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Adios and Good Riddance to Tony "El Torito" Ayala Jr.
The Hard Bite by Blake Chavez, Dog House Boxing (Sept. 2, 2015)

Tony "El Torito" Ayala Jr.
OK, so Tony "El Torito" Ayala Jr. has officially been declared to have died from a heroin overdose a few months ago. Uh, perhaps that needle with heroin stuck in his arm was the tip-off that poor Tony was a junkie and he died like one. Oh, but if that wasn't enough evidence for the San Antonio citizenry, then how about the giant ball of heroin Ayala left sitting on a desk just two feet from his dead body? I'd say it was a damned slam dunk that the thug everyone in town knew in their heart was rotten to the core had indeed died of a heroin overdose and nobody needed a medical examiner to confirm that inescapable fact. But in San Antonio, everyone seemed to look the other way when any bad news settled on their hometown boy. In San Antonio most folks prefer to romanticize the urban legend of poor Tony and believe he was "set-up" and possibly even murdered.

I'm a God-fearing man, and I try to give my fellow man the benefit of the doubt. But Tony Ayala Jr. was no man. Far from it. May he rest in peace? No. He should burn in hell for all eternity. If I should happen to pass by him on the way to my own final destination, and he is on fire, and I happen to have a bottle of water, I would gladly light a cigar off of his burning eyebrows, but as for the water, he is sh!t out of luck. And here is why:

As a boxer, in 1983 Tony Ayala Jr. was ranked as the world's number one junior middleweight contender. As a human being, he was a piece of sh!t pretty much straight away from his early teen years. Little Tony would brawl at the drop of a hat, sparring with Mexican legend and welterweight champion Pipino Cuevas when Torito was just fourteen years of age. The story goes that Torito gave Cuevas all he could handle, and from that moment on all of San Antonio rushed to kiss his ass whenever possible.

So instead of basking in the glory of impending stardom, what does the mutant teen sadist do? He decides to beat the sh!t out of a young girl in the women's rest room at a drive-in theater in San Antonio. The girl was a teenager herself, and El Torito sexually brutalized her and mauled her so bad she was hospitalized in serious condition. El Torito retreated like a coward into the bosom of a protective San Antonio legal system and had his financial backers--hoping to cash in on future championship purses-- pressure and pay-off the victim's family for nearly $50k. El Rapist loved the system and learned it well. He waltzed around town with money in his pockets, with a perpetual hard-on, and zero fear of the police or prosecutors. And by all accounts, El Rapist had no remorse for his crimes. Zero. Zip. Nada. El Rapist exhibited all the classic signs of a sociopathic psychopath.

In reality, The Little Bull was really no more than a big fat bully. He seemed to know that in his sick heart of hearts, because he was constantly trying to escape reality via alcohol and any drugs he can get his fat little fingers on. He preferred heroin, as it was the drug of choice among those in his circle. He got ten years probation and, we understand, a very stern reprimand from the judge. I'd love to give that judge a reprimand of my own, as he should be ashamed of himself. I guess sick jurists are easy to find in San Antonio. In any case, sick Tony-Baloney didn't learn his lesson. Not long after his hand was slapped, El Rapist attempted to rape a hotel clerk in Indiana. His family and connections paid his way out of that jam as well, and we can only assume his probation officer gave him another stern warning. My Gosh, poor Tony getting issued all those stern warnings. I'll bet those warnings had him quaking in his boots and likely gave him thoughts of quitting crime and becoming an altar boy. He grew to get off on stern warnings.

The Baby Bully ran off an impressive streak of wins and obtained his top ranking in boxing. He was also known for being particularly cruel inside the ring and grew even more notorious when he spat on a fallen opponent. While fight fans the world over, and in San Antonio in particular, were dreaming of potential super fights involving Ayala and Duran, Hearns, and Leonard, "El Sodomizer" Ayala just yearned for more opportunities to practice his particularly depraved brand of rape.

So the ugly bully was nineteen years old and could not contain his sickness any longer. He basically said:"F*ck it. This is who I really am." And so after a night of drinking and brawling, and people kissing his warped ass, El Rapist discovers that he has no woman with him. So he stumbles to his apartment, engages in some sick sexual rituals all by his lonesome, then, smelling like sh!t, with dragon-breath that could scare a pack of hungry bulldogs off a meat truck, he goes on the prowl. Yeah, like the chicks are really lining up for this nasty, vile piece of work. He rolls over to a neighbors pad and goes all Ted Bundy on her. Let's just put it this way: for this sick werewolf nothing was sacred, nothing was off-limits. The victim was a defenseless female teacher minding her own business in her own home. El Rapist was no criminal mastermind, in fact, by all accounts he was really a dumb-ass, and so he was caught within an hour.

