US tennis legend John McEnroe expressed his concern on Friday that organised crime, such as the Russian mafia, could be infiltrating tennis.
The former world number one believes that threats to tennis players or their families could be forcing them into throwing matches. "The thing that worries me is that mafia types, like the Russian mafia, could be involved. That's potentially pretty dark and scary," McEnroe told The Daily Telegraph. "I think that's the side that people aren't really looking at with these match-fixing stories. Someone may have threatened the players, and they are put in a situation. I'm guessing that could happen. That would make more sense to me than top players throwing a match for money.
"Throwing a match for money would be stupid, as you would be risking losing what you've worked for your whole life. It seems crazy that players would take that risk for money. It would make more sense that they've been threatened in some way and that's why they're doing it."
Russian Nikolay Davydenko, the world number four, is being investigated by the ATP after a defeat in Poland in August while Italian Alessio di Mauro was suspended for nine months for betting on matches and Philipp Kohlschreiber has had to defend himself of accusations of match-fixing in the German press.
"With a high-ranked guy like Davydenko, he's making so much money to begin with that he'd be risking so much by doing it, as if you get caught you should be banned for life," McEnroe said. "But it's pretty tough to prove that someone has thrown a match unless you're tapping the guy's phone or something."
But some of the lower-ranked players in men's tennis could be tempted by bribe money, McEnroe said.
"I think this issue has to be closely looked at, because it's very conceivable that it's happening. There are guys out there who are 100 in the world, 200 in the world, and they're making 50,000 pounds a year.
"And if someone says that they'll give you 50,000 pounds, so your entire year's money, I think there's a strong possibility that they have taken the money, without a doubt," McEnroe said.
"There is definitely temptation for people. It's becoming more of a drama because there's more money in sports."
Monday, December 10, 2007
Mafia Princess Finds God
I was a mafia princess. I know—it sounds like something straight out of The Sopranos, dangerous and exciting. The truth is much less glamorous, and I don't look back on any of it with relish. In fact, I'd prefer to keep those now-unpleasant memories safely locked away, out of sight and mind. But God's voice whispers, Good can still come from the past, Barbara, if you'll just release it. So I trust and obey.
What's wrong with me?
I grew up with a father who was a chronic alcoholic and all the chaos that accompanies that addiction. Even more painful, I was sexually abused from the age of 7 until I was 12 years old. Because abuse and dysfunction became a part of my life at such an early age, I equated them with normalcy and love. As a young adult, I sought this kind of love wherever I could find it.
In 1980 I was 20 years old and working as a cocktail waitress in a seedy nightclub in Texas. I was attractive, intelligent, and capable of doing much more with my life. But with only a high school education and a lifetime of diminished self-worth, I figured it was the best I could hope for.
I liked not having to think through each day. If I didn't think, I didn't need to wrestle with the morality of my behavior—which, I reasoned, was a natural consequence of my messed-up childhood. The things I indulged in—promiscuity, alcohol, drugs—dependably silenced questions that had nagged me for years: Why can't somebody really love me? What's wrong with me that I can't seem to ever do the right thing? My destructive behaviors were like a cooing mother, soothing my troubles away: "There, there, everything's going to be just fine." That peace, unfortunately, was counterfeit and my need for it grew insatiable.
Meeting "Papa"
Not long after I started my job, a strikingly charismatic man came into the nightclub. He had a boxer's physique, a nose that looked to have been broken multiple times, olive skin, silver hair and beard, and piercing, slate-blue eyes.
"That's Papa," one of the girls whispered. "He's the owner."
"Papa" turned out to be Antonio Palermo (not his real name), a street-smart Italian from New York City. Papa didn't try to look tough; he was tough. He was the quintessential Mafia ideal—he dressed smartly, drove a late-model Cadillac, wore expensive jewelry, threw money around, and most of all, commanded respect.
Mafia members have subliminal ways of exuding their clout. Like a predator, they use a potent blend of machismo, ego, and a palpable lack of fear. They trace invisible lines around themselves that no one had better cross, unless invited. I was. Tony pursued me and wooed me, and I naively believed that it was love.
