I come from a middle class family. I had a soft childhood. I'm white. All the odds are against me. But I think I'm a really tough son of a ***** because I have this indominatable will when I get in the ring. Doesn't matter what kinda shot you catch me with I ain't goin down, and the only time I ever touched the canvas was when I sparred Tiger Survivor Taylor (I think thats his name( a pro who fought on FNF and won via KO on an undercard bout and he caught me a 3 punch combo to the body and I took a knee. Only time I've ever touched the canvas.
I had a knife injury to my right hand when I was eighteen. I was a big boxing fan then, but I never thought I had it in me to actually pursue it. It was on my little finger, and the injury put me to where I couldn't clench it down into a fist. So, I had surgery on it, twice. Twice, they ripped open my hand and the tendon popped afterwards due to my ignorance trying to exercise it and start again too soon. These surgeries took place when I was about 19. Keep in mind, that I entered the Boxing gym, and did all the training and sparring, hiding this injury from my entire team. BecauseI didn't want my coach to tell me I couldn't box. So I'd just take my coaches **** when he'd want me to keep throwing that straight right hand, and I'd throw a hook, he'd call me hardheaded not knowing I had an injured inaccurate straight right hand. See that pinky involves something with your power line, and you cant throw an accurate straight right without that pinky clenched. My straight right was a mean mother****er and it wasn't even trained, back when I was a kid. I was a born puncher, from jumping on the trampoline alot as a little boy, I think.
But I feel a different vibe these days. About a month ago, I walked into Earl K. Long hospital, which is a charity hospital around here, and waiting 22 and a half hours to be seen. I spent this time reading a novel by Bert Sugar titled "Bert Sugar on Boxing", reading about Dempsey, and then Louis, and other great fighters I already knew about, but didn't really know about. I found out about Slapsie Maxie Rosenbloom and how his difficult style provoked Louis to duck him. Long story short, they ripped open my right from pinky to wrist and put a plastic tube inside it, so the tendon they will graph from my calf, 3 months from now, will have no glide problems. It took 55 stitches. It looks really ****ing ugly, I'll have to show you guys a digi pic of my hand. It makes me cringe to look down at this ten inch scab on my hand that is really a very deep healing cut, knowing it's going to be torn open again in only two months time. It makes me cringe, but my love for the sport, and not wanting to grow old knowing my jab is already of professional caliber, makes me think about the big picture.
This is some deep, crazy ****. But when I was looking at the nurse taking those stitches out, and looking down at my hand, I just realized that the only way I am going to ever get defeated after going through all of this hell and pain to get my right hand fixed, is to die in the ring. I feel real sorry for whoever I go up against, because they are going to have a man in front of him willing to die for glory. I'm not kidding in the slightest.
You know, I'm a Heavyweight, and history doesn't look good for whiteboys in the Heavyweight divison. I know this. Well, white americans, I mean. Cooney, got punked, Morrison, got punked, Savarese, got punked. I mean, they all end up getting punked, but that ain't gonna be me. I made this decision deep inside that I ain't even in it for the money. I just want to make my city famous and be remembered. I want to fight on HBO, so badly, even if it means takin a beating that lessens you to get a win. Cuz at that level, you gonna take some shots.
Then again sometimes I think maybe it was a mistake walking into that gym in the first place. Cuz if I hadn't schooled that '05 SA Amateur HW Champ Keenan Hickman the first time I ever sparred with the jab a little movement without takina single blow to the head, I mean this guys hooks were coming inches from my chin from my small defensive movements. After that my coach pulled me to him and said 'Boy your style aint built for amateur. You could be makin big money in six month. You hit harder than any of them boys on the low pro level you just need to be managed right etc.'
and the ride home on that day felt better than anythin I ever felt in my life. I can't imagine how great it would feel to travel somewhere, win a professional bout without taking much damage, see the sights and ****, and ride the **** out blaring some good music into my own victorious sunset.
You know, some people think ***** is the best thing in the world, but it isn't.
***** is great, really. It is. So is money. But neither of those pleasures last. Victory means glory, and glory lasts forever.
I had a knife injury to my right hand when I was eighteen. I was a big boxing fan then, but I never thought I had it in me to actually pursue it. It was on my little finger, and the injury put me to where I couldn't clench it down into a fist. So, I had surgery on it, twice. Twice, they ripped open my hand and the tendon popped afterwards due to my ignorance trying to exercise it and start again too soon. These surgeries took place when I was about 19. Keep in mind, that I entered the Boxing gym, and did all the training and sparring, hiding this injury from my entire team. BecauseI didn't want my coach to tell me I couldn't box. So I'd just take my coaches **** when he'd want me to keep throwing that straight right hand, and I'd throw a hook, he'd call me hardheaded not knowing I had an injured inaccurate straight right hand. See that pinky involves something with your power line, and you cant throw an accurate straight right without that pinky clenched. My straight right was a mean mother****er and it wasn't even trained, back when I was a kid. I was a born puncher, from jumping on the trampoline alot as a little boy, I think.
But I feel a different vibe these days. About a month ago, I walked into Earl K. Long hospital, which is a charity hospital around here, and waiting 22 and a half hours to be seen. I spent this time reading a novel by Bert Sugar titled "Bert Sugar on Boxing", reading about Dempsey, and then Louis, and other great fighters I already knew about, but didn't really know about. I found out about Slapsie Maxie Rosenbloom and how his difficult style provoked Louis to duck him. Long story short, they ripped open my right from pinky to wrist and put a plastic tube inside it, so the tendon they will graph from my calf, 3 months from now, will have no glide problems. It took 55 stitches. It looks really ****ing ugly, I'll have to show you guys a digi pic of my hand. It makes me cringe to look down at this ten inch scab on my hand that is really a very deep healing cut, knowing it's going to be torn open again in only two months time. It makes me cringe, but my love for the sport, and not wanting to grow old knowing my jab is already of professional caliber, makes me think about the big picture.
This is some deep, crazy ****. But when I was looking at the nurse taking those stitches out, and looking down at my hand, I just realized that the only way I am going to ever get defeated after going through all of this hell and pain to get my right hand fixed, is to die in the ring. I feel real sorry for whoever I go up against, because they are going to have a man in front of him willing to die for glory. I'm not kidding in the slightest.
You know, I'm a Heavyweight, and history doesn't look good for whiteboys in the Heavyweight divison. I know this. Well, white americans, I mean. Cooney, got punked, Morrison, got punked, Savarese, got punked. I mean, they all end up getting punked, but that ain't gonna be me. I made this decision deep inside that I ain't even in it for the money. I just want to make my city famous and be remembered. I want to fight on HBO, so badly, even if it means takin a beating that lessens you to get a win. Cuz at that level, you gonna take some shots.
Then again sometimes I think maybe it was a mistake walking into that gym in the first place. Cuz if I hadn't schooled that '05 SA Amateur HW Champ Keenan Hickman the first time I ever sparred with the jab a little movement without takina single blow to the head, I mean this guys hooks were coming inches from my chin from my small defensive movements. After that my coach pulled me to him and said 'Boy your style aint built for amateur. You could be makin big money in six month. You hit harder than any of them boys on the low pro level you just need to be managed right etc.'
and the ride home on that day felt better than anythin I ever felt in my life. I can't imagine how great it would feel to travel somewhere, win a professional bout without taking much damage, see the sights and ****, and ride the **** out blaring some good music into my own victorious sunset.
You know, some people think ***** is the best thing in the world, but it isn't.
***** is great, really. It is. So is money. But neither of those pleasures last. Victory means glory, and glory lasts forever.
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