George Kimball America At LargeThe soul-searching explanation of Ray Milland's character in the 1945 film The Lost Weekend must have been ringing in Paul Spadafora's ears as he sat in a Pennsylvania jail cell last Sunday: "I'm not a drinker. I'm a drunk."

Spadafora is a heavily-tattooed pugilist from the rough-and-tumble streets of a gritty Pittsburgh riverfront neighbourhood called McKees Rocks. He is unbeaten in 37 career bouts, and until recently held the International Boxing Federation lightweight title, which he resigned last summer to campaign as a light welterweight.

Although now 28, Spadafora continues to bill himself as "The Pittsburgh Kid", and attracts sellout crowds whenever he fights in that city, which he usually does. His reluctance to venture far from his backyard, coupled with a few dubious hometown decisions, had caused some observers of the fistic scene to question Spadafora's mettle, but there can be little doubt that, having endured nearly a decade in his chosen sport, he had finally come into his own as the six-figure paydays had begun to roll in.

Spadafora's upbringing wasn't exactly Ozzie-and-Harriet stuff, but on the other hand, we've known boxers who had it worse. His father died when he was 10, and his mother Annie is a bartender-cum-bouncer at a local saloon, and a fully-deputised member of her son's posse. (After one of Spadafora's early bouts, he boasted that the best punch of the evening was thrown by Annie, who decked an opponent's supporter when a post-fight melee broke out in the ring.)

Spadafora was no stranger to trouble even before The Lost Weekend: he missed out on a chance to qualify for the 1996 Olympics because he was still recovering from a bullet wound after being shot by a Pittsburgh cop chasing a vehicle in which he was a passenger, and last year he raised more than a few eyebrows when he showed up at the local jail to post bail for an associate who had been arrested for dealing crack cocaine.

Spadafora won his title in 1999 and had successfully defended it nine times, some more convincingly than others. He got a decision over Victoriano Sosa three years ago despite having been decked twice, had his hands full with journeyman Mike Griffith in a 2000 bout that was halted after 10 rounds when Griffith was cut by a head-butt, and in an HBO fight earlier this year got the nod over Angel Manfredy, although the three 115-113 scores by the judges represented the narrowest of all possible unanimous verdicts.

In his last fight, he escaped with his title intact when three judges split the verdict in his title unification bout against Leonard Dorin of Romania, the World Boxing Association champion. That fight took place at the University of Pittsburgh arena, and most ringsiders felt Dorin had won. The verdict, in any case, left the door open for a lucrative rematch tentatively slated for next spring.

Spadafora's response to the narrow escape in the Dorin fight was to fire trainer Jesse Reid. He had enlisted in the stable of famed trainer Emanual Steward, and was supposed to start sparring at Detroit's Kronk Gym next week.

Having finally achieved marquee status, Spadafora abruptly found himself with more money than he'd ever dreamed of and ample time to spend it, a lethal combination for many boxers.

His life may well have been spiralling out of control even before the events of the past few days, but consider the events comprising Spadafora's Lost Weekend: a week ago a former girlfriend named Crystal Dawn Conner obtained a restraining order against Spadafora, claiming the boxer had attacked and threatened to shoot her.

Then, on Friday, his boxing future became clouded when word filtered back from Bucharest that Dorin had failed to make the weight for his scheduled Saturday night defence against Miguel Callist. When Dorin lost his title on the scale and the entire card was scrapped, Spadafora saw a six-figure payday for the rematch go up in smoke.

Later that same day, he was arrested on charges of lewdness and public intoxication after a Pittsburgh policeman apprehended him for urinating on a downtown sidewalk.

Spadafora, probably unwisely, was released on bail, but by Sunday he was back in the sneezer, this time charged with attempted homicide, aggravated assault, recklessly endangering another person and violating firearms laws after he allegedly shot and critically wounded his current girlfriend, 20-year-old Nadine Russo, who took a bullet in the chest.

Ms Russo apparently incurred the boxer's wrath when she blew out two tyres on his $50,000 SUV. (Nadine was driving because Spadafora's driving licence was suspended earlier this year for a separate, alcohol-related offence.) Although witnesses had seen the pair arguing near a McKees Rocks petrol station moments earlier, Spadafora initially attempted to blame the shooting on "two black men" who had sped away. (The constabulary initially appeared only too happy to buy this preposterous version, and actually released Spadafora, but when they recovered the weapon, a .38 calibre revolver, along with a spent shellcasing, from the Hummer, they were forced to reconsider their position and arrested him later that evening.)

In a 2002 interview, Spadafora recalled that "I went from having nothing to fighting on HBO for big money."

"That's part of the problem," said Spadafora's promoter, Mike Acri. "Once you get to Paul's level, there's not enough TV and fighters aren't busy enough. It's not like the old days. This kid went from rags to riches and all of a sudden had a lot of time on his hands."

Acri wasn't answering his phone yesterday, but a day earlier he told the boxing website Secondsout.com that Spadafora's boxing future was the last thing on his mind.

"We're just worried about him and the young girl," said the promoter.