Elements in the police department believe he may have been preparing to engage in a twisted form of forced-breeding with another neighbor's German Shepherd before they apprehended him after his initial sadistic frenzy. I've been to San Antonio and spoken to folks who swear that El Rapist was once caught trying to get down with a friend's Amazon parrot, and was actually fitting to breed when the parrot bit a chunk out of the salami. Party over. Yes. Tony Ayala Jr. was one very sick puppy.

So Phony Tony Baloney was left to face reality and real justice in a New Jersey courtroom. The victim was not taking any pay-offs. Lock the door and throw away the key is how I remember the court's attitude as. The bum got 35 years. He cried and cried every night for six months. It is said that the hardened cons took great pleasure in "consoling" Little Tony. They love it when a grown man cries in prison, especially a convicted rapist. He lived 16 years at the bottom rung of the prison hierarchy as a sex fiend rapist. Rumor has it that once a year, for one night only, Torito was passed around like a tray of appetizers. For the rest of the year he was left alone, that was part of the truce.

Like a bad fart, Tony Ayala Jr. lingered in prison. But after 16 years of Tony crying and begging to the prison staff that he was a victim of molestation himself back when he was around ten years old, he was beginning to pull the wool over their eyes. Only The Lord knows what manner of meathead mental health professional would vouch for Phony Tony Baloney, but apparently someone did. You see, every sex fiend in prison is taught to play the victim card in order to be "understood" and have mercy and parole bestowed upon them. The prison system bought in on Tony's baloney, and they hugged him goodbye after 16 years.

In a strange coincidence, it was reported that Sick Tony would be managed in his boxing comeback by a mental health professional from the very same system that had certified that Phony Tony Baloney was now a safe bet to roam free in public. Yes, San Antonio, your favorite son was a new man. The only thing he asked for was a chance. I wonder if anyone in San Antonio or New Jersey bothered to question the obvious ethical conflict of interest of that new manager. The bizarre development seemed to be El Rapist having a built-in ally to vouch for him as problems arose, and he knew that arise they would. The manager was no doubt looking to cash in his lotto ticket should Tony Baloney prove to still have the goods.

So Tony Ayala Jr. returned to his playpen of San Antonio, and everyone wanted to believe in him and his story. Poor molested Tony. He was just trying to strike back at society to prove he was not gay. (though I believe he very well may have secretly been gay, or at the very least, bi-sexual)

The boxing world had missed him and what may have been. Was it possible El Torito still had magic in his fists? He was thirty-six years old, uglier than ever, balding, and carried a gut that would not quit. Offers of significant money were tossed around and it was rumored that Arum offered El Rapist a cool million to face Oscar De La Hoya, right out of the gate.

San Antonio was enthralled by the return of their prodigal son. Torito swore he was a changed man and ostensibly played the role of Dudley Do-Right. For all San Antonio knew, he was in the gym training furiously for his comeback and dates with destiny.

Of course the truth of the matter is that Mr. Garbage was back in the grimy alleys scoring heroin and drinking like a hog in the nightclubs. His mind and tongue were firmly in the gutter and he was looking to rape and sodomize the first vulnerable victim that fell prey to him. Sure, he played house with his ex-wife as a cover for his sickness, but love it wasn't. Not for Phony.

The media played up to El Rapist, seeing him as El Torito. You see Phony Tony Baloney had learned to be a slick conversationalist in prison. He had the righteous patter down pat. Usually his horns eventually appeared somewhere in an interview and he'd admit he just didn't give a damn if people forgive him or not. That was the real El Rapist. He just flat-out did not give a sh!t about anyone besides himself.

I visited San Antonio and spoke to Fat Pig Phony Tony Baloney myself. In fact, he picked me up at the airport as I was due to meet with Tony Sr. -- for a scheduled meeting the next day the devil himself was to attend. I listened to The Devil's crap, never buying an ounce of it. At the time, I was looking to do a book on the Ayala clan, but I just hated the dude the minute I met him. He was not very slick, but he thought he was the smartest bastard on the planet. He had a small brain, but so many people were kissing his old ass he thought he was smarter than Einstein. He had an attorney with him, and another bozo who was strictly around to fetch stuff for King Tony. I knew right away I didn't want to be around the prick at all, much less get in bed with him on a business deal. He was just too sick of an individual that I walked away and never spoke to him again.

My partner and I rented a car and met Tony Ayala Sr. at a small boxing card a couple of hundred miles away. He was a cool old dude with a beer-belly for days. He was kind of tough, but much smarter than his kids, though they never did figure that out. He had a little sense about him and a fair work ethic. Sure he ate like a pig and didn't smell too good, but what the hell, he was the patriarch of The Famous San Antonio Fighting Ayala Clan and I guess he felt like he could smell like he damned well pleased. And besides, I ate pretty damned good myself.

I could see where Daddy Ayala really didn't embrace Torito. He kept a wary eye on him, but it was kind of gnarly, like he knew his son was f*cked-up in the head but maybe, just maybe, the stupid bastard could still fight and Pops could make some money off of him to make up for all the misery and mud he'd dragged the family name through. That's the dynamic I saw.

