![]() “As a boxer he was a joyous character,” says Don, “He was fun to watch, he was dynamic. The first 18 he faced of his 27-0 didn’t even reach the second round. He fought in Japan, France, Mexico, and his native Venezuela.”Īnd Valero started winning titles, and winning them mercilessly, demolishing his opponents in prize fights. “This made him something of a road warrior,” Don explains, “He could fight almost anywhere apart from the U.S. For his boxing career, this subsequently meant he couldn’t clear his medical exam, would therefore be unable to be granted a licence, and ultimately wouldn’t be allowed to fight in the United States. The problem initially curtailing him however, stemmed from a motorcycle accident he had experienced as a young man, resulting in a cerebral hemorrhage and a fractured skull. Valero won the Venezuelan amateur championship three times and the Central & South American amateur championships in 2000. “He was an interesting character,” Don tells The Sportsman, “He was never a huge name but he was an upcoming fighter who had a cult following amongst boxing fans, known for his aggressive style and dynamite punch: an all-out knockout artist.” Perhaps seeing the talent, seeing the potential, or seeing the rage in the young boy, the bike shop owner encouraged Valero to take up boxing.ĭon Stradley, author of Berserk: The Shocking Life and Death of Edwin Valero, was one of the first American journalists to write about the boxer, for the magazine, The Ring. He eventually got a job in a bicycle shop whose owner was a former boxer. At the time, Mérida reportedly had a poverty rate as high as 65%. Not yet reaching his teens, Valero would find himself homeless, a school drop-out, begging and brawling on the streets in an unforgiving city. Hours after his confession to the murder of 24-year-old Jennifer Carolina Viera, on April 19 2010, her husband, the boxer Edwin Valero, himself was dead. The man is the southpaw who kayoed 27 straight opponents inside the ring. The man informs the clerk that he has murdered his own wife. Her lifeless body is upstairs in the room the couple checked into just the day before. While the clerk frantically rings the police, the man makes himself a cup of coffee, sits down on the floor, and waits to be arrested. A 5’ 6” man from Mérida walks across the quiet, empty room. The early hours of a Sunday morning. In the lobby of the Hotel Intercontinental in Valencia, Venezuela, the night clerk is working behind the desk.
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