PGPD

After last weeks talk on this units essay requirement, I am realising that the level at which I feel immersed in my boxing training and research, is making it very difficult to identify the line between studying the sport from a fine-art perspective and studying as a participant. My training continues, with talk of competitive bouts on a very close horizon, and this has stepped up the seriousness of my involvement at this point in time.
I mentioned in the talk that I was thinking of writing about certain aspects of boxing, namely the paradoxical intimacy involved in the ring, and possibly to start to define womens role in boxing. While these issues provide plenty of meat for a body of work, they concern themselves with the phenominon of boxing. What I now realise is that I need to concentrate on boxings relationship with visual culture, to see as an artist.
This has left me a little unsettled as, having waded through a plethora of books on boxing philosophy, psychology and collections of photo representations from the boxing arena, I feel anything I would like to say or show, has been said and shown.
But I also feel that my question amid all this, is, Can the act of boxing be viewed as an artform in itself? Once this question is asked, a list starts to develop that cites many examples of parallels between the act of organised pugilism and those of performance art, painting, installation, dance, ballet……
With this in mind, I am beginning to amass enough “meat” to press-on. I’m not sure I will be able to prove boxings worth as an art form, but I truly believe that seen against other examples of artworks and within those contexts, that enough exists to qualify this argument.

Brothers in arms

Me with K, Hinge and Bracket.

Fight Night

As I sit at the computer to write up this event, I am absorbing the news of the tragic death of a truly great and young fighter, Diego “Chico” Corrales, who crashed his motorcycle at high speed near Las Vegas at the weekend. His talents never illustrated better than in his 2005 bout against Jose Luis Castillo, which he won and is considered one of the greatest fights ever by many.

I turned up to work at the venue just as the 2 boxing rings had been set up and the floors were being swept in anticipation of the crowds arriving imminently. The moment I walked into the building (a labyrinth of huge railway-arches under London Bridge Station), I felt I was playing a part in something special. Not that this evening of boxing ranked particularly high in the mighty world of all things pugilistic, but as my introduction to live, competitive bouts, with its blood, sweat and tears, roaring crowds and my first insights into the “backstage” flavours of the before and after for the fighters themselves. I had turned up accompanied by Del and Rodney and one of the fighters of the night, “Val” (not his real name). Val was here for his second fight and had been being trained by Del and Rodney, who were to be his “seconds”, or corner-men for the night. Vals bout was one I wanted to see as I rated him as a boxer from what I had seen in the gym, and had been matched with a fearsome looking opponent who had trained and performed as a rugby player. This made for a curious showing as Val, tall, slight of frame, long-limbed and healthy-physiqued, against the more squat, densely-muscled pug-faced rugby man, was, surely, pure mis-match. Nobody gave Val a hope in hell. Anyway, there were plenty of fights to go before them, so I sought out what it was I was expected to be doing to help out (please dont ask me to be the toilet attendant!).
Well, what d’ya know! I’m the time-keeper for ring number one. It means I wont be ringside for Val, but the excitement of beingpart of the action and up so close distracts me enough to avoid tears.
Backstage, the fighters are gathering and being warmed up, hands taped and generally looking focussed and impatient. I watch Val on the pads with Del and Rodney and he looks loose and in control. Opposed to that, I sneak a look in the next room and spy on his opponent who looks like he has been warming up for days. Dripping with sweat, wreaking of aggression and potential violence. The guy looks plain nasty. He looks like he wants to kill. Del tells me its nerves and that Val will out-box him. I’m worried that Val will get hurt, never mind who wins, I dont want that.
Stopwatch in one hand, klaxon in the other, the moment has come for the first bout in my ring. A pair of city boys letting off steam. They enter the ring to the usual theatrical announcements and signature tunes, then “seconds out…“. A healthy looking scrap, fairly evenly matched. Looks like hard work to me. It passes fairly quickly and not much that stands out. A smiling winner and a grascious loser. Next fight, two girls. Kim, whom I have trained with, a tattooist, is said to be the probable winner and I dont doubt it. She certainly looks the more confident. “Seconds out..“, only this time, the seconds barely have enough time to leave the ring when, as Kim throws her first punch, a big right hand cross, thrown as a warning shot to demoralise her opponent, the cheering crowd emit a gasp of horror as the popping sound, immediately followed with a high wimper, signals the dislocation of Kims right arm. Clean out of the socket. Months of training, down the pan in 3 seconds.
The 3rd and 4th fights are also stopped early for mismatch reasons and I begin to worry that all the action is going on at the other ring. I manage to get away and round the corner just as the compere for Vals fight announces the winner. As he speaks Vals name I notice a huge amount of action around the ring. Val won. I knew straight away that it had not been straight forward.

