This is how the story goes. It was late one night 11 years ago, in Omaha, Nebraska, and Terence Crawford had been shooting dice. He got involved in an argument with a doorman and moments later, a dozen bullets scorched into his car as he drove away, one of which traced the back of his skull.
Crawford drove himself to hospital, bleeding profusely from his head. He was 21 years old then, already boxing in a gym which helped reformed gang members reacquaint themselves with mainstream society.
That night he had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, but prize fighting has now put him in the right place at the right time. He faces Amir Khan at Madison Square Garden this weekend for a fight which is something of a coming out party.
Five years ago Crawford came to Glasgow and took the world lightweight title from Ricky Burns in a mightily impressive performance, but we did not know quite how good he would become. He is now regarded as one of the top three all-round boxers on the planet, with an A-list following to match.
Warren Buffet, the third richest man in the world, requests 10 seats in the stands for all Crawford’s fights and even wears a t-shirt with his face emblazoned on it. Crawford is also in a better place away from the ring. He is a devoted father of five young children and is an active philanthropist, helping his former high school teacher take medical supplies to those who desperately need it in Rwanda.
Crawford goes himself, after every fight. Charity is important for a man who knew extreme hardship in his youth. His mother – ‘Miss Debra’ – was the dominant influence on his life, but for bad as much as good. Last year, he told ESPN she would beat him with “a belt, a toy, a stick, extension cord, a switch off a tree, whatever” when she gave into her desire for drink.
“I don’t want to keep talking about my upbringing because people always resort to the past and what happened when I was younger,” Crawford told The Telegraph. “Man that was so long ago, I’m a different person right now.” Fighting was, as he points out, his way out. “This is not a sport for me – I live boxing. I’ve been boxing since I was seven years old. It’s my life, and I’m good at fighting.
“As soon as I put on gloves, I knew. I felt heart and determination. It’s in you, not on you. I just loved to fight and I knew that it was going to take me where I needed to go. I never had any doubt. God blessed me with the talent I’ve been blessed with. I knew that from a young age and I took it and ran with it.”
Crawford’s experience of brutality helped him when he joined CW Boxing Club, whose members were drawn from the ranks of north Omaha’s Bloods, Crips, Gangster Disciples and a branch of Insane Vice Lords that included Crawford’s future trainer, Brian McIntyre.
In 2008, having lost in the USA Olympic trials – his last defeat – Crawford joined the professional ranks. By August of that year, he was 4-0 in his paid career when he went on that ill-fated night out. There had been a fight between Bloods and Crips, and Crawford had been sprayed with mace by a cop – “for no reason,” he insists. He cleaned himself up, had a takeaway meal, and went to shoot some dice.
At 1.34am, while counting winnings in his ’86 Cutlass, the back window shattered. The path of the bullet was diverted by the windshield and went around his skull, rather than through it. Doctors at Creighton University Medical Center tended to him and away he went.
Unsurprisingly, the incident changed him – he became harder, more determined, more focused. “He reminds me of Marvin Hagler,” his promoter Bob Arum told The Telegraph. “He didn’t have the Olympics to bounce off, and become a big star Sugar Ray Leonard and Oscar De La Hoya – who were gold medallists. When he turned professional, he was obscure. He came from the mid-west from a relatively small city called Omaha. He had in that respect nothing going for him other than his ability and determination.
“He’s got a story, but it’s an unusual story. Omaha, even though it’s a small and great city, it did have a very poor African American community. Bud grew up participating in that community. Shooting dice, they did a lot of gambling. He has great, great instincts. When you talk to him you realise because of where he came from he is articulate. He may be reticent, but once he starts talking he is articulate and doesn’t murder the English language like some of these inner city kids.
“The closest guy he reminds me of is Marvin Hagler. Hagler valued a dollar. Didn’t throw any money away. Invested it very conservatively. And saved everything he made. He did the right thing. Crawford doesn’t spend money on jewellery or cars.”
Instead, most of his earnings are diverted towards a 20-acre farm outside Omaha, where he hopes to raise his family and live out his life in peace. Before that, though, there is the small matter of Khan and the chance to add some more lustre to his boxing legend.