Two seconds.
That is all that was left on the clock when Richard Steele waved his arms, ending the 1990 superfight between Meldrick Taylor and Julio César Chávez. It was a moment that basically froze time in the Hilton Hotel in Las Vegas. If you were a boxing fan back then, you remember the scream from Lou Duva. You remember the blank stare on Taylor’s face. And you definitely remember the fury that followed.
Steele didn't just stop a fight; he sparked a debate that has lasted over thirty-five years. People called him corrupt. They called him incompetent. Some even sent death threats. But honestly? If you look at the medical reality of that night, Steele might have been the only person in that building who actually cared if Meldrick Taylor lived to see the morning.
The Night the Third Man Became the Main Event
Richard Steele wasn't some rookie looking for the spotlight. By 1990, he was already a veteran of the "Four Kings" era. He’d been the third man for Hagler vs. Hearns—arguably the greatest three rounds in history—and Leonard vs. Hagler. He was known for being a "fighters' referee." He liked to let guys work their way out of clinches. He didn't hover.
Then came "Thunder Meets Lightning."
Meldrick Taylor was a wizard. Fast, flashy, and winning. He was schooling Chávez for eleven rounds, even though his face was slowly turning into a map of purple and red. Going into the twelfth, Taylor was up on two of the three scorecards. He just had to survive three minutes.
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With about 17 seconds left, Chávez landed a monster right hand. Taylor went down. Hard.
He managed to pull himself up by the ropes at the count of six. He was standing, sure. But his eyes? They weren't in the ring. They were somewhere else. Steele asked him twice: "Are you okay?" Taylor didn't answer. He was looking at his trainer, Lou Duva, who was already climbing onto the apron—a massive distraction that probably sealed his fighter's fate.
Steele waved it off with two seconds on the clock.
The crowd went nuclear. Jim Lampley on the broadcast was stunned. It felt like a robbery. But here's the thing people forget: Taylor was urinating pure blood later that night. He had a facial fracture. He was, quite literally, breaking apart. Steele’s philosophy was simple and kind of haunting: "No fight is worth a man's life."
More Than Just One Controversial Finish
It’s easy to let the Chávez-Taylor ending define Richard Steele, but his career was massive. We're talking about 147 world title fights. No one else was doing that volume at that level.
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He was a protege of the legendary Eddie Futch. Futch told him something early on that stuck: as an African-American man in the 70s, becoming a referee was a way to bring integrity to a sport that didn't always have it.
- Pryor vs. Argüello II (1983): Steele handled the high-tension rematch with a calm that most refs would kill for.
- Hagler vs. Hearns (1985): When the "War" broke out, Steele stayed out of the way, allowing the violence to unfold naturally until the finish.
- Tyson vs. Ruddock I (1991): Another "Steele Special." He stopped it in the seventh because Ruddock was taking too much heat. Again, a riot nearly started. Again, Steele didn't blink.
He had this grace in the ring. He didn't try to be the star, which is ironic considering how much we talk about him now. He’d move like a ghost, always in position, rarely seen until he had to put his body between two men trying to kill each other.
The Marine Who Refused to Bow
Steele’s toughness didn't come from a rulebook. It came from the U.S. Marine Corps. He was a legit boxer himself, a teammate of the great Ken Norton in the Marines. He went 12-4 as a pro. He knew what a punch felt like, which is why he was so quick to stop fights when he saw that "thousand-yard stare" in a fighter's eyes.
Maybe the coolest thing about Steele isn't even in the ring. In 1999, Nelson Mandela honored him. Why? Because during the height of Apartheid, Steele flat-out refused to referee in South Africa. He wasn't going to take the payday if it meant validating a system of oppression.
That takes a specific kind of backbone. It’s the same backbone that allowed him to walk through a lobby of screaming fans after the Taylor fight without doubting himself for a second.
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Life After the Bell
When you retire from refereeing, most guys just fade away. Not Steele. He’s 82 now, but he’s still in the thick of it in North Las Vegas. He opened the Richard Steele Boxing Club, which isn't just about hitting bags.
It’s a safe haven. He’s spent the last two decades pulling kids out of gangs and putting them into the gym. He doesn't care if they become world champions. He cares if they graduate high school. He’s got tutoring programs and job placement help right there next to the ring.
It's sort of poetic. The man who was accused of "ruining" Meldrick Taylor's career has spent the rest of his life trying to save the lives of kids who don't have many other options.
What We Can Learn From the Richard Steele Approach
If you’re a boxing fan or just someone interested in how tough decisions are made, Steele’s career offers a few real takeaways:
- Safety Over Optics: In any high-stakes environment, it’s easy to make the popular choice. Steele made the safe one. Even if the clock says two seconds, a brain injury can happen in one.
- Stick to Your Internal Compass: Steele has been booed in almost every major arena in Vegas. He never changed his style. He knew his job was the fighter’s health, not the promoter’s bottom line.
- The Impact of Mentorship: He constantly credits Eddie Futch and the Marines for his discipline. Finding a "north star" early in a career changes everything.
- Legacy is Multi-Dimensional: You can be a Hall of Fame official (he was inducted into the IBHOF in 2014) and still be most proud of the kids you helped outside the ring.
If you want to understand the true weight of his decisions, go back and watch the post-fight interview from March 17, 1990. While the world was screaming, Steele was calm. He knew what he saw. He saw a young man who had given everything, and he decided that "everything" was enough.
To dig deeper into the technical side of his refereeing, you should look up the Nevada State Athletic Commission's old refereeing guidelines from the 90s. It’s fascinating to see how his "protect the fighter" stance eventually became the standard for modern officiating. You might also want to watch the 1994 rematch between Chávez and Taylor—it proves that Steele was right about Taylor never being the same after that first war.