Tony made me feel, for the first time in my life, there was somebody strong enough to keep the monsters that had consistently haunted me at bay. "No man will ever hurt you again," he'd assure me. Desperate to believe, I eventually married him.
Pampered and privileged
Tony owned adult bookstores and arcades. Daily a white van, driven by a quietly menacing guy named Dave, would pull up to our condo with the day's take. Bags of money were counted—spoils from needy consumers dependent upon the many forms of sexual depravity the bookstores provided. I didn't let myself think about how those stores could be hurting other people—husbands, fathers, sons. What mattered was that for the first time in my life, I had all the money I wanted. I was certain I'd found the answer to all my problems.
All that money allowed Tony and I to live an extravagant—and sometimes self-destructive—lifestyle. One day he introduced me to a friend whose influence I spent agonizing years trying to escape—cocaine. I call the drug Tony's friend, but really, it was his Lord. He cowered to it in a way he never submitted to anyone else. Discovering cocaine sealed my former commitment to substance abuse, and now I had all the funds I needed to feed my habit.
Tony and I took exotic vacations and rarely ate at home. In fact, as in any good mobster story, there was a typical Italian restaurant where we dined several times a week. The owners were Italian immigrants filled with their homeland's deference for La Cosa Nostra (the Mafia). It didn't matter what time of day or night we came in, they were always eager to serve, with a table available. We were privileged and pampered to a disgusting degree.
No Marlon Brando
Deep down I knew Tony was capable of doing unspeakable things, yet somehow I separated the doting husband from the cold deviant. I deluded myself into believing that all the stories of Mob brutality and killings were just myth, telling myself that Tony was like Marlon Brando in The Godfather, a loveable patriarch whose cruel acts were ultimately just. That brand of justice, however, can only be reconciled by ignoring God's command to leave vengeance in His hands. By refusing to face this truth, I drifted further and further away from the God I had learned about as a child.
Faithfulness and honesty are not Mafia ethics, so it shouldn't have surprised me that Tony had affairs. To his peers, monogamy would have been viewed not as a virtue, but a weakness. According to the Italian Old-World influence, wives are highly regarded and usually isolated. But girlfriends, it's understood, are an important mark of gangster virility. Still, I was hurt every time I knew he'd been with another woman.
"B.J.," he'd say with his most charming smile, "you know I can't be with just you, but I do love only you."
I tried to convince myself that frequent champagne lunches with the girls, frenetic shopping sprees, exorbitant gifts from my husband, and other consolation prizes, were enough. They weren't. I wanted and needed love, not accoutrements. I'd thought I'd found that with Tony; realizing I'd been mistaken was a bitter pill to swallow.
The last straw
The more I pressured Tony to become the faithful husband, the more he pulled away. Finally I gave him an ultimatum—me, or those other girls. I was certain if forced to make a choice, he would pick me. But I was deluded.
"Please Tony," I begged, "Can't we try to make it work?"
There are two things that neither Tony nor his type could ever stomach—vulnerability and humility. My pleading proved to be the last straw in our troubled relationship.
I'll never forget that day and the look in Tony's eyes when he told me it would never, could never work. It was the first time I'd seen that steely coldness, always directed toward others, trained on me. It seemed as if he'd turned off a switch inside, then walked away without a shred of remorse.
For Tony, divorce was a far lesser evil than monogamy. He couldn't have a "broad" telling him what to do, especially one that wasn't even Italian.
We kept in touch for a few years after separating. In retrospect, I think it was just so he could keep an eye on me. He most likely suspected that the FBI might come calling—and they did. Though I didn't know anything to tell them, Tony adhered to the old adage: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
After the divorce I continued to stumble through life, growing wearier and wearier, making a concerted effort to kill the person I hated inside of me with whatever chemicals I could get my hands on. Although I had, in my childhood, known Jesus, I felt we'd turned our backs on each other long ago.
