Throughout the long history of the Olympic Games, the Italian boxing team has enjoyed many successes. Numerous athletes have won medals, earned admiration, and drawn applause; however, few have shone as brightly as Maurizio Stecca did at the iconic Los Angeles Olympics in 1984. A member of a formidable team that brought home five medals, the younger of the Stecca brothers was the only one to claim the most precious metal. Today, Maurizio turns 62; to celebrate this special occasion, let’s retrace his incredible career through his own words!
Winning the Olympics is a dream shared by all young athletes taking their first steps in the world of sports. You achieved it in a dominant fashion, overpowering all your opponents up to the thrilling final against the fierce Mexican Hector Lopez. But how many obstacles must be overcome to reach such a prestigious stage?
“First of all, to compete in the Olympics, you need perseverance, willpower, and an immense passion. Usually, you have to start young and work your way up step by step, with the dream gradually taking shape in your mind. I didn’t have to go through as many steps because I progressed quickly, making it to the Olympics at just 21 years old. I started boxing at 13, and after just three months, I became the Italian youth champion. The following year, I competed in the first-tier Italian Championships, facing opponents who were over 20 years old. By the time I was 16, I was already on the national team. My parents couldn’t supervise me much because they were hardworking people, so I would take the night train from Rimini to Perugia. If a minor did the same thing today, their parents would probably be arrested. I would stay there for 20 days, then return home, and then go back for another 20 days, and so on. Back then, there were no Olympic qualifiers, but CONI required victories at the international level, and I was a winner: I had become a three-time Italian champion, won 13 tournaments, and even claimed the World Cup in Rome. So in ’84, we had a massive delegation of 350 athletes. My first emotional moment wasn’t in the ring but on the airplane staircase because I knew that inside the plane were champions from every sport. I was heading to Los Angeles, but I had no idea what was in store for me, also because I wasn’t the favorite in my category, even though I was already well-known in Europe and around the world.”
Your Olympic debut against Irishman Philip Sutcliffe featured a funny moment on live TV: RAI commentator Paolo Rosi handed the mic to your teammate Francesco Damiani, who scolded you for continuing to trade punches in the third round after winning the first two…
“Exactly! They were worried I wouldn’t have enough energy to last until the end, but I needed that energy because the Irishman was clinging to me like a leech! When you enter a tournament knowing that you’ll have five or six fights in total, you can’t think about conserving energy for the final. You have to get to the final first! For me, every match in a tournament was a final—I had to give my all and come out exhausted because I had two or three days to recover. It had taken four years of hard work to get there, and my career could have ended in just nine minutes! But I devour those nine minutes! That was my mindset—I absolutely couldn’t lose. Of course, in life, losses happen, and they teach you things and toughen your character, but my mentality was that my opponent had to go to the limit to beat me. My biggest challenge in those Olympics was the weigh-ins. Making 54 kilos was brutal; back then, it was tough to have a doctor or nutritionist follow you—you either managed on your own or went home.”
Curiously, the opponent you faced in the semifinals in Los Angeles was the same fighter you defeated to win your first professional world title: Dominican Pedro Nolasco. Did you ever see him again after beating him a second time in Milan in 1989 to claim the WBO featherweight world title?
“Yes, I did! In 1992, I went on vacation to Santo Domingo, and while staying at a tourist resort, the locals recognized me and took me to see him. They told me he had a motorcycle accident that left him with severe abrasions all over his body and nearly cost him an arm. But he was really angry with me—he barely even greeted me. So I asked his wife why he was treating me that way. She told me that I had made a lot of money from our world title fight, while he had been paid much less. I tried to explain that this was the manager’s decision, not mine… I always respected him because he was one of the best fighters in Central America. He was already like a professional when he competed in the Olympics because of his boxing style. That’s why I gave him trouble—I was constantly moving. As an amateur, I relied a lot on my footwork, had great timing, and was quick with my dodges and counters. I didn’t hit hard, but I was precise, and instead of landing one punch, I’d land three, all accurate. When I turned professional, I naturally had to reduce my movement and adapt. When you only have nine minutes to fight, you have to give everything you have because those three rounds go by quickly. In the professional ranks, however, you have six, eight, ten, or twelve rounds, which means you have more time to study your opponent and strategize.”
The unfortunate night in Rimini, where you lost your title to the fearsome American puncher Louie Espinoza, left many Italian fans incredulous and disheartened. In hindsight, do you think it was a mistake to choose such a dangerous opponent for a voluntary defense?
“Yes, but there was a complication within the Federation regarding that voluntary choice. In short, my manager had proposed three or four names for that defense, but in the professional sector of the Federation, there was a supervisor who had to give the green light, and this supervisor rejected all the proposals my manager, Umberto Branchini, made. Maybe they didn’t get along—I don’t know. In any case, I was the athlete; my job was to train and fight, not to handle other people’s business. It was my manager who managed my career. For me, it made no difference whether I faced this guy, that guy, or another.
