This is an excerpt from the book “Blood & Hate: The Untold Story of Marvin Hagler’s Battle for Glory” by Dave Wedge, a former Herald reporter. The book, about Brockton’s “Marvelous” Marvin Hagler, has just been released.

By Dave Wedge

As Marvin, Goody, Pat, and Robbie Sims hugged in celebration in the center of the Wembley ring, a riot crashed around them.

“It was only the third round,” said Boston Globe reporter Leigh Montville, who covered the fight and sat next to Herald writer George Kimball. “All these skinhead guys, they still had eighteen beers left and they just started throwing them. The shit was just coming out of the sky. Fights were breaking out all around the arena.”

Marvin, Goody, and Pat felt hard objects smash into their backs and heads. Minter’s fans fired beer bottles and cans toward the ring, shouting epithets and threats.

Debris hit the ring as Robbie and the Petronelli brothers encircled Marvin, shielding him from the projectiles flying toward them. They protected Marvin while covering their own heads in terror as panic and bedlam took over the packed arena. People sitting ringside flipped their chairs over and held them over their heads to shield themselves from the bombardment from the upper level.

Bob Arum, Howard Cosell, and promoter Rip Valenti dove for cover under the ring together. British police officers — the bobbies — stormed the ring, surrounded Marvin, and hustled him and the Petronelli brothers out of the arena under their cover. Marvin’s family and entourage followed, ducking for cover as they fled for safety.

One rioter looked Marvin’s wife, Bertha, in the eye and sneered: “I hope your husband gets cancer.”

Bertha ran on in shock, tugging Marvin’s mother Ida Mae behind her. Ida Mae heard it too. She had lived through Newark but this was different.

“You could just see the look on her face,” Bertha remembers of Ida Mae. “We had never been in a place before where they hated him. But he was Black and he whupped London’s champion over there.”

The terrified women were whisked out of the riot by cops and Marvin’s entourage as bottles and debris continued to rain down.

Montville, Kimball, and Brockton Enterprise writer Frank Stoddard shielded their heads with their typewriters. Normally, the writers would watch the fight until the end and bang out their stories on typewriters ringside before sending them back to their news desks. But that night, the typewriters were shields. They were under attack.

Vito Antuofermo sat next to them. He had been hired by Italian TV to provide color commentary for the fight. He grabbed Montville’s arm.

“Follow me,” he said.

As Antuofermo led the journalists toward the exit, a rioter smashed a beer bottle over the back of the fighter’s head, apparently unaware of who he was.

“Vito turned around and whacked him. Right in the mouth,” Montville said. “The guy went down like a sack of (expletive).”

In his book Four Kings, Kimball said the right cross to the hooligan’s face “may have been the best punch Antuofermo ever threw.”

A bottle sailed through the air and struck BBC announcer Harry Carpenter on the head.

“There is chaos here, absolute chaos. I’m smothered in beer and so are all my colleagues around me,” Carpenter said. He called the scene “a shame and a disgrace to British boxing.”

John Merian Sr., a close friend of Marvin’s from Brockton, fled his ringside seat and ran toward the tunnel with the rest of the entourage.

“My father was fearing for his life,” his son, John Merian Jr., said. “They didn’t know what to expect. This was a mob.”

Later, Merian Sr. told his son: “I didn’t know if we were going to get out of there alive.”

As Marvin and his entourage fled Wembley, Alan walked in defeat to his corner, unscathed from the bottles and chaos. He stood shrouded in a blood-soaked towel, facing the reality that he had just lost his title. He was treated by a ringside doctor, largely ignoring the violence unfolding around him. He exited the ring and hoisted his glove in the air. The crowd cheered.

Alan’s brother, Mick Minter, was sitting ringside with his parents when the chaos erupted. He took a bottle off the head.

“It was madness,” he said. “I felt sorry for Hagler. It took his glory away.”

The Minters hustled back to Alan’s dressing room. Chaos continued inside the arena and escalated out on the streets.