Torito kind of looked at his Pop like, you helped create the sick monster I am, so at least play the part and I'll make sure you get your cut for putting up with my disgusting ass. That was the silent contract I witnessed. The Big Bull was gonna ride the boxing prodigy reputation of his son till the horns fell off. If they were lucky, maybe they both would get rich and could then vomit on each other every time they met at the local bank.

So Tony Baloney got ESPN to broadcast the big comeback run. Fat Tony beat up a few bums then started to believe his own press releases. He actually believed he could contend with top-rated fighters! Ha. He still had a gut, and had never in his life felt the true burn of being in deep waters, so he had no respect for the level of conditioning he'd have to get back to if he hoped to contend after 16 long years away from the hardest game in the world. He thought he could dominate the game despite being around booze, broads, and drugs, and rely on talent alone. FatBoy just didn't realize the talent had went bye-bye a long time ago. Everyone who mattered knew it but Phony Tony Baloney.

So he was a slob throwing nasty, but sloppy, left hooks all over the place and San Antonio fans were roaring like he was the second coming of Atilla The Hun. Truth be told, he was a main event club fighter at best during his comeback. After five or six fights against dead men, Phony Baloney tried to fight the Mexican veteran Yori Boy Campas. They went to war. Phony could not believe the guy wouldn't roll over and play dead like the other bums he'd ran through. The going got tough and Phony Baloney quit on his stool in front of his loving fans. The boo-birds hissed at him and taunted his cowardly ass unmercifully. He blubbered and sniffled through gallons of his own tears, branded a gutless quitter. The Bully finally got a fraction of his due.

So in December of 2000, just a little over a year after his release, and six months after getting punked by Yori Boy, the pig was lathered up again and seeking to breed in the style he most desired: prowling in unsuspecting female abodes and surprising them with sheer force and putrid lust. However this time, after he broke in and was lurking in the shadows, a young lady heard the clumsy monster and confronted him with a .357 magnum. The monster tried to smooth-talk his way closer to the victim and got blasted in the shoulder for his trouble. He laid on the ground whimpering like the little bitch that he was until the cops gaffled his tired ass up and hauled him away.

Immediately the San Antonio bleeding hearts rallied around FatBoy Tony. They speculated that the woman had invited Fat Tony over. They whispered that it all must have been a big misunderstanding. Their precious chubby little Torito had been railroaded before they swore; he could do no wrong. He should have been sent to prison for life. Instead poor misunderstood Fat Pervert Tony received probation. Probation! It was ten years of probation, but that was the 4th time FatBoy had faced charges of intent to rape, including the two undisputed victims he had admitted to terrorizing before he did the 16 year prison bid. What did the judge and prosecutor think Tony Baloney was doing uninvited in that house in the pre-dawn hours? Well, it sure wasn't to ask the home-owner if she wanted to play tiddly-winks, that much is for damned-sure! He had two things for that woman. A HD and chewing gum, and he was fresh out of chewing gum. So El Sodomizer slithered away once again.

In 2003 the pervert got ignorant... again. He was arrested to face a charge of having sex with a 13 year-old. Of course he beat the rap. Phony Tony Baloney would never be involved in such shenanigans. After all he liked heroin and sodomy rape, not young nubile teenagers. Right?

So in 2004 Tony is out cruising with some heroin and, oh, ---wait for it --pornography. What kind of smut must Ayala have had in order to get charged with that nasty offense? Let me guess, San Antonio. it was just a Playboy magazine, right? I've been told he was getting himself primed to stage another home invasion rape attack and that he was bragging about it saying to the cops they were lucky they pulled him over because he was ready to go on a rampage of sodomy. So he gets another ten years. Not twenty or thirty, just ten, because he is, after all, our little Tony, right? The freak gets the lenient sentence of doing his time as a janitor in a private facility not far from home. I wonder if he also got a really, really, stiff reprimand from the judge that time around? Let's hope not, we wouldn't have wanted little Tony's itty-bitty feelings to have been hurt.

So after a pleasant decade back home in prison with all the men he could ever hope to be close to, Fatter Tony again gains parole and is immediately back haunting the streets talking about a comeback whilst deep into his old heroin and pornography habits.

One day they find rotten Tony at his gym. He is in terrific condition: dead.

I saw the news and looked at my daughter across the breakfast table and I said a prayer of thanks.

The world is a much safer place without a sick predator like Tony Ayala Jr. skulking around. We boxing fans all have wives or girlfriends, or significant others that we cherish. We also have daughters and sisters and mothers and grandmothers to go along with our aunts and female cousins. So, to speak ill of the dead is one thing, -- I take no joy in that -- but to set the record straight is quite another.

Blake Chavez answers all of his emails: