By Dave Palumbo
It was 1991. He was the lone-wolf, alpha male, with the thick Boston accent who unabashedly taunted the Venice Gold’s Gym contingency of elite amateur bodybuilders; California's 
best new crop of talent that included the seemingly invincible Flex Wheeler. He let them all know that he was there to stay–like it or not–and he had every intention to "kick all their asses" en route to winning the grandest amateur title in the world, the Mr. USA. Yes, a young Mike Matarazzo arrived at the Mecca of bodybuilding in sunny California several months prior to the 1991 NPC USA Championships. He came to train with “the best” and to show “the best” that he could more than hang with them... that he could beat down the whole slew of them, singlehandedly. And he did! But that's the kinda guy Mike was–tough as nails; afraid of no one. And he told it like he saw it. Love him or hate him; you couldn't help but respect the heck out of the guy. He trained with an East Coast mentality–free weights; heavy as you could hoist; with ferocious intensity. Rx Muscle's Chris Aceto remembers when the freaky Bostonian first arrived in Venice, "Matarazzo was ‘blue collar muscle’ before the term was even invented."
Across the entire bodybuilding world, people who knew the man and experienced his warmth, his honesty and his incredible passion and enthusiasm for the sport he loved all seem to be having trouble coping with this sudden, unexpected, loss. I know, because I'm one of them. My first introduction to the Matarazzo persona came the day I visited Vinny Greco’s Powerhouse Gym on the 
outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts. As I walked into the enormous warehouse gym, the first image that caught my eye was a larger-than-life photo bolted to the wall of the hometown hero, Mattarazzo, flexing his trademark gargantuan calves; calves that looked as if Dr. Frankenstein himself had summoned them up from a Jurassic era of prehistoric creatures.
Four years later, I met the charismatic Mattarazzo for the first time at the Firehouse in Venice, California. He marched right up to me and started chatting about everything bodybuilding as if we’d known each other for years. He was fascinated by my size (I was 300+lbs at that time) and he wanted to know where I came from and when I was going to compete again. He made me feel important; that I actually mattered in the bodybuilding universe. I was elated that this enormous pro bodybuilder took time out of his day to validate me. I was ecstatic; I felt like there was nothing I couldn’t accomplish. But that’s what Mike did; he made people feel special. No jealousy, no competitiveness; he didn’t need to be the king of the bodybuilding world. He just wanted to live the lifestyle, make a comfortable living, and be happy.
While Matarazzo never won the Arnold Classic or Mr. Olympia, he did place top 5 at the prestigious Night of Champions three consecutive years running. And, in 1998, his 3rd place finish behind contest winner Ronnie Coleman and Kevin Levrone (2nd) helped catapult him to an all-time best 8th place at the '98 Mr. Olympia in New York City. Matarazzo’s final year of competition was 2001–he finished 5th at the Night of Champions and then failed to place at the Mr. Olympia contest.
I hadn’t really heard much from Mike in the years following his retirement; but then in late 2004, I received the phone call that Matarazzo had undergone triple bypass surgery. I was flabbergasted. I couldn’t fathom how a 39-year-old man in the best shape of his life could possibly have such a diseased heart. The fact that his heart health deteriorated even further over the next several years was even more tragic.
Mel Chancey met Mike Mattarazzo for the first time through mutual biker friends; but it was their shared love for bodybuilding that gave them a common ground and friendship that not many truly understood. "I lost one of my dearest friends and a true gentleman," the contemplative Chancey relates. True to his Italian roots, Mattarazzo lived life with passion—a passion for food, a passion for training, and a passion for family and friends. As Matarazzo’s health got worse, Chancey vividly remembers the advice Mike would constantly repeat to him, "Live every minute like it was your last." And that’s exactly what Mike did. He loved his wife, he loved his two young children and he loved his family that surrounded him; making the most out of what he must have realized was going to be a life cut way too short.
I remember talking to Mike on the phone back in 2011. I wanted to get him to make an appearance on the Heavy Muscle Radio show, to discuss his current state of health and his perspective on the sport of bodybuilding. But he laid it on the line about as bluntly as you can, “Dave, you know I love and respect the heck out of you, but I’m just not interested in talking about bodybuilding anymore.” And that was the last time I ever spoke to Mike Matarazzo. He was a changed man. It was as if his entire reason for being had been taken away from him. He no longer possessed the passion or the zeal for living. His energized being was slowly dissipating in direct relation to his degenerating health.
According to Ironman columnist Lonnie Teper, “The news of Matarazzo’s passing on Saturday, August 16th, didn't surprise me since I knew he was rushed to Stanford Medical Center with hopes, I believe, of receiving a heart transplant.” While Matarazzo came off as a tough-as-nails hard-ass who only believed in hard work, loyalty, and friendship, Jimmy “The Iron Bull” Pellechia reveals another side of the man, “Mike was very religious. Not many people knew that about him, but I did.” Well, we can only hope that it was Mike’s religious faith that helped get him through these last tough years of his life and, in the end, enabled him to reach a peaceful state of acceptance.
Hans Christian Andersen summed it up best when he said, “A human life is a story told by God.” In that light, Mike Matarazzo’s life was an incredibly compelling story of overcoming odds, believing in yourself, and becoming the best that you can possibly be. Rest peacefully Mike Matarazzo!
