, OK? I’m gonna stop the fight. Max, I’m gonna stop it. Max.” He keeps saying “Max,” trying to get his fighter’s attention. He doesn’t realize that Max is already fading away, his brain swelling and bleeding irreparably.
“You’re getting hit too much. You’re getting hit too much, Max! Please, Max. Please. Just let me do this, OK? Look at me! Please. Please. You’re getting hit too much, Max! If I don’t, they’re gonna do it. You understand me? If I don’t [stop the fight], the referee’s gonna do it!”
Max’s eyes remain unfixed, directed somewhere around the area of his coach’s sternum. Max was 13–0 going into this fight; nobody saw this coming. When McGirt says, “If I don’t, the referee’s gonna [stop it],” you can see that he has briefly gotten through to Dadashev; the bloodied fighter looks down and to his left for a split second, as if he is considering the thought. He knows his coach is right. But there is simply no quit in this man. He has trained it out of himself. He’s fighting to bring his family to America, and he’s not backing down — even if it means he dies for it.
McGirt continues trying in vain to break through the warrior ethos of a dying man who, even with his brain increasingly oxygen starved and withering under the pressure of a fatal bleed, refuses to give up the fight.
McGirt continues trying in vain to break through the warrior ethos of a dying man who, even with his brain increasingly oxygen starved and withering under the pressure of a fatal bleed, refuses to give up the fight. “Please. Please, Max. Come on, Max. Please!” McGirt turns to the ringside physician, dressed in black, leaning over the ropes. “Come on, you gotta be honest with me, man,” he says to the doctor. The doctor utters something unintelligible. And McGirt says, “That’s it, Doc. That’s it.”
McGirt calls the fight at the end of the 11th round. It is too late.
Nobody knows that yet, though. Speaking to the cameras a moment later, McGirt has no idea at the time how prophetic his post-fight interview comments would later turn out to have been. “God forbid, one punch, as you know, can change a whole guy’s life, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. I’d rather have them be mad at me for a day or two than to be mad at me for the rest of their life.”
By anyone’s account, Buddy McGirt knows the sport of boxing. At 55 years old, he’s a Hall of Famer himself. At only 5'6", he once became world champion in both junior welterweight and welterweight divisions, which nobody said was possible because of his height. His own professional record was a robust 73–6–1, with 48 knockouts. There’s no question that the man has been around the block. And Buddy McGirt knew that something was wrong when he called the fight. Some would say he acted too late. Some would say the referee should have called a stop to the fight sooner. Maybe it was the doctor who should be held accountable. The Maryland State Athletic commission will hopefully sort all of this out in their investigation (ongoing at presstime).
In the aftermath of Dadashev’s death, McGirt told ESPN, “It just makes you realize what type of sport we’re in, man. He did everything right in training — no problems, no nothing. My mind is like, really, running crazy right now. Like, what could I have done differently? But at the end of the day, everything was fine [in training]. He seemed OK. He was ready. But that’s the sport that we’re in. It just takes one punch, man.”
As for McGirt’s thought process in all of this, he told ESPN, “I saw him fading, and when he came back to the corner [after the 11th round], my mind was already made up. I was just asking him out of respect, but my mind was made up. I wasn’t going to let him go out there.”
Asking out of respect. At the end of the day, that is what McGirt was contending with when he weighed the option of calling the figtht. The deeply ingrained fighter’s mentality that quitting is simply not an option. It is a code of honor between fighters and warriors, and McGirt knew that by calling the fight, in a sense, he would be breaking it.
The deeply ingrained fighter’s mentality that quitting is simply not an option. It is a code of honor between fighters and warriors, and McGirt knew that by calling the fight, in a sense, he would be breaking it.
Some other fighters, when asked to give their opinion of this tragedy, shared the same sentiments. When world champion Adrien Broner — who recently faced off with Manny Pacquiao — was asked by TMZ if McGirt should’ve stopped the fight sooner, he said, “It’s kinda hard. As a fighter, I know how it goes. And a trainer can only say so much. He’s on the outside looking in. He might see some things, but as a fighter, it’s like, ‘No. Don’t stop this fight.’”
Maxim Dadashev would not be the only fighter to sustain a fatal brain injury in the ring that week. Just days later, Argentinian super-featherweight Hugo Santillan would die from similar injuries sustained in a fight that he had actually won.
