Punch line

DUESSELDORF, Germany -- Wilfried Sauerland promotes hits as well as men who hit each other. It's part of his genius.

Although Sauerland has been on the rough edges of boxing for more than 25 years, the German-born fight promoter rose to prominence by reviving a dying sport in Germany after the fall of the Berlin Wall Nov. 9, 1989. Yet his rise was fueled by more than adroitly managing and promoting a string of African, East German, and Eastern European boxers. It was inspired by promoting the event, not the fight; the extravaganza, not the boxing match. The latter was often only the beginning, as it was the night of Nov. 23, 1996.

That night was to be the final fight for light heavyweight champion Henry Maske, the most popular German boxer since Max Schmeling. Maske was a former East German Olympian who won a gold medal in 1988, but he never would have been heard from again had the Wall not fallen a year later. There was no prizefighting in Communist-held East Germany at the time, and little interest in the sport in the West.

But after the Wall came down, Maske crossed the border and Sauerland was waiting for him and for an East German heavyweight named Axel Schulz, who would briefly become heavyweight champion. Sauerland's success with them would revive a dormant sport in Germany and spawn a rival in promoter Peter Kohl.

By the time Maske had defended the International Boxing Federation light heavyweight title 11 times, the end was near. He was 32 and losing interest in the sport, so he and Sauerland announced that his fight with American champion Virgil Hill would be his last. By then Sauerland's promotional skills had made Maske a national hero. From that popularity, boxing began to take off in Germany, and Sauerland expanded it with extravagant show openings patterned after what he'd seen at Super Bowl games, as well as legendary after-parties that included both the famous and the infamous, notably Adnan Khashoggi, a notorious arms dealer widely considered one of the richest men in the world.

Searching for a special farewell for Maske, Sauerland asked singer Sarah Brightman to come up with a song to be sung before the fight. Sitting in a small restaurant, she heard a haunting love song in Italian, "Con Te Partiro." Intrigued, she discovered the singer was a little-known blind Tuscan tenor named Andrea Bocelli. She reached out to him, and on fight night they sang a duet of the song she'd heard, "It's Time To Say Goodbye." The song became an instant hit in Germany, reaching No. 1 within days after the fight and selling a record 3 million copies.

Maske would lose for only the first time that night and Sauerland would lose his top draw, but it mattered little. There were other fights to promote, including, he thought, tomorrow night in Duesseldorf, where he was going to put his newest acquisition, former World Boxing Association heavyweight champion John Ruiz, into the ring against Uzbekistan's Ruslan Chagaev in an elimination bout to decide who will next fight Sauerland's heavyweight champion, 7-foot-2-inch Nikolay Valuev.

Although Kohl will run this show as the lead promoter because Chagaev fights for him, Sauerland thought he had become Ruiz's manager until he was notified last week he'd been fired by Ruiz. What Ruiz concluded was that Sauerland's decision to join with Ruiz's estranged promoter, Don King, in seeking an exception for Valuev to fight an opponent other than Ruiz in January before honoring his overdue mandatory defense was not in his fighter's best interest, but rather in his own interest. Sauerland's decision to manage Ruiz seemed an odd circumstance from the outset, considering Sauerland grew up in Germany, became a millionaire in Africa, lives much of the time in Switzerland, and had never managed an American fighter.

But then, Wilfried Sauerland, 66, has followed an odd path from his roots as a cabinetmaker's son in Wuppertal to becoming one of the most successful businessmen in boxing, emerging from Africa in the 1970s and '80s to become the promoter who revived boxing in his homeland. Like nearly everyone in the sport, his rise has been clouded by questions about the roots of his wealth, yet one thing no one questions is that his approach to the business is far different from his American counterparts.

"The first time I met him was 1986," recalled South African-born promoter Cedric Kushner, who has periodically been a powerful force in boxing in the United States and around the world. "I did the first IBF title fight in Europe and he managed a fighter from Zambia we were using in a cruiserweight title fight. At the time I didn't know what his ambitions were. It appeared boxing was more like a hobby, but he certainly became more involved than that.

