It was the eagle-eye of the then sports editor of The Observer, Simon Kelner, who spotted an intriguing little item in what are known in newspapers as SIBS, the Sport In Brief stories.
Kelner had come across the news that France hooker Vincent Moscato had taken up professional boxing while he was serving a six-month ban following his sending-off in a stormy Five Nations game against England at the Parc des Princes in 1992. Moscato was part of a fearsome front-row trio from Bordeaux Begles, hence the moniker the Beasts of Begles.
Kelner thought it a good idea if I were to check out where Moscato might be boxing. So I did. I tracked down a phone number for him (no mobiles in those days) at a bar he ran in Bordeaux named ‘Le Pub Vincent.’ I finally made contact late one Thursday evening, explained who I was and what I wanted to do. There was plenty of background bar chatter down the phone line although nothing but silence from Moscato. Then, finally, the verbal explosion:
“You, journaliste brittanique, you call me an animal, a savage, a beast…. And you expect me to talk to you. Pah!’
I took that as a refusal for interview. My sports editor didn’t.
“Perfect,” said Kelner. “Should produce some fireworks when you meet him in person.”
I found out that Bordeaux Boxing Club had a through-the-card match against Amiens Boxing Club, from juniors right up to Moscato’s heavyweight division. What’s more, it was being televised live on Canal+ due to Moscato’s involvement. Off I went across the Channel along with a photographer.
Amiens was not exactly the Las Vegas strip. The venue was a run-down gymnasium at the back end of town. The seating consisted of gym benches piled on top of each other. Glamorous it was not. I got there early to check it all out. It was early evening and there were only a few people about. I saw a familiar figure coming towards me, Thierry Magnol, a highly respected journalist from Sud Ouest, the biggest-selling regional newspaper in France. He laughed as he saw me approaching.
“Moscato told me that he had given the mother-and-father of rollickings to a British journalist,” said Thierry. “I thought it might be you.”
The place filled up with a crowd of several hundred. Through the card they went until the finale, Moscato against Amiens’ finest. It was a fairly grim contest with lots of grunting and clinches. Only three rounds of three minutes, thank goodness. In the second, the local caught Moscato flush on the chin. Down he went but scrambled back up inside the count. The fight ended and the referee took the scorecards.
“And the winner is...”
The local guy, of course. After all, he had had Moscato on the canvas. Much applause and cheers ensued as he took the acclaim of the crowd.
Ringside, however, there were some heated conversations going on with TV executives. Back comes the referee.
“Sorry, there was a mistake on the scoring. The winner is Vincent Moscato.”
The TV execs obviously wanted to cover a few more fights with Moscato. Cue mayhem. Boos rang out and chairs flew into the ring. The crowd was incensed. It was getting nasty. Moscato had to be hurried from the ring under protection.
I spotted my chance. Down the corridor I went and knocked out the dressing-room door.
“Hi Vincent, je suis la journaliste brittanique you bawled out. I’m your only friend in the place. Any chance of a word?
I got the story. Moscato has gone on to become a high-profile TV and film celebrity in France. As for the local lad from Amiens…
Memory added on March 8, 2021
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