NEW YORK -- Lou DiBella is in a hurry. He's seemingly always in a hurry. As he arrives at Barclays Center before the weigh-in for the Leo Santa Cruz-Carl Frampton featherweight title fight he's promoting, he moves around the arena with the urgency of a power walker trying to beat his best time and talks with the speed of an announcer giving a legal reading at the end of a radio commercial.
In a sport long known for having colorful and bombastic promoters, DiBella is perhaps the most unlikely of them all. He arrives in a black Nissan Murano, parking it by a deli a few blocks away from the arena, wears a personalized jersey from the Richmond Flying Squirrels, the San Francisco Giants' Double-A affiliate in Virginia that he owns, and waits in line for a coffee at Starbucks, having to repeat his name twice for the barista who initially thinks his name is "Blue."
On a day when he is doing one last promotional push for what he calls "the best and deepest boxing card I've ever been able to promote," he is being pulled in a dozen different directions for a dozen different reasons which have nothing to do with the fights. His biggest headache at the moment is wristbands. Yes, wristbands -- pink wristbands, blue wristbands and yellow wristbands. They all mean something different to different people and DiBella is tired of hearing about them.
"That's not my job," DiBella tells one incessant handler who attempts to pry four blue wristbands out of his hands. "What the f--- do you want from me? Why the f--- are you asking me for this?"
A few feet later, someone else wants to pull DiBella aside and ask him what appears to be a pressing and personal question.
"Hey Lou, you've known me a long time, do you think I could get a couple of tickets to the fight?" asks an older gentlemen. "We go back. Just tell me if you can't. I just need two. They don't even have to be good."
DiBella gives him a number to call to get tickets and walks a couple of feet before he's handed an iPad by a female boxer who wants DiBella to see her in action and possibly sign her.
"You've got some power," he says, glancing at the screen before quickly looking up to take inventory of the minefield of other obstacles that await him before he can get to the stage for the weigh-in. "Email me and we'll talk."
DiBella, 56, was born in Brooklyn and went to Regis High School in Manhattan. He was raised in Flatbush by his parents and Italian immigrant grandparents. His first job was as a messenger at the World Trade Center. His voice is as distinctly New York as honking cabs driving down Times Square. If you were trying to cast a New York boxing promoter for a film, you'd cast DiBella. In fact, that's exactly what Sylvester Stallone did 10 years ago when he had DiBella play himself in "Rocky Balboa."
As DiBella, who graduated from Harvard Law School, walks around the arena and his old neighborhood, everyone around him either knows him or wants him to know they know someone who knows him. On days like these, that kind of familiarity with hundreds is a blessing and a curse.
"I like people and I like interacting with fans but I don't like 100 people harassing me with minutiae," DiBella says as he gradually gets closer to the stage. "I love boxing. It's not a sport of the rich. I wasn't born rich, but there are a lot of people in boxing that aren't -- let's put it this way -- the most genteel. This has been my world for over half my life, but it's wearing. The sport and the business are very unforgiving. The sport has a long history of being a bit shady and it's not a completely undeserved reputation. You got more than your fair share of shady. There's a lot of people here bothering me with stupid s---."
A rival boxing promoter once called DiBella's company, DiBella Entertainment, a "mom-and-pop company." It was meant as a slight to him and his modest operation of seven employees working out of a converted 19th century general store in Sea Cliff. But DiBella laughs at the description in between bites of his caprese salad at Broccolino, a quaint Italian restaurant in Brooklyn that essentially serves as his office during fight week at the nearby Barclays Center.
"We're one really good mom-and-pop company," DiBella says. "I don't aspire to ever having a giant company. I like having a lean little machine and I like that we're more like a family. There's a lot of informality. If they're pissed at me they'll tell me to go f--- myself, but we have that kind of relationship. It's a little bit dysfunctional but we care about each other. We're a loving, caring dysfunctional family. I'm very proud of my company. It might be run by something of a madman, but I think we're very good at what we do."
