Chief, Cook . . . and Trainer : Joe Goossen Is in the Ruelas Brothers’ Corner--Both in and Out of the Ring

Watching Joe Goossen unpack, you imagine this is what Engelbert Humperdinck’s suitcase should look like, not one belonging to the trainer for Rafael Ruelas, International Boxing Federation lightweight champion.

Out come the water pick and the tanning lotions, the hair creams, oils and gels. Out come the pressed European suits and stack of new pants, each ceremoniously stripped of their labels.

Out come his special striped pajamas, purchased in Hong Kong.

Goossen is possibly the only trainer in boxing history ever to bring his own bathroom tissue on the road.

“And proud of it,” he says as he squeezes the stuff you’re not supposed to squeeze.

At 42, Goossen has the waistline of a 20-year-old, a George Hamilton-dark tan and the mind of a frat house prankster.

The phone rings in Goossen’s Caesars Palace room.

“Oscar De La Hoya?” he says. “You want Oscar De La Hoya? Sorry, he’s in Jamaica. You want the room number? 492939992929293654.”

Click.

Maybe if Goossen looked and acted more like the trainer of two world champions, he’d get more respect.

Maybe if Goossen didn’t seem to enjoy what he does so much, people would take him more seriously.

Maybe if Goossen didn’t cook like a gourmet, or was missing a few teeth, or walked with a limp, people would not assume he merely hit the boxing lottery the day Rafael and Gabe Ruelas were dropped on his front porch.

Maybe if Goossen chased visitors away with a stick, people would not so quickly dismiss him as a pretty boy.

Or interrogate him so routinely about, well, that time.

Goossen has guided Rafael Ruelas to 43 victories, the IBF title and a million-dollar showdown against De La Hoya on Saturday at Caesars Palace, yet he has never fully escaped the blemish of Ruelas’ only professional loss.

It happened on July 30, 1991, in Reseda. Ruelas, after getting knocked down in the second round by Mauro Gutierrez, was instructed by Goossen to rest on a knee while the referee counted.

Somehow, in the confusion, Goossen’s count lagged a second behind the referee’s. While Ruelas watched his corner, prepared to rise on Goossen’s command, the referee reached 10 and the fight was over.

A national cable audience was watching.

Goossen was in the East shortly thereafter doing analysis work for a pay-per-view cable company. Upon entering the media room to interview heavyweight Riddick Bowe, Goossen began to hear the wrath.

“I walked the gantlet of every reporter there counting to 10,” Goossen says. “I took it in good stride. But by the time I got to the back of the room, I was saying ‘You dirty SOBs.’ ”

But he learned.

“One lesson I learned is how to count to 10 faster,” he says. “Now, I start at three.”

Ruelas avenged the fluke loss to Gutierrez, winning a 10-round rematch a year later, and all appeared forgiven.

“I’m sure it was tough on him, all those people coming up saying, ‘You lost the fight for him,’ ” Ruelas says. “I never held him responsible. It was a combination of errors made in that fight.”

It is often a misconception that people who seem to have everything must have had it handed to them.

Those casting Goossen in that light forget that he was one of 10 children born into a middle-class family in the San Fernando Valley, that he served a long boxing apprenticeship and that, independent of the Ruelases, he developed Michael Nunn into a world middleweight champion.

Goossen is grateful for his good fortune, but he also vowed to make up for his shortcomings by working six-day weeks.

Once he punches the clock, he leaves the fun and games at home and turns into Gen. Patton.

“I don’t know what my real worth is,” Goossen says. “I’ll let the fighters decide that. I can’t speak for myself. But I can tell you I have been blessed by God. I’ve seen guys languish in disgusting gyms, the most out-of-the-way boxing gyms, who have been excellent trainers, great motivators, great technicians, that don’t seem to make it. It’s certainly not because of a lack of skill. It takes the breaks sometimes.”

And, sometimes, twists of fate.

Goossen had two.

The first came when he was a 16-year-old, 140-pound junior at Grant High. Older brother Pat came home one day and told Joe there was a 115-pound, 15-year-old kid at North Hollywood High who could whip him in a fight.

