Picture this: a balmy August evening in 1993, Kansas City. The air is electric, buzzing with anticipation for a heavyweight championship bout. WBO titleholder Tommy Morrison, fresh off a victory against George Foreman, is set to defend his crown. And then, there’s Tim Tomashek, a journeyman boxer from Green Bay, Wisconsin, sitting comfortably in the stands, savoring a beer, much like any other fan. Little did he know, his evening was about to take a turn so surreal, it would become the stuff of legend.
An Unexpected Call to Arms
Tomashek recalls the bizarre sequence of events with a chuckle. He’d received a call earlier, offering him $2,500 just to be a standby replacement, a backup plan in case Morrison`s scheduled opponent, Mike Williams, failed to appear. Such contingencies are not entirely uncommon in the unpredictable world of professional boxing, though rarely do they materialize into actual ring time. Tomashek took the call, flew in, and, seeing Williams present at the arena, assumed his services wouldn`t be needed.
“Mike Williams was in the arena and I thought: ‘Nobody pulls out of a world title fight.’ He pulled out an hour before!” Tomashek recounted. “I was sitting in the crowd, drinking a beer. All of a sudden, I see Pete [Susens, his manager] running towards me. He said: ‘Get back to the hotel, you’re fighting Tommy Morrison for the heavyweight championship of the world in an hour!’ I said: ‘Let me finish my beer first.’”
This was no ordinary invitation. This was a direct summons from spectator to combatant, a leap from enjoying the show to becoming the main act. With hardly an hour to process the seismic shift, Tomashek was hustled away, leaving his half-finished beer behind to confront a reality few boxers ever glimpse.
From the Pub to the Punch-Up: The Preparation
Preparation for a world title fight typically involves months of rigorous training, strategic planning, and meticulous weight cutting. For Tomashek, it involved retrieving a pair of old trunks. “I went back to the hotel and got the trunks I wore from the fight before. They still had blood on them and didn’t smell too good – That’s why Tommy kept away from me for a couple of rounds!” he quipped, a testament to his dry wit and the absolute lack of pretense surrounding this impromptu contest.
A natural cruiserweight, Tomashek tipped the scales at a “blubbery” 205 pounds that night, a stark contrast to Morrison`s solid 226 pounds. There was no game plan, no tactical blueprint meticulously crafted by trainers. There was only the raw instinct of a fighter who had spent a career navigating the unpredictable waters of the sport.
“I had no gameplan,” he admitted. “There wasn’t time to think of one. I just did the best I could.”
The Bell Rings: An Underdog`s Audacity
When the opening bell finally sounded, Tim Tomashek, the man pulled from his beer, faced “The Duke,” Tommy Morrison, the charismatic champion. The commentator`s early assessment was bleak: “Scheduled for 12,” he stated, “it will certainly go much less.” Yet, Tomashek, armed with nothing but grit and a few beers, was determined to defy expectations.
His performance was, by his own admission, “disjointed and eccentric,” moving in unusual ways, darting with flurries of left hands. He was, as he described, a “defensive master; pretty stylish,” urging, “Don’t laugh!” Morrison, accustomed to swift knockouts, found himself against a different kind of opponent. “Tommy was surprised,” Tomashek noted. “He was used to knocking people out in one or two rounds, but that night, he was up against a different cat – me.”
The fight was a gritty affair. Tomashek was outmatched in size and skill, but not in heart. He stood his ground, weathering Morrison`s powerful shots. A headbutt in the second round, initiated by Morrison, saw Tomashek raise a glove in a gesture of `no hard feelings,` only to be met with a solid whack to the chin – a sign of the champion`s irritation at his unexpected resilience. Despite some inexplicable boos from the crowd in the third round, Tomashek continued to trade punches, showing remarkable courage.
The fourth round, however, proved to be the turning point. Morrison began to connect cleanly, sending shivers down Tomashek’s legs and eventually dropping him to his knees. Though quickly back on his feet, the corner made the pragmatic decision to halt the contest. The fairytale ended, but the story had just begun.
The Journeyman`s Reward and Philosophy
For his incredible, spur-of-the-moment bravery, Tomashek received $40,000, which, after taxes and deductions, netted him around $15,000. “It’s a hard game,” he mused. “Still, it was better than fighting for a six-pack.” This statement encapsulates the pragmatic, often humorous, perspective of a journeyman boxer—a fighter who steps into the ring not for glory, but for survival, for the sheer love of the craft, and sometimes, for a surprisingly modest fee.
Tomashek`s career was a testament to this “have blood, will travel” mentality. Over 65 fights, he faced numerous opponents, big and small, often taking fights on short notice in obscure locations. He tells tales of fighting for “100 bucks and six chicken wings from KFC” against former champions like Bobby Czyz, calling it “the greatest.” He recalls opponents so odorous he was glad to be knocked out just to escape the smell, and the wisdom of his manager, Pete Susens, who once told him, “You won’t be a world champion,” to which Tomashek replied, “Thank you, Pete!”
A Legacy of Grit and Good Humor
Today, at 59, Tim Tomashek lives a contented life in Green Bay, Wisconsin, among “the mill workers and beer drinkers.” He dotes on his nieces and nephews, who, he says, share his “mentality.” His boxing days are behind him, but the stories endure – stories of fighting men far bigger than himself, of blood-stained trunks, and of unexpected calls to action that defy belief.
Tomashek’s tale is more than just a boxing anecdote; it`s a vibrant illustration of the human spirit`s capacity for resilience, adaptability, and a healthy dose of irony. He wasn`t a world champion in the traditional sense, but on one extraordinary night in Kansas City, Tim Tomashek embodied the very essence of a fighter – one who steps up, no matter the odds, even if he has to finish his beer first. And for that, he holds a unique, unforgettable place in boxing history.
Felix Harwood