"I did a lot of promotions with him after Maske beat my fighter, Prince Charles Williams, to win the light heavyweight title. I put together the Virgil Hill fight and the Axel Schulz-George Foreman fight, so I've done a lot of business with Wilfried. There's very little ego involved with him. You do business with Don King or Bob Arum and they're very verbose and more outwardly aggressive. You sit down with those guys and you're shouting by the second sentence. If you make a good deal with Bob or Don, you're still cursing them. Even if you don't make a deal with Wilfried, no one is cursing. He's a nice fellow but the more time you spend with him, the more you realize he knows some heavy-duty people."

The people he knows, more than what is known about his business ventures, has resulted in whispers about how Sauerland came to be rich enough to make a life in a sport where myth and legend often intertwine with fact. Mystery, and a hint of a dark side, are a powerful ally in boxing.

When Sauerland was at his height, his ringside guests were nearly as legendary as his fighters. And when the Saudi-born Khashoggi, who was the middleman in the arms-for-hostages deal that devolved into the Iran-Contra scandal in the 1980s, sits smiling at you at ringside, eyebrows are raised.

Raised eyebrows, like sliced ones, are common in boxing. Yet for two decades, even boxing people have wondered about the source of Wilfried Sauerland's riches. He began working for a German company, Bosch, in Africa not long after college, running businesses in Zambia, Tanzania, Namibia, and Kenya. He briefly returned to Germany in 1967, but soon after was back in northern Africa working in Algeria and Tunisia. He acknowledges working in the import-export trade and to having close connections to the government of Zambia, to whom he sold trucks, spare parts, machinery, and textiles before establishing textile factories, fertilizer plants, brickyards, saw mills, and bottling plants, then getting into the boxing business at the government's request.

"I sold a variety of goods, but I saw a future in the drink industry," Sauerland said. "Eventually I took over the second-largest bottling factory in Africa. In Africa, one of the things they would always do is drink beer and soft drinks. I completely concentrated on that side of the business. I'm not the usual boxing promoter."

Because of his ties to Khashoggi (who was never charged with a crime), there has been repeated speculation, none of it supported by evidence, that Sauerland was once an arms dealer of consequence himself. Asked about the possibility, one longtime German journalist familiar with Sauerland said softly, "If that were true, it would be very bad. People would not be happy with Wilfried in Germany. I have known him for a long time. I have heard the rumors. I never believed them."

While Kushner and King, who have both done extensive business with Sauerland, denied knowledge of Sauerland's connection to arms sales, both acknowledged they'd heard the same stories.

"I got no idea, but I like the guy," King said recently in Chicago. "It's been a pleasure to do business with him. I'll have to ask him about that crap. Look what they say about me."

Said Kushner, "I don't know where his money came from. I know he owned a bottling plant in Africa. I know he'd drop $200,000 on after-parties. I know I saw Khashoggi at ringside for shows we did together. I know this is a well-to-do guy by any standards, and I know they must drink a lot of soda in Africa."

According to Sauerland, Der Spiegel, Germany's biggest news magazine, looked into the charges and told him, "You are so clean, it is too much." The newspaper Die Welt has called him "Mr. Respectable" and "the gentleman boxing promoter." Sauerland says they are right about him, but acknowledges rumors have existed for some time.

"Boxing is the sport of rumor," he said amiably. "Everyone is something more, or less, than he really is. If somebody had offered me to do it back then when I was a young man in business, maybe I would have done it. But no one ever asked me to sell one bullet."

As in the United States, Sauerland's rise has been fueled by a near monopoly on the talent-rich Eastern European market and a stranglehold on one of the two national television networks in Germany, ARD, as well as a close relationship with the Austrian Boxing Commission.