Embraced by the Father
Five years after my divorce, I met someone very special—my present husband, Joe Cueto. Despite the countless mistakes I'd made, I knew instantly he was the man God always had intended for me to marry. But while he satisfied the deep need for genuine love I'd always sought from a man, a void still remained deep inside me.
Then, in January 1991, my mother invited me to go on a church retreat. That entire weekend I felt as though God was welcoming me with the tender embrace of an adoring Father. Every meal served was my favorite dish. Even Mother teasingly remarked, "Well, it seems like God is trying to make this extra special for you." One night there was a healing service, and Christ mended a throbbing toe I'd injured. Even more amazing, however, He healed my wounded spirit. When I joyfully accepted His offer to come into my life, I knew I was finally home!
Step by step, through painful rehabilitation, Jesus delivered me from all my addictions. Slowly I came to understand that the deep psychological wounds of my childhood had caused me to become numb. The methods I used to shield myself from the pain—drugs, alcohol, and even my life with Tony—had only increased it. But God loved and didn't forget that hurt little girl; He saved me from myself. Though I deserve to be His slave forever, He made me His Princess.
When God first compelled me to share my story, some well-meaning loved ones—knowing the Mob's reputation for guarding its privacy—asked if I feared for my life. The answer is a resounding no. I was dead before, but God graciously, miraculously, brought me back to life. Now I know I need never fear death again.
Thanks to Barbara Cueto
What's wrong with me?
I grew up with a father who was a chronic alcoholic and all the chaos that accompanies that addiction. Even more painful, I was sexually abused from the age of 7 until I was 12 years old. Because abuse and dysfunction became a part of my life at such an early age, I equated them with normalcy and love. As a young adult, I sought this kind of love wherever I could find it.
In 1980 I was 20 years old and working as a cocktail waitress in a seedy nightclub in Texas. I was attractive, intelligent, and capable of doing much more with my life. But with only a high school education and a lifetime of diminished self-worth, I figured it was the best I could hope for.
I liked not having to think through each day. If I didn't think, I didn't need to wrestle with the morality of my behavior—which, I reasoned, was a natural consequence of my messed-up childhood. The things I indulged in—promiscuity, alcohol, drugs—dependably silenced questions that had nagged me for years: Why can't somebody really love me? What's wrong with me that I can't seem to ever do the right thing? My destructive behaviors were like a cooing mother, soothing my troubles away: "There, there, everything's going to be just fine." That peace, unfortunately, was counterfeit and my need for it grew insatiable.
Meeting "Papa"
Not long after I started my job, a strikingly charismatic man came into the nightclub. He had a boxer's physique, a nose that looked to have been broken multiple times, olive skin, silver hair and beard, and piercing, slate-blue eyes.
"That's Papa," one of the girls whispered. "He's the owner."
"Papa" turned out to be Antonio Palermo (not his real name), a street-smart Italian from New York City. Papa didn't try to look tough; he was tough. He was the quintessential Mafia ideal—he dressed smartly, drove a late-model Cadillac, wore expensive jewelry, threw money around, and most of all, commanded respect.
Mafia members have subliminal ways of exuding their clout. Like a predator, they use a potent blend of machismo, ego, and a palpable lack of fear. They trace invisible lines around themselves that no one had better cross, unless invited. I was. Tony pursued me and wooed me, and I naively believed that it was love.
Tony made me feel, for the first time in my life, there was somebody strong enough to keep the monsters that had consistently haunted me at bay. "No man will ever hurt you again," he'd assure me. Desperate to believe, I eventually married him.
Pampered and privileged
Tony owned adult bookstores and arcades. Daily a white van, driven by a quietly menacing guy named Dave, would pull up to our condo with the day's take. Bags of money were counted—spoils from needy consumers dependent upon the many forms of sexual depravity the bookstores provided. I didn't let myself think about how those stores could be hurting other people—husbands, fathers, sons. What mattered was that for the first time in my life, I had all the money I wanted. I was certain I'd found the answer to all my problems.
