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| The Birth of a Boxing Nut I am a huge boxing fan. This may be because I come from a family of boxing fans. I still remember my first exposure to the fight game. There was invariably a televised match going on during Saturday afternoon get togethers and the men in my family would go off into a back room and watch the fight. I remember wanting to be a part of this group, this inner circle of men who talked of masculine things like boxing and football. I remember animated debates regarding the Muhammad Ali-Leon Spinks rematch, Roberto Duran's dominance in the sport, and the nostalgic reverence of past fighters like Sugar Ray Robinson and Willie Pep. |
| The primary catalyst for all this interest, however, occurred when I was browsing through a Walgreen's store. Mom was off purchasing whatever household items we needed, and I, the tag along came upon the magazine section. And there I saw "IT". No, "it" was not a girly magazine...It was an issue of the now defunct "International Boxing". On the cover was a picture of Sugar Ray Leonard and Roberto Duran, face to face, staring each other down. Leonard was the Golden Boy of the late 70s and early 80s. A can't miss superstar who was fast, flashy and fan friendly. Duran, on the other hand, looked and acted like a Latin Charles Manson. His face was perpetually locked in a dismissive sneer. He never smiled and seemed impervious to pain. My family was also into horse racing. So, one Saturday afternoon I was in the car returning home from the tracks with my dad, uncle Fritz, and my grandfather. The topic soon turned to the upcoming Sugar Ray Leonard-Roberto Duran match. My dad said "Duran is a killer. Sugar Ray doesn't know what he's gotten himself into. My uncle Fritz responded. "You might be right. But, what's this...Sugar Ray is fast..." To all of this my grandfather responded "It's going to be a good fight." I'm paraphrasing their conversation but it was a debate that sounded like the fate of the free world was at risk. This boxing match had all of the elements of a great movie; drama, action, unpredictability and a good versus evil story line. Anyway, I bought the magazine and read it cover to cover then back again numerous times. I was hooked. So from the ages of 9 to 14, I would save my allowance (how "Leave it to Beaver" is that?) and use it to purchase the monthly boxing magazine. Saturday afternoons were spent watching the great fighters of the 1980s duke it out. I'd have to take a break from hanging out with my pals and say "The fight is on" when a boxing match was to be televised on Saturday afternoons. And my friends were occupied with other things like movies or Atari (the Playstation of the 80s for those of you still wet behind the ears.) I, on the other hand, was waiting for Bobby Chacon to take on Cornelius Boza Edwards. I watched Matthew Saad Muhammad and Yaqui Lopez wage an incredible war. I saw the precision of Alexis Arguello and marvelled how he made something so violent look so elegant. Ironically, some educational good came out of this obsession. Reading about the sport constantly, I was exposed to great sportswriters such as A.J. Liebling, Jimmy Cannon and more modern greats like Bert Randolph Sugar and Steve Farhood. I was the only fifth grader who could tell you what was going on in war torn countries like Nicaragua and Uganda. And it wasn't because I was reading the newswire. It was because Alexis Arguello was from Nicaragua and Cornelius Boza Edwards was from Uganda. I read and learned their stories. I learned about the countries they came from through their profiles and stories on television and the magazines. Domestically, I learned about the goings on in places like Detroit, Philadelphia and the Bronx from the fighters I watched and read about. Then, and you know this was coming, I tried my own hand at boxing. I was fifteen. Skinny as hell but I could punch. After countless hours of training I honed my punches to a respectable level of prowess. I specialized in a ramrod left jab followed by a head snapping right cross. I patterned my fighting style after Thomas "Hit Man" Hearns. He had a similar build to me, long arms and skinny, but able to generate tremendous leverage. My trainer was named Jimmy Simmons. He was a former fighter himself and was a blues promoter and fight manager. Way back in the day he had business dealings with Joe Louis. He also promoted music legend B.B. King. I was his pride and joy in the gym. He introduced me to everyone as his "protege". He would tell me I was "the hardest punching little man I ever had." I trained at the now closed Pittman's Gym in West Oakland. I sparred with a fringe lightweight contender named Manny Hernandez and an ESPN regular named Eric "The Prince" Martin. These experienced pros would not remember the thin teenager meekly pawing at them during these sessions. But, to me, they were experiences that would be etched in my mind forever. Through these training sessions I learned discipline. I learned that if you wanted to be good at something you had to work harder than the guy next to you. I learned that in order to learn a craft it was okay to make mistakes. I learned that the more mistakes I made, the better I became as I would correct the mistakes until I was able to do certain moves flawlessly. I also learned that it was okay to be afraid to fight someone. That it was completely okay to be scared to death. And, that sometimes, whatever you're afraid of is not as bad as you think it is. I think of my trainer a lot. I assume that he is dead now as the memories I am writing about happened almost twenty years ago. But his teachings and his belief in my potential is something I will never forget. He believed in me. We had a heart to heart one time and he told me of his belief that I could become a world's champion. Admittedly, I did not believe him. Eventually, I tapered off going to the gym once I started going to college until I faded out of the scene completely. I loved boxing but it was always a hard sport for me to compete in. I had to hate my opponent in order for me to really start unleashing some punches. I really needed a reason to try and injure someone. In order to compete, I had to do a psych job on myself. I was only aggressive when agressed upon. And in boxing, that leaves you one step behind. But my trainer insisted I had all the tools. And he was right to a certain degree. Physically, I could hold my own with anyone in my weight class. Mentally, at that young season of my life, I wasn't prepared for the rigors of the sport. I never became a world champion like he envisioned. But I've gone on to do other things. I hope I've become someone he could be proud of. He played a tremendous role in molding me and I hope he knew that. |
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| One of my all time favorite fighters, Matthew Saad Muhammad, on the receiving end of a left jab. Ouch. |
| Thomas "Hitman" Hearns |
| Michael Dokes vs. Mike Weaver II-an underrated classic. |