The footage is horrifying.
Santillan wins a split-decision, but he can’t even stand up under his own power to have his hand raised by the referee. His head hangs down as his body is supported by his trainers, as he appears to lose consciousness while awaiting the results. In the split screen, you can see the ref raise his limp arm, Santillan’s head still hanging down, as the referee and the coach then bring him back to his corner, where his cornerman catches him under the arms. His cornermen try to revive him by pouring water into his mouth, but he slumps out of their hands and onto the ground.
A doctor frantically begins feeling for a pulse as what appears to be a loved one slips a hand under the bottom rope and across the canvas to touch Santillan’s shoulder. Frantic team members work to remove the fighter’s shoes as the doctor searches his face for signs of life. A full two minutes elapse before an oxygen mask is finally taped onto his face. It is worse than watching Apollo Creed die in Rocky IV, and that was the most tragic and gut wrenching scene that even Hollywood could muster. This is far worse, because it is real.
It is worse than watching Apollo Creed die in Rocky IV, and that was the most tragic and gut wrenching scene that even Hollywood could muster. This is far worse, because it is real.
Santillan’s physician, Dr. Graciela Olocco, would later tell People that “Upon admission to the hospital, he had successive kidney failure, and he did not come out of his coma. He had swelling of his brain, and he never recovered consciousness. The swelling continued to worsen and it affected the functioning of the rest of his organs.” She said that he underwent surgery for a clot on his brain, and went into cardiorespiratory failure twice before he died from cardiac arrest.
Maxim Dadashev had suffered a similar fate. Official records show that it took only 10 minutes for Dadashev to get from the MGM to the hospital, around 11 or 11:15 p.m.. At 2:30 a.m., the neurosurgeon Mary In-Ping Huang Cobb came out looking for his family (who were then en-route from St. Petersburg, Russia), but found only his manager and his coach. Physicians ultimately revealed that he had been operated on at the hospital for a subdural hematoma — a type of bleed deep in the brain. The Washington Post reported that surgeons had cut a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure from the bleeding, covering the hole with gauze; customarily, that piece of bone is surgically stored elsewhere in the patient’s body — usually under the skin of the torso — to keep it alive until it can be replaced after the brain has healed. In Dadashev’s case, however, his fighter’s physique was too lean; there was no place to store the bone. The doctors had to put it in a freezer.
The Washington Post later asked the President of the Association of Ringside Physicians, Donald Muzzi — who had not been ringside and had not examined Dadashev — to comment on the fight. “There wasn’t anything there to lead me to believe the fight should’ve been stopped earlier,” he said. In reviewing the fight footage, Muzzi said that as far as he could see, the first signs that there might have been an issue with Dadashev came late in the 11th round, when he almost slipped and fell to the canvas after one punch, swaying slightly as he attempted to regain balance. All Muzzi would say about this, however, was, “He was staggering a bit; he seemed a bit distant and, at that point, it did look like something was going on.”
While there is no reason to take task with Muzzi’s credentials or opinions, however, not all ringside physicians are always on the up and up when it comes to a conflict of interest. There is one notable case illustrating this example; that of Prichard Colon, the formerly undefeated Puerto Rican fighter who is now in a vegetative state after injuries suffered in a 2015 bout. The family’s lawsuit contends in part that the ringside physician, Richard Ashby, was not qualified for his position that evening. According to the Washington Post, “The suit alleges that Ashby, a former family medicine practitioner, was unqualified for the job and his work as a boxing promoter in the area created a conflict of interest.” The suit alleges that “Ashby should have stopped the fight when Colon approached him and told him that his head hurt.” Later, John Stiller — the chief physician and neurologist for the Maryland State Athletic Commission, told ESPN, “Boxing doesn’t have a universal brain injury protocol…The fight should’ve been stopped in the 7th round [when Colon approached the ringside physician and said that his head hurt]. I still cannot think of a medically sound reason that it wasn’t.’”