The Goossens learned to box from their father, Al, an LAPD homicide detective who used to clear the furniture and pair off the brothers in the living room.

Al Goossen wanted his sons to be able to defend themselves and each other.

“I can’t tell you how many fights I got out of because someone heard my last name,” Joe says.

But Joe was not looking to get out of this fight.

For three days, he staked out North Hollywood High after school looking for the fair-haired boy.

He was at last directed to a boy seated in the stadium bleachers.

“I looked at him and said, ‘Man, this is going to be easy,’ ” he says. “I went up to him, extended my hand and said ‘I’m Joe Goossen and I’d like to fight you.’ And he said ‘OK.’ It was a bit unsettling. I mean, he could have passed for John Denver’s 15-year-old son--bangs, blond hair, frail, about 5-8 or 5-9.

“I said, ‘How about today?’ Then, his mom pulls up in a Dodge Valiant. He said, ‘Mom, I want you to meet Joe Goossen. He said he’d like to come over and fight me today.’

“And she said, ‘OK, what time? Let me write down the address for you.’ ”

It was about then Goossen knew he was in deep.

He arrived at the boy’s house at 5 p.m. There was a ring in the back yard, and the boy’s father, the meanest-looking man Joe had ever seen, was watering the dirt floor to keep the dust down.

For three rounds, Goossen went toe-to-toe with the kid. Joe started off all right but took the brunt of the punishment as the fight wore on.

The 15-year-old turned out to be Randy Shields, future welterweight contender.

“I got my indoctrination,” Goossen says.

Goossen had thought he wanted to be a fighter, but knew he didn’t have the stomach for it before his second amateur fight, at the Olympic Auditorium.

“At the last minute, the fight got canceled, and I was never so delirious in my life,” he says. “When the guy backed out, I was doing cartwheels.”

Instead, Goossen stayed on as Shields’ sparring partner and helped out in the corner with the fighter’s father, Sonny.

“I realized what I really enjoyed was being in the corner with Randy,” Goossen says.

He remained with Shields for 11 years.

“If my brother Pat had not given me the spark, saying Shields could beat me up, I never would have picked a fight with him, and I never would have ended up in a boxing gym,” he says. “It definitely was a twist of fate.”

The other twist came the day 12-year-old Gabriel Ruelas walked into the Goossen gym saying he wanted to box. He mentioned having a younger brother, Rafael.

Goossen tried to scare the kids off with hard work.

“I think I put undue pressure on them the first few months, in hindsight,” he says. “I put hard demands on these guys. I expected them to be in the gym six days a week.”

He was surprised that the boys not only lasted but thrived.

What developed was a bond that would transcend the usual trainer-boxer relationship.

Because the fighters’ parents were still in Mexico, Goossen became legal guardian of the Ruelases.

“Whenever we--I mean I--got in trouble at school, Joe was the one who would go,” Gabe Ruelas says. “And he’d always be on my side. Everyone else was always wrong.”

Goossen raised the Ruelases as he would his four children. Over time, there developed a trust so strong that Rafael would one day rely on Joe’s 10-count in a big fight and not the referee’s.

It is a trust so strong that when the Ruelases go to training camp and sacrifice, Goossen sacrifices too. During retreats at Big Bear, he has been known to starve himself for days to prove how much he really is in the fighters’ corner.

“It’s like he was going to fight,” Gabe says. “We always tell him, ‘Relax, we’re the ones fighting.’ ”

Goossen thinks he has to make a statement. His wife, Julie, and four children are not allowed to visit during camp.

“If I’m out drinking beer, or enjoying myself, that sets a bad example,” he says. “Then your credibility is shot when the war starts.

“I try to get right along with the fighters until the end. I try to deprive myself as much as they’re being deprived.”

The Ruelases don’t think Goossen’s personal sacrifices are necessary, but they won’t argue with the results.

Besides, Goossen makes them laugh. What other trainer can do bird calls, Johnny Carson impressions and a mean chicken fricassee?

“We’ve always believed in him,” Rafael says. “We like what we were being taught. We liked the results in the gym. We are a good team. We never saw any reason why to end it or change it.”