All that money allowed Tony and I to live an extravagant—and sometimes self-destructive—lifestyle. One day he introduced me to a friend whose influence I spent agonizing years trying to escape—cocaine. I call the drug Tony's friend, but really, it was his Lord. He cowered to it in a way he never submitted to anyone else. Discovering cocaine sealed my former commitment to substance abuse, and now I had all the funds I needed to feed my habit.
Tony and I took exotic vacations and rarely ate at home. In fact, as in any good mobster story, there was a typical Italian restaurant where we dined several times a week. The owners were Italian immigrants filled with their homeland's deference for La Cosa Nostra (the Mafia). It didn't matter what time of day or night we came in, they were always eager to serve, with a table available. We were privileged and pampered to a disgusting degree.
No Marlon Brando
Deep down I knew Tony was capable of doing unspeakable things, yet somehow I separated the doting husband from the cold deviant. I deluded myself into believing that all the stories of Mob brutality and killings were just myth, telling myself that Tony was like Marlon Brando in The Godfather, a loveable patriarch whose cruel acts were ultimately just. That brand of justice, however, can only be reconciled by ignoring God's command to leave vengeance in His hands. By refusing to face this truth, I drifted further and further away from the God I had learned about as a child.
Faithfulness and honesty are not Mafia ethics, so it shouldn't have surprised me that Tony had affairs. To his peers, monogamy would have been viewed not as a virtue, but a weakness. According to the Italian Old-World influence, wives are highly regarded and usually isolated. But girlfriends, it's understood, are an important mark of gangster virility. Still, I was hurt every time I knew he'd been with another woman.
"B.J.," he'd say with his most charming smile, "you know I can't be with just you, but I do love only you."
I tried to convince myself that frequent champagne lunches with the girls, frenetic shopping sprees, exorbitant gifts from my husband, and other consolation prizes, were enough. They weren't. I wanted and needed love, not accoutrements. I'd thought I'd found that with Tony; realizing I'd been mistaken was a bitter pill to swallow.
The last straw
The more I pressured Tony to become the faithful husband, the more he pulled away. Finally I gave him an ultimatum—me, or those other girls. I was certain if forced to make a choice, he would pick me. But I was deluded.
"Please Tony," I begged, "Can't we try to make it work?"
There are two things that neither Tony nor his type could ever stomach—vulnerability and humility. My pleading proved to be the last straw in our troubled relationship.
I'll never forget that day and the look in Tony's eyes when he told me it would never, could never work. It was the first time I'd seen that steely coldness, always directed toward others, trained on me. It seemed as if he'd turned off a switch inside, then walked away without a shred of remorse.
For Tony, divorce was a far lesser evil than monogamy. He couldn't have a "broad" telling him what to do, especially one that wasn't even Italian.
We kept in touch for a few years after separating. In retrospect, I think it was just so he could keep an eye on me. He most likely suspected that the FBI might come calling—and they did. Though I didn't know anything to tell them, Tony adhered to the old adage: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
After the divorce I continued to stumble through life, growing wearier and wearier, making a concerted effort to kill the person I hated inside of me with whatever chemicals I could get my hands on. Although I had, in my childhood, known Jesus, I felt we'd turned our backs on each other long ago.
Embraced by the Father
Five years after my divorce, I met someone very special—my present husband, Joe Cueto. Despite the countless mistakes I'd made, I knew instantly he was the man God always had intended for me to marry. But while he satisfied the deep need for genuine love I'd always sought from a man, a void still remained deep inside me.
Then, in January 1991, my mother invited me to go on a church retreat. That entire weekend I felt as though God was welcoming me with the tender embrace of an adoring Father. Every meal served was my favorite dish. Even Mother teasingly remarked, "Well, it seems like God is trying to make this extra special for you." One night there was a healing service, and Christ mended a throbbing toe I'd injured. Even more amazing, however, He healed my wounded spirit. When I joyfully accepted His offer to come into my life, I knew I was finally home!