However, something happened during that world title training camp that really struck me. Since becoming world champion, I had been preparing for six months at a time. But a week before the scheduled fight, I was told that my opponent had changed and that the match was postponed for another two months. That required a different kind of preparation because the new opponent was Espinoza. I no longer remember who the original opponent was—he had been chosen from a list of three names, two South Americans and one American. My manager, who was very skilled, got me some videos from the U.S., so I knew what kind of fighter Espinoza was. But I didn’t have enough time to prepare for his style. That was the problem, but I don’t want to use it as an excuse.
By the seventh round, I was ahead on points and had even cut him a little above the nose. But I knew he would come on stronger as the rounds went by because he was a great fighter. In an instant, he attacked me, backed me against the ropes, and landed a wide hook on my eye. After taking that punch, I couldn’t see anymore, so I raised my left glove to cover my eye, but by doing so, I left my body exposed. He took advantage of it and landed a second punch straight to my kidney. To catch my breath, I took a knee. As I listened to the referee’s count, I could see Espinoza with my good eye—he was pumped up and ready to jump on me again.
During those eight seconds, I thought to myself: ‘If I get up and continue, I risk having my career ended. But if I quit now, the fight is over, and we’ll see if my career can go on.’ So I stood up and turned my back on him. Two years later, I became world champion again, so I think that was the right decision for me.”
After reclaiming the title and then leaving it behind in Britain at the hands of Englishman Colin McMillan, many believed that Maurizio Stecca’s career had nothing left to offer. Instead, you managed to thrill us once again with the battles you fought in France for the European title. What stands out to you from those four trips abroad in just nine months?
“That was a brutal year! First, they sent me to fight for the European Championship against Benichou. I knew him because he had also fought in Italy, where he had been managed by Branchini himself. He was highly rated at the time and was already making his fourth title defense. He caught me with a hook in the first round, and I ended up on my backside. I got up, won all the remaining eleven rounds, and became the European Champion. I put on a great fight that even the French fans appreciated—so much so that they had me sign a contract to defend the title in France.
In the next match against Herve Jacob, I was winning on points when, in the eleventh round, he headbutted me, causing a small cut in the middle of my forehead. The referee immediately called the doctor, and as soon as he saw the cut, he stopped the fight. It wasn’t a big cut, and it wasn’t even close to my eyes, but they took advantage of it. Fortunately, that night, there was a Swiss supervisor named Stucchi, one of the top supervisors in Europe. He wrote a report stating that the fight had to be repeated. We appealed and later found out that the doctor in question wasn’t even the one assigned by the French Federation for the event—he was a prison doctor from that city.
In the rematch, during the tenth round, I landed a right hand while making a lateral movement, and he collapsed in front of me like the Twin Towers. At that moment, I was surprised because knockouts almost always happen when you least expect them. If you go looking for them, you won’t find them, and you risk getting knocked out yourself because you leave openings and lose focus.
The fourth European title fight was against Stéphane Haccoun, who was very well-known in France. He even arrived at the match accompanied by a jaguar in a cage. He was one of the trickiest opponents I faced in my professional career. He was a southpaw, shorter than me, and very stocky. I already knew I had to keep him at a distance and fight a match similar to the one against Benichou. But as soon as I got close, he threw a hook, and instead of hitting me with his fist, he struck me with his elbow, causing the first cut.
In my corner, I had Dr. Mario Ireneo Sturla, who was also Giovanni Parisi’s doctor. I always wanted him in my corner because he gave me confidence. When he saw the first cut, he told me, ‘Maurizio, don’t worry, let’s keep going.’
Two rounds later, the same thing happened again—another hook, another impact with the elbow, and another cut. This time, Sturla told me, ‘This is a really bad cut. If we continue, you could lose your eyesight.’ I wanted to go on; I didn’t want to lose like that. But I thought about it for a moment, and in the end, I lost due to the cut.”
Usually, the Italian Title is the first milestone that our boxers aim for. However, you curiously won it in your last professional match, defeating Athos Menegola over twelve rounds. How do you explain such an unusual career path?
[Laughs] “I don’t know. There’s no real reason—it was just the way things went. I never questioned why I was boxing. Managing my career was my manager’s job. After all, I wasn’t in the amateurs anymore, where everything was scheduled and organized. Professional boxing is a job, and if an opportunity comes earlier than expected, why not take it?
Branchini was one of the greatest managers; they called him ‘The Cardinal,’ and to me, he was a mentor. He was well-known in America and had connections with Lou Duva and Don King. We all saw the career he built for Damiani.
In any case, I have no regrets whatsoever. I can only say thank you for the life I’ve lived. There were wins and losses, but I believe I had an excellent career.”