John Duddy made it. 

 

In a sport where happy endings are rare, the Derry native has one. No, there are no world championships to speak of, no multi-million-dollar paydays to rest his head on for the rest of his days, but in terms of leaving with his faculties intact, a happy life with his wife Grainne, and a purpose to get out of bed every morning, the 45-year-old is doing all right.

 

And he still has boxing. Even if it’s different now.

 

“I love boxing, and I honestly just fell out of love with it,” Duddy said on a late summer afternoon at Martin Snow’s Trinity Boxing Club in lower Manhattan, where he trains clients in the art of the sweet science. “I had good people around me at the end, and I do think that the people at the beginning were generally good people, too, but it's the business. And it's a tough business.”

 

It's one that Duddy had enough of when he walked away after a loss to Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. in June of 2010. He was only 31, had a 29-2 record, and was on the verge of a high-profile clash with countryman Andy Lee when he released a statement announcing his retirement.

 

After a great deal of soul-searching, I have decided to retire from boxing.

 

In many ways, continuing to fight would be the easy course of action. I have been offered the opportunity to fight Andy Lee on HBO for a purse in excess of $100,000. A win would put me in position to fight for a world championship. This is not an opportunity that I cast aside lightly.

 

I started watching my father train in the gym when I was five years old. I began fighting competitively at age ten. For more than twenty years, I loved being a boxer. I still feel that it's an enormous honor to be a boxer. But I don't love it anymore.

 

I no longer have the enthusiasm and willingness to make the sacrifices that are necessary to honor the craft of prizefighting. I used to love going to the gym. Now it's a chore. I wish I still had the hunger, but I don't. The fire has burned out. And I know myself well enough to know that it won't return.

 

It would be unfair to my fans, my trainer and manager, and everyone else involved in the promotion of my fights for me to continue boxing when I know that my heart isn't in it. I've always given one hundred percent in the gym and in my fights. I have too much respect for boxing and the people around me to continue fighting when I know that I can't do that anymore.

 

I haven't accomplished everything that I wanted to achieve in boxing. But I've had a rewarding career. I've enjoyed the satisfaction of winning twenty-nine professional fights and learned lessons from my two losses. I've experienced the thrill of fighting in Madison Square Garden, Cowboys Stadium, and, also, my beloved Ireland with crowds cheering for me. I look forward to finding future challenges that bring as much passion and joy into my life as boxing has over the past twenty years.

 

Barry McGuigan was one of my childhood heroes. His photograph was one of the first things that visitors saw when entering our home in Derry. He had great influence on me when I was a boy.

 

Barry McGuigan once said, "Fighters are the first people to know when they should retire and the last to admit it."

 

I know that it's time for me to retire from boxing, and I'm admitting it.

 

I'm fortunate to have had the support of many good people throughout my career. To my fans; to the people in the boxing business who have been part of my team over the years; and most of all, to my wife Grainne and the rest of my family; thank you for your love and support.

 

I give you my word; I will not come back.

 

He didn’t. It was a reality he made his peace with long before he officially walked away.

 

“Fighting Andy Lee, it would've been the biggest Irish fight in years,” said Duddy. “And I was empty, man. I was going to the gym, and…nothing. And this wasn't just for that fight. This was a few fights leading up to it; Chavez, too. I was in camp, and I told (trainer) Harry (Keitt) after two weeks, ‘I'm not doing this. I'm tired of waking up in the bed on my own.’”

 

Duddy went through with the fight against the then-unbeaten Chavez, and while he was as game as he always was, he wasn’t in the fight. He knew it, and he wasn’t going to go through it all again with Lee. Of course, being a fighter, he wanted a good reason to leave. Chavez didn’t give him one, and while he pondered the possibility of Lee doing it, he ultimately decided that it was better to walk away than risk permanent damage.

 

“I love the dream,” Duddy said. “And when the dream ended, you know what, it was fast; it was furious. I always wanted it to be fast and furious anyway, maybe not that fast and furious. But if I had stayed and fought Andy Lee, my heart was not in it. And Andy's a puncher. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't even getting knocked out. I was thinking if I get knocked out that day…I wanted Chavez to knock me out, but he couldn't. It made me angry. And then what annoyed me was if me and Andy fought and I had gotten the victory, then I would have to do it again. And I was in a different place.”