Step by step, through painful rehabilitation, Jesus delivered me from all my addictions. Slowly I came to understand that the deep psychological wounds of my childhood had caused me to become numb. The methods I used to shield myself from the pain—drugs, alcohol, and even my life with Tony—had only increased it. But God loved and didn't forget that hurt little girl; He saved me from myself. Though I deserve to be His slave forever, He made me His Princess.
When God first compelled me to share my story, some well-meaning loved ones—knowing the Mob's reputation for guarding its privacy—asked if I feared for my life. The answer is a resounding no. I was dead before, but God graciously, miraculously, brought me back to life. Now I know I need never fear death again.
Thanks to Barbara Cueto
Friday, December 07, 2007
Last of Gotti's Capos To Marry
One way or another, his life as a free man is nearly over.
Reputed Gambino capo George DeCicco, 78, and his longtime girlfriend, Gail Lombardozzi, 52, yesterday got a marriage license - a year after feds indicted the high-powered capo, who had successfully ducked prosecution for decades.
A federal judge allowed the gray-haired mobster - who is under house arrest pending his racketeering and loan-sharking trial - to leave his home for a few hours yesterday so he and Lombardozzi could take a ride over to Staten Island Borough Hall to get the license.
DeCicco has a particular claim to fame as the last of the known capos for "Dapper Don" John Gotti not to be either put behind bars or planted under a tombstone.
A man of few words, DeCicco shrugged off a reporter who asked if he was happy about his pending nuptials.
"Come on, of course," he said. "I have a bad heart, and she's not doing too well. She takes care a me, I take care a her, we take care a each other," he said matter-of-factly.
DeCicco chose his words more carefully last year when he threatened a loan-shark victim who wasn't paying him, the feds say.
"I'll burn your eyes out, did you ever screw me? Do you want me to burn your eyes out?" he said, according to audiotapes made by the feds.
DeCicco's reputation on the street was so brutal that a simple repairman who botched some phone work for the elderly gangster was afraid to be seen on Bath Avenue in Brooklyn for fear of running into the mobster, said Assistant US Attorney Taryn Merkl at a bail hearing earlier this year.
"He's convinced that Mr. DeCicco is going to kill him when he does a shoddy job on the repair," Merkl said. But yesterday, the mobster played the good groom as his blushing bride-to-be smiled widely. "When you get through the bad times, you know you can get through anything," she bubbled. "We're thrilled."
Yesterday was a much-needed happy occasion for DeCicco, whose 56-year-old son was shot three times in the arm by a man in a ski mask during a botched rubout on Bath Avenue last June, and who watched his once-fearsome Bensonhurst crew crumble after an insider flipped and agreed to wear a wire - recording hundreds of conversations over a year.
DeCicco's nephew Frank was also a victim of mob violence when he was blown up in 1986 as retribution for helping Gotti assassinate Paul Castellano at Sparks Steakhouse a year earlier.
DeCicco is facing a slew of charges, including racketeering, loan-sharking, extortion and money-laundering. He's under house arrest after offering a $3 million bond.
Thanks to Lorena Mongelli and Stefanie Cohen
Reputed Gambino capo George DeCicco, 78, and his longtime girlfriend, Gail Lombardozzi, 52, yesterday got a marriage license - a year after feds indicted the high-powered capo, who had successfully ducked prosecution for decades.
A federal judge allowed the gray-haired mobster - who is under house arrest pending his racketeering and loan-sharking trial - to leave his home for a few hours yesterday so he and Lombardozzi could take a ride over to Staten Island Borough Hall to get the license.
DeCicco has a particular claim to fame as the last of the known capos for "Dapper Don" John Gotti not to be either put behind bars or planted under a tombstone.
A man of few words, DeCicco shrugged off a reporter who asked if he was happy about his pending nuptials.
"Come on, of course," he said. "I have a bad heart, and she's not doing too well. She takes care a me, I take care a her, we take care a each other," he said matter-of-factly.
DeCicco chose his words more carefully last year when he threatened a loan-shark victim who wasn't paying him, the feds say.
