Columnist Dean Juipe: Tapia needs a new view of his life

Dean Juipe

Wednesday, Feb. 12, 2003 | 9:56 a.m.

Dean Juipe's column appears Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. His boxing notebook appears Thursday. Reach him at juipe@lasvegassun.com or (702) 259-4084.

Years ago I bumped into Johnny Tapia at a boxing card being held at Bally's on the Strip. He wasn't fighting that night but he was there, just hanging around.

He had just tested positive for drugs following a recent fight, so I used the opportunity to approach him and ask how he was doing.

Tapia, as always, was cordial and didn't hesitate to reply, saying that he was doing great and that the drug use was more or less a one-time mistake that he wouldn't repeat. He was adamant, maybe even brazen, about it.

But I knew as I stood there and talked to him that evening in 1991 that he was just plain lying. He not only hadn't sworn off drugs, he was obviously high at the time.

Within weeks, Tapia tested positive for drugs not once but twice again, drawing a suspension that would preclude him from boxing for more than three years.

Now, a dozen years later, he's back in rehab (for a 12th time) and still battling a demon he has never fully conquered. And as Tuesday night's telecast of HBO's Real Sports revealed, Tapia is, at times, sorrowfully immersed in a life that includes sporadic use of hard drugs.

Don't take this wrong, but Tapia uses drugs for the absolute worst reason of all. He does it to escape.

As for what he's escaping, he routinely says that when he has too much time -- such as between fights -- he's tormented by the stabbing death of his mother in Albuquerque when he was eight.

"When I'm using drugs and drinking, I don't think of it," he said of lessening the impact of that specific memory.

I'm sympathetic, as is everyone who knows Tapia, yet I can't help but think that we're once again not getting the full truth. Time doesn't heal all wounds, but Tapia will be 36 on Thursday and that means his mother has been dead for 28 years.

I don't want to say his mother's death is just a convenient excuse to binge and get into trouble with his friends, but it's something that a counselor ought to address and maybe will during his current stint in rehab.

It might well be that Tapia, for all of his charm and apparent forthrightness, has a mean streak that's intertwined with drug and alcohol abuse. As his wife, Teresa, says, "Johnny's no stranger to the legal system" as she flips through a 125-page folder of Tapia's indiscretions and court documents.

Of course you're all but entitled to have a mean streak when your heartless uncle promotes you in street fights against all comers, which Tapia's uncle did to him when he was nine.

We all need to be careful in not being too judgmental about Tapia, but, by the same token, we shouldn't be duped into seeing him as a perpetual victim. He has made millions of dollars in boxing, he has a lovely wife and two homes and two kids, and he's among the most popular fighters of his generation.

For all of the pain and misery he felt as a child, he has also lived in luxury as an adult and been idolized by thousands of fans, many of whom came from similarly bleak backgrounds.

So if you saw the HBO program or will see it as it's replayed several times in the next couple of weeks, be aware of the hidden trap. It's difficult to feel anything but pity for a man as he sits there and sobs during a public confessional, but Tapia has played this role before.

He needs to either get clean or quit asking for forgiveness.

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