Tribute to Nick Durandt

He could have stepped straight out of the pages of a Rocky movie script.

Loud, brassy and foul-mouthed, Nick Durandt was a larger than life character whose colourful presence loomed large over South African boxing. With his lurid tattoos, jewellery and ever-present bandana, he was a caricature of every cliché in boxing. He got up people’s noses with his smack talk and aggressive swagger, but there was no-one more passionate, determined or loyal than the 53-year-old who was killed in a bike crash in the Free State on Friday.

He ‘retired’ from boxing 11 months ago, but the truth is that he could never stay away. The dearth of local tournaments and the struggle to secure sponsorship and support had quelled his enthusiasm, but, even so, he stayed close to the sport. He still attended tournaments and was a mentor to his eldest son Damien, making his own way as a trainer.

Durandt was never a boxer himself, but that never limited his ability as a trainer. He travelled overseas often and made it his job to learn from the best. Among those he spent time with were Evander Holyfield and Oscar De La Hoya.

Who knows what they made of the brash South African?

Durandt incorporated something from everyone into his own regimen, a regimen that was grounded in supreme fitness. His fighters might get found out for technique or skill, but no-one was ever fitter. He worked his fighters hard and if they didn’t like it, he’d show them the door.

One of his favourite methods was to slap his fighters hard between rounds in fights. It was uncomfortable to witness from ringside, but Durandt didn’t care. He did whatever it took to fire up his boxers.

He was a walking contradiction. Knowing full well boxing’s appetite for hype and drama, he would curse at opposition camps and let fly during press conferences. Many didn’t approve.

Yet he was also known to lend a quiet ear to people in the boxing community who had problems. Once, during a visit to his Norwood gym, he handed me a pair of gloves for my eldest son.

TThe mask he wore most often was that of a flamboyant figure who had to dominate whichever environment he found himself in

He could be sweet and generous and thoughtful, but the mask he wore most often was that of a flamboyant figure who had to dominate whichever environment he found himself in.

His record as a trainer was staggering. Having initially learned at the knee of former Empire champion Willie Toweel, he branched out on his own. Success came quickly and world-class fighters like Phillip Ndou, Cassius Baloyi, Jacob Mofokeng, Sugarboy Malinga, Moruthi Mthalane, Hawk Makepula, Zolani Tete and Silence Mabuza were drawn to the excellence he helped foster. Las Vegas, London and Joburg were all conquered.

In 2001, rank outsider Hasim Rahman asked to use his city gym to wind down his training for his heavyweight championship fight against Lennox Lewis at Carnival City. Durandt was one of those in Rahman’s corner when he shocked Lewis with a devastating right hand that knocked him out in the fifth round.

In many ways, it was quiet redemption for the controversy that threatened his entire career in the 1990s. He was caught in a racism scandal that erupted when a taped conversation full of racial slurs was leaked to the media. It was undeniably racist, but the irony was that Durandt adored his black fighters, most of whom he kissed moments before they squared off.

It cost him his gym, his house and, finally, his marriage. Many of his black boxers stuck with him; others did not, threatened by those close to them not to associate with the controversial trainer.

Durandt uncharacteristically went to ground and quietly worked his way back. Those who knew him knew he had a filthy mouth, but he was no racist. He had made a stupid mistake and admitted to it.

Within five years he had rebuilt his empire, the row all but forgotten as his conveyor belt continued to deliver champions at a remarkable rate.

A product of the streets, he naturally gravitated towards characters who lived hard and fast. He owned a tattoo shop across the road from his old gym and for a while hung out with former boxer Mikey Schultz’s crew. More recently, he was president of the Crusaders motorcycle club, a role he seemed to thrive in. It was a role he cherished; the bikers loved him.

In recent years he took to packing a pistol, which he often took with him to business meetings. Needless to say, the men in suits were seldom impressed.

Durandt lived fast and, perhaps inevitably, he died fast too. He was a giant of the fight game and a man whose passion attached itself to every little thing he did.

Rest in peace, fighting man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4 thoughts on “Tribute to Nick Durandt

  1. Great article spoken from the Heart, my Man. I read how he respected and benefited from the support Madiba and Steve Tshwete gave the sport in their days and how little support the current regime or sports ministry afford the talent of today. If true, a serious shame. RIP Nick, you have left a legacy…….

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