DiBella started his company in 2000 after an impressive 11-year run at HBO where he turned the cable network into the most powerful and influential television force in boxing and was the mastermind behind the successful "Boxing After Dark" series. He left after literally telling his boss "to go f--- himself." The powers that be at HBO apparently weren't as open to being told off as DiBella is when dealing with his staff on a daily basis.
"I think I was an excellent television executive but I wasn't a very good corporate politician," DiBella says. "I wanted to be the president of HBO Sports, but there was a bad corporate meeting and I felt like I was disrespected by someone who was much higher than me on the food chain and I told that person to go f--- themselves. I didn't get fired for that, but it definitely changed my career arc and created the perception that I wasn't manageable and was a little out of control. Both, at the time, were probably somewhat true."
HBO, not wanting to compete with DiBella, who had become one of the most powerful people in boxing by the time he left the network, helped him start his company. They assisted DiBella financially by signing some of his fighters for the right to televise some of their fights.
One of the greatest impacts DiBella's company has made since its inception is returning big-time boxing to New York -- and Brooklyn, in particular -- over the past four years. The opening of Barclays Center in 2012 has helped usher in a new era of boxing in the area which hasn't been seen since DiBella was watching Nino Benvenuti, Dick Tiger and Alan Minter on television with his grandfather.
Last year, DiBella promoted the first heavyweight championship fight in Brooklyn in 115 years despite the borough having ties to the likes of Mike Tyson, Floyd Patterson, Riddick Bowe and Michael Moorer. Now Brooklyn is staging signature televised fights regularly that are in contention for fight of the year, from Keith Thurman and Shawn Porter to Santa Cruz and Frampton.
"I'm a Brooklyn guy," DiBella says. "I grew up in Brooklyn and this is my city. It's as or more important to be the guy in Brooklyn than it is to be the guy. When the Barclays Center first opened it hurt my feelings when they initially made a deal with Golden Boy Promotions at the time. I was like, 'What the f---, are you kidding me? I am Brooklyn!' Now it's come full circle. I'm promoting shows regularly in one of the hottest venues in the country and it's in my hometown. I identify the most with Brooklyn. It runs in my blood."
One of the earliest pictures of DiBella is a portrait of him as a baby holding a pair of boxing gloves that a photographer had sitting around in his studio. It was the only thing that would make the toddler stop crying and sit still for a picture.
"The guy strung boxing gloves around my neck and that's my f---ing baby picture," DiBella says. "I somehow think in the karmic world that's not an accident."
DiBella has been living out his childhood dream for the past two decades in boxing, first as a television executive and now as a promoter, but admits it's a dream that can be a nightmare more often than not. Counterparts Don King and Bob Arum, who are both 84, have been promoting fights for four decades, but DiBella says he won't last that long in the business. In fact, he sees himself getting out at some point within the next five years and starting the next chapter of his life.
"I've reinvented myself a number of times in my life," DiBella says. "As much as I love this, quite frankly it has a lot of negative energy associated with it. Do I see myself doing this when I'm retirement age? No. Do I see myself doing this into my 60s? No, I don't. I don't think I could grow old and healthy staying in this business much more than five years. Boxing will not be the last chapter for me."
While boxing is a sport filled with lifers who view it as their lifeblood more than a profession, DiBella has other interests and is already thinking of what he will do next. He has been a television and film producer and has a couple of movie ideas he would like to get off the ground. He would also like to spend more time in baseball as the owner of the Flying Squirrels.
"Running a baseball team is a very welcome diversion," says DiBella, who has won three World Series rings as a member of the Giants organization. "It's different than boxing [in] that it actually helps keep me sane."
He loves engaging with baseball executives and writers at the annual winter meetings and allows anyone who compliments him on whichever World Series ring he is wearing on a particular day to try it on and take a picture with it.
As he sips on a glass of sangria after the weigh-in and pokes at his black pasta and calamari, he considers all of his options after boxing, ranging from being a professor to owning a major league team. No matter what it is, though, there's a large part of him that would still like to have an audience clinging to his every word.