"They conduct business in Germany and that's who Wilfried works with because Kohl controls the German commission," explained attorney John Hornewer, whose first business dealings with Sauerland came a decade ago, when he took American contender Edgerton Marcus to fight Maske. Later he would also bring Chris Byrd to Germany to face both of the Klitschko brothers, who were then fighting for Kohl, so he has rich experience dealing with Germany's answer to King and Arum.

"When you have your own commission and your own TV network [an exclusive deal] it makes you pretty powerful," said Hornewer. "It would be as if King or Arum had Showtime or HBO exclusively and the commission that had jurisdiction over their fights."

When Sauerland got into German boxing in the early 1980s, it was a shady sport of questionable dealings, one littered with bad decisions and so many people of ill repute there was little boxing on German television. Sauerland's entertainment-based promotions changed that, although it took time and money. Much money.

"When I began in Germany there were shady people involved in boxing," Sauerland said. "That's why it never took off here. There was no infrastructure. No TV. You can't finance boxing without TV and the first seven or eight years I couldn't get them interested. Once we broke that barrier [with the arrival of Maske and Schulz], everything changed. The spectators began to trust again.

"Today boxing is a big part of German sport. It's remarkable considering we have few [highly successful] German boxers today."

Between Kohl and Sauerland, boxing is shown most Wednesdays and Saturdays on either ARD or ZDF, the other nationally owned network. Six weeks ago, 45 percent of German TVs being watched were tuned to a fight between Sauerland's IBF middleweight champion, Arthur Abraham, and Edison Miranda, and both he and Kohl have run shows rivaling the viewing audience for the World Cup.

"I took the theatrical opening from American football," said Sauerland, who has a stable of 21 fighters. "Songs played on our shows become hits. We see it as additional attractions. We have laser shows to attract a younger audience. Then they watch the fight and become new fans."

"He's a showman," adds former HBO Sports executive Lou DiBella, who counts middleweight champion Jermain Taylor and ex-welterweight champion Ike Quartey among his fighters. "He's risk averse with his fighters, but he's first-class. He's the German equivalent of King or Arum, but he has clean hands and puts on extravaganzas, not fights."

Recently Sauerland moved his boxing headquarters from Cologne to Berlin, although Ruiz stayed in Cologne this week while awaiting his shot at Kohl's leading heavyweight, Chagaev. Now a business partner with King through the deal he cut to match Ruiz with Valuev last December, Sauerland has become willing to work with anyone. Anyone, but not too often with Kohl.

"They are bitter enemies," claimed Kushner.

Sauerland argues otherwise, insisting Kohl's rise from a German fight official to, at times, the country's leading promoter has been good for boxing and for business. It is a claim Kushner and King take with a large grain of salt.

"I appreciate having Bob Arum around for 30 years," King said, "so I understand what he's saying about Kohl. How else would people realize my greatness? But that don't mean we're friends. Don't mean Kohl and Sauerland are friends, neither."

"It's sport," Sauerland countered in a pleasant way that hides a highly competitive streak. "What makes it interesting is one day you are ahead and the next day he is ahead. It would be a shame if one of us was not there. The competition makes you work harder. If there's an interesting fight like this one, we can do business. It's not between me and Peter."

Ruiz-Chagaev is such a fight, a WBA elimination bout to name Valuev's next opponent. Valuev first won the title from Ruiz in a hotly disputed decision in Berlin last December. That's how King, who also promotes Ruiz (although that is "up in the air," according to Ruiz's attorney, Tony Cardinale), ended up with a piece of Valuev. Insisting on both ends of the equation is how boxing business is done. That Sauerland oh-so-briefly ended up with a piece of Ruiz a few months later was, well, shocking to King, but also testimony to how well Sauerland has learned his adopted business.

"That one mystified me, to tell you the truth," King acknowledged. "Wilfried sent me a telegram that read, 'We're partners again.' I asked why he didn't bother to let me know he was signing Ruiz. It was very shocking and disappointing to hear he went with Sauerland as his manager. I can truly say without me, this guy would not exist. I could have walked off and left him after he lost to [Evander] Holyfield. I could have walked off and left him after he lost to Roy Jones. I'm totally confused by the things they did. The magic is gone, but that's all right. You take it like you find it and leave it like it is. Sauerland and I can do business."