“We were all in shock really,” Mick Minter said. “Alan was in shock. He commented that Hagler was powerful and that he had done his best.”

The Minters composed themselves in the safety of the locker room, as Alan absorbed the loss and doctors tended to his wounds. His cuts required fifteen stitches. He later underwent plastic surgery to repair the deep facial wounds.

Meanwhile, Marvin was rushed into a secure dressing area where he was met by Howard Cosell. The announcer had previously refused to call Marvin by his nickname, Marvelous. Approaching Cosell in the locker room, Marvin looked at him and said, “Let’s go with Marvelous tonight.”

In the post-fight interview, Marvin was calm and composed, despite the

mayhem he had just escaped. He was all-business as he reveled in his victory.

“I was the best I’ve ever been tonight,” he said. “I wanted to put him out cold. That’s what I wanted. I thank god the referee stopped the fight because the man couldn’t see and I was taking advantage of that.”

He added: “This fight will go down as one of the greatest fights in middleweight history.”

Rioting, fires, and chaos raged outside the arena. Cops bashed rioters with billy clubs as hooligans smashed windows and threw trash barrels.

Cosell’s limo was flipped over. Bertha, Marvin, Ida Mae, Robbie, Goody, and Pat piled into an awaiting car. The vehicle’s windshield was smashed.

“(Expletive) drive man!” Pat yelled.

The mob started rocking their limo. Some shouted: “They robbed him!”

“It was very scary,” Bertha said. “They started shaking the car. We were just trying to get out of there. We were just trying to get our behinds in the car and get back to our hotel.”

The vehicle was escorted by police from the arena and back toward the Bailey Hotel. The new champion, his family, and team piled out of the limo and scurried into the hotel under heavy police cover. Once safely inside, they were finally free to celebrate at the hotel bar, albeit with an air of solemnity, given the violence that had just unfolded.

Robbie and sparring partner Danny Snyder unfurled an American flag and the group broke into an impromptu rendition of “God Bless America.” Wainwright poured tequila and made good on a bet with Bertha to allow her to shave his head if Marvin won the title. Bertha took the straight-edge razor to the attorney’s head right there in the hotel bar. It was a new look for Wainwright and one that he would keep for the rest of his life.

Marvin smoked a fat cigar with Goody and Pat and hugged Bertha and Ida Mae. The violence around Wembley died down as Marvin and his entourage partied into the early morning. They went to Heathrow airport the next morning and flew home.

“We’re never coming back to this place again,” Pat said to Marvin.

Marvin never fought in England again.

While the term “viral” did not yet exist, photos of Marvin being shielded by Goody and Pat, Marvin’s name emblazoned on their backs, went global via newswires. Instead of being focused on Marvelous Marvin Hagler finally winning the world middleweight title, the next day’s newspaper headlines were about the riot. It was one of those historic sports moments captured in a single, powerful image.

The Western Daily Press in Bristol (UK) splashed “A NATIONAL DISGRACE” across its front page. Scotland’s Daily Record’s headline screamed “NIGHT OF SHAME.” The Manchester Evening News wrote: “A NATION OF BAD SPORTS.”

Back in Brockton a few days after the fight Marvin was celebrated in one of the biggest parades in the city’s history, evoking images of Rocky Marciano in the fifties. He was driven down Main Street in a convertible sedan draped with American flags and a “Marvelous Marvin Hagler” banner. Wearing a tracksuit and his trademark dark sunglasses, Marvin shook hands with kids, smiled and waved as thousands lined the streets.

It had been nearly thirty years since Rocky was celebrated in downtown Brockton. The city had renewed pride. People were excited that a new fighter represented the city. At the end of the route, Marvin stopped and spoke to the press.

“I’ve fought everybody—the speedballs, the sluggers, the runners, the short guys, the stocky guys,” he said. “Lots of times you get up in the morning and feel like crying. You do your running in the park and you keep thinking, ‘Damn, this has got to pay off.’”

“For so long, no one knew my name,” he added.