"I guess there's something about the spotlight that attracts me," DiBella says. "But I think there's different ways of fulfilling that need. I think I could be a professor. I think I would like to eventually teach. I also think there's a book in me. I would like to do more filmmaking. I could see myself doing a radio show. I could see being a commentator. I want to do more with my baseball team.
"There's a bunch of stuff I have in my mind, but I still love boxing. This isn't like baseball. You can't have a bad night. There's an old saying, but it's really true. You don't play boxing. You play baseball but you don't play boxing. In 10 seconds your life could change for the better or the worse. I like that."
It's raining on fight night but DiBella can't stop smiling as he walks into Broccolino during the undercard to have his ceremonial glass of scotch before the start of the main card. It's a fairly new tradition for what has become a fairly new tradition of big-time fights being held at Barclays Center.
"For a kid that grew up in Brooklyn watching fights with my grandfather, to do what I do now is pretty cool," DiBella says. "I'm walking into an arena full of boxing people that know me and recognize me. I still can't believe it. It's not that often you get to do what you love and realize your dream in your hometown."
DiBella has a ringside seat for the fights but he's constantly on the move as soon as he enters the arena. He checks in on his fighters in the locker room, stays in contact with his staff as they try to sign a couple fighters who are in attendance and catches up with celebrity friends such as actress Rosie Perez, who has become a constant figure at his cards in Brooklyn.
"Back in the day, New York was the place to be for boxing. First it was the Garden and now it's Barclays," Perez says. "I can walk to the fights now from my place. Lou has done so much for the sport in New York. He wears his heart on his sleeve. He cares so much about boxing and his fighters. You can see it in the way he engages with everyone around him. This is not just a business venture for him, it's his passion and it shows."
Before the main event, DiBella walks to the back where he signs his newest fighter, Joseph "Mack" Williams, to a multiyear contract and welcomes him to his happy, dysfunctional family. DiBella is also working on signing at least one other fighter he has invited to watch tonight's fight before the night is over, but "I think he's going to make us wait," he says. With his next card coming up on Aug. 21 in Coney Island, DiBella has already shifted his focus to that event with under one month left.
"I'm always thinking about the next thing," DiBella said. "I'm a little bit of a depressive sort of guy. I'm a bit of a perfectionist. I'm my own worst enemy in that way."
For all the aggravation boxing causes DiBella as he tries to piece together matches and sign fighters, he's still the same kid who sat in front of the television as a child when he finally sits ringside for the Santa Cruz-Frampton fight. He is yelling and clapping louder than anyone around him during the fight.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhh!"
"Bombs away! These guys are throwing bombs!"
"Wow! What a round! That was one of the best rounds I've ever seen!"
As the fight goes past the 10th round, it's clear to DiBella that he is watching one of the best fights of the year. It's also clear why nights like this make it almost impossible for him to walk away from the sport anytime soon.
"I love this," DiBella says. "I'm a fan and as a fan I want to see war. This is the part of it, when I keep saying I'm going to get out, that drags me back in. Whenever I complain and then I come to a fight like this, my adrenaline is rushing; I won't be able to fall asleep tonight. There's an energy in the room for a great fight that's unlike any other sporting event."
Frampton wins the fight by majority decision and DiBella's mind is already thinking about the rematch as he walks to the news conference room, where he is asked what it feels like to promote two of the best fights this year, both in Brooklyn, within the last two months.
"It feels pretty f---ing good," DiBella says with a smile. "Pretty f---ing good."
It's just past 1 a.m. when DiBella finally leaves the arena. He ends his night the same way it began: sitting at the bar at Broccolino. The mom-and-pop Italian restaurant is staying open past its normal hours to accommodate the mom-and-pop boxing promotion and its weary owner.
"It's been a wild ride," DiBella says. "I've had a lot of downs, but I've had a lot of highs in this sport. It's a roller coaster. I don't think I have more than five years left in me at this pace. You can't live on that roller coaster forever, but I'm going to try to enjoy it for as long as I can."