“When you wake up and the first thing on your mind is suicide, and before you go to bed, the last thing on your mind is suicide, it’s a problem,” Johnny Greaves says almost as casually as he is dressed. Coming straight from a day’s work painting and decorating under the scorching sun, the 46-year-old former professional boxer arrives in Soho Square Gardens in his work uniform – white vest, white shorts, flip flops and a flick of white paint splattered on the top of his left ear. His warmth and candour are immediate, despite his story being beset with darkness and abuse.
“I come from a broken family. I didn’t have a lot in life. All I had was being tough,” Greaves says. “I just wanted to prove that I was a tough lad. It’s the only thing I had in my life, all the way from being a little boy, I was always fucking tough.”
Greaves more than proved his toughness throughout his fighting career and his new autobiography, Bright Lights and Dark Corners, lays bare his journey from a violent childhood in east London to reaching 100 professional bouts – including nine against future world champions. Greaves reveals his struggles with depression and how he turned to drink and drugs to cope with his demons and the painful life of a journeyman boxer.
Greaves’ record stands at just four wins and 96 losses. Even when he was the more skilled fighter, Greaves went into fights not looking to win, but to help a young prospect earn a routine victory on their way up the rankings – and earn enough money to support his young family.
“Sometimes getting a win can, financially, be an absolute fucking nightmare. I got a first-round knockout win in my [11th] fight, then the five jobs I had lined up in the coming weeks went belly up,” he explains.
Being an away fighter comes with its difficulties. “The uneducated will look at a record and think he’s fucking useless,” Greaves says. “When you get so much abuse and every other person says you’re useless and crap, you start to believe it.”
Greaves spent his career getting into his opponents’ heads and winding up loyal home crowds with taunts, whistles and Ali shuffles. Yet, the flashy performance was not able to protect him from the sense of worthlessness that compounded with every loss and jeer. “I was always downbeat and depressed,” he explains. “‘Johnny Greaves’ was a made-up persona. In front of those crowds, I would put on a show. It was completely different to what my natural ‘John’ was.”
As a way of blocking out the noise, both internal and external, Greaves used alcohol and cocaine – funded by his career. The turning point came when, as he details in his autobiography, he decided to “tape the bags of coke to my bollocks” ahead of a flight to Dublin to take on Oisin Fagan – fighting the Irishman on a cocktail of drugs and alcohol. “It’s a ridiculous thing to do,” Greaves says. “I was down in my hotel room. I see it as a bit of a weekend away. Stupidly, I take the risk. It was stupid. I’m not proud.”
Despite that, Greaves produced one of his stronger performances and it shifted his approach. “Once I got through that, then you feel that you can get through a lot more. That opened up more risk taking,” he says. “By the time I got to about 70 to 85 fights, my body was suffering. I had quite a few broken ribs. My nose is completely shot to bits. My teeth are knocked out. My body had had enough of picking up injuries. I was sore, but I just had to keep pushing, pushing, pushing to get to that 100.”
Fuelled by his determination to reach 100 fights, Greaves was undeterred by the damage he was taking in the ring. As is the case with journeymen fighters, Greaves admits, “some of the other lads take far too much punishment, but then again, something’s got to kill you.”
Greaves’ battles with mental health were getting the better of him and he entered the ring knowing and hoping that it could kill him. “It’s a stupid thing to say. I realise that and it would have been to boxing’s detriment to have another boxer die in the ring,” he explains. “But, at the time, I felt it would have been perfect for me. I wouldn’t have been deemed a coward. I would have got the end result I wanted. That was driving me to take more liberties, in terms of drinking, drugs and my diet.”
Greaves kept fighting and at York Hall on 29 September 2013, he entered the ring for the 100th and final time against Dan Carr. Other than his children being born, Greaves labels his victory over Carr as the best moment of his life. “My friends and family all singing and chanting my name, it was fucking brilliant,” he smiles. “With the life I led, from my upbringing to the way I looked after myself, to get to 100 is nothing short of miraculous. I’m extremely proud of it, and no one is ever going to be able to take that away.”
Leaving boxing behind removed some of Greaves’ usual routine and spending freedom. He explains that boxing acted as a vehicle to afford more drink and drugs, but he says: “I do look after myself a lot more now. I haven’t got the finances to abuse myself in the manner I did.
“I’ve still got a few demons. I’m a grafter. I’ll get up first thing, as soon as I get paid, my money’s on the side. The kids, the cat and the dog and the tortoise, they’re all fed and looked after. I still drink a bit too much, but I’ve got other issues that I’ve managed to clear up.”
Writing the book has been one of the best ways in which Greaves has cleared his mind. He compares it to therapy, with “so much stuff in there that got dragged up. It really, really lightened quite a load.”
The book begins with Greaves, seven years on from his final fight, on a cliff edge and on the verge of taking his own life. “I was so close,” he says. “I think that’s when [his partner] Vicky realised how much I was going through. It was fucking horrendous. If I would have been a bit braver that night, I would have killed myself.”
Was that difficult to talk about? “It was, but I’m glad I did. I think a lot of family members and friends have been quite surprised and shocked,” he replies. Greaves’ book details his consistent concerns with how others, even those closest to him, perceived him.
“I had to talk about things like that, to be honest. People might have seen me as standoffish years ago. It wasn’t that,” he says. “I didn’t have a lot of belief in myself and I just felt low. I had zero confidence in myself. Most of the time, I just wanted to fucking crawl away and die.”
How did his friends and family react to the book? “They were a little bit upset, especially the missus. I think there’s a lot that shocked her. The way I went through boxing, spending nights away from home where she thought I was tucked up in bed, when in fact I’d be propped up at the bar.
“It’s not been easy for Vicky with my moods, my depression and my low self-esteem. She’s really struggled with it. I must have been an absolute nightmare to live with. But, now I’ve told her, we’re dealing with it.”
Greaves is hopeful that one day his two children will read his story, and come to understand him a little more clearly. “When that time comes, I quite look forward to seeing what they think, having that chat and being a bit open about it,” he says. “It ain’t going to be easy for them to read. Wouldn’t have been nice for me to read that about my father.”
Greaves has matured and he believes his younger, boxing persona would not have considered sharing his mental struggles so openly. “I would have been surprised,” he says. “I probably would have told myself, stop being such a fucking div.”
Yet, he is no longer ‘Johnny Greaves’. The former boxer reiterates how proud he is of his career and just wants to be remembered as a hard worker who did all he could to provide for Vicky and his children. He knows that there are still challenges to overcome, but there is new hope in Greaves’ friendly demeanour.
“I still struggle a bit, but I’m just a completely different person now,” he smiles. “I have had 100 fights and I’m very proud of that. I have got a little bit more belief in myself. I can look at myself in the mirror a little bit easier.”
