In 1985 at 24 years old he became the WBA World Boxing Champion. The BBC Sports Personality of the Year followed shortly after. As I watched him lift both these awards I kept thinking ‘that could have been me’ as I defeated him in a competition some years previously in St. Tiarnach’s Park in our hometown of Clones Co. Monaghan. Finbar Patrick Mc Guigan and I attended the same schools. He was always very competitive at every activity. But so was I. Anything Finbar entered he wanted to win. So did I. Him being one year older at such a young age was a distinct advantage, so statistically he should have had the edge. But he didn’t. Houdi McCabe literally left the future world champion lying on his arse in defeat. But that was many years ago. Life got in the way after that. We went in different directions.
If truth be told I was a bit envious of Finbar then. Not yet reached my tenth birthday I lost my 56 year old father after a very short illness. My poor widowed mother devastated, defeated, practically penniless was left to rear five children on a solitary widow’s pension. Unsurprisingly, she developed significant physical and mental health issues. Finbar’s mother owned a thriving grocery shop. His father was a professional singer who represented Ireland in the 1968 Eurovision Song Contest reaching fourth place, with a song called Chance of a Lifetime. The McGuigan’s had everything, the McCabe’s had nothing. Well in the mind of a ten year old boy they had.
From his boxing debut aged 11 in Wattlebridge Amateur Club in Co. Fermanagh Finbar’s dad gave him great encouragement transporting him everywhere to spar or to fight in competitions. Strangely, his mother Katie refused to watch him in any competition as a kid or as an adult. But even in those early days Finbar never lost a fight. He soon moved to Smithborough Boxing Club in Co. Monaghan under the tutelage of coach Frank Mulligan. I looked at Finbar, now renamed Barry on the front of The Northern Standard newspaper. At the age of 14 he was the All Ireland Boxing Champion. But he knew, that I knew, and I knew that he knew I knew, that I had defeated him in a previous competition. In my head I was the All Ireland Champion at 13 years old.
At school during classes he had a springed metal device shaped like a hole puncher which he would use incessantly on each hand. This made his hands practically twice the normal size giving enormous strength to his forearms and fists. Unusually he didn’t participate much in Physical Education or the gym in the school, obviously out of fear of injury. To us kids we sometimes wrongly interpreted it as ‘he thinks he’s not one of us anymore’. In truth, he never developed an ego or lost the run of himself, being totally committed to his task: winning. When we were galavanting around the Tower Bar or the Starlight Ballroom in Clones he was sprinting around the town wrapped in a bin liner, or working out in the gym at the back of his mother’s shop.
Two years later, I, along with the entire population of Clones welcomed Barry home in a giant parade as he displayed his Gold Medal from the 1978 Commonwealth Games in Edmonton Canada. The boxer he defeated Tumat Sugolik from Papua New Guinea looked twice the size of the diminutive Barry. ‘That could have been me’ I said to anyone that would listen to me. I constantly reminded them, ‘I left Mc Guigan on his arse you know?’ A few weeks later in the Luxor Cinema in Clones he was in the row in front of me watching the movie Rocky II. He was accompanied by a local girl Sandra Mealiff, an absolute beauty with an engaging personality. She had previously been in a relationship with a friend of mine and taught me how to dance, in fact, how to jive, especially the double turn move. I looked to Sylvester Stallone, then to Barry, then to Sandra, I thought both of you boys are boxing away above your weight.
Barry fought at featherweight in the 1980 Moscow Olympics but was well beaten by Zambian Winfred Kabunda. Shortly after this I read in the Irish News he had turned professional under the stewardship of Belfast promoter Barney Eastwood. I thought ‘that could have been me. I beat this guy. I beat this guy’. We both left Clones in 1981 and travelled in different directions. Houdi to Tallaght Dublin to train as a retail grocery manager. Barry to Belfast to become a world champion. I kept telling myself he should be the grocer. I should be the champion.
He boxed a few times in Dublin but I never managed to see him in the ring as I was too immersed in my work. Belfast was too far away. But I read everything about him, imagining; that could have been me in the paper, on the radio, on the telly, especially after he won the British Title against Vernon Penprase. When my employer transferred me to Belfast in 1985 I discovered he was worshipped by both sides of the community. The Kings Hall was the Mecca where he defeated Juan Laporte, a fighter with a huge reputation. As he was carried shoulder high around the ring I said to myself ‘that could have been me’. Barry now world famous, had earned the moniker The Clones Cyclone. I ran the Dublin marathon the previous October with the nickname The Clones Hormone, in mock admiration printed on my T-shirt.