Not all ringside physicians are always on the up and up when it comes to a conflict of interest
Colon’s symptoms of head trauma that evening are strikingly similar to those demonstrated by Dadashev and Santillan last month: staggering, loss of consciousness, vomiting. Unlike the others, however, Colon recognized that he was in trouble long before anyone else did. This might have saved his life, even if he will live out the rest of his years in a vegetative state. Washington Post reports:
“With 35 seconds left in the 7th round, Williams connected with a straight right hand to the back of Prichard’s head that sent him to the canvas. A staggered Prichard Colon walked right over to Richard Ashby, the ringside physician, with his right hand on the back of his head. Ashby briefly examined him. A minute or so later, with Prichard still holding the back of his head in a corner in front of Cooper, NBC commentator Kenny Rice reported that he spoke to Ashby.”
“’I just talked to Dr. Richard Ashby; he is the doctor here on call and the one checking on Colon,’ Rice said on the broadcast. ‘He told me that Colon said he was dizzy and hurting in the back of his head, but he felt he could go on. The doctor concurs. He said that he’s just waiting for him to shake it off and resume some action.’”
The 10 round fight didn’t end until the 9th round, when Colon’s corner mistakenly cut off his gloves, believing that the fight was over. The fighter was disqualified.
“Once I took the gloves off, I noticed something was not right, his father Richard told the Washington Post. “But while he was fighting, I mean, if we all noticed he wasn’t okay, then we would’ve stopped the fight. I thought he was tired at a point.”
It was his mother, Nieves, who finally saw what was really going on. Waiting for her son to come down out of the ring, she recalls, he said, “Mami, I’m dizzy! I can’t see!”
It was his mother, Nieves, who finally saw what was really going on. Waiting for her son to come down out of the ring, she recalls, he said, “Mami, I’m dizzy! I can’t see!” She helped to support him as he walked to the dressing room, but as soon as he got there and sat down in a chair, he lost consciousness and slipped down to the floor. He was vomiting as he went in and out of consciousness until paramedics arrived and he could be taken to the hospital.
As was the case with Dadashev and Santillan, Colon had emergency surgery to reduce brain swelling and drain the blood. It saved his life, but left him in a vegetative state.
While, in the boxing world, these tragedies seem to take everyone by surprise, as far as the medical community is concerned, they may be preventable. This will require vigilance and accountability at all levels, however — from coaches, officials, fighters, and cornermen.
According to the American Academy of Neurological Surgeons (AANS), while sports injuries rarely contribute to fatalities, the leading cause of death from sports related injuries is traumatic brain injury (TBI). TBI, “a blow or jolt to the head…that disrupts the normal function of the brain” is primarily caused “when the head suddenly and violently hits an object.” This is the primary concern with boxing, where the AANS reports that the force of a professional boxer’s fist is “the equivalent of being hit with a 13-pound bowling ball traveling 20 miles per hour, or about 52 times the force of gravity.”
Think about that for a second.
The good news is that, relatively speaking, there are very few actual boxing deaths on record. From January 1960 to August 2011, according to the AANS, there were 488 boxing-related deaths, 66% of which were due to head, brain, or neck injuries. In other words, a little over 3 deaths per year due to boxing-related head trauma.
While, in the boxing world, these tragedies seem to take everyone by surprise, as far as the medical community is concerned, they may be preventable. This will require vigilance and accountability at all levels, however — from coaches, officials, fighters, and cornermen.
According to these statistics, Dadashev and Santillan will not be the only fighters to die from boxing related head trauma in 2019. There will be others.
The good news, if there is any, is that the medical community is constantly learning more about TBI, how to recognize its signs, and how to mitigate it whenever possible. Much of this scholarship has grown out of a surprising place: the U.S. Military. With now over 20 years invested in the Global War on Terror (GWOT), the Department of Veterans Affairs is spearheading many of these research efforts. According to the VA, changes in weaponry and warfare have created a circumstance in which a GWOT veteran is almost twice as likely as their Vietnam era counterparts to have sustained TBI. The need to rapidly assess and treat injuries on the battlefield also means that servicemembers are being trained to recognize the signs of life-threatening brain trauma as soon as it happens.
This represents a great opportunity for the boxing world. If coaches, cornermen, officials, and fighters can learn to identify the signs of head trauma early on, there will be less of an opportunity for a life-threatening situation to escalate.
So, what are the signs to look for? And what can be done to keep fighters safer?
What are the signs to look for? And what we all do to keep fighters safer?
I contacted Ross Francis of Dark Angel Medical to learn more. Ross is a former Navy Corpsman of 7 hears with multiple overseas deployments who has now served as a Nationally Registered Paramedic for 11 years stateside in the mountainous terrain of Colorado, where head trauma is unfortunately commonplace. My goal was to learn from him what lessons we can borrow from the military and apply to our understanding of head injuries in the boxing world.