Together they recently brought Valuev to the United States, where King trumpeted him as "the eighth wonder of the world" and "the jolly Red giant," because he is a product of the former Soviet Union's sports program. That is not the way Sauerland chose to handle him when he stumbled upon him three years ago, when the future world champion was little more than a circus act. It is a difference more in style than substance because the aim is the same. To make money with him.

Ruiz believes he beat Valuev 11 months ago and signed with Sauerland to increase his purse for this fight by convincing him to bid to promote it. King originally offered Ruiz only $100,000 for the fight, but when Ruiz learned King had a deal for $250,000 from Kohl to deliver him tomorrow night and was keeping more than half for himself, he refused to agree. When King's offer only increased to a 50-50 split, Ruiz suggested he take 50 percent of the punches and turned to Sauerland . . . briefly.

Sauerland believes Ruiz turned to him because his camp feared he wouldn't get a straight deal if he returned to Germany to face Kohl's powerful fighter without local protection. In fact, Ruiz ended up with a $416,000 payday instead of $100,000 without having to pay the 22 percent German tax only because Sauerland's presence forced Kohl to pay a premium to win the right to promote the bout. Although Sauerland is now out of the picture, this is still a big fight in Germany. It will not even be broadcast in the United States.

"Our guys don't get a lot of exposure in the US, and that's partly by design," Sauerland acknowledged. "They can earn so much here. If they go to the US, they'd have to take a step back [monetarily]. If I'd brought Maske or Sven Ottke to the US, Americans wouldn't like their style. Abraham, he's a brawler, so I'd bring him there. In Germany, they like technical fighters. They like boxing, not blood.

"Here they value boxing over fighting, but I would never have thought you could make Eastern Europeans so popular in Germany. I tried it with the Africans and it was nearly impossible. Things have changed a lot since the Wall came down. Germany is a lot more open. That's why I agreed to take on John.

"We did the deal in a couple of days. If a guy is [ranked] No. 1 and he asks you to manage him for free, it shows a lot of trust in you."

When someone agrees to manage you because you offered yourself to him for free, however, trust may still be an issue. When Ruiz learned his new manager was joining King's effort to prevent him from having the next shot at Valuev, he dumped him and now disputes whether King still has the right to be his promoter.

"What Wilfried is trying to do with King is directly against John's interests," Cardinale said. "We went to Sauerland to ease the road to Valuev. His obligation as John's manager is to act in John's best interest. Sauerland has informed me he doesn't agree with our position. We informed him he'd been fired. John understands their plan is an effort to screw us out of the mandatory position. I guess what I have to conclude is King has more influence than we do over Wilfried, even if Wilfried had become his manager. He's carrying Don King's water to protect Valuev at all costs.

"They say they have a date of Jan. 20 or 27 on German TV for Valuev. Well, I hope he can sing and dance, because he's not going to be fighting anyone."

Sauerland originally had said one reason he was interested in Ruiz was, "If he wins it will be so much easier to negotiate the rematch with Niko."

Since Sauerland would have been negotiating with himself, one would imagine so. That has been the formula for success King has used for 30 years. Briefly, Sauerland was in the same position because he had promotional control over the champion and managerial control over both the champion and the likely challenger, until he chose to support his newest fighter's promoter over his fighter.

In so doing, Sauerland was supporting his heavyweight champion, whom he has managed for three years, over his possible challenger, Ruiz, whom he'd managed for three minutes. So it goes in boxing, where the hits keep on coming -- both above and below the belt.

While many things may be different about how Wilfried Sauerland rose to prominence in the fight game and how he's treated his fighters since he got there, that end of the business, the conflicted end, remains unchanged by his presence because it's always the same, sad song in boxing. A blues song.

Ron Borges can be reached at borges@globe.com.