 

Duddy, not just a fighter, but a human being, obviously had the itch in the subsequent years, and those in the business didn’t hesitate to make him offers, with names like Kelly Pavlik and Verno Phillips the ones thrown across the table at him. He didn’t budge, though. The competitor in him wanted to test himself and perhaps get that elusive shot at the middleweight title. But there was a price for a return that he wasn’t willing to pay.

 

“I remember saying to (Hall of Fame writer and author) Tom Hauser, ‘I find myself in rooms with people that I didn't know and I didn't like.’ That's a hard place to be. I've been told, ‘You're not good enough.’ Been told, ‘We made you.’ And none of them are my parents. And the money. They said, ‘We sold your tickets, we brought you to The Garden.’ I paid for my flight to New York when I came here.”

 

He never left. That was 2002, and he was chasing the aforementioned dream. He was a stranger in a strange land, but he was adopted immediately, not just by the Irish-American community, but by the entire boxing community in the Big Apple.

 

“I never got to see my name up in the lights; I was always coming in the back door,” he said. “But my dad's got photographs and people still tell me about it. The Shamrock Express, all the different shows. I loved fighting around the Puerto Rican Day Parade. It was great because I was Juan Duddy all of a sudden. (Laughs.) They always gave me support. They were great. And I don't even speak Spanish.”

 

Duddy didn’t have to. He was a polite Irish kid who fought like he was double parked. He took enough punches to make it interesting, but usually he was the one dishing out the punishment. And to his gym mates, he was the hardest worker in the room, which added another layer to the respect he got in his new hometown. One of those gym mates was Paulie Malignaggi, who Duddy worked with as the Brooklynite prepared for his first world title fight against Miguel Cotto in 2006. 

 

“That was my first time fighting in The Garden,” Duddy recalls. “I had a training camp with Paulie, and people used to say, ‘Oh, you're complete opposites; Paulie's a talker.’ But unless I'm in the ring, I can't shut up. (Laughs.) Paulie got beat, but he went in there and left with more fans than when he went in with. He was a warrior. And Miguel Cotto, he’s top class. I did a few training sessions along with Miguel and he’s a gentleman. But Paulie, I always remember, even though he was talking outside in the gym, he was one of the hardest workers I’ve ever seen. And I remember seeing him the day after the fight in The Garden and he was all busted up. We just hugged each other and I says, ‘Man, you did it.’ And he's like, ‘I'm sorry.’ I says, ‘What are you sorry for? You did it.’ And two fights later, he’s a world champion.”

 

Duddy recalls this story with pride, happy that his friend reached what he was aiming for when he first put the gloves on. That night at MSG, Duddy improved to 17-0 with a seventh-round stoppage of Alfredo Cuevas. He was on his way to the top, and when he decisioned Yory Boy Campas three months later, it was clear that a title fight was in his future. 

 

By 2008, that title fight would be with Ohio’s Pavlik, but when a tune-up with Walid Smichet in February of that year resulted in a war that left Duddy with a cut right eye and a tougher than expected majority decision win, the champ’s team went in another direction. 

 

He never got that title shot. But there’s no sense in looking back now, and he knows it. He points to a skinny teenager hitting the heavy bag.

 

“This kid here, Joe's 16,” said Duddy. “Joe's mom called me up. I said, ‘Any sports background?’ ‘No, no.’ But he comes every day, Monday to Friday. I have him doing the group sessions now, too. And then we do privates. And then after this, we'll go down and we'll hit the dungeon and we'll do some of the dungeon workouts and stuff like that. But his mum never stops texting me, ‘Thank you.’ And I'm like, ‘I'm not making him do this.’”

 

Jack Duddy didn’t make his son John fight, but it was in the youngster’s blood from the time he walked into the gym as a five-year-old.

