Winning the world title and, just a few months later, finding yourself in Puerto Rico for another fight, surrounded by hostile people determined to make your stay and your match a living hell.
That’s exactly what happened to Loris Stecca. The Italian fighter was at the peak of his career: in February 1984 he had captured the WBA super bantamweight world title by surprisingly stopping Leo Cruz in the 12th round, fulfilling a lifelong dream. But one of the contractual clauses required a mandatory defense in Puerto Rico against Victor Callejas, one of the hardest punchers of the era.
Guaynabo was a terrible place, full of tension and pressure: quarrels, insults, extreme training conditions (Loris trained in what he described as a prison cell), sleep deprivation, and constant intimidation attempts. On the night of the fight, he was taken away alone and escorted to the Mets Pavilion by a patrol of Puerto Rican police officers. Loris later admitted he was terrified — and he eventually lost by TKO in the eighth round, overwhelmed by his opponent’s strength and power.
A year and a half later (and five knockout victories in between), Loris faced Victor again, this time at home, in Rimini.
Exactly 40 years have passed since that night: it was November 8, 1985, an autumn evening full of hope and anticipation. Loris had tasted the joy of world triumph for too short a time, and now he wanted it back, this time surrounded by his own people.
The fight started at a furious pace. Stecca, more mobile, tried to control the center of the ring, working behind his jab and throwing quick one-twos to keep Callejas from landing his feared left hook. But the Puerto Rican would not back down: compact, coiled like a spring, he loaded every punch with raw power and explosiveness. Already in the first round, Callejas found his devastating left hook — and more. Loris later told Mario Salomone in an interview:
“The left hook that shook me in the first round fractured my jaw. Then Callejas hit me with an elbow that split my eyebrow open, but I kept going despite everything.”
Those were rounds of furious exchanges and non-stop action, with the crowd roaring.
Despite the pain and the fracture, Loris managed to turn the momentum in his favor, forcing Victor on the defensive. Stecca seemed to take control, and midway through the third round Callejas looked in real trouble — heavy-legged, with the Italian ready to pounce. As the round ended, the two returned to their corners with opposite feelings.
Then the unthinkable happened: a short circuit caused a blackout, and the arena was plunged into total darkness. The roaring crowd fell into a surreal silence, broken only by murmurs and the flashes of cameras. For long, endless minutes, both fighters stood still in their corners. Callejas, who had been on the verge of collapse, regained his breath and composure. Stecca, charged with adrenaline after a great round, was forced to wait.
When the lights finally came back on, something had changed. The adrenaline was gone; the momentum had slipped away. Stecca seemed more cautious, perhaps unable to reset his mind and regain the same fire. He later recalled:
“At the end of the third round, after I’d made him stagger against the ropes, he didn’t want to go on. But that’s exactly when the lights went out. Very few people ever mentioned it. The power failure gave him several minutes to rest — but he had already quit! It was his manager, Pepito Cordero, who threw him back in the ring, pulling him by the shorts and yelling ‘Hijo de puta!’ Callejas admitted this himself when he came to visit me in Rimini twenty years later.”
When the fight resumed, Callejas looked revitalized, boxing more smartly and moving around the ring to frustrate Stecca’s attacks while countering with powerful, well-timed shots. Loris had his moments, but the Puerto Rican withstood every assault. Victor seemed to wait for the right opening — and in the sixth round, he found it: a sharp one-two, straight right and left hook, that dropped Stecca to the canvas. The Italian bravely got up and tried to fight back, but Callejas struck again — another crushing left hook following a heavy right. This time it was devastating. Stecca was caught flush, his body arching backward before collapsing hard to the floor. He rose unsteadily and managed to reach the end of the round, but never came out for the next: TKO in the sixth.
Despite 17 more fights — all wins except for a draw with Arreola — Loris would never again hold a world title. On January 31, 1989, he was hit by a car while crossing a street, suffering multiple fractures and a shattered knee. It was the end of his career.
Forty years later, Loris still speaks with regret about that night, when a blackout may have altered boxing history, a cruel sliding door with a bitter ending.
The Rimini fight remains one of the most intense and controversial nights in Italian boxing: Stecca came within an inch of regaining the world title, only to be crushed by Callejas’ power and undone by a tragic twist of fate.