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That knockout streak earned Bailey a spot with Don King's team in 1997 and gave him a chance at a welterweight title. On May 15, 1999, in front of a hometown crowd at Miami Jai-Alai, Bailey took on Carlos Gonzalez, a veteran who'd won 45 of his 48 fights and never been knocked down. In just 41 seconds, Bailey's right hand put an end to that.
His tour as welterweight champion lasted only a year, though. That's when he finally lost a bout, to Ener Julio on July 22, 2000, at the American Airlines Arena. Bailey went a full 12 rounds, only to lose via judges' decision. He picked up another title belt in February 2002, knocking out Demetrio Ceballos in a fight in Pennsylvania.
But then his career began losing momentum. Three months later, in Puerto Rico, he lost his title to Diosbelys Hurtado. Losses started piling up. Frustrated with the trend, Bailey left King's team in 2004. Then came his most disheartening defeat, on December 11 of that year in Las Vegas against rising star Miguel Cotto. In that match-up, Cotto knocked Bailey down twice, ending the battle in the sixth round. Bailey admits he'd lost his focus.
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"I didn't have a strategy going into that one," he says. "My only strategy was to try to hit him. In that fight, he was where he needed to be, and I wasn't."
Bailey's personal life was soon rocked by blows as devastating as Cotto's jabs. In July 2004, he filed for bankruptcy protection in federal court. (He withdrew the petition three months later.) In 2006, he was sued on domestic violence charges by a person named Vilson Ortiz. (A judge found no cause for the complaint, though records with further details are not available, and Bailey refuses to discuss the case.) In 2008, Elizabeth Gordon, whom he'd married in 2006, filed for divorce. Bailey also declines to discuss his failed marriage.
He didn't give up on his sport through the turmoil, but even Bailey couldn't have guessed how long it would be until he had another shot at a title. For eight years after the Cotto defeat, Bailey fought virtually anyone he could, in tiny venues across Florida — casinos, the Sheraton Hotel near Miami International Airport, even a seaside park in Key West.
"Randall has gone a lot of years on starvation wages," Stern says. "There was frustration, sure. The man has to support himself and his family, and he [wasn't] getting the fights he needs to do it."
Adds Bailey: "Trying to re-establish myself, that was hard... I look at it as I was paying my dues to boxing."
The fights weren't big, but Bailey did win them, going 15-2 post-Cotto. His financial troubles didn't disappear, though, with the victories. This past April, his landlord sued him for unpaid rent on a house in Miami Gardens and won a judge's order to evict him. Both Bailey and his agent say it was actually his younger brother, not Randall, living there and failing to pay rent. The landlord did not return calls for comment.
Either way, Bailey was desperate for his big shot. He finally got it last month, when Philadelphia's Mike Jones agreed to fight him for the vacant IBF welterweight belt, on a stage that couldn't have been bigger: the MGM Grand Casino in Vegas as the undercard to the Pacquiao-Bradley fight.
On paper, it was a mismatch. Jones is eight years Bailey's junior and hadn't been defeated or even knocked down in 26 fights. Boxing experts and sports books counted Bailey as a heavy underdog, with Jones as the 5-to-1 favorite. The only man who believed Bailey could win was Bailey.
"I don't know what everybody was saying," Bailey says of Jones. "He makes a lot of mistakes."
For the first nine rounds, Jones didn't. The two men danced around each other for almost an hour, only occasionally landing punches. Despite his speed, Jones seemed content to let the judges decide his fate. Bailey, meanwhile, waited for an opportunity to unleash his right-handed weapon.
Finally, in the tenth round, Bailey saw an opening. He threw a lightning-fast jab into Jones's face, sending him sprawling. Jones picked himself up, but a few minutes later, in the 11th round, Bailey again landed that magical right, this time a vicious uppercut. "I hit his nose, and it felt like meat coming out," Bailey told ESPN after the fight.
Jones fell flat, arms outstretched, eyes unfocused. He rolled over, fumbling for the ropes, but the referee waved his hands in the air. The fight was over. Bailey danced around the ring, sobbing with joy.
"It's an extraordinary journey," Ecksel says. "One punch completely changed his destiny."
A month later, the prize hasn't totally changed Bailey's life. He rents a modest place in Lauderhill and spends most days whacking a bag at Biscayne Boxing in MiMo. The victory purse was $100,000, but a solid chunk went to pay his promoters, trainer, and manager. He still works on the side, conditioning NFL players such as Detroit's Stephen Tulloch.
"I ain't into all the fame," he says.
Bailey's real hope is that his knockout of Jones isn't a late-career pinnacle but an opening to a real renaissance for the brawler. He's already got a September 8 title-defense bout lined up versus Devon Alexander, a 25-year-old with a 23-1 record, and dreams of luring Mayweather, the eight-time world champ, into the ring once he's released from jail later this year.