"I'll burn your eyes out, did you ever screw me? Do you want me to burn your eyes out?" he said, according to audiotapes made by the feds.
DeCicco's reputation on the street was so brutal that a simple repairman who botched some phone work for the elderly gangster was afraid to be seen on Bath Avenue in Brooklyn for fear of running into the mobster, said Assistant US Attorney Taryn Merkl at a bail hearing earlier this year.
"He's convinced that Mr. DeCicco is going to kill him when he does a shoddy job on the repair," Merkl said. But yesterday, the mobster played the good groom as his blushing bride-to-be smiled widely. "When you get through the bad times, you know you can get through anything," she bubbled. "We're thrilled."
Yesterday was a much-needed happy occasion for DeCicco, whose 56-year-old son was shot three times in the arm by a man in a ski mask during a botched rubout on Bath Avenue last June, and who watched his once-fearsome Bensonhurst crew crumble after an insider flipped and agreed to wear a wire - recording hundreds of conversations over a year.
DeCicco's nephew Frank was also a victim of mob violence when he was blown up in 1986 as retribution for helping Gotti assassinate Paul Castellano at Sparks Steakhouse a year earlier.
DeCicco is facing a slew of charges, including racketeering, loan-sharking, extortion and money-laundering. He's under house arrest after offering a $3 million bond.
Thanks to Lorena Mongelli and Stefanie Cohen
Lin DeVecchio to Return to Court?
Former G-man Lindley DeVecchio may return to court as a defense witness for Colombo crime boss Alphonse (Allie Boy) Persico, the Daily News has learned.
DeVecchio, 67, was cleared last month of orchestrating four gangland murders with informer Gregory Scarpa after a key witness was snared in a web of lies.
Defense lawyer Sarita Kedia wants to call the retired agent as an organized crime expert Monday to testify about the bloody Colombo war of the early 1990s. Scarpa was aligned with Colombo boss Carmine (The Snake) Persico - Allie Boy's father - against a rival faction.
Alphonse Persico is charged with ordering the 1999 murder of underboss William (Wild Bill) Cutolo as payback for backing the other faction.
In a letter to prosecutors, Kedia said she will question DeVecchio about "the identities, positions and affiliations of certain individuals involved in the war."
It's unclear if prosecutors will try to keep DeVecchio off the stand. "If he's subpoenaed and the government permits him to testify, he will testify truthfully," DeVecchio's lawyer Douglas Grover said.
Thanks to John Marzulli
DeVecchio, 67, was cleared last month of orchestrating four gangland murders with informer Gregory Scarpa after a key witness was snared in a web of lies.
Defense lawyer Sarita Kedia wants to call the retired agent as an organized crime expert Monday to testify about the bloody Colombo war of the early 1990s. Scarpa was aligned with Colombo boss Carmine (The Snake) Persico - Allie Boy's father - against a rival faction.
Alphonse Persico is charged with ordering the 1999 murder of underboss William (Wild Bill) Cutolo as payback for backing the other faction.
In a letter to prosecutors, Kedia said she will question DeVecchio about "the identities, positions and affiliations of certain individuals involved in the war."
It's unclear if prosecutors will try to keep DeVecchio off the stand. "If he's subpoenaed and the government permits him to testify, he will testify truthfully," DeVecchio's lawyer Douglas Grover said.
Thanks to John Marzulli
Gangster Bronx Tale On Broadway
"A BRONX TALE":
Chazz Palminteri stars in his 1993 one-man show of growing up in The Bronx when The Bronx was The Bronx, and having to choose between hoodlum gangster and bus-driver father.
Walter Kerr Theatre,
219 W. 48th St.
(212) 239-6200.
Closes Feb. 10.
Chazz Palminteri stars in his 1993 one-man show of growing up in The Bronx when The Bronx was The Bronx, and having to choose between hoodlum gangster and bus-driver father.
Walter Kerr Theatre,
219 W. 48th St.
(212) 239-6200.
Closes Feb. 10.
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