“There are 3 primary types of brain injury to look for in a boxer,” says Ross. “Concussion, Epidural Hematoma, and Subdural Hematoma.” The names sound complicated, but the injuries are not. Concussion: a bruise of the brain. Epidural Hematoma (EH): bleeding on the surface of the brain. Subdural Hematoma (SH): bleeding deep within the brain. Concussion is not usually fatal, but can lead to serious complications down the road; EH and SH “are both fatal conditions 100% of the time if not diagnosed and treated early,” he says.
“In boxing or MMA, any strikes to the face or head could cause a concussion,” says Ross. “Some very easy and quick determinant tests for coaches or cornermen: have the fighter sit down and tell them, ‘I want you to follow my finger, but keep your head still.’ Place a finger about 6–12 inches from their nose and slowly move it side to side, up and down, and then move it at angles like you’re drawing a compass with your finger. What you’re looking for is this: when your finger moves out to one side or the other, do you notice that one of their eyes starts to twitch a little bit? That’s called ‘nystagmus,’ a twitching of the eye, and it’s one of the classic signs of concussion.”
Concussion is not usually fatal, but can lead to serious complications down the road; Epidural Hematoma and Subdural Hematoma are both fatal conditions 100% of the time if not diagnosed and treated early.
Another common symptom of concussion, according to Ross, is called “Perseveration” — a fancy way of saying that someone is repeating themselves. “Someone who has just sustained a concussion will often either repeat the same questions or repeat the same statements.” I recall a fight in which I remember taking a couple of particularly big shots. I couldn’t remember the whole second round, and afterwards I kept asking my coach, “What happened?”
“That’s you repeating yourself,” says Ross. “And you were probably concussed. You don’t have to lose consciousness to lose your short term memory when you sustain a concussion; that’s actually very common. People don’t get knocked out, but they can’t remember what happened, either.”
What do you tell a coach who’s recognizing this symptom?
“The issue with all of these signs and symptoms,” says Ross, “Is that a fighter could have them, and you could think to yourself, ‘It’s just a concussion; it’s not that big of a deal.’ But, unfortunately, these signs and symptoms are all we have to go on until a patient can have an MRI or a CAT scan. The issue is that a fighter might be showing only signs of concussion now, but hours later, depending on what’s actually going on inside their brain, they could be unconscious or dead. Really, it’s weighing that person’s life in your hands. If those signs and symptoms don’t go away within the next few hours, they probably have a much more severe brain injury than just a concussion — and unfortunately, you may not be able to tell that right in the moment.”
“The issue is that a fighter might be showing only signs of concussion now, but hours later, depending on what’s actually going on inside their brain, they could be unconscious or dead.”
The other issue with fighters — both on the battlefield and in the boxing ring — is that their fight or flight response is activated at the time that they’re injured, so they’re often unable to think clearly for themselves. In moments like these, the responsibility falls even more heavily upon their coach or cornermen’s shoulders to recognize the subtle signs of concussion and step in on their fighter’s behalf.
“Adrenaline really does some amazing things to the body,” Ross explains, “And the one thing that all fighters train on but can’t quantify is mental toughness and grit. Even when it hurts and they’re not feeling good, they are going to continue. Their fight or flight response is further diminishing their cognitive ability to say ‘Coach, I’m not doing really well.’ Which means it is even more on the coach or cornerman to say, ‘You are not acting the way that you normally act. And you are in no position to keep fighting right now.’”
Just like Buddy McGirt couldn’t tell that Maxim Dadashev, the fighter he had known so well and trained himself, was fading. Just like the ringside physician, Richard Ashby, failed to acknowledge Prichard Colon’s concerns when he approached him and said that his head was hurting. From a medical perspective, says, Ross, the correct answer, in all circumstances, when a fighter is showing signs of concussion is to immediately stop the fight. “Let them rest, stop the fight, give them that day or two to see. It’s not great, but it’s better than them dying from a brain bleed.”
After stopping the fight because of a concussion, when is it safe to step back into the ring again? The American Academy of Neurology (AAN) has created “Return-to-duty guidelines” for use by the armed forces, dictating how soon after a concussion that a soldier is considered cleared to return to duty. It is by any measure also an incredibly useful tool for boxing coaches and officials to consider.
