Soft-Spoken Reilly Delivers Hard Blows

For those who think all boxers derive their greatest pleasure from pummeling an opponent’s face into an erupting hemoglobin volcano, meet Pepe Reilly, a lad who seems a mite sweet for the sweet science.

Reilly’s brown eyes are softer than a well-worn speed bag. His voice is softer still. He spends his spare time grooving to the reggae strains of Bob Marley and the Wailers. Art fascinates him; he would rather draw than draw blood.

Color him Pepe the paradox, because the lanky, 5-foot-11, 119-pound Hoover High senior who arrived in Las Vegas last weekend for the Amateur Boxing Federation Region XIV Championships was an animal. Reilly, 18, scored technical knockouts over Nevada’s Saul Avelar in the second round, and Dino Camberos of San Diego in the third.

With the victories, he advances to the national championships, which begin Feb. 25 in Colorado Springs, Colo., and will fight for a berth on the USA-ABF team.

The performances even surprised Region XIV Coach Joe Rodriguez, who had not met Reilly before. He thought the high school student looked too bookish for the fight game.

“Of the six guys that we put in the ring, he was the one I expected the least from,” Rodriguez said. “He took me off guard. He doesn’t look that awesome with his clothes on. He’s scholarly looking. One would never suspect the tiger that’s under there.”

Now, Rodriguez is a believer. He said Reilly, who is of Mexican and Irish descent, bears a resemblance to Paul Gonzalez, a gold medalist in the 1984 Olympics. Reilly and Gonzalez have sparred, and both, at one time, have been coached by Al Stanke.

“He has to be taken as a serious contender for the national championship,” Rodriguez said. “He has to be given, at worst, an outside shot.”

Each of his fights in Las Vegas ended after Reilly landed his favorite punch: a crushing left hook to the body. Power is a recent addition to his arsenal. When he fought at 106 pounds two years ago, he made up for his lack of strength with elusive footwork and a piston-like jab. The quickest kid you never saw.

“I used to be a pure boxer,” he said. “Now, I’m a boxer-puncher. If you run too much, other guys won’t have respect for you. You’ve got to get respect right off the bat.”

A swing of a Louisville Slugger approximates the impact of a shot to the ribs by Reilly.

Ask poor Francis Vivish.

As the French national amateur champion, Vivish, 20, was planning to turn professional. A huge coming-out party was planned, highlighted by a final amateur bout in Tahiti. The fight, sponsored by Budweiser, was to be televised and broadcast on national Tahitian radio. But there was one unfortunate glitch--Vivish was scheduled to fight Reilly.

Fans didn’t give the American much of a chance.

“This guy was a really big star over there. Everyone on the island knew him,” Reilly said. “I met people and told them who I was going to fight and they felt sorry for me.”

From the outset, however, it was bon voyage, Francis. “I was beating him, and more and more people started cheering for me,” said Reilly, who won a unanimous decision. “After the fight, most of the crowd was with me. It was supposed to be a celebration for him. I kind of took it from him.”

The two have become friends since their tangle in Tahiti. Vivish, now in Los Angeles, recently came to root on Reilly during a fight in Azusa.

These days, Reilly has to balance his boxing with schoolwork. He plans to attend Glendale College next year while training for the 1992 Olympics. There was a time when he fought every weekend, making his overall record somewhat unclear. Reilly estimates it at 200-20.

Two of those fights took place against Michael Carbajal of Phoenix, the 106-pound silver medalist in Seoul. Reilly lost two decisions to Carbajal, one of which came in the Olympic Trials.

“He was young,” Carbajal said. “He had some good boxing ability but he wasn’t too strong. I think he has the style to make the ’92 team if he sticks with it.”

He also has an attitude to match his classy style.

“I really have no enemies anywhere,” Reilly said. “I try to keep everyone’s respect. I know it’s a sport and after the fight, we can be friends again.”

Pepe’s low-key nature is offset by that of his father, Fred (Felini) Reilly, who is more driven than an Avis Rent-A-Car. Fred, often decked in Olympic-type sweats, coaches his son and handles the fund-raising end of the operation, which allows Pepe to fight on the road.

“I’m almost like a fanatic,” Fred said. “I do my research. I know from the gold (medal) backwards.”

And his son’s path to the gold might mean walking forward--over white-hot coals. As part of his training regimen this spring, Fred plans to enroll Pepe in an inspirational seminar in San Diego that culminates with a fire walk.

Pepe, frankly, has yet to warm to the prospect.

“I’ll try it,” he said, cracking a smile. “I’m not excited about it, but I’ll try it.”

Explained Fred: “I plan to have the mind, body and spirit come together.”

At the national championships, Pepe plans to take the competition apart.