Early morning June 8th I found myself on a boat armed with a ticket to Loftus Road London Football Ground, home of Queens Park Rangers FC to watch a man that I defeated years ago in Clones, fight the greatest featherweight boxer of his generation, Eusebio Pedroza from Panama. I was fortunate enough to be seated with some of the QPR players. I regaled them with the story about me beating the Clones Cyclone all those years ago in our hometown. I became a minor celebrity for a couple of hours. When the Cyclone floored Pedroza in the seventh round some QPR footballer Gary Bannister, who I was supposed to know but didn’t, told me ‘that could have been you mate’. Pedroza tired in the end, the judges favouring the Cyclone with a unanimous decision.
I couldn’t get near Mc Guigan after the fight, he was swarmed with people like a lifeboat on the Titanic. With no accommodation booked I just latched on to people from Clones in order to get a place to stay. About twenty of us ended up sleeping in a hotel foyer despite the chagrin of the Irish night porter whose attitude softened when I regaled of my exploits with the new world boxing champion all those years ago in Clones. I slept on the boat home reporting for work the next day. But I was able to wangle the 10th June off to join 75,000 other well-wishers help Belfast Lord Mayor John Carson welcome the Cyclone home to his adopted city. I must admit I was both proud and envious watching him atop an open top bus beside my stunning former dancing coach, waving to the human mass before him appealing for them to be careful as people were crushing each other just to get close to him. Yet again I thought ‘that could have been me’ up on that bus.
But that was a long long time ago. After 32 wins and three losses the Clones Cyclone retired from the ring in 1989 trying his hand racing cars, singing, hosting a chat show, participating in reality TV shows, starting a boxers union eventually becoming a boxing promoter (which probably is another story in itself). In 2007 he won the ITV Hells Kitchen TV show with his famous dish of Mc Guigan’s mashed potatoes. Three years later my brother Patrick organised an arts festival in Clones called Flatlake. It was a unique event in that artists and celebrities took a different direction with their art form, being requested to perform outside of their comfort zone. Cillian Murphy recited poetry, Adrian Dunbar sang with his band The Jonah’s, Dylan Moran tried to be a comedian. Seamus Heaney read from my brother’s novel The Butcher Boy. The Clones Cyclone sang with his own band.
Barry was still that popular people got in line just to shake his hand or get an autograph, relegating both Seamus Heaney and Cillian Murphy to supporting acts. As I approached him I said ‘do you remember when I defeated you all those years ago in St. Tiarnach’s Park? He looked at me like a scientist observing a moving growth of mould on tree bark ‘sorry who are you?’ I was struck dumb. He didn’t even remember me. Me, Houdi the Clones Hormone who left the great Clones Cyclone lying on his arse way back in 1972 in Ulster’s biggest sporting stadium as part of The Largy Primary School Sports Day in the 20 metre sack race. Humiliated like The Count of Monte Cristo I revelled in my accidental revenge. As I introduced my daughter Elizabeth to him I asked ‘do you know who this fella is?’ The Clones Cyclone ready to hear he was the former world boxing champion gulped as she replied with full sincerity, ‘yes dad, he’s the man who makes the mash on TV’. For the Clones Cyclone that was a bigger shock than the three knockdowns he endured in the desert heat of Las Vegas decades earlier. But surely, watching me, The Clones Hormone take the title of 1972 Clones Town sack race champion must be his greatest sporting regret.
Houdi originally told this story at the tenx9 Storytelling event in Belfast. You can also listen to stories on their podcast.
Originally from Clones Co. Monaghan, Houdi McCabe is a legend in his own mind. He worked as a
Branch Manager with Dunnes Stores all over Northern Ireland for 42 years. Retired, he now writes
and acts on a full time basis, with over thirty films/plays within his oeuvre. Some of his stories have
been adapted for short films, by himself and with other collaborators. He is a regular performer at
literary events TENX9, Soundwaves Portrush, Pub Poetry Causeway Coast, First Drams NI and
Flash Fiction Armagh. Resident in Portrush Co. Antrim he is married to local girl Carole Robinson.
They have three adult children and one grandchild, Genevieve. Houdi doesn’t have any pets as he
loves himself too much.
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