Billy Collins Jr had something about him, it is fair to say.

When you look at the old pictures from the early 1980s he is reminiscent of an extra from the seminal movie Fame. It’s the hair and the training gear that capture and evoke a time and a place. But Collins was no New York City Dance student.

Instead, he was a fighter and a southern boy, from the famous old home of country music, Nashville. He carried the ring moniker ‘Irish’ and was trained by his father Billy Sr.

Just 21, and on an upwards curve, having been a pro for only eighteen months, he had quickly expanded his record to 14-0. For the most part, his opponents were the usual array of journeyman fading prospects and level entry pros. The traditional diet that newly professional fighters have always cut their teeth on. Of these opponents, only three successfully managed to take him the full distance.

Collins was just reaching that interesting phase of his career where a gradual step up in class could suddenly and violently derail everything. The kind of heartbreak nights where a future contender swiftly slips into the ranks of diminished prospect and ultimately the hard, barren land of professional opponent status.

Alternatively, a few more wins against a couple of the right names, could easily have propelled him toward a title shot. He was certainly respected within the boxing fraternity as an exciting performer and a solid future prospect.

His next bout with Luis Resto looked to be a very good match up. The Puerto Rican had himself been undefeated in his first seven fights before being stopped by future WBC Super-Lightweight champion, Bruce Curry.

By the time of his Middleweight match-up with Collins, the 28-year-old’s record had declined to 20-8-2. Being a light puncher (just eight KO’s overall) and having been stopped three times; Resto was now firmly in the opponent class. Albeit still capable of picking up results and muddying the clean records of young up and comers.

The vast majority of experts in the fight game tipped Collins to beat the durable Resto. However, one or two independent voices were prepared to suggest that it was not beyond the experienced Puerto Rican to pull off an upset. In the lead up to the fight Resto spoke convincingly of his certainty that Collins would not last the distance.

Appearing on the undercard of Roberto Duran’s WBA title fight with Davey Moore, it was at least sure to give those at ringside, or watching live on ESPN, a decent appetiser.

What happened on that night at Maddison Square Garden, this week, in June 1983 is ancient history now. For a brief period of time the record books detailed that Resto had defeated Collins by a unanimous points decision. The legendary Jake La Motta, in his role as ringside commentator, conferred at least eight of the rounds to Resto.

Watching re-runs of the fight 34 years on it is clear that a ten round pummelling was administered to Collins. Following a watchful opening round the combatants readily went toe to toe from the second onwards; but with Collins surprisingly coming off worse in the exchanges.

By the end of the fourth both of ‘Irish’ Billy’s eyes had begun to swell alarmingly. As the contest reached on into the final quarter his eyes were so violently impacted that he could barely see through the swollen mass.

However, Collins demonstrated his championship potential by steadfastly refusing to quit; Billy Sr. was heard to say in between rounds “You did good son. You’re fighting your heart out”. Belligerently he hung on in there and gamely fired back shots of his own, despite his obviously hopeless position on the judges’ cards.

When the bell sounded to end the final round, with Billy staggering and holding from yet another onslaught, the crowd rose as one to honour the combatants with a standing ovation. A small reward for Collins’ heart and courage in staying the course against an opponent that on the night appeared to be surprisingly stronger.

Collins retreated desolately to his corner. The game appearing totally up as he had been savagely deconstructed by a limited and historically light punching opponent. As Irish Billy contemplated his future, Luis Resto was celebrating and parading around the ring with corner man Artie Curley and trainer, Carlos ‘Panama’ Lewis.

With the full knowledge of how the future played out, it is hard even from the removed distance of over 30 years, to watch these celebrations. Ignoring the abysmal fight commentary of Jake and Vickie La Motta, nothing can detract from the power of the instant where the factual narrative is upturned with all the suddenness and ferocity of a motorway crash.

As Resto embraced his vanquished opponent he held out his gloves to Billy Sr in his capacity as trainer. What begins as relative indifference and bare acknowledgment unfolds instantaneously into alarm and anger.

As he clings on to Resto’s gloves it is easy to see that something is amiss and over the ringside cacophony he blurts out to the Commissioner the eight immortal words “All the padding’s out of his goddamn gloves.” Later Collins Sr. was able to confirm, what was partially visible from the television pictures, that on touching the gloves: “All I felt were knuckles and fingers”.

It quickly transpired that two ounces of padding had been removed via a hole in each of Resto’s gloves. The beating handed out to Collins was in effect one of a near bare-knuckled variety. The fight result was ultimately overturned to ‘No Contest’. Following an investigation the New York Boxing Commission withdrew the licences of both Luis Resto and his trainer Panama Lewis, for the offence of tampering with the gloves.

