Boxing: Time for talking is nearly done

David Tua says he's been taking time out to settle personal demons so they won't trouble him in the ring. Photo / Dean Purcell

Parked near the ring in David Tua's Onehunga gym is a beautifully restored 1973 Mini. Its gleaming black paintwork is spotless. There's a space where a custom grill Tua is having built by a boilermaker friend will go. Below it is a personalised number plate that reads "LEI LOU". The rough translation from Samoan - lay low. What could be more fitting for a man who has spent the last few years ducking publicity rather than weaving away from the blows of opponents?

"When I pull up at the lights or whatever and people see me they go 'whoaa'," Tua chuckles in a gentle, uniquely Pacific Island way. "And the kids around my brother's place, when they hear me coming they gather around and yell 'shame Tua, shame'. They always give me a hard time, but I suppose the blessing is the smiles on peoples faces when they see me. I love it."

It's no surprise his choice of vehicle causes mirth. There's a school of thought that people look like their pets. Short and squat with tree trunk legs that provide an incredibly solid base, Tua looks a bit like his car.

His appearance is always the subject of interest. Prone to weight blowouts, there were many who believed his two-year absence from the ring would be reflected in his waistline.

But at a media call this week where he shadow boxed and worked out on the heavy bag, the 37-year-old looked close to fighting trim.

The other major question about Tua concerns his desire. Does the dream of becoming heavyweight champion of the world still burn inside? It's a question he takes his time with, before producing his most convincing stare.

"Without a doubt."

So where, then, has he been these last few years?

"I've read a lot of articles about how I don't have the heart anymore and I'm wasting my time. It would have been easy to respond, but for what?

"There were a lot of things that needed sorting out. Some fighters, when they have a lot of things happening in their lives, can still do it. Me, I have so much respect for the sport. It only takes one punch, it doesn't matter who you are, and it's game over. It was important for me to have peace of mind. There were certain things that needed to get done."

He refers, of course, to his long-running legal battle with his former management team. The details of his ongoing dispute with long-time mentor Kevin Barry and Martin Pugh are far from simple. The upshot is that Tua felt he had been cheated and betrayed by friends. It sucked the fight right out of him.

"It broke my heart, man. It broke my heart. It was a real tough time. Some days you wake up and it doesn't matter if the sun was out, everything was black. There were many days like that."

But those days, he says, are now behind him. His recent public appearances don't suggest a man who is still being tortured by personal demons. He has been humorous, engaging and, at times, a little bonkers. It is a far cry from the Tua of recent years, whose views typically had to be divined through friend and spokesperson Inga Tuigamala.

In fact, Tua could hardly be more open, revealing even his innermost pre-fight thoughts.

"Yeah, I get scared," he admits. "I get nervous. It's like you have feelings and emotions, things that try to break you at times. But you go through your check list knowing that everything is done and knowing that you are going to go out there and give it your all. If it goes well, great. If it doesn't, at least I know I have given it everything.

"In boxing it is about the day of the fight, from your first meal to your last meal to your walk. When they walk you down, it is the craziest of experiences. It is a moment now that I live for, because I know why I am doing it.

"But yeah, I get scared. Not in a way that it overpowers me. It clarifies my thinking in terms of 'hey, this is what you are supposed to be doing'. But you've still got to take that walk, you can't say 'hey, can you take my place?"'

He hasn't shied away from needling Cameron in public - this week he said he hadn't glared too hard at Cameron during a stare-down because he was worried it would cut him - but it's hard to detect any real malice.

Cameron's rise has given Tua a perfect chance to relaunch his career in style, and he knows it.

"Shane has done well. He is a very courageous young man. To be given the chance to fight him is great. The timing is right so we are doing it. I am really excited."

ACROSS town at the Boxing Alley gym at the foot of Parnell, there are no such sentiments forthcoming from Cameron as he goes through his training routine.

The self-styled Mountain Warrior goes through many of the same routines as Tua, shadow boxing and hitting the pads. But Cameron begins with an extended bout of high-intensity skipping. His extra speed and agility, key factors he believes - scratch that - factors he knows will win him the fight are obvious.

It also becomes obvious that Cameron, the former Gisborne shepherd who started boxing as a 20-year-old on his UK OE, is a completely different kettle of kippers to the smiling, joking Tua.

Open and accommodating enough, there is an edge to the man who used to do his fighting down at the pub on a Friday night. He seems, well, a little angry. His annoyance, he insists, has nothing to do with the fact that few people seem to rate his chances in the fight. The pundits are entitled to their views. It is the reverence for Tua's past deeds that bugs him.

"Everyone talks about David like he is some god," he says. "He is only a human being mate. I am not scared of what shit he is going to bring. He is not a god that we should worship him. He never won the world title, he got a hiding. So we'll see."

There is also an intensity in Cameron that can't be detected in Tua. He thinks about the fight all day, every day. Asked what he does to get away from it all, he says: "Nothing, I don't want to get away from it."

He is totally focused on one thing - beating Tua. And, while most pundits just can't see that happening, Cameron knows, absolutely knows, it will.

"It is all about strategy and I know my ability. I may not have fought the calibre of fighters he's fought but this is the time for me to rise. If I want to fight for the title I need to be beating guys like David.

"I am fully comfortable that I have more tools than what he's got. People talk about his left hook and that is all they talk about.

"But I have got that, I've got a left hook, I've got a right hand, I've got everything. I still think he is pretty limited. He has been exposed right throughout his career.

"I don't want to get technical but I think I'll have the goods on the night. I'm not scared of that guy. I'm not scared of what he's going to bring. I know what he is going to bring. Nothing has changed. He is still the same fighter he was 10 years ago. He is just a little bit older, a little bit slower. He has still got the big punch, but we are looking at working around his strengths.

"No one has taken a fight to David in his career and that is where I can shock him. I am a better fighter than him on the inside as well, so that could be my game plan, working him on the inside."

Cameron might not have any doubts, but that is a school of thought limited to him and his inner circle. The question marks over his twice-broken, surgically repaired right hand and his tendency to cut easily won't go away.

It may have been almost two years ago, but the image of a helpless Cameron, blinded by the blood running into his eyes, being clubbed into submission by journeyman Friday Ahunanya, lingers.

That defeat - his first and only to date - was enough to convince the Cameron camp surgery was required. He underwent a procedure to smooth out the surface of his skull and the cutting problem hasn't resurfaced since.

"I've been cut before and if I get cut again, big deal," he says.

"I have dealt with it before. But I shouldn't get cut again like I did in the loss. There was too much blood in my eyes in that last round and I couldn't see nothing. He caught me with some good shots.

"But I learned so much from it. I learned a hell of a lot more than if I had won the fight. There were things I could have done in that last round that could have saved me. But if I had won that fight I wouldn't have had the surgery done.

"Things change and you go down different pathways. You don't want to lose but that fight was certainly a big learning curve."

The question is, has he learned enough to best the vastly more experienced Tua when the talking stops and the punching begins in 49 days' time? Cameron hardly needs asking.

"There is not one ounce of doubt in my mind - I will be very shocked if I lose the fight."