In the left hand column, symptoms are considered. LOC is an acronym for “Loss of Consciousness.” Consider how this schema might look, translated into boxing terms:
These recommendations, for boxing coaches and fighters to follow in sparring and training, while based on military TBI protocol standards, are still less extreme than USA Boxing suspension periods after TKO and KO. Still, for the sparring and training injuries that cannot be known by officials and ringside physicians, respecting these standards in training could mean the difference between life and death for a fighter who would otherwise enter the ring with a residual brain injury on fight night.
The primary concern, with all of these protocol, is to prevent the opportunity for concussion to spiral into something worse: a fatal brain bleed like the ones suffered by Dadashev and Santillan.
Of these, as mentioned before, there are two types: the surface bleed (EH), and the deep bleed (SH). In both cases, once a fighter has sustained either one of these injuries, their brain is filling with blood and swelling against the pressure of the skull. It is a matter of minutes to hours before the brain tissue becomes oxygen starved and begins to die off, according to Ross.
The difficult thing about catching brain bleeds while they can still be effectively treated is that once their distinct signs and symptoms occur, it is already a medical emergency. Holes will need to be made in the skull in order to relieve the pressure and let the brain bleed. A surgeon will need to find and repair torn arteries. These are not “rub some dirt on it and shake it off” type of injuries.
These are not “rub some dirt on it and shake it off” type of injuries.
The classic symptom of an EH is loss of consciousness, followed by waking up and projectile vomiting (as was the case with Dadashev, Santillan, and Colon). As the fighter fades in and out of consciousness, they will lose the ability to sit or stand straight, instead wavering like they’re drunk — look at the videos of Santillan in the ring, and you will see how this goes. As the fighter fades in and out of consciousness, their brain is filling with blood. Sometimes, they will be awake and alert; at other times, they will become unconscious again.
“Here is what all coaches and officials need to know,” says Ross. “If a fighter loses consciousness, then wakes up again and begins throwing up, that is a HUGE red flag. If you see that, stop the fight immediately and get them an ambulance to the hospital. If it is far, get a helicopter, because that person does not have long to live.”
“If a fighter loses consciousness, then wakes up again and begins throwing up, that is a HUGE red flag. If you see that, stop the fight immediately and get them an ambulance to the hospital. If it is far, get a helicopter, because that person does not have long to live.”
The trouble, he says, is that in boxing, this injury could come out of the blue. The fighter could be fine, and then they could sustain a severe brain bleed with one shot. The other scenario, however — which is what appears to have unfolded in the cases of Dadashev, Santillan, and Colon — may provide opportunity for earlier intervention. It is possible, says Ross, that a fighter who is developing a brain bleed may first show signs of concussion. “That is why it is so important to evaluate and respond to those first signs of concussion immediately,” he says, “So that if things escalate even further, the fighter has access to medical care immediately, and sustains no further damage in the meanwhile.”
SH — the deep brain bleed, can sometimes harder to diagnose on the spot. If it is dramatic, as it was in the case of Maxim Dadashev, the patient will exhibit the same signs that Max did, going downhill quickly. In other cases, however, this deep brain bleed can develop slowly over time. “This is one of the reasons why they used to say that someone who had sustained a concussion would need to stay awake and be monitored for 24 hours,” says Ross. “Someone can have a concussion and subsequently have this SH bleed deep in the brain that won’t show symptoms for hours or even days post-injury.”
Signs to look for? “After a concussion,” says Ross, “Pay attention over the next 36 or 48 hours and notice symptoms and signs of concussion that are getting worse, or won’t go away.” What usually happens with this type of bleed, he says, is that “a person starts doing fine, then maybe develops a headache, maybe becomes sleepy. Over multiple hours, as veinous blood starts collecting inside the brain, the brain swells, and they die.”
It is all incredibly morbid, but it is a necessary conversation that all of us in the boxing community need to have until education and awareness of the signs and symptoms of TBI are ubiquitous.
