By Mike Altamura
I’d have thought my lacrimal glands couldn’t produce anymore tears since receiving that fateful call last Saturday afternoon. I’ve almost exclusively worn a hoodie when stepping out, to assist with at least partially concealing my face whenever breaking down. And yet I've sat here for 20 minutes incapable of typing as tears cascade down my cheeks. Reality has dawned. I’ll never ride alongside “The Fighting Cowboy” Dwight Ritchie ever again. A champion fighter, father of three, departs forever young.
12 years ago I encountered a 15-year-old kid from Shepparton with a surly disposition at the late Keith Ellis’ gym. Keith, the brother of my idol Lester Ellis, was a trainer I’d revered since childhood. So when he declared this spindly Indigenous Australian swearing machine as a future Aussie champion that day, I listened. I was 23, and six years into my management journey, but still struggling to gain traction. Many shut the gates, but the affable Keith was always welcoming with his knowledge.
Approximately a year later, I witnessed this phenom kid create more angles than Pythagoras to clinically outbox a former Commonwealth champion and top 10 world-rated fighter I managed over 6 rounds sparring. It wasn’t just the sublime skills he possessed that were eye-catching. A fire was raging within Dwight. He possessed a tenacity and fighting spirit that we read about in fighters of yesteryear. I walked to him and offered: “You’re a beautiful boxer on your toes, mate. You don’t gotta stand and trade so much.” His response: “I’m a fucking fighter, mate.” I was immediately endeared. There was something about how he spoke with so much conviction. You always knew where he stood. No ego, no grandstanding. I was later to discover he was a two-time cancer survivor as a baby too.
It wasn’t too long thereafter that Keith concocted the plan to start earning him a living as a professional following just 8 amateur fights. The problem? Dwight was still 17, and about 10 months from legally turning pro. Keithy was resourceful though, and a few minor paperwork adjustments and truth-accentuations later, Dwight was 18 with the documentation to prove it!
The teenage upstart lined up all-comers in four underage battles, marching through everybody he met, including the touted and unbeaten Ukrainian Tomas Vysokai in Sydney. The latter was considered a monumental upset at the time. Keithy and The Cowboy were firmly on the pathway to that National title.
That road temporarily halted following this run as Keith sustained multiple strokes and had to step away from training duties due to his declining health. Dwight appeared lost in the boxing wilderness until a kid with a famous surname became the unlikeliest of promoters.
Jake Ellis (Lester’s son) was a jittery 18-year-old with high-octane street smarts and an immeasurable drive. His debut showcase in March 2011 presented Dwight with the opportunity to finally add to his trophy cabinet – Benny Costello for the Victorian title. It was an outstanding bout that truly set the tone for Jake’s promotional journey. Meanwhile Dwight’s accolades continued to stack up.
Not even SnitchGate could bring him unstuck! SnitchGate was essentially a jealous party with inside information and a spiteful agenda writing to the Victorian Combat Sports Board and notifying them of Keithy’s factual liberties. They stripped Cowboy of the four victories and handed down a six-month suspension. I’m still mystified at why an underage kid should be punished for dismantling grown men with dexterity. Rules are rules though I guess. We rolled forward.
October 17, 2014 will forever be imprinted on my heart. It was a magical night in which Dwight boxed brilliantly to outpoint rugged Queenslander Dean Mikelj (for the second time) to be crowned the Australian Middleweight champion. He had fulfilled Keith’s vision. We lost him in 2015 but took comfort in knowing his legacy will live on in his final protégé.
Dwight would win a smattering of regional titles in the coming years and peak at #7 in both the WBC and IBF World Rankings. In August he headlined a major Australian PPV against Tim Tszyu, and at 27, there was unquestionably another lofty upswing in his fighting future.
Like many, I always thought of him as unbreakable, and that I suppose makes his sudden loss even more difficult to comprehend. He was a constant. He wholeheartedly entrusted me to guide his career at a time when others within Australia openly questioned my credentials. He was there when I had guided zero boxers to world titles, and was still there always selflessly clapping for me as that number eventually ticked over to nine. Dwight was a throwback man with old school ideals. Believe it or not, we never had a contract.10 years of honourable commitment based on a handshake over a meat pie.
I truly believe that Dwight would’ve beaten any fighter in the modern era over 50 rounds. His Samurai spirit and massive engine would eventually kick in and run them over! He had a quirk about rounds. Jake and I always joked that Dwight would only ever ask two questions regarding any fight opportunity. The date, and more importantly, the rounds. If it was anything less than eight rounds, “Mate, everyone knows I take four rounds to warm up! Please, gimme eight at least.” Occasionally – and only if the date was within say 4-6 weeks – he would question the weight. Never the money. It was never about money, even though he was a prizefighter. Whenever we would talk money, he’d say “Mikey, I know ya will do what’s best for me.” This always inspired me to grab everything on the table for him, including the table if possible, even when negotiating against my bestie in Jake.
He was fearless, with no quit whatsoever, although I think his mega-intelligence oftentimes was overlooked. His capacity to decode fighter’s styles and adjust to take away their weapons was elite. There were countless times where I would kindly ask him to sit ringside and assess a young boxer’s style, and he would provide an enlightening analysis.
People also overlooked his humour. Dwight was kinda dry but once he warmed to you, downright hilarious. He had me in stitches following the Tszyu fight press announcement. “Mate, they keep talking about Tszyu training overseas with Pacquiao. So what?! I gotta drive to Albury then lay fucking concrete all day!”
We spent most our time together in recent years talking AFL, particularly about his beloved Richmond. And although he rejoiced in witnessing them win the premiership in both 2017 and again in 2019, it pains me that he’ll never grow old sinking beers and berating the umpires on the TV while his boys watch on.
I feel deeply for his love, Samara. She’s an amazing woman that made a significant difference in his life. I noticed a seismic shift in Dwight’s temperament a couple years ago. He matured into a responsible, caring, well-spoken gentleman filled with gratitude. A press conference with earlier versions of him could potentially be disastrous, though in recent times he spoke so humbly and eloquently. It was truly inspiring. A proud Yorta Yorta man with a magnetic presence.
I’m not sure if Jimmy Barnes’ “Working Class Man” will ever sound quite the same again, and I’ve wrestled with the concept of walking away from the industry completely. But I hear the encouragement of “The Fighting Cowboy” echo. “Saddle up, Mikey. She’ll be right.”
Thank you for enriching my life, Cowboy. I love you, and I will never forget you.