Counterpuncher in the Fight Game : Boxing: Promoter Broudy earns enough respect to land a deal with Pond of Anaheim.

Big day for Peter Broudy. Obviously.

You could tell by the socks.

He was wearing a pair.

If you know Broudy, that doesn’t happen very often. It takes a special occasion, and what happened Wednesday morning in a conference room at The Pond in Anaheim definitely qualified.

Professional boxing is coming to The Pond on Feb. 4 and Broudy, a promoter on the rise, is the man delivering it.

Others tried. Pond officials say they were courted by “almost every major promoter in boxing.” They chose to work with Broudy, a former Las Vegas pool boy who looks more like an aging rock musician than he does a businessman.

Broudy’s light brown hair is shoulder length, parted down the middle and fluffed in front like Woody Woodpecker’s. He was decked out--relatively speaking--for Wednesday’s promotional gathering, in a gray jacket and slacks, a charcoal silk shirt, black slip-on shoes and, of course, those telltale socks.

Among the three-piece suits and stuffed shirts of the business world, Broudy, a 45-year-old bachelor, usually stands out like a flaming orange tie--which, by the way, he would never wear. (The tie. The flaming orange, maybe.)

Sometimes you can tell a book by its cover.

Sometimes not.

Broudy, the president of Hollywood-based Celebrity Boxing, apparently doesn’t need to dress up to do business. In the past few weeks the Van Nuys High and Cal State Northridge graduate has scored two significant coups.

Last month, he signed a deal to hold monthly boxing shows at the Warner Center Marriott throughout 1995. About the same time, he was completing contract negotiations with executives from The Pond.

“Although his external appearance might be a bit, uh, unique, inside beats the heart of a true boxing professional,” said John Nicoletti, a Pond spokesman who sat in on the negotiations. “In the few weeks we’ve known Peter Broudy, he has been a model of professionalism.”

Boxers, fight managers, even members of the State Athletic Commission, boxing’s governing body in California, also have positive things to say about Broudy, the shows he promotes and his business practices.

“My reputation is everything to me,” Broudy said. “In the long run, that is what will make us or break us. Me wearing a tie and socks isn’t going to improve the quality of my shows.”

Broudy’s workday typically begins at sunrise and ends an hour or so before midnight. Rarely does he leave his second-story Sunset Boulevard office, which is encircled by photographs of celebrities at ringside.

Near his desk is a binder with promotional fliers from each of his boxing shows. Broudy in years past has promoted fights under the auspices of almost a dozen business names, including South of the Border Boxing and Iguana Boxing.

He has had several business partners. They put up the money, they name the business.

You have heard of the Who’s Who books? Broudy’s binder is like a Where’s There of boxing. Venues for his shows include a card casino in Huntington Park, a gang-infested city park in East Los Angeles, a high-desert Indian reservation and a Palm Springs polo club where fight fans sit on grass in lounge chairs.

Celebrity Boxing, which was incorporated last year, is Broudy’s pride and joy. His business partner, Dino DaVinci, is a former amateur boxer from Rhode Island whose goal in life is to own the Boston Celtics.

Seriously.

Broudy describes DaVinci as “a boxing purist.” Himself? “I don’t even watch much boxing on TV,” he said.

Despite their differences, they claim a common goal: to change the complexion of boxing’s crooked face.

Broudy and DaVinci would like the alphabet soup of world boxing associations streamlined to a recognizable few. One of their business ventures is to create an almanac that will include the name and fight record of every active boxer. Still in the process of gathering names, their staff already is at 30,000-plus and counting.

Another project is the opening of a 20,000-square-foot boxing gymnasium in East L.A.

And then there are the shows, which take priority.

Broudy prides himself on organizing evenly matched, entertaining shows, while denouncing cards that feature one-sided fights with little drama.

Honest matchmaking, he claims, isn’t easy.

“Every fight manager wants their guy to win,” Broudy said. “I’ve never had a fight manager call me and say, ‘Listen, I want a real tough fight for my kid.’ Everybody wants a pushover. That’s the hardest thing about this business.”

Broudy is every bit the self-taught businessman. The last time he punched a clock he was fresh out of college, working as a pool boy for one of Las Vegas’ swankiest hotel and casinos.

“Best job I ever had,” he said. “Only job I ever had.”

Broudy, a baseball and football player as a teen-ager, graduated from Van Nuys High in 1967. From there, he attended Valley College, San Diego State and finished up his last semester at Northridge.

“I went to college for my parents,” he said. “When I graduated, I sent them my diploma and said, ‘There, I’ve done my time. I’m outta here.’ ”

Asked what he studied, Broudy replied, “Absolutely nothing.” He took all of his classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays and never went to school both days in the same week. His off hours were spent at pool halls or the race track.

“I was a kid of the ‘60s,” Broudy said. “I did whatever rebellious kids do. I’ll leave it at that.”

Broudy managed to earn a degree by choosing his major, political science, carefully. “I didn’t take classes where there were right or wrong answers,” he said. “I could write, so I took classes where opinion counted for a lot.”

A hustler then, a hustler now.

Broudy entered the boxing business almost on a lark, after bumping into Dan Goossen, an old friend, at a Raider-Steeler playoff game on New Year’s Day, 1984.

Goossen, now vice president of rival Top Rank Boxing, knew Broudy as a fellow L.A. Kings season-ticket holder in the late 1970s. Goossen was in the telemarketing business. Broudy was a partner in what Goossen knew as a profitable women’s apparel company.

Curious when Goossen mentioned he was starting a family boxing business, Broudy showed up the next afternoon at the “Ten Goose Gym”--a makeshift structure built on a vacant lot in a North Hollywood cul-de-sac.

Broudy walked in on negotiations to sign Walter Sims, a decent middleweight prospect. The Goossens needed $2,000 to buy Sims’ contract.

Done deal, Broudy said.

In fact, he was broke. Goossen was unaware that Broudy’s clothing business, a big success for a time, had gone belly-up.

“I didn’t have two dimes to rub together,” Broudy recalled. “At 4:30 that afternoon I was saying, ‘No problem. No problem.’ I was supposed to meet Dan at the Athletic Commission office in L.A. the next day at 10, and I didn’t have the slightest idea where I was going to get the money.”

He spent the night tracking down friends and borrowing money. “If somebody asked what I needed it for I just said forget it,” Broudy said. “You can’t borrow money to buy the contract of a young fighter.”

Broudy rounded up the money, then early the next morning went to an all-night grocery store to convert the borrowed loot into 20 crisp one hundred dollar bills.

All the better to make a good impression. He was in the boxing business.

Broudy’s partnership with Goossen lasted a little more than three years before he struck out on his own.

Since then, he has been an anonymous player on the club boxing circuit, patching together enough shows to make what he guardedly describes as “a decent living” while staking claim to a good reputation.

In so many ways he has much in common with the boxers he promotes. They all are trying to make their way up through the ranks.

Suddenly, Broudy appears poised to become a heavyweight in the sport. His contract with The Pond is evidence of that.

“It’s a huge step for him,” said Carlos Palomino, an athletic commissioner and former WBC welterweight champion. “It could take him into the big leagues, into the Bob Arum and Don King category.”