The recommendations for fighters, says Ross? “Wear headgear. Listen to your coach. Fight hydrated. Before the fight, eat well. If your coach is seeing something, it is possible that you, as a fighter, don’t — and can’t — see the same thing — so listen to them. No one wants to get pulled from a fight or lose, and no one wants to throw in the towel. It really is amazing how much of a beating the human body can take, but it’s also amazing how fragile we are. Fighters need to come to peace with the fact that their well being and longevity depend on them recovering. And you have to recover from each concussion incident, or the damage to your brain just gets worse and compounds itself. If you take a really bad shot and get an epidural or subdural hematoma (EH or SH), you WILL die. Those are 100% fatal conditions. One takes hours to kill you; another, you’ll die a week later of ‘unknown causes’ until they give you a CAT scan and see that it’s white because you’ve been bleeding for a week in your brain but trying to be tough and saying ‘It’s just a little headache.’”
And for the coaches? “Take it upon yourselves to get proper training in the awareness of head injuries, as far as recognizing their signs and symptoms,” he says. To supplement that, it’s equally important that coaches not be afraid to tell a fighter that he or she has had enough. “It’s a thin line to walk. Is my fighter OK? Are they not? When a coach spots those signs and symptoms, they need to be able to tell themselves that it’s ok to look out for their fighter. To be able to tell that fighter, ‘Hey, you’re done.’ Don’t let your fighter push through a bad situation just for the sake of pushing through and winning. It’s just not worth it.”
As Buddy McGirt learned the hard way. “What could I have done differently?” he told ESPN, “It just takes one punch, man.”
Former professional boxer Timothy Bradley — who has held multiple world championships in two weight classes — was there the night that Dadashev was injured. Because of his personal friendship with Dadashev, as well as his own history of TBI, Bradley is taking Dadashev’s death especially hard.
“In 2013, I was in the fight of the year with Ruslan Provodnikov. I suffered a massive amount of damage,” he told ESPN. “I was very outspoken about my symptoms, and what I went through getting concussed in the first round [of that fight]. I knew that I was damaged in the first round because my equilibrium was off the whole fight.”
But he kept on fighting.
“My vision was a little off. After the fight, my speech was off. I did numerous and numerous tests. I went down to Pittsburgh to the concussion specialists down there, and they ran all kinds of tests…They told me I maybe had two more fights left, but I have suffered a lot of damage. So, you know, the sport is real. That’s why Andre Ward and myself, we preach, ‘Hit and don’t get hit.’ Try to learn the sweet science.”
As someone with both extensive first hand experience and knowledge of both boxing and TBI, Bradley suspects that he was one of the first to recognize what was really happening with Dadashev.
“One of the things I noticed, 2 rounds before [the fight was stopped in the 11th], is when Dadashev was walking to his corner, he was drifting right. And I was like, ‘I’ve been here before!’ You know this guy’s concussed. And just his body language. One of the things I kept seeing in the fight is every time he gets hit, or gets hit in the body, it seems like the life is leaving him. It’s just like the life is being sucked out of him. And I can see it. I can see him slowly wither and deteriorate over time.”
“I would say the fight could’ve been stopped 2 rounds before. But, you know, Dadashev kept fighting back. And he kept responding to what was going on. So you know the fight will continue. And it seemed like he wasn’t taking really big shots on a consistent basis. It was just the course of the fight.”
“After [round] 6, you can just see the change in Dadashev, and you can see the intensity of Matias rise up and you can see him going for it, and just, like…it worsened every round. It just got worse, and worse, and worse.”
Still, it was when Dadashev attempted to exit the ring and collapsed on the stairs that Bradley knew he needed medical attention. “You can see him walk back to the locker room, and as he’s walking back, they’re holding him up, and that’s when he starts to vomit, and he collapses again. I’m like, ‘Where is the stretcher? Where are the EMTs? Where are the people that would be able to help him? Where’s the doctor at?’”
“You can see him walk back to the locker room, and as he’s walking back, they’re holding him up, and that’s when he starts to vomit, and he collapses again. I’m like, ‘Where is the stretcher? Where are the EMTs? Where are the people that would be able to help him? Where’s the doctor at?’”
He feels that Buddy McGirt stopped the fight at the right time. “But after that, where was the care?” he says. “I was on set, and I’m screaming as I’m watching, ‘What’s going on?’ And I can see what’s happening, and Max Kellerman knew; he knew. He’s been around boxing so long. He knew what was going on already. He knew about the vomiting, and he was saying, ‘Where are the paramedics? Where is the doctor? Where is everybody at?’”
“So I feel that they dropped the ball right there.”
