Taxing the Memory

They used to call him “Old Cement Head.”

Back in the 1970s, a man named Ross Scott was the Professional Karate Association’s Heavyweight Champion.

I knew that name because, like a lot of young people back then, I was determined to become the next Bruce Lee, which, you’ll be surprised to know, didn’t happen.

There was several PKA stars back then, including Bill Wallace, the middleweight champion, Jeff Smith, who held the light-heavyweight belt, and lightweight champ Benny “The Jet” Urquidez. These guys were my heroes.

Ross Scott was an extremely hard puncher who knocked out many of his opponents, but he virtually nothing in the way of defense outside an almost superhuman ability to take punishment and still clobber people.

Notice I said “almost superhuman.”

This was long before the UFC and these kickboxing events were rarely televised, so I got most of my information from a handful of karate magazines I wasted my time and money on every month.

I still remember reading about his title fight with Jerry Rhome, where Scott was knocked down twice in the same round, and how the referee heard him saying “I gotta get up, I gotta get up,” after he hit the canvas for a second time.

In between rounds, his trainer had to use to nine ammonia snappers to get Scott’s attention. And yet he went on to batter Jerry Rhome until the referee stopped the fight in the seventh round.

But that abuse eventually caught up with him and he started getting knocked out.

I don’t why he came to mind, but I googled Ross Scott’s name last week and I found a YouTube video of an interview he had given in 2021.

I almost wish I hadn’t found it. The man in this video looked nothing like the fighter with the ferocious punching power that I remembered.

High Tolerance for Pain

He was 68 years old at the time—two years older than I am now—but he looked like he was in his Nineties.

“I’m fine,” Scott said after the interviewed asked about his health, “except for the fact that I suffer from Dementia Puglistica, which is a struggle. And normal arthritis things from a 48-year karate career.”

Scott said he was in reasonably good condition for his age, but I have to respectfully disagree.

He described how he knew he had a “high tolerance for pain” when he was five years old, and his Roy Rogers outfit caught fire after he kicked a pile of burning leaves.

“I ran home, and I was all in flames,” he said, “but it never bothered me, and I knew then I that I was different.”

I remember reading about Scott’s KO victory over Jacquet Bazemore, who had beaten the champion in a non-title bout, and the reporter who covered the fight said Scott took several shots just to land to one.

Having finally seen the video of that bout last week, I can confirm that description.

Back then I would have admired Scott’s courage and determination. Now I was horrified, knowing what this abuse would eventually do to him.

“Man, Ross Scott was TUFF!” one commenter said on YouTube. “Tough fight.”

“Scott was such a badass,” another person said.

Yes, but that toughness took such a terrible toll. In an interview back when he was champion, Scott called upon fight promoters to protect fighters “so they don’t become punch drunk.”

I wrote about my growing distaste for combat sports after watching Creed, but this really shook me because this is a real person, not some movie character.

The interviewer calls Scott a legend and a pioneer, but the ex-champion notes that he’s a “poet, harmonica player and my real passion to dance, which is equally important in the second half of my life.”

Scott tells the interview that talking about his fighting career “is extremely difficult to do,” as it “taxes the memory as well as the emotions.”

Yes, it certainly does.