In a dramatic follow up the New York Supreme Court found both Lewis and Resto guilty of second-degree assault, conspiracy, and fourth-degree possession of a weapon (Resto’s tampered gloves). They were sentenced to six and three years (both ultimately serving eighteen months) in prison respectively for what was an illegal assault.

The motive and responsibility for the crime has changed on multiple occasions over the years. With boxing being a sport not famed for its honesty and integrity, establishing the truth has been a painful and imperfect exercise. For numerous years Resto denied any knowledge of knowing that the gloves had been doctored.

Only, years later, when faced with irrefutable evidence, did he finally confess that he was aware of the fix. He also alarmingly confirmed that he and his team had successfully pulled off this con on two other occasions.

Most depressingly of all he confessed that his hand wraps had been soaked and hardened in plaster of Paris – the same trick that was alleged to have been used by Jack Dempsey in his destruction of Jess Willard in their legendary 1919 Heavyweight title fight. The two elements combined would have been akin to being hit in the face for ten rounds by a concrete slab.

This made Billy’s survival all the more remarkable. When asked for a motive he proffered that it was due to Lewis’ desire to protect a betting investment from a drug dealing associate, on the outcome of the fight.

Resto, now in his early 60s, remains resolutely banned from boxing. He has tried and failed on numerous occasions to be granted a seconds licence, but without success. He lives in virtual penury and cuts a broken and reduced figure.

He has expressed contrition but this has not been sufficient for the authorities to relax their stance. This is strikingly at odds with the fate of his old trainer and ring-leader Panama Lewis.

Lewis also continues to be banned from holding a trainer’s licence or participating in the corner at any boxing event. Despite this he is still actively involved on the periphery of the sport where he coaches fighters behind the scenes; even at one point appearing at Mike Tyson’s training camp and being closely connected to ex-heavyweight champion Francois Botha and five time world champion, Zab Judah.

He cuts a bombastic figure who routinely parades the bling that leads observers to believe that the fast money is still flowing his way. Despite all the evidence, Lewis still continues to protest his innocence and shows little remorse for the damage done to Billy Collins.

Instead he opts to shift the blame to corner man Artie Curley, who being deceased for many years, cannot speak for himself. Incidentally, the original investigation fully exonerated Curley of any responsibility, due to him not being present when the gloves were being placed on Resto.

More ludicrously, Lewis’s supporters protest that the gloves were tampered with after being removed by the State Boxing Commission.

It is hard to believe that this abomination could have been directed by anyone but Lewis, or to look beyond the bookmaker explanation. Resto’s career was flatlining and it is difficult to accept that they were pulling the con in order to propel Resto up the rankings. Instead, he was just a convenient and easily led vehicle for the usual array of bad people on the make.

The mark of Cain should reside permanently over Carlos ‘Panama’ Lewis. In any sport, with the exception of boxing, he would in all probability be cast adrift as an untouchable pariah. It has been routinely speculated that in both the Collins fight and earlier bouts involving Resto, and Light-Welterweight Champion Aaron Pryor, that he had mixed their water bottles with stimulants, to reenergise them in later rounds.

Widely accepted evidence of this would be Pryor’s 14th round knockout of Alexis Arguello, where he could be heard shouting to the cornerman, “Not that bottle, the one I mixed”.

As is so often the case in boxing, those outside the ring get to walk away virtually unscathed, while the warriors within the ropes are readily cast aside like useless lumpen pieces of meat. Viewed as mere items of convenience, at least, if your moral compass is set to Don King co-ordinates.

None of this matters much now to young Billy Collins Jr. Following the Resto fight he was advised by doctors to never fight again. The severe injuries that he suffered, that night in New York, included a torn iris, leading to permanently blurred vision.

Less than a year later he was dead, aged just 22. Back home in Tennessee, he drove his car off the road into a river and hit a culvert. He had been drinking heavily, both on the day but also since learning that his boxing dream was over.

Billy’s father always contested that he didn’t die alone that night in Antioch, Tennessee; but nine months earlier in a ring in New York City. The night that Resto and Lewis stamped over his dreams and his future.

It can never be proved, but there is a strong suspicion that the depressed Collins took his own life. At a minimum, if it wasn’t suicide then his behaviour was clear evidence that he didn’t really care much about living.

The final words should go to Billy Sr. who was unyielding in his commitment that Lewis and Resto were beyond salvation; “We had a dream for Billy Jr, since he was thirteen, and they stole it from him. He wanted to be a fighter, a somebody”.