 

“I used to go with my dad to the boxing gym,” he said. “I was just telling the guy today when he was hitting the speed bag that this is the first thing I learned to hit when I was in the boxing gym. I was five years of age. I wasn't boxing at five, but my dad would bring me and let me watch the training and if I got off the chair or he heard me, I wasn't allowed to come back. And then he'd say, ‘Over here.’ And he'd bring a chair over and sit me on the speed bag. ‘I want you to work on this. And if anybody has to come over and hit it, watch them. And when they leave, try and do what they do.’ And I remember by the time I was seven, I could make it sing.”

 

Duddy smiles, the love of the sport evident. It’s never left him, and that’s the point. He came to hate the business, but never abandoned the sport. Now he teaches it to middle-aged folks trying to stay in shape, or kids like Joe with different dreams. He’s even started working with those stricken by Parkinson’s Disease through the Moving Brain Foundation.

 

“What I love about it is that it's not special training; it's boxing training,” said Duddy. “It's the ABCs of boxing training. Everybody wants to come in and throw the right hand and throw a hook and do this and do that, but you’ve got to learn your balance. And what I love about it is the repetition. And we methodically go through everything. We did a class yesterday between 10 and 12 up on the upper east side. And we do the warmup, go to the shadow boxing, and then we go on and we put on the gloves. And I love movement. Keep it moving, keep it moving, keep it moving. Even when we stop, we always feel that balance.”

 

It could be a description of John Duddy’s life. He’s found the balance and he’s kept it moving since he hung up the gloves. The days may be quieter than they used to be, but that’s a good thing. When he needs the spotlight, there’s his acting career, which has already produced several positive notices, and as far as boxing goes, it still surrounds him, but in a different – and perhaps better – way. These days it’s pure, as pure as it was when he was a kid in Derry.

 

“I had my first boxing match when I was seven, at a smoker,” he recalls. “And after it, my dad took me away and he says, ‘I'm taking me away. You're too young. But when you're 10, if you want to go back, I'll take you back.’ I know my mom wasn't a big fan of it, but my mom stood by me, realizing that I wasn't just doing it. Because dad always says, ‘That's too hard a sport to do for anybody else.’ I went to my first Nationals when I was 13. I got beat in the final. And I never even made it when I was 14. But when I was 15, I won everything. I got on the National team, went in a few multi-nations. And I never made the Olympics, but I got the Europeans. But the year the World championships was on, I ended up getting burned out by amateur boxing. That's why I ended up coming to New York. I came in late 2002, knew I was staying in February 2003, and had my first pro fight in September.”

 

The Irishman announced his arrival at Jimmy’s Bronx Café on September 19, 2003, stopping Tarek Rached in less than a round. He was 24 and a young man with a plan.

 

“I was always fascinated at how fighters stayed too long,” said Duddy. “I always looked at it like this could be a great way to get a good nest egg to start. And also time to find out what else you really love. Even my wife says that when she met me, ‘I never knew anybody at that age that knew what they wanted to do.’ And I’m like, what do you think I'm going there (to New York) for? And there were naysayers and whatnot, but then you go do it. And they're like, ‘Oh my God, fair play to him, he did it.’” 

 

He chuckles, watching people shuffle back and forth along Vesey Street, the rat race of life in NYC in full effect. That wasn’t the life he wanted, and he did everything in his power to avoid it. It’s why he was the hardest worker in the gym and the ring. And here he is. He made it. 

 

“I do know what I did,” he continues. “I lived my childhood dream. I fought in Madison Square Garden nine times. I fought in the King's Hall in Belfast. I fought in Dublin twice, the National Stadium, and sold-out arenas. I fought in Dallas Cowboys Stadium. I fought in Chicago, I fought in Boston. I did things that I hadn't even thought of achieving. And then after all that, I got to the stage where even being a world champion didn’t matter. I didn't care anymore.”

 

So he left the business. But boxing never left him. He doesn’t even have to say it. You can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice.

 

“I knew what I wanted to do, and you know what, I did it,” said Duddy. “I've met a few good people; there are still good people. And boxing does do good things for people. It builds character.”