One Last Fight Before the Fire Goes Out

The Wall Street Journal – November 24, 2014

by Hunter Atkins

Most of the time, Todd Velten didn’t hear the music playing when he climbed into a boxing ring. He barely noticed the hollering crowds or, sometimes, even the bell that finished each round. But for the final boxing match of his life on Saturday night, Velten wanted to savor everything.

“I want to pay attention, to hear the crowd and hear the yells,” Velten said before the bout at the WaMu Theater at Madison Square Garden. In particular, there was one sound the 10-year veteran of the New York City Fire Department wanted to enjoy for the last time: “When the cops boo.”

Saturday marked the 32nd edition of the Battle of the Badges, the annual grudge match between the FDNY and NYPD boxing teams. The squads compete separately against other departments in several showcases each year, but none packs the tension of the Badges. Every other day of the year, the NYPD and FDNY project an air of cooperation for the sake of the city they serve; on this day, the disdain between the departments comes oozing out. There are the firefighters: “That’s the best part about the job,” said Mike Reno, a 39-year-old firefighter in Eng. Co. 33 and the FDNY team’s head trainer. “You can legally punch a cop in the face.”

And there are the police: “I don’t like firemen,” said 30-year-old NYPD officer Joel Allen. “They’re chest beaters.”

Clear away the fog of expletive-filled insults, though, and the conflict seems like more of a contest for the city’s affection.

“We’re like the strict parents,” said Lt. Dave Siev, the head coach of the NYPD team. “We don’t expect you to like us. We don’t expect appreciation. Meanwhile, the firefighters are glamorous. What are they doing? They’re like Top Chefs. They’ve all got six-pack abs. They get to slide up and down that pole.”

“Dave thinks he’s lord and master of who fights,” said Siev’s counterpart, 33-year FDNY veteran and team coach Bobby McGuire, who has 52 career fights under his belt and the slurred speech to prove it. “Dave can kiss my a—.”

“F— Bobby,” responded Siev. “He’s a crybaby.”

With the all-time series knotted at 15-15-1, tension was especially high as the two teams arrived at the Garden on Saturday. The chance for Velten to retire having helped the FDNY retake the lead gave him extra motivation.

For Velten, a 37-year-old native of Queens, fighting and serving run in the family. His grandfather served in the Army in World War II. His father was a firefighter in the South Bronx for 20 years. His brother was a Marine who served in Iraq and is in the NYPD. Velten himself was an Army paratrooper at Fort Bragg, N.C., from 1997 to 2001. A few years after he entered the FDNY, he began boxing for the department at the age of 30.

He said he was attracted to “that alpha-male type of thing, you’re always testing yourself. I’ve been to a fire, OK, what’s next? I’ll get in the ring.”

Most of the NYPD and FDNY boxers train for two hours a day, three to four days a week, when not on duty. Velten, who lives in New Rochelle, said he had grown tired of the fighting and the long commute to the FDNY’s training gym in Flatbush, Brooklyn.

“At first, I didn’t mind the black eyes,” he said. “Now I’m 37, people probably think I got mugged or something.”

Two days before his final fight, Velten was on duty for a 24-hour shift at Ladder Company 7 on East 29th Street. Overnight, he responded to 19 small emergencies, freeing people from elevators, fixing gas and water leaks, and investigating a call about smoke that turned out to be steam.

“Nothing exciting,” he reported with a shrug. Firehouses tend to attract burly and brash types, as does the FDNY boxing team. But Velten is exceptionally quiet.

“Todd carries himself like he does in the ring,” said fellow Ladder Company 7 firefighter Pete Utschig. “Real quiet, but gets the job done.”

It didn’t bother Velten much that he had slept for only two hours during his shift. The fight on Saturday would be three two-minute rounds. “You can always dig deep down for six minutes,” he said.

A sinewy 152 pounds at 5-foot-11, with deep-set eyes and a wiry voice, Velten embodies the scrappy fighter. Toughness has never been his issue. He estimated that he fought between 23 and 27 times heading into his final match, but often struggled to win over judges.

When fight night arrived, about 3,500 people filled the WaMu Theater, most of them NYPD and FDNY members who eagerly heckled opposing fighters with chants like “Dun-kin’ Do-nuts.” Other chants were more obscene, in spite of the many children present.

Velten entered the bout a slight favorite over his opponent, the NYPD’s Nelson Cordero, who stood 5-foot-7 and had only one fight on the books. But Cordero proved formidable, knocking Velten into the ropes and to his knees in Round 1. Velten complained to the referee that Cordero had pushed him, and the embarrassing sight was damaging enough. Seated near the back of Section 203, Velten’s sister, Marcy, wrung her hands nervously. When the round ended, she turned away and cringed.

Velten rebounded in Round 2, and before the final round began, Reno yelled from the corner, “Punch, punch, punch! I don’t give a f— what punch!”

Velten came out aggressively, hitting Cordero with a right cross and earning a standing eight-count. The FDNY fans rose to their feet and cheered their comrade. With 25 seconds left, Velten won another eight-count, igniting a roar from the crowd. The bout ended with FDNY fans chanting his name one last time.

Velten said he was certain he had fought back to win the match. “Everybody in my corner, everybody in the stands was so confident,” he said. “‘You’re better than this guy, you’ll win the fight.’ I was almost going to raise my arms. Then I didn’t get it.”

The ruling was a unanimous decision for Cordero. Loud boos followed, some of which even seemed to come from the NYPD section.

“I don’t know why you can’t get a f— decision,” McGuire, furious, shouted as a crestfallen Velten exited the ring.

As security led Velten out through the crowd, he considered bolting from the arena. “I just wanted to get on the train and go home,” he said.

He reached the locker room and removed his gear, looking disgusted. Normally even-keeled, he unleashed a tantrum. Searching for scissors to cut off the tape around his hands, he angrily tossed clothes, gym bags and gauze wrappers to the floor. Then he shattered a light bulb and ripped a fixture off the wall.

After finding scissors in another room, Velten returned much calmer. He attempted to distract himself with his phone by looking at “hot women on Instagram.” It was no use. Sulking in a chair, he griped that he had compiled a winning record in seven years of fighting, but had lost all five of his fights versus policemen. He said he often had envisioned a thrilling outcome, only to come up short, and compared the feeling to firefighters rarely getting the chance to douse a blaze.

“What is it: Always the bridesmaid, never the bride?” he said. “I’m assuming there’s a guy version of that saying.”

By the end of the night, the FDNY had won five of the eight fights to beat the NYPD. Velten said that made him feel a little better, but he was inconsolable over his own fight. As he sat in the FDNY locker room, Dave Leonard of Ladder Company 8 returned from his own bout wearing a shimmering belt.

“Good thing I won,” Leonard said. “I promised my kids this belt.”

He began removing his boxing gear. Unaware of how hard Velten had taken his loss, Leonard turned and asked him, “Got any scissors?”

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