It turns out that as the fight began, Val had boxed clever as was his brief, but rugby man had steamed in for the kill, hoping to out-power Val and finish him quick. He hadn’t reckoned on Del and Rodneys training and had been frustrated by Vals confidence and resolve. As Rugby mans energy dissapeared, so the panic set in. Grappled to the ground, Val had received illegal blows and they were seperated. In round 2, it all got too much again, and rugby man bit Vals neck. The fight was stopped and words were had. Val was asked if he wanted Rugby man to be disqualified, Val said no, the fight continued and Val made him pay. All within the rules, of course. A worthy win and an ecstatic crowd. Good over evil.
The evening, for me, had provided me with a vast array of the ingredients that make up competitive boxing. I dread my first bout but I cant wait.

Seconds out

Friday last week, a huge white-collar boxing event was held in a night club below London Bridge station where 10 fights took place. It was a big event called “Fight Night” that was put on by the company that run my gym, “The Ring”. The company, incidently, is called “Cityboxer”. I had been aware of the event coming up and had been desperate to obtain a ticket somehow, I was unable to afford the £70 being charged and had been badgering the gym for a “freebie”. Eventually I offered my services as a general dogsbody and was told to turn up at the venue where I could help out with the preparation of the boxers about to fight. Bingo.

I turned up and was told that I would be the timekeeper! Big bingo! I thought I’d be sweeping the floor. You cant get much more ringside than being the timekeeper and needless to say, it was a good night. Seconds out….

I am now endeavouring to write up my experience of the night which I shall attach to this blog some time over the next fortnight.

Defend yourself at all times

Time has, as always, moved on. My daily attendance at the gym continues and the work-rate increased. For weeks I have been working with Nigel. He has been responsible for walking me through the specifics of the boxers “tool kit”. That is to say, from him I have learned the 8 stock punches (jab, cross/straight, hook, uppercut-left and right, body shots), defence or “D” as it is known in gymspeak (the slip, the roll, the parry, the jab-and-move), movement around the ring, how to fight “inside” and finally, how to manage the energy systems. As this work progressed I began to feel the confidence increasing, along with the speed and fluidity needed for a bout. I got to the stage after a few weeks where I started to feel like a fighter, a contender, potentially even a winner. As the confidence grew, so did the impatience with being kept from sparring proper. Come on guys, give me your best shot, I can take it, I’ll fight anybody….
I was then introduced to “Del” and “Rodney” (out of respect not their real names, but apt). I had seen them train and condition other boxers in a way that I thought I should experience. Their boot-camp style and relentless verbal attack had an edge and purpose to it that appeared essential to the full boxing experience. Learn to overcome, triumph through adversity. In short, they make me laugh and they scare the shit out of me. I’ll have some of that. Nigel warned me not to over do it.
After several sessions of extreme, exhaustive physical torment (conditioning), I felt invincible. My sessions with them have become a source of great mirth to those training around me. The public flogging.
This is where I learned what felt like my first lesson(s).
Nigel (softly spoken and paternal unbeaten heavyweight) had me in the ring for my first sparring session. As he allowed me to chase him round the ring throwing my novice jabs and hooks, I learned how quickly the energy dissapears. Nigels occasional counter-attack, all done to illustrate rather than hurt, taught me to keep up my guard and remain focussed. I now knew that theory was just that, theory. The frustration of throwing a shot that ends up nowhere, coupled with the los of air and energy, begins to reveal the real or true battle, the battle with the self. Oh how I have harped on about my understanding of this battle. But mindful of this, how can I flick my jab out when my arm weighs a ton? How can I look for openings to throw a shot when I cant see beyond the 16oz glove that relentlessly peppers my face? As I bat and flutter at the incoming jabs, flinching, turning away, to the sound of “keep your guard up”, “Dont look away”, “Flick your jab out”, “Suck it up, concentrate on your breathing”, “STOP HITTING ME. I CANT BREATHE. THAT HURT. I WANT MY MUM.” Is all I can think.

I now spar every day, mainly with “Del”, an ex-unlicensed boxer and wrestler, cabbie and all-round top geezer, along with “Rodney” who helps put me through the boot-camp conditioning. There are other heavy-weights with whom I spar, all of whom treat me with the utmost respect, and all of whom offer me limitless tips and advice. I feel I owe them, but thats just the way they seem to be as blokes. Diamonds.