Sparks, Flames, & Fire
“A boy comes to me with a spark of interest, I feed the spark and it becomes a flame. I feed the flame and it becomes a fire. I feed the fire and it becomes a roaring blaze.”
-- Cus D’Amato; legendary boxing trainer
Several times, over the years, I’ve written that “all of life imitates the sport of boxing” on this forum. While many have responded negatively to this, I only say it with a slight bit of tongue-in-cheek. Last month marked fifty years since I fought my first amateur bout, and at least for me, most of my life has been intertwined with the sport of boxing. Indeed, the most decent group of human beings that I’ve had the pleasure of knowing have been, or are, boxers. And the majority of other individuals who I rank with that group are in love with the sport.
But today, I’m not writing about boxing per say. This isn’t an essay that belongs on the sports forum. Rather, it is about that overlap of boxing and life, but where the sport is secondary to human beings. It’s about something that happened last night, something I hope you will take the time to read ……because it’s important …..at least to me.
Two nights ago, I had a phone call. A good friend from Philly is coming up to visit in about ten days, to promote his new book. It’s the autobiography of Marvis Frazier, the son of the great heavyweight champion, Smokin’ Joe Frazier. Marvis was an outstanding fighter himself: he won national and world amateur titles, and only lost two professional fights -- to two great champions, Larry Holmes and Mike Tyson.
I’ve had the honor of knowing Marvis for a few years. He’s met my younger son and older daughter, as well. While he’s up here, we will be going to at least one gym, and hopefully three. He’ll be evaluating my boy, who will be having a couple more amateur bouts, and then turning pro.
Last night, I drove to Binghamton, and went to two gyms with my son. He does 12-15 rounds in the first one; takes a half-hour’s rest; then does another 12-15 rounds in the second gym. I particularly like the first one; it’s in the basement of a church, where they have recently started up the Redemption Boxing Club.
“There are very few new things in this world, very few. That’s why people that are young, if they’re smart, try to profit from the experience of an older guy so they won’t have to go through all the pain and suffering. But a certain amount of pain and suffer is good, because it makes a person think they’ve learned.”
-- Cus D’Amato
There were about 40 young men at the Redemption Boxing Club when we got there. There were also 5 young ladies training. Three older guys run the program; two of them are retired fighters. I’ve known one of them since the early 1970s; he made his pro debut on May 19, 1975, on I card that I fought on. The other guy had also served as a sparring partner for heavyweight champion Hasim Rahman. The three of us have worked together before in another gym, that since closed. We are comfortable enough that we take turns with different fighters, knowing that we all teach the same general set of skills …..something not always true in this type of setting. I’ve long thought that a boxing gym would make for a heck of an interesting sociological study in human nature.
I saw a young man hitting the heavy bag. He was doing okay, but making a few errors. So I asked if he minded if I showed him a few simple things to improve both his punching power, and his defense. He was happy to have me work with him.
After a few rounds on the bag, he could tell the difference. He told me that he was currently unemployed, but hoped to have a job soon; he said he wanted to know how much I would charge to train him? I said that as long as he was making the effort, I’d be pleased to work with him. After a couple more rounds, he said there was something he needed to tell me: he had recently been released from state prison for “stupid stuff.” And so he was living in a homeless shelter.
I told him about how the sport is frequently a successful social program, that helps young men get their lives on track. That I’d trained over 50 young boxers who had histories of problems at home, in school, and/or in the community. And that I’d help him set up a program, outside the gym, to improve his life. I’m glad to do that, I said, but I expect him to develop the self-discipline to make it work.
After doing a few more rounds, he said that since getting out, he’s felt angry and frustrated. He doesn’t want to be incarcerated again, but was confused why the “system” had relocated him from where he lived, to Binghamton. He said that he had just realized it was so that he would meet me, and have a chance in life.
That may sound unimportant in the grand scheme of life. But it is very important to me. It puts some responsibility on my shoulders, though he is the one that has to do the hard work. And that is one of the reasons why I say all of life imitates the sport of boxing.
= new reply since forum marked as read
It wasn't that long ago that I was the angry young man, with the good fortune to have Friend Rubin guide me. Now it's my turn to be in the other role.
(It's funny: a while back, my boy & I were riding in my vehicle. We were listening to a Neil Young CD, and the song "Old Man" was playing. My son said, "Damn, when you first heard this song, you were the young guy. Now you are the old man."
I remember Marvis. He was good but he didn't have the fire that his old man had. 
